THE EARLY STORMS hammering the California coastline hadn’t eased in two days, keeping all but the most die-hard tourists at bay. The quaint seaside shopping village had been reduced to a virtual ghost town. Since spending time on the white-sand beaches was now out of the question due to the inclement weather, Jana spent the afternoon wandering from shop to shop in Carmel’s quiet downtown district.
The occupational safety seminar had actually been quite informative. How could a weekend possibly be a total loss when she’d not only expanded her knowledge, but even lucked out by managing some early Christmas shopping? Unearthing an artist’s print Chloe had mentioned she’d wanted for her office, and a beautiful set of antique crystal candleholders for Lauren almost made Jana’s decision to remain for the weekend worthwhile.
She paid the clerk for the cappuccino and biscotti she’d ordered and carried them to the small table near the window to watch the rain. Awnings and overhangs from the buildings would’ve kept her relatively dry on the walk back to the hotel, but the wind had picked up again so she’d darted into the coffeehouse to wait out the sudden cloudburst.
She set her packages on one of the spare chairs, shrugged out of her coat and pulled her cell phone out of her purse to check her voice mail. Two messages waiting. She smiled at the excitement in Lauren’s voice as her friend bubbled with the news that she’d been offered the female voice lead in the animated feature.
The other message was from her father, calling to confirm her attendance at the private screening of his newest documentary. Actually, it was her father’s assistant who’d called, but to Jana, they were one and the same. She knew she needed to RSVP, but she hadn’t made a decision about attending what would be the standard, over-the-top affair. An intimate gathering of family and friends, the formal invitation had stated. Her father’s concept of intimate was anything less than forty industry professionals. Family was a definite afterthought.
The invitation had also stated she could bring a guest. Would Ben be interested in going with her? Without his pager?
She checked for text messages, but there were none. The sting of disappointment pierced her. Ben hadn’t called as promised. After slipping her cell phone back into her bag, she took a tentative sip of cappuccino. She’d left her cell-phone number and the number of the hotel taped to his pillow before heading out for the airport before dawn Friday morning, but she hadn’t heard a word from him. With the bad weather and probably dozens of traffic accidents and other emergencies, she assumed he’d be incredibly busy, and no doubt exhausted until the storms ended.
Logically, she understood. Emotionally, she worried. Not just about him and the dangers he could be facing, but also about their relationship. How on earth had she fallen so completely in love with him in so short a time?
A lot of reasons, she thought, and not all of them involved the bedroom. From her initial interviews with the men on his team, she’d been left with the impression Ben could be rather cold and detached at times. Efficient and in control, yes, she’d found, but never cold or detached. At least he hadn’t been with her. When he wasn’t behaving like a bullheaded moron insistent on getting his way, warm, kind and incredibly passionate were more apt descriptions she’d apply to his personality. He had an adorable sense of humor and made her laugh—often. There was a gentleness about him that drew her to him, as well. Combine all those traits with his deep respect for others around him, and all in all, there wasn’t much about Ben not to love.
Still, she harbored reservations. One in particular.
On two separate occasions, he’d run out on her because his beeper had gone off. If he’d been on call, she might not be concerned, but he’d been off duty both times. Was she being selfish, or did she have cause for alarm?
Ben’s job was important, that she couldn’t deny. He saved lives. The men he worked with, the victims he helped save, depended on him. Unlike her workaholic father, Ben wasn’t halfway around the world on location for months at a time, never giving his family a second thought. What Ben did mattered. Or could he be even more obsessed with his work than her father was, just in a different way?
Unsure of the answer, she dipped the edge of biscotti in her cappuccino to soften it. The one constant in her life had always been her mother. She hadn’t exactly been a PTA, cookie-baking type of mom, but no event in the lives of her four daughters had ever been insignificant to her. All Jana had ever gotten out of her father by way of attention had been a string of gifts she suspected were actually from her mother to make up for his disinterest. The way Ben had taken care of his brothers told Jana family meant a great deal to him.
If she’d learned anything from her childhood, it was what she didn’t want, and that was to be a single parent in a two-parent household. As a kid, she’d mistakenly assumed unwarranted blame for her dad’s long absences and indifference. Her moment of profound realization had come in high school when she and Lauren had met Chloe Montgomery.
Chloe had transferred to Beverly Hills High School from Atlanta, Georgia, when her family had relocated to California because her dad had been hired by a high-powered law firm to head up its entertainment-law division. Chloe’s childhood was logistically similar to Jana’s and Lauren’s, except their new friend had developed a more pragmatic approach toward her absent father than either Jana or Lauren had. In Chloe’s opinion, constantly being disappointed because the person you kept trying to set on a pedestal always fell was a waste of energy. Accepting the reality that people in general were severely flawed was a much healthier response. Life was not a thirty-minute sitcom, she’d say.
Jana hadn’t completely bought into the “severely flawed” aspect of Chloe’s philosophy, but she’d definitely decided to stop wasting energy on a lost cause. The only way she’d put an end to the cycle would be if she stopped wanting her father to be something he simply wasn’t capable of being. Either she could accept that truth or be miserable most of the time. She’d opted for acceptance.
By the time Jana finished off the last of her cappuccino, the downpour had diminished to a steady sprinkle. Deciding she’d make it back to the hotel without drowning, she gathered her packages and left the coffeehouse.
Ten minutes later, and only half-drowned, she slipped the electronic key into the slot and let herself into her room. She carefully set the packages on the floor of the compact closet, hung her wet coat in the bathroom to dry and considered her options for the remainder of the weekend. Leaving a day early certainly appealed to her, but only because she missed Ben. Although, she reminded herself as she slipped off her loafers, he hadn’t even bothered to call. Still, so much as a hint from him that he missed her and she’d be on the next flight to L.A., no questions asked.
She towel-dried her hair and ran a comb through it, deciding room service and an in-room movie would have to suffice. “What a pitiful substitute for a night of hot and steamy sex with one buff firefighter,” she said to her reflection.
She left the combination entry/closet/bathroom area and walked into the room—and screeched in fright.
There was a naked man in her bed. At least she was pretty sure he was naked since the sheets covered the essentials.
“What are you doing here, Ben?” she demanded once her heart slid from her throat back to her chest. Not exactly the welcome he’d probably hoped for, but he’d scared the life out of her.
“Buff, huh?”
She was thinking slimier than llama spit applied because he’d nearly given her a coronary. Although, he did look mighty scrumptious resting against the headboard, naked and ready.
She folded her arms and glared at him, determined not to be swayed by the tempting tilt of his mouth until he answered her question. “Better yet, how many laws did you break to get inside my room?”
“At least two or three,” he said without an ounce of shame.
“I could have you arrested.”
The scoundrel’s grin deepened. “You won’t.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be so sure of yourself.”
“Then you’d have to settle for a pitiful substitute.” The gentle, teasing light in his eyes weakened her knees. “I would think you’d prefer a night of hot and steamy sex.”
Llama spit, she decided, had been a compliment. “Watching you being dragged from my room by a pair of burly cops has a certain appeal.”
He chuckled. “Naaah.”
All that overblown arrogance of his almost made her smile.
She made a sound of bogus disgust, crossed the room to the tapestry wing chair in the corner and sat. On the round rosewood table she noticed a vase filled with a dozen blush-colored roses that hadn’t been there when she’d left her room earlier to go shopping.
“Don’t think for a minute flowers are going to get you off the hook for scaring me half to death.” She plucked one from the vase and inhaled the sweet scent. “So how did you get inside my room?” she asked, more out of curiosity than to follow through on an empty threat to have him arrested for breaking and entering.
“You weren’t in, so I ordered roses, hoping they’d be delivered to your room right away. They were, and I just followed the bellman, waited until he was coming out and I walked in as if I belonged here.” He frowned slightly. “The guy even wormed a tip out of me.”
Naked, resourceful and arrogant. A definitely lethal combination for a woman falling head over heels in love. “I thought there were laws about this kind of thing,” she said, not yet willing to feed his mammoth ego by letting on how thrilled she really was to see him.
A frown touched his brow. “If not, there should be,” he said seriously. “You wouldn’t believe how easy it was.”
She twirled the rose between her fingers. “I suppose I could let you stay. After all, you don’t appear to have any clothes and it is raining.”
“I’d probably catch a cold.”
“Or worse,” she said as she stood and slowly walked toward him. “Pneumonia.”
His smile returned. “Think of the guilt.”
“So what do you suggest I do with you now that you’re here?” She carefully peeled back the bedclothes. The air rushed out of her lungs at the sight of all that glorious bare skin at her disposal.
He snagged her hand and tugged her down beside him. Before she could catch her breath, he shifted his weight and had her beneath him. “I’m sure if you try real hard,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear, “you’ll think of something.”
She slipped her arms around him and held him close. “Thinking,” she said, “isn’t quite what I have in mind.”
NIGHT HAD FALLEN by the time they’d finally surfaced for air four hours later. Since there’d finally been a break in the storm, they’d ventured from the room for a late supper. The Italian restaurant was a total cliché and utterly charming, complete with drippy candles, red-and-white checkerboard tablecloths and a Frank Sinatra CD playing softly in the background.
Over a dinner of shrimp scampi and angel hair pasta, she’d discovered Ben was conservative with borderline liberal tendencies, something she decided her bleeding-heart views could tolerate. He’d also confirmed there weren’t any junior studs running around wanting to be just like their daddy, either, although she’d figured that one out on her own after having been to his place. What did surprise her, though, was that he’d never been close to marriage, which made her wonder about his ability to commit to a long-term relationship.
“Not once?” she asked him, certain his single status hadn’t stemmed from lack of female companionship. “Not even close?”
He shook his head and took a deep drink of the dark red wine they’d ordered with dinner. “Not even close,” he said.
“I was. Not engaged, but almost,” she admitted. “We were in college and when he transferred to Florida State, I learned that everything they say about the survival rate of long-distance relationships is true.”
A wicked smile suddenly tugged his lips. “Tell me your fantasy,” he whispered, leaning close.
She probably should consider his abrupt change in subject as a warning signal of some kind, but the intensity of his eyes as he waited for an answer ceased all rational thought. “Unexplored terrain,” she answered sheepishly. She offered him a helpless shrug. “Sorry.”
If she’d surprised him, he hid it well. “Everyone has fantasies,” he said, a coaxing tone to his voice. His hand settled just above her knee, beneath the hem of her short red skirt.
Her skin heated. “Not everyone.” She had memories, not fantasies. Delicious, sexy memories of their lovemaking.
“I fantasize about you.” His hand crept under the hem of her skirt, far enough that his fingers teased her exposed skin above the lacy tops of her stockings. “A lot.”
She dragged much-needed oxygen into her lungs and prayed the length of the tablecloth would prevent anyone from discovering them pushing the intimacy envelope.
“Really?” Not that she needed an explanation. Her memory was doing an excellent job all on its own.
He nodded and held her captive with his gaze. “Earlier,” he said quietly. “In the shower.”
She cleared her throat as the sensual flashbacks clamored for attention. “Uh, that wasn’t exactly a fantasy,” she whispered. More like one-hundred percent, authentic lovemaking. Her body tingled as she recalled how their bodies, slick from soap and steamy water, had come together in an explosion of need. Hot. Abandoned. And wickedly yummy.
His hand moved over her skin to massage her inner thigh. “That was a fantasy,” he said as he gently urged her legs apart. “One I’ve had about you for a while.”
A groan bubbled up inside her when the tips of his fingers feathered intimately over her panties. She let out a slow hiss of breath, convinced fantasy paled in comparison to her current reality.
He leaned closer, as if attempting to shield her from the view of the few patrons in the restaurant. Thank heavens he’d selected a booth in a dark corner. Intentionally? she wondered. Considering he’d already proven the extent of his resourcefulness, she wouldn’t put it past him.
“Have you ever pleasured yourself, Jana?” he whispered in her ear.
Electrifying shocks skittered over her skin. “Until a week ago, I’d never had an orgasm. What do you think?”
He pulled back to look at her. Desire, rather than disappointment, darkened his eyes. “What about that night on the phone?”
She shook her head. “Nope.” But, oh, had she ever ached for him.
“Do you trust me?” he asked her after a moment.
Physically he’d never harm her, she knew that as much as she knew the sun would rise in the east and set in the west until the end of time. Did she trust him not to break her heart? Not within a centimeter of his life.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I trust you.”
“Close your eyes.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, we are in a restaurant,” she said, but did as he asked anyway. “A public restaurant.”
“Tell me what you’re wearing—beneath your clothes.”
Location obviously meant little to a man intent on a path of seduction. “Panties and a bra.”
“That’s not very imaginative. What color are they?”
“Red. Like the color of ripe, juicy cherries,” she elaborated for him. “Or a velvet box of Valentine candy.” She opened one eye to look at him. “Or the color of my cheeks?”
His fingers stilled, and he chuckled. “Close your eyes.”
She did and felt his fingers brush lightly over her panties again. Like a junkie needing a fix, she leaned into his touch as if it were a drug that would take her into the sexual fantasy he was creating for her.
“You’re wearing lace.”
His deep, husky voice intoxicated her. His caress excited her.
“Is it a thong?” he asked. “Is the thin scrap of material massaging you, lightly teasing you so you’re becoming swollen? Wet? Waiting for my touch?”
In her mind, she envisioned the length of his fingers exploring her deeply. Hot, blazing desire rushed through her veins like water bursting through a dam. “Ben.” The whisper of his name sounded more like a whimper of need.
“Tell me what kind of panties you’re wearing, Jana. I’ll know if you lie.”
The pad of his thumb traced a slow and rhythmic pattern around her folds. In her fantasy, the moist heat of his mouth closed over her. “They’re boy shorts.”
“Hmm,” he murmured. “They’re damp. That makes me hot.”
She bit her lip when her mind conjured the image of his teeth gently grazing her while his tongue lapped at her. The restaurant faded away and they were in a secluded cove. The only thing between their bodies and the white sands of the beach was a blanket. Waves crashed against the shore in the distance as the sun kissed their bodies, and he kissed her intimately.
The first knot of tension tightened in her belly. Then another and another.
They were hedonistic sea nymphs. Naked and naughty, where nothing mattered except the pleasure of their bodies.
She was Botticelli’s Venus. Newly born and free to explore the pleasures of her body without constraint.
She was about to have an orgasm right in the middle of a restaurant!
Her eyes flew open, and she grabbed his wrist to urge him away from her before the world exploded. “We have to leave,” she told him, her voice tight with strain.
“Why?” he asked with feigned innocence. His gaze held hers as he pressed his hand against her with perfect tension-building precision. She squirmed beneath his touch. “You’re just getting started.”
Her fingers trembled as she reached for her forgotten glass of wine, draining the contents as if it were nothing more potent than tap water. “Ben,” she said as another tremor threatened to rock her. “If you don’t get me out of here now, I’m going to come right here.”