All Through the Night (35 page)

Almost tempting enough to make her stop and flirt with him in person, just to see if the gooey, melting feeling that his smile had provoked had any basis in reality.

But going gooey was the last thing she should do, after everything that had happened with Philip. She had to toughen up, fast. She shook her head with a regretful smile, blew him a kiss and mouthed “in your dreams, buddy,” as she accelerated smoothly past him.

The wind whipped Jacob’s shout of frustration into nothing as he pulled onto the exit ramp. He’d decided that today was the day to make direct contact; enough road tag, but the touseled honey-blonde was not complying with his timetable. It was driving him nuts. He was ravenous. Didn’t she ever eat?

He parked his bike and stalked into the restaurant, grumbling as he yanked off the helmet. He was restless and jazzed, and that taunting kiss she’d blown him from the pickup had given him a raging hard-on. Something about the way that luscious pink mouth puckered up just got to him. She seemed to like yanking his chain.

He ordered steak, salad and a baked potato, and pulled the crumpled Kentucky road map out of his pocket to gauge how far out of his way he’d gone in his wild pursuit. Not that he’d really had any destination to begin with. He’d kept his vacation plans deliberately vague, figuring that it would do him good to practice spontaneity. Well, he was practicing it now, with a vengeance.

It had started at a restaurant off I-95, right after Philadelphia. The sight of her walking out of the ladies’ room had hit him like a fist. He found himself staring helplessly at the fit of her jeans, deliciously snug over her round, lush rear. And those cute little nipples, poking out of the tight T-shirt, bouncing and quivering as she moved.

She hadn’t seen him. In fact, she’d noticed barely anything. She’d walked like a woman in a dream. Something about the way she swept those heavy waves of honey-blonde hair out of her pale face was eloquent in its unspoken weariness. She looked tired, rumpled, her big gray eyes haunted and vulnerable. Like she needed someone to cheer her up, make her laugh. Chase those shadows away from her eyes.

He’d left his uneaten food on the table and followed her like a man under a spell. She hadn’t even noticed him until Charlottesville, Virginia. That had been his first victory. Goofing and clowning at sixty miles an hour alongside her truck until a smile budded on that lush, kissable mouth— and then widened to a big, delighted grin. She laughed at him, and he was ecstatic. That was how bad it was.

He knew where she hiked, where she camped, where she stopped to pee, where she got gas. He hadn’t approached her yet, sensing that the moment wasn’t right, but no one else had gotten close to her without him knowing about it, and he was cheerfully prepared to tear any guy who bothered her to pieces. He’d reflected at great length upon the irony of the situation while keeping her pickup in full view. He was acting like the guy her mother had probably warned her about; the guy who couldn’t stop dreaming about how her nipples would taste when he finally peeled off that little shirt and got her settled on his lap. How he would ravenously suckle her lush, perfect breasts while she wrapped her arms around his neck and squirmed with pleasure. How that gorgeous honey hair would cascade all around them, tickling his face. How her smoke-colored eyes would glow with excitement when he tumbled her into the bed of the first motel he could find.

All things considered, he couldn’t really blame her for not stopping. But it still drove him nuts.

This compulsion to follow her was unnerving. He stared idly at the list of dessert specials, telling himself to stop worrying, to just go with the flow. Worry was a waste of energy. He was just following his instincts, like he always had. Following his instincts was what had made him a successful man. They’d just never been this strong, that was all. In the past, his instincts had served him dutifully whenever he’d called upon them. He wasn’t used to thrashing helplessly in their grip.

He supposed the situation was funny, in a way. Jacob Kerr, successful architect and entrepreneur, accustomed to calling all the shots, driven out of his mind by one beautiful, mysterious girl who wouldn’t stop and talk to him. It was wild, irrational, but he wasn’t giving up the chase. He just couldn’t.

Thunder rolled, and rain started pouring as the waitress set his steak before him. He scowled out the window, hating the thought of his honey-blonde out there in that rattletrap piece of junk. He’d checked out her vehicle at the campground last night while she was taking her shower. All of her tires were bald.

Worry robbed him of his appetite. He got up and paid for the uneaten food, and stared out at the slashing rain, cursing under his breath. His rain gear was stowed inside the hardcase saddlebags on the back of his bike. And it was insanely stupid to go out into that weather in any vehicle, let alone a motorcycle, the cool, rational part of his brain observed. He hadn’t gotten this far in life by being insanely stupid.

Oh, to hell with being rational. Being insanely stupid looked like a lot more fun. He pulled on his helmet and headed out the door.

This, too, shall pass, Annie told herself over and over, clutching the steering wheel in a death grip. The rain had been innocuous at first, pattering down gently, but now it was a deafening roar. Violent gusts of wind buffeted the pickup, shoving her around the road, often into the lane of oncoming traffic. Mildred’s bald tires slipped and slid, making the truck fishtail madly, and lightning stabbed down in wild, unnerving bursts. Maybe she was racing toward some freak tornado that would pick her and the truck up and deposit them miles away, in twisted, unrecognizable chunks.

Chill out, she reminded herself, swallowing down her fear. Panic is not an option.

But each time she assured herself that this had to be the grand finale, that it couldn’t possibly get any worse… it did. Maybe there was no end to how bad things could really get. If only she’d pulled off at the last exit. She could’ve been flirting with the Motorcycle Man right now over pie and coffee. As dangerous forces of nature went, he was definitely the lesser of the two evils, and a hell of a lot more attractive.

The rain was so blinding that she almost didn’t see the exit. She had to lunge for it at the last minute, and the rapid swerve sent her into a long, heart-stopping slide. Once she finally got a grip on the road, she drove very, very slowly, hands trembling, toward the nearest diner. She was pathetically grateful for the coffee, chili and saltines the waitress brought her. She hunched over the steaming bowl, listening to sappy Christmas music, but she couldn’t seem to stop shivering.

She was just starting to settle down when the string of bells over the door tinkled delicately. She heard the tread of heavy boots, and a fresh surge of adrenaline jolted through her body. She swiveled her head, and her stomach flip-flopped.

It was the Motorcycle Man, his shiny black helmet tucked under his arm, beaming at her.

He was huge. Much bigger than he’d seemed on the bike, now that those long, muscular legs were unfolded. The restaurant seemed small and shabby, dwarfed by his presence.

He was gorgeous. Breathtaking. And drenched. He squelched as he walked toward her. A puddle formed around his boots when he stopped by her table. The waitress was giving him a dirty look, which he ignored.

“Were you out in the rain?” she asked, instantly wanting to kick herself. What a stupid question. The answer was so obvious.

A triumphant grin blazed across his lean face. “Hah! I finally got you to talk to me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Annie snapped. She tried to drag her eyes away from him, but she was riveted by his intense black eyes, sparkling with intelligence. His eyebrows made a bold, slashing line across his broad forehead. His midnight-black hair was long and glossy, pulled into a ponytail. He was clean-shaven, a hint of shadow across his strong jaw. The fascination on his face made a bubble of flattered pleasure pop up to the surface of her consciousness. She actually felt… pretty, under his intense scrutiny. Prettier than she’d felt in a long, lonely time. The sensation was like a subtle caress. She began to blush.

“Why didn’t you wait for the rain to stop?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I’ve been out looking for you,” he said simply. “I had to make sure you were OK.”

She narrowed her eyes in swift suspicion. “Let me get this straight,” she said slowly. “You were warm and dry, and eating your lurch, and the storm hit, and you went out in it? To look for me?”

“Yeah, I know. It was crazy,” he admitted, wringing water out of his ponytail. His dark eyes danced with silent laughter. “But a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.”

It had been so long since anyone had worried about her that it actually took away her breath for a second. Probably it was just a slick line, she reminded herself. My, what big ears you have, Grandmother. Toughen up, little girl. Still, a reluctant smile tugged her mouth. “I’m fine, as you can see,” she murmured.

“Can I sit down?”

“No,” she said quickly.

He shifted his helmet to the other arm, undaunted. His eyes swept over her appreciatively, and a ticklish, fluttery feeling raced madly across the surface of her skin. “What’s your name?” he asked.

She hesitated, as if giving him her name would give him some obscure power over her, a hook into her private self. She decided to give him a fake name. Jill, or Monica, or Brooke. She looked into his intense dark eyes, opened her mouth and said, “Annie.”

“Annie.” He said her name tenderly, savoring it. “Just Annie?”

She gulped. “Just Annie.”

He nodded. “OK, just Annie, I’m just Jacob. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. You’ve led me on a merry chase.”

“You haven’t caught me,” she reminded him tartly. She took a sip of her coffee and stared up over the rim of the cup, her mind spinning with confused excitement. Six foot two and over two hundred pounds of lean, rock-solid masculinity standing there, water streaming off his body, taking up all the air in the room. He was almost too much for a girl to take. But then again, she was tougher than she looked.

“Can I please, please sit down?” His voice was warm and coaxing.

“No,” she repeated.

The silence between them lengthened and grew heavy, charging itself with sultry, quivering heat. She licked her lips nervously, helpless to look away. She was locked in a clinch of breathless silence with him. The feeling was shockingly intimate.

His broad, sensual mouth curved knowingly, as if he knew just why she was shifting restlessly on the plastic booth. He knew that a hot, secret little ache of yearning was blossoming deep inside her body, and he was doing it to her deliberately, with his dark, laughing eyes, with his magnetic smile, with his raw male energy. God. This guy was more than just trouble. He was sexual dynamite.

Annie’s breath stuttered in and out of her lungs. She forced herself to stop wiggling, and gave him a “don’t-mess-with-me” stare, perfected on the tough streets of New York. “Look, Jacob. Whatever you want from me, you’re not going to get, so don’t waste your time.”

His eyes gleamed with wry amusement. “Cruel Annie,” he murmured. “Go ahead. Dash my hopes. Blow me off. I don’t care. I’m still glad you’re OK.”

Her fingers tightened convulsively on the handle of her cup. It wobbled, and coffee slopped out onto her T-shirt. “I appreciate your concern,” she snapped, dabbing at the stain with her napkin.

“I saw your tires,” he commented. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“My tires are none of your business,” Annie said tightly. She tucked the extra saltines into her purse and slid out of the booth. She’d be lucky if she managed to pay for the gas to get her all the way to St. Honore, let alone buy new tires. “Thanks for sharing your opinion.”

She shoved past him, and instantly realized that it was a mistake to have touched him, even slightly. Just brushing against his solid frame made her shiver with intimate awareness. He radiated warmth and power as he followed her stubbornly to the cash register.

“It’s not an opinion, Annie,” he persisted. “It’s dangerous.”

She ignored him. “A bowl of chili and coffee,” she told the cashier.

He handed the cashier a twenty. “The lady’s lunch is on me.”

“No, it’s not,” she hissed. She tried to push down his proffered arm, but it was like swatting an oak branch. She held out her ten to the girl behind the register. The girl’s pale blue eyes darted from one to the other of them, bewildered.

Jacob pushed down her arm, handed the girl his twenty. “I insist.” His voice was gentle but implacable.

Annie fled the restaurant while the cashier was making change. The rain had stopped, and she splashed heedlessly through the puddles in the parking lot, obscurely panicked. He’d gone out in the rain to look for her, he was so glad she was OK, he’d fussed over her tires, he’d paid for her lunch, blah blah blah. The ploy was so transparent, but so damned seductive, it was embarrassing. Even though she didn’t need any rescuing. Even though she knew exactly what he wanted from her in exchange. Men were so predictable.

What was unpredictable was her fluttering belly, her hot face, her scattered wits. She was raw, trembling, acutely aware of the quiet power that filled and defined the space around him, of the streamlined grace of his body and his thousand-watt grin. She cursed to herself as she fumbled for her keys. She had to rely on herself, and herself alone. She always had, ever since she was a kid. It was the one thing in her life that never changed, and she only came to grief when she let herself forget it. Fortunately, the world never let her forget it for very long.