All Through the Night (36 page)

Jacob’s shadow blocked the window, knocking on the rain-spotted glass. She shoved the key into the ignition, hands shaking. He kept knocking, gentle but insistent. She rolled the window down a bare two inches, and he leaned close, taking everything in with one sweep of his keen dark eyes. She was suddenly embarrassed by her truck’s dilapidated state. For her own limp, travel-worn appearance.

“Annie, listen.” His voice had a hint of uncertainty for the first time. “If you really, truly want me to stop playing this game with you, I’ll leave you be. Just say the word.”

She wrenched her eyes away and stared out the windshield.
Tell him
, her sensible self urged.
He’ll believe you if you say it now. You’ve got enough to worry about. Tell him to get lost
.

She looked up, opened her mouth to say it—and the challenge in his eyes robbed her of breath. She could read sensual invitation on his face as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud. It was a disorienting perception, as if the world had suddenly rent itself apart and revealed itself to be a dull, flat backdrop of painted canvas; and behind it, the glowing colors of the real horizon beckoned and allured.

Her heart seemed to stop for a long, breathless instant. She couldn’t back down now. She was too intrigued. Be-sides, maybe she could teach him a thing or two, and wipe that smug, knowing look right off his gorgeous face. She’d never been able to resist a challenge in her life. It was one of her crowning defects.

Besides, all those miles of highway ahead would be such a dreary prospect without the Motorcycle Man’s enlivening presence.

Oh, God. She was going to do it. She actually was. Her heart galloped madly in her chest as she turned the key in the ignition. She shot him a sidelong, provocative glance, let it melt into a tempting smile, and softened her voice to a husky contralto. “Figure it out for yourself, Jacob,” she said, putting the truck in gear. She lurched forward, peeking into her rearview mirror.

A grin of delight had lit up his face like a torch, and she couldn’t help smiling back, even though he was out of range and couldn’t see her. She pulled out of the parking lot, beaming at the waterlogged landscape until her out-of-shape smile muscles ached in protest.

Annie had been so wound up all afternoon, she’d exhausted herself to calmness by the time she set up camp that evening. She made use of the campground shower, and then stood in front of the mirror for a long time, toothbrush in hand, studying her face. Trying to imagine how an outsider would see it. How Jacob might have seen it.

It was too pale. In the harsh, fluorescent light, her face seemed tinged with blue. Her eyes were OK, big and gray, with a ring of indigo around the iris. Long lashes, dark at the root, gold at the tip. Thick dark eyebrows that needed some tweezing. Her lower lip was plumper than she would like. It gave her a sulky look, which she usually tried to offset by smiling a lot, though lately she hadn’t had the energy. She looked tired. Washed out and wary. Not surprising, for a woman who was on the run from her wrecked life, it was depressing. She squeezed toothpaste onto the brush, telling herself to stop being foolish.

She was
not
hoping he would show up, she told herself as she fixed her dinner—freeze-dried chicken and rice soup—and opened a can of sliced peaches. Probably he’d lost interest. The gritty reality of Annie Simon, close up and personal, had popped the bubble of his road-sex fantasy. She didn’t look like much of a prize in her jeans and shrunken T-shirt. Just a normal girl, with circles under her eyes, in need of a laundromat. She hadn’t had either the time or the presence of mind to pack many clothes on that crazy morning when she’d seized her chance to finally get away from Philip. Just what she’d been able to shove into her backpack with trembling hands: some jeans, T-shirts, underwear. None of her nice, pretty stuff. And she hadn’t worn makeup since the good old days back at Macy’s, before Philip ruined that for her, too.

No, she’d seen the last of the sexy, mysterious Motorcycle Man. He was off in search of a perkier, livelier playmate. She visualized her much-loved and forever lost wardrobe with a sharp pang of regret. If she’d had her usual bag of tricks to work with, the story would have gone very differently. For Jacob she would definitely have opted for her scoop-neck pearl pink angora sweater, the cloud-soft kind that made men long to stroke it. She would have paired it with her wine-red silk wrap skirt, and her spike-heel lace-up boots. Beneath it all, her apricot stretch lace teddy, of course. A dab of cover-up under her eyes, a smidge of brown liner and mascara, a slick of pink gloss on her lips. Her sexy calla lily earrings, for luck. A dab of styling gel and a few minutes with a blow dryer, and voila, she could have made him follow her to the ends of the earth. Men were so fickle. But it was probably just as well. She fished out a peach slice with a wistful sigh.

Suddenly the little hairs on the back of her neck prickled to attention with a long, delicious shiver. She scanned the forest around her, forcing herself not to leap to her feet.

“Hello, Annie,” he said softly. He was a long, dense shadow at the edge of the flickering light of her campfire.

She nodded politely. “Hello, Jacob.” She managed to sound cool, even though her heart was thudding. “I thought I’d lost you.”

His teeth flashed white in the gloom. “Not a chance.”

She tugged her short T-shirt down over her belly, wishing it didn’t have a coffee stain. “Want some peaches?” She held out the can.

He remained motionless, barely visible under the trees. “No, thanks. I’m fine,” he said politely. “I ate earlier.”

She gave him a crooked, nervous little smile. “Why are you lurking out there in the dark? Are you trying to freak me out?”

“On the contrary, I’m trying not to. I won’t come any closer unless you invite me.”

She laughed, surprised at his unexpected gallantry. “You’ve been following me ever since Charlottesville. I didn’t invite you to do that.”

“Philadelphia,” he said simply.

Her jaw dropped. “Philadelphia?”

“You just didn’t notice me until Charlottesville. Besides, I couldn’t help myself. Your beauty is an irresistible lure. You’re like one of those sirens in the old stories, enticing love-struck mariners to their doom.”

A terribly teenaged-sounding giggle burst out of her, and the peach chunk slipped off her fork and plopped into the syrup with a splash. “I’ve never lured anybody to his doom,” she told him, dabbing at the splotch of syrup that had joined forces with the coffee stain on her shirt. “Still, it was a nice thing to say. Go ahead, Jacob, pull up a stump. Make yourself comfortable.”

He glided silently closer, and she noticed that his hair was wet, combed smoothly back from his face. “Did you just take a shower?”

“Yeah, I washed up a bit,” he said.

“Bet you thought you were going to get lucky, didn’t you?”

He shrugged, and sank into a comfortable crouch across the fire from her. “A guy can hope.”

She blushed, and stared fixedly into the fire.

“Your hair’s wet, too,” he observed in a soft voice.

“Yeah, well, don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped. “Some of us bathe for reasons other than intent to seduce.” He laughed, unabashed, and her blush deepened. “Where did you first see me?” she demanded.

“At a restaurant off of I-95, right after Philadelphia,” he told her.

“Philadelphia. That’s wild,” she murmured, trying vainly to subdue the foolish, flattered smile that kept taking control of her face.

“Yeah, I know,” he agreed. “I was intrigued. A gorgeous, mysterious woman, traveling all alone, from who knows what to who knows where. I just got on my bike and followed you without thinking. Annie, the honey-blonde road siren. I’m hopelessly caught in your silken net. You’ve been dragging me in your wake across five states.”

She covered her hot cheeks with her hands, loving the way his smile creased his lean face with sensual, deeply carved laugh lines. “I cannot believe I didn’t notice you,” she murmured.

He shrugged, studying her with intense curiosity. “You looked pretty distracted at the time,” he said quietly.

“Yeah. I must have been.” She had gone through Philadelphia on the first dazed, delirious day of her journey. She wouldn’t have noticed if an eighteen-wheeler had driven over her.

“Where are you headed, if you don’t mind me asking?” he asked.

She hesitated. She hadn’t told anyone about her destination. She hadn’t decided if it would be good luck or bad, but when she looked into his keen, dark eyes, she felt a surge of energy that could only be lucky. “I’m going to the Black Cat Casino in St. Honore, Louisiana,” she said.

He looked thoughtful. “May I ask why?”

She put a possessive hand on the purse that sat beside her. “I have a stash of silver dollars. The last of the money I won there five years ago. That money helped me start a new life.” Her voice shook, and faltered. “Now I need to start a new life all over again. I hope… that they’ll help me a second time.”

He prodded at the embers. “I wish you luck,” he said in a careful, measured voice. “What’s plan B?”

“None of your goddamn business,” she flared, stung.

They were silent for a moment. “Don’t be mad, Annie,” he said gently. “Starting a new life is a hell of a lot to ask of a slot machine.”

She snagged another peach chunk, but his calm words had robbed her of her appetite, and she let it plop back into the can with a dejected sigh. “There’s no plan B.” she admitted. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll think of something when the time comes, like I always do.”

“What are you running away from?”

Annie’s jaw clenched. Thinking about Philip did not feel lucky. “I’d rather not talk about it,” she said stiffly.

“Whatever.”

There was a wealth of controlled curiosity behind the single quiet word. “I’m not on the run from the cops, or anything, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she snapped.

“Relax, Annie,” he soothed. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

She shot him a derisive look. “How am I supposed to relax with you looking at me like that? You’re a complete stranger, Jacob. All I know about you is that you want to have sex with me.”

He watched her silently for a long moment, and she tugged her shirt down again, drawing his gaze to her belly. Under the weight of his eyes, that scant inch of exposed flesh seemed outrageously intimate. She covered it instinctively with her hand. His dark gaze dragged slowly up her body, lingering appreciatively at her breasts. She stared back, fascinated by the stark, elegant planes and angles of his face. The flames of the campfire flickered and danced hypnotically in his eyes.

“I want to be closer to you, Annie,” he said softly. “Close enough so I can tell what kind of shampoo you used tonight. May I?”

Annie’s lips trembled, and she clamped them together. The velvet-soft tone of his voice made her legs feel as if they wouldn’t hold her if she stood, and an unfamiliar ache deep in her belly made her restless and anxious. His taut, muscular backside was beautifully showcased by his loose, crouching pose. She dragged her eyes away from it and pulled her mind back to his question. “Um, yes,” she said, trying to sound casual. “And thank you for asking.”

He rose to his feet with catlike grace, and walked slowly around the fire. He loomed over her for only a second or two, but the time dilated oddly as she stared at him from that odd perspective, her eyes skittering in nervous fascination up his long, muscular legs, over the bulge in front of his jeans, his flat belly and barrel chest. He sank down in front of her, studying her with grave concentration. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and a beatific smile spread across his face. “Lavender,” he said softly. “Yum.”

Annie’s ears roared. His nearness affected her like the deep, pervasive thundering of a huge waterfall, filling her senses and blotting out everything else. She stared, rapt, at the dramatic sweep of his black lashes, his sharp cheekbones, the seductive grooves that bracketed his lazy smile. “It’s an aromatherapy shampoo,” she explained in a small, breathless voice. “It’s supposed to be, um, soothing.”

He opened his eyes. “That’s strange,” he murmured in mock puzzlement. “I’m not soothed at all by the thought of steaming lavender-scented suds cascading over your pink, naked body. On the contrary.”

An image of Jacob in the shower assailed her—that big, powerful body gleaming and naked, slippery with soap. Her head swam, and she swallowed hard and leaned for-ward, sniffing his damp hair. “Pert Plus, shampoo and conditioner in one,” she guessed. “You’re a no-nonsense sort of guy. Always on the move. No conditioning rinse, no styling gel, just wash, comb, and go. Right?”

His dark eyes held hers with quiet intensity. “That’s true,” he admitted. “I’m very high-energy. But I know how to slow down.”

Annie clutched the can of peaches tightly to her chest with both hands, and looked down into the fire. “That’s good,” she said, almost inaudibly. “Going slow is very important. ”

They sat silently for a long moment. He put his big hand gently over hers, stilling its fine tremor. The whisper-soft contact sent a sweet, tingling flood of anticipation through every nerve in her body.