“You can’t run away from everything you’re afraid of,” he whispered.
“I’m not,” she said in a raw voice. “I just want you to go away.”
“Tell me why I should?”
“Because I’m asking you, as a favor. I know you don’t owe me any favors, but maybe you could consider it a gesture of goodwill.”
“Why do you want me to go away? Why do I disturb you?”
She wasn’t going to answer, and he knew it.
“Maybe I should show you,” he said finally. And he put his mouth against hers.
She could have broken free quite easily—they both knew it He held her lightly, one hand cupping her neck, the other at her waist but she made no effort to escape. She simply held very still as he kissed her, slowly, tasting her lips and nothing more.
He felt her strong hands on his shoulders, cool against his hot flesh. They tightened for a moment, clinging to him, and desire surged through him with such powerful force that he shook He pulled her closer against him, so that her body was plastered up against his nearly nude one, so that she could feel how hard he was, how much he wanted her. She tasted of fresh strawberries and coffee, and he wanted more, he wanted to taste every part of her, he wanted to strip off her clothes and drag her over to that narrow, sagging bed.
“Open your mouth,” he whispered against her soft lips.
Her eyes shot open, and she jerked away from him so fast he couldn’t even attempt to hold on to her. Even though he wanted to. Before he realized it she was halfway across the room, and he was hard as a rock and freezing cold.
She didn’t look back. She ran as if she were being chased by a pack of wild pigs, and he was half-afraid she’d tumble down the rickety side steps in her hurry to get away from him. By the time he moved over to the window she was disappearing into the woods, down a different path than he was used to. The early-summer greenery swallowed her up, and she was gone, as if she’d never been there.
He began to swear. Swearing was one of his many talents—he could curse in more than twenty languages, usually with an inventiveness that impressed men around the world. He rose to new heights in the moments after Susan Abbott ran away from him, and it was only a shame that no one was there to appreciate his colorful invective.
He was covered in a cold sweat, he was as hard as a lust-crazed teenage boy, and worse than that, he’d betrayed Louisa. His uncle’s wife had been like a second mother to him, and he’d always considered it an honor to perform the rare, small tasks she’d asked of him.
Coming to America and being stuck here for a week at a society wedding was no small task, of course, but he’d agreed to it willingly enough. But she hadn’t expected him to end up sabotaging her goddaughter’s peace of mind. And maybe even the wedding itself.
And then there was Alex Donovan. He’d ended up going to Winnie’s Diner instead of a bar, and he’d sat nursing a cup of coffee while Donovan tried to find out anything he knew about his daughter. It wasn’t Jake’s nature to pry—he’d spent too many years in cultures where privacy was of utmost importance—but Donovan had been wryly informative, making no excuses. His marriage to Mary Abbott had ended before Susan could even remember him, and his ex-wife and her family had made it clear he wasn’t welcome.
There was something more to it than that, but Jake wasn’t about to push it. So he told Donovan about his daughter, trying to keep it as neutral as possible, until Donovan’s sharp green eyes, a match to his daughter’s, looked at him shrewdly and he said, “You’re in love with her.”
He’d laughed. “And you’re out of your mind. For one thing, I don’t even know her. For another, she’s not my type. And for a third, she’s about to marry Mr. Perfect.”
“My mistake,” Donovan said softly. Clearly, annoyingly, unconvinced.
He was a man who’d abandoned his daughter for all her young life, for whatever reasons he might have. But Jake had the unpleasant suspicion that he wouldn’t stand by and abandon her now, particularly if he saw someone intent on screwing up her life.
Hell, Susan Abbott was screwing up her life quite nicely without any help from him. If he could just keep bis hands to himself, keep his damned mouth shut then she could go ahead and make her own mistakes, and he could go back to Louisa with a clear conscience and a full report.
Maybe she was right, maybe he should just go away. He could drop off the other two presents with Susan’s mother and make a quick getaway, and chances were he could avoid ever seeing her again.
Or by the time he did, his hormones and his brain would be back in working order, and he’d see her as she would then be: an overbred, overeducated Connecticut matron with a yuppie husband, two kids and a van.
He didn’t like the idea of her having Edward’s kids, but it was none of his damned business. Louisa would be disappointed in him if he ran away, but she’d be a hell of a lot more upset if he screwed up Susan Abbott’s wedding.
He was going to get the hell out of there, as fast as he could.
But first he was going to find the coldest body of water he could find and jump in. And maybe then he’d stop thinking about Susan Abbott’s mouth.
Five
She wasn’t used to running away, but Susan raced through the tangle of early-summer growth that strangled the access to the deserted garage, oblivious to the scratching branches and the uneven footing on the neglected path. Her mouth burned, her skin burned, and she wanted, needed, to run away and hide.
She’d left her car parked by the edge of Matchfield Commons, and she fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking. It was early afternoon on a weekday—the streets were empty, which was a damned good thing, she thought, shoving her hair out of her face. She was driving like a maniac, with nothing more important than making it back to her mother’s house and the privacy of the guest bedroom. She’d had too little sleep, too much stress. A few hours of quiet, maybe a nap, would put it all in perspective.
She peeled into the driveway, much too fast, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw her mother’s Saturn was gone. She wasn’t in the mood to answer any questions at the moment, and her mother had the unfortunate gift of seeing through most of Susan’s most tactful evasions.
