One More Chance Page 11

  She melted toward him and he immediately pulled back, not yet able to get past his anger. He wanted to shock her— his hand touched her breast and she gasped. She dropped her own arms to her sides, helplessly. His eyes locked with hers as he kneaded her breast, his cupped palm barely grazing the tingling crest.

  He leaned down to nuzzle the satin skin of her throat. Each new liberty increased his hunger for the next. He could feel her breast swelling to fill his hand, and the stiffness of her nipple against his palm. "You should have left when you had the chance," he grated. "Now it's too late."

  "I—I don't know what you're talking about." It was a denial without conviction. She let her head fall back to rest on the kitchen door, her eyes half closing.

  "Liar." His hand left her breast to tug at the top button of her pale green silk blouse. His knuckles brushed the sweet swell of her breast. She caught her breath and her eyes opened wide.

  "But we're friends," she whispered, her voice breaking. She made no move to stop him. "That's all we've ever been."

  "I think our relationship has just entered a new stage."

  He gripped the fragile silk in one big fist and yanked. He hadn't realized until then how angry he really was; the buttons popped and he bent quickly to nuzzle the wisps of fabric aside with his searching mouth.

  She sighed and pressed closer to him. Her thighs parted ever so slightly. Completely in tune with her, he thrust his knee boldly between her legs.

  "Ben… you… I—"

  He heard her confusion and it added to his own. No way did he want this to happen, no way did he want to face the emotional chaos that churned his gut. Angry and aroused to the point of pain, he struggled to find the strength to resist temptation—struggled and lost. He reached around behind her back and unsnapped her bra.

  He slid his hands down her rib cage and around until he could balance the weight of her breasts on his hands. His thigh pressed against the juncture of her legs in a light, rubbing motion. She caught her breath and met his triumphant gaze, her own more astonished than anything else.

  He didn't blame her, not really. He couldn't believe this was happening any more than she could. He kissed the side of her exposed neck, savoring the taste of her. She made a hungry little sound deep in her throat. Already tight as a rubber band about to snap, he straightened and grabbed her hand. "Come on," he ordered, his voice revealing the pressure he felt. With one well-aimed kick, he sent the kitchen door banging open.

  She held back. "What are you doing? This is crazy."

  "You think I don't know that?" He dragged her along behind him, into the house and down the hall toward his bedroom.

  "We've known each other too long." She sounded desperate.

  They reached his bedroom and in his eagerness, he banged into something in the dark. Erupting into a storm of profanity, he kicked the offending object—whatever it was—across the room where it rattled off a wall. Two more steps and he swung her around and unceremoniously tipped her over onto the bed.

  "Hey!" She bounced upright, the reality of the bed providing her with unexpected strength. She reached for the lamp on the bedside table.

  Light flooded the room, illuminating Ben with his shirt already half off. She stared at him, her question forgotten. The lamplight subtly gilded the belly ridged with muscle and the smooth golden chest.

  He ripped the shirt off and tossed it aside. His face looked tight and flushed, the pale hair tousled. His expression was at once intense and curiously uncertain.

  But his voice sounded arrogant and sure. "I'm tired of fooling around—I'm taking you to bed." He looked her over with bold approval, a faint, lusty smile curving his lips. "This seemed the logical place, but if you prefer chandeliers or al fresco settings I'll try to accommodate you."

  She shook her head helplessly, leaning over to cover her eyes with her hands. What in the hell am I doing? she asked herself. Have I completely lost my mind? Aloud she said, "This is beyond ridiculous. I don't want to do this."

  "The hell you don't." Certainty again, and a challenge for her to deny it.

  She couldn't, not in so many words. "Ben, you're rushing me." She threw back her head and glared at him. "I don't do this kind of thing."

  He gave her a searching look, the lights and shadows around him emphasizing the hard strength of his face and the cleft in his chin. "Neither do I, as a rule. This is the first time since..."

  He didn't have to go on. She knew what he was trying to say—since his wife died. That admission splintered her resolve.

  What the hell am I saving it for? she wondered suddenly. I'm not some ingénue, I'm a mature woman. And I've been alone too long.

  What if she passed up this opportunity and never got a second chance with this man? That possibility frightened her. She reached over and curved one hand possessively across the top of his denim-covered thigh. The muscle beneath her hand bunched and he went rigid, his slitted gaze on her face asking an unspoken question.

  Holding her breath, she nodded.

  He smiled, and all the anger in him seemed to simply evaporate. He laced his fingers through hers and drew her to her knees on the bed. She lifted one leg and put her foot on the floor, using the leverage of his hand to stand.

  A little embarrassed, she dropped her gaze. Her silk blouse hung in tatters, but she didn't care about that. She did, however, care that she was practically naked to the waist. Automatically she wrapped the fabric across her breasts. "All right," she agreed breathlessly. "But before things get completely out of control, we'd better…"

  He covered her hands with his and slowly drew them away. The remnants of the blouse followed. "Better what, Juli?" He leaned down and nuzzled her loose bra aside.

  She gulped. "B-better be prepared." She gripped his biceps with her hands, loving the powerful feel of him. She felt the flick of his tongue against the underswell of her breast. It never occurred to her to resist when he slid the blouse and bra off her shoulders.

  He sucked her nipple deep into his mouth. Her nipples had gone untouched for so long that at the first hot caress of his tongue, she gasped and her knees buckled.

  He lowered her onto the bed, his mouth never leaving her. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream. His hand stroked down her stomach, curved naturally between her legs, and she moaned. With a last mighty effort of will, she caught his head between her hands. He tilted up to look into her eyes, his own questioning.

  "We need… something," she groaned.

  "Something… ?" He frowned and then understood. "Oh, you mean…Where's your purse?"

  "It's—what's that got to do with anything?" She lifted her head off the bed to see him better, her chin on her chest and his chin between her breasts. With one hand, he continued the erotic massage between her legs, his touch burning through her slacks.

  They stared into each other's eyes, the horrible truth dawning slowly. Ben pulled away abruptly and shoved his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes.

  Juliana rolled over to put distance between them, then sat up, naked above the waist. "Do you mean you don't have any… ?"

  His expression was fierce. "The word you're searching for is 'condoms,' and that's exactly what I mean. It's been a long time since I needed one, Juliana."

  "Well how did you expect us to… ?" She gestured helplessly at the messy bedspread and their own state of dishabille.

  "I thought you'd be prepared."

  "I've never bought a condom in my life! At the risk of sounding old fashioned, I'm not that kind of a girl." Incensed, she sprang to her feet and yanked the bra into place. She hooked it and stared down at the remains of her blouse. "I can't leave looking like this," she said in a low, tight voice.

  "You're going to leave! What the hell are you, a—"

  "Don't say it!" She turned toward him, her face burning. She had never been so humiliated in her life. "You'll have to lend me something to wear home."

  The bedsprings creaked as he stood up. He gestured with both hands. "Hey, help your
self," he said bitterly. "I'm just glad I've got something you want."

  She wanted to tell him he had plenty she wanted, but she was too disappointed and upset to risk a verbal battle. She grabbed the first piece of clothing she saw—a chambray shirt hanging from a hook behind the door. She yanked the tails of her blouse out of her waistband and slipped out of the ruined garment, letting it fall to the floor.

  She shrugged into the shirt and buttoned it up. It reached almost to her knees and she felt infinitely safer once she had it on.

  He simply watched her, his face impassive but his muscles noticeably tense.

  Hand on the doorknob, she paused. "I'm sorry," she said in a low, tight voice. "I… I don't know what happened."

  "I do," he said.

  Without answering, she opened the bedroom door and walked out.

  As she turned into her driveway, she saw Pete's car parked in front of the house. She groaned. For a second she contemplated backing out and driving away again, but couldn't bring herself to do it. This was, after all, her home.

  What a suitably miserable conclusion for a miserable drive home. She punched the remote garage opener and the door slid up smoothly; she drove inside and cut the engine. Pete walked in behind her and waited while she closed the garage door before climbing out of her car.

  He wasted no time broaching the subject of his visit. "Now see here, Juliana, Paige is really upset this time and I think you're being…" His voice trailed off. "Jehosephat, what happened to you?"

  Her face burned. "Nothing." She hurried to the inner door and unlocked it.

  He followed her inside. "Are you okay? Where did you get that shirt? You look like you been spit at and hit."

  "Well, I haven't!" She whirled on him, blocking the hallway. She hadn't even remembered she was wearing Ben's shirt until Pete opened his big mouth. "If you're here to criticize, you can just—"

  "Simmer down, simmer down!" He held up his hands placatingly, palms forward. "I'm here to talk about Paige. Any chance I can get a beer out of you, or at least a glass of water? I've been waiting almost an hour."

  "I suppose." Reluctantly she led the way to the kitchen and gestured toward the refrigerator. "Help yourself."

  He did. While he extracted a can of soda and popped the top, Juliana sat down at the breakfast bar, twisting her hands together in her lap. She felt so tightly strung it scared her.

  Peter took a swig from his can. "You want anything? You look like you could use a stiff belt of something."

  "No," she said automatically, then reconsidered. "Yes. The white wine in the refrigerator—just dump it in a water glass."

  He honored the request, but looked askance at her as he poured. "I guess Paige isn't the only one who had a bad evening." He handed her the glass, which contained at least eight ounces of wine.

  "I've had better." She lifted the glass to her lips and slugged down a quarter of the contents. "I needed that," she said with heartfelt sincerity.

  "I can tell."

  The depth of knowledge in his piercing glance made her shift uncomfortably on her stool. He'd always known her too well. Maybe that's why she'd married him in the first place. Maybe that's why she'd divorced him, she thought with sudden insight.

  She set the glass on the table. "Is Paige still mad at me?"

  Pete settled his lanky form onto a stool. "She's not mad at you, Juli. She's unhappy because she's afraid you're going to fight her on this. I told her not to worry."

  She gave him an exasperated look. "You couldn't speak for me when we were married, Pete. What makes you think I'll stand for it now?"

  He shrugged. He didn't look upset, and in fact seemed indifferent to her growing anger. "I don't care whether you'll stand for it or not, babe. She's my daughter, too. If she wants to be a nurse, I'll figure out some way for her to get her chance."

  Juliana's mouth dropped open and she stared at him. Peter had enough trouble supporting his second family, even without any financial obligation to the first. How on earth would he come up with the money to send Paige to nursing school?

  Not that he'd have to. Juliana wouldn't let him even if he tried. She opened her mouth to explain that to him and instead said a single word. "Fine."

  "Fine?" He frowned as if she'd finally surprised him.

  "Fine," she repeated. "If that's what she truly wants, it's all right with me. Tell her so, if you want."

  "Wait a minute. Is this a trick?"

  She wanted to laugh, but not with Pete. "Look," she said, her voice trembling, "she can do what she likes. I've got other things on my mind."

  Pete stared at her for a moment and then his dark eyes widened with understanding. "Wait a minute," he said slowly. "That shirt you're wearing… Who do I know who wears chambray shirts? Could it be you've been whiling away the hours with Mr. Benjamin Wade, gentleman avocado farmer?"

  "Don't be ridiculous." She took another swallow of wine to calm herself and avoided meeting his eyes.

  "It's been so long since you showed any interest in a man I was beginning to think you were going gay."

  "Pete!"

  "Okay, okay." He held up his hands as if in surrender, but his brown eyes sparkled with familiar mischief. "Convince me. Trot out whatever story you've concocted to throw me off the scent."

  She groaned.

  "C'm'on, Juliana. If it isn't Ben who's got you all worked up, then what is it?" He looked genuinely concerned, and genuinely skeptical.

  "It's… everything." She gestured vaguely. "It's being bald—"

  "You're not bald. I meant to mention how fast your hair's growing back."

  "Well, I feel bald." Especially now—she'd forgotten to retrieve her wig. "And it's forgetting things and mixing up times and sequences and not being able to handle numbers. Pete, my attention span is about ninety seconds long." Except when Ben put his arms around me—that improved my concentration by at least a thousand percent.

  "Ah, honey." Pete leaned across the table and patted her on the hand, his expression contrite. "You're expecting too much of yourself too fast. Lighten up, okay?"

  How often had he said those words or similar ones to her? When they'd been married, he'd constantly tried to get her to lighten up—on him, on their child, on herself. Naturally, she hadn't. Now she tried to sound casual. "Pete, do you think I'm a mercenary snob?"

  He considered the matter carefully, which made no brownie points with her. Finally he said, "I wouldn't necessarily choose those words. But I bet I know who did."

  She felt the telltale blush rise in her cheeks, yet persisted. "Don't jump to conclusions."

  "Juli, you could do worse. If Ben can't handle you, nobody can. And I oughta know."

  "I don't want to be 'handled,' as you call it. I—"

  The telephone rang. Wild hope flared in Juliana's breast; it had to be Ben, calling to apologize.

  Calling to tell her he couldn't live through another night without her.

  Calling to tell her he was on his way with a pocket full of condoms.

  She glanced at Pete. "Anything else?"

  "Nope, that's it. Answer the phone and I'll let myself out."

  "Thanks." She didn't wait for him to go; she flew across the room and snatched the receiver off the wall. "Ben?" she cried with absolute certainty.

  Silence. It stretched out, thin and endless. Then a voice said her name, questioningly… the voice of Cary Goddard.

  8

  Juliana tried to cover her disappointment. "Cary. What a surprise."

  "So I gather. You were expecting someone else?"

  "Not really. Uhh—where are you?"

  "Denver. I'll be flying to Miami and then on to Perth by the middle of next month."

  So he wouldn't be back in Summerhill for the foreseeable future. Good, she thought. "You sound busy."

  "I am." He hesitated and then added, "But that doesn't mean I've forgotten."

  She felt a sudden shaft of panic. Forgotten what? Was he talking business or personal? "You haven't?"


  "I want that land, Juliana, and I want that project." Cary's voice snapped across the wires, cold and final. "I don't like unfinished business. I never have."

  Her hackles rose. "Ben's a stubborn man, Cary. You can't force him to sell if he doesn't want to."

  "Can't I?" Cary's abrupt laugh held a cutting edge. "We'll see. As financially overextended as he is, anything's possible. I just want you to know nothing's changed. Our agreement is still in effect and I want you to reopen negotiations the first chance you get."

  "Cary, I doubt Ben will—"

  His nasty laugh cut her off. "Just do it." His aggressive tone softened. "And Juliana, I'm delighted with your recovery."

  "Are you?" She spoke coolly, remembering his lack of attention during her hospital stay, and since.

  He hesitated, then said in a rush, "The truth is, I don't handle sickness very well." He sounded uncomfortable. "I'm sorry—that's just the way I am."

  "But they said you came to visit me in the hospital."

  "Yeah, and it's one of the hardest things I ever did. I just want you to understand why I haven't been back. When this is all over—well, we'll see where we are. But for the time being, rest assured that our business arrangement is intact. I have every confidence that you'll find a way to convince Ware to cooperate."

  Before she could respond—before she could think of a way to respond—the line went dead. Filled with foreboding, she hung up the telephone. Both her personal and professional relationships with Cary Goddard were apparently in limbo.

  She poured another glass of wine and carried it into the family room. Cary's call worried her. Everything was different, now that she saw Ben's side. She wouldn't lift a finger to encourage the sale of his land—commission be damned. Which meant she had to sever all business ties with Goddard Enterprises, regardless of the buyer-broker agreement.

  A chill shivered down her back. She'd worked hard to establish that business relationship, but she wouldn't reconsider—couldn't, feeling the way she did. She'd just have to return the fee Cary had already paid her. It went against her grain, but it had to be done.