Hard to Handle (15 page)

J
ennifer left her dishes in the sink and went to answer the doorbell, a little irritated at the interruption. She’d spent the past few months in such misery that she was only beginning to get her head above water again. Missing Hunter had become a way of life, despite the fact that she’d started dating a very nice divorced geologist in her group. And if he did spend the whole of their evenings together talking about his ex-wife, what did that matter? Didn’t she spend them talking about Hunter and things they’d done together?

She opened the door, and froze. So many lonely nights, dreaming of that hard, dark face, and here he stood. She felt her insides melting at just the sight of him, feeding on it like a starving woman.

She stared up at him with a helpless rapture in her eyes, the old warm vulnerability in her face. It had been so long since she’d seen him. The anguish of the time between lay helplessly in her face as she looked at him. He watched her with equal intensity. His dark eyes held hers for an endless, shattering moment before they slid
down her thin body and back up again. She looked as if she was shattered to find him on her doorstep, but at least she wasn’t actively hostile. He measured her against his memories for one long moment.

“You can’t afford to lose this kind of weight,” he said softly. “Are you all right?”

His concern was almost her undoing. She had to fight tears at the tenderness in his voice. She forced a smile. Act, girl, she told herself. You can do it. You did it before, when it was even harder. He’s surely here on business, so don’t throw yourself at his feet.

“I’ve been on a diet,” she lied. “Come in and I’ll brew some coffee. How are you?”

He stepped into the apartment, looking and feeling alien in it. His eyes were restless, wandering around. Her apartment reflected her personality and her life-style. There were souvenirs from her travels everywhere, along with the sunny colors that echoed her own personality, and the numerous whimsical objects she delighted in. Potted plants covered every inch of available space, and ferns and green plants trailed down from high shelves. There were Indian accents, too, including a war shield and some basketry. His eyes lingered on those. Apache. He smiled gently.

She saw where his gaze had fallen and tried to divert him. “My dad says it looks like a jungle in here, but I like green things,” she said, leading him into the kitchen. She tugged nervously at her yellow tank top. “How have you been? Is this a business call? Did Eugene want me for something? I’m just off for this week, but I guess…!”

“Eugene wanted me to drop some papers off for you,” he said, drawing them out of his inside jacket pocket. He dropped them onto the kitchen table. “Something about a new rock formation one of your colleagues wants to check out.” He pulled out a chair and strad
dled it, his eyes narrowing as he watched her make coffee. “I thought you might go back into the field after I left. What happened?”

“I’ve decided I like desk work,” she said. It was a bald-faced lie, but he couldn’t be told that. “I’m getting too old for fieldwork. Twenty-eight next birthday,” she added with a smile.

“I know.” He leaned his chin on his dark hands, clasped on the high back of the chair. “Still alone?” he pursued.

“There’s a nice man in my office. Divorced, two kids. We…go out together.” She glanced at him. “You?”

The geologist made him angry. Jealous. His dark eyes glittered and he found a weapon of his own. “There’s a widow who lives next door to my grandfather, on the reservation. No kids. She’s a great cook. No alarming habits.”

“And she’s Apache,” she said for him on a bitter, painful laugh.

“Yes,” he bit off. “She’s Apache. No complications. No social barriers. No adjustments.”

“Good for you. Going to marry her?”

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it without answering. The snub made her nervous.

She got down coffee cups and filled them. “Are you going to take off your coat, or is it glued on?”

He chuckled in spite of himself, shedding the expensive raincoat. She took it from him and carried it into the bedroom, to drape it carefully over the foot of her bed. A few minutes, that was all she had to get through. Then he’d go away, and she could again begin to try to get over him.

She went back into the kitchen, all smiles and courtesy and they talked about everything in the world except themselves. No matter what tactics he used to draw her out about her feelings, she parried them neatly. He was beginning to believe Eugene, that she had no
feelings left for him. And he had only himself to blame, he knew. He’d deliberately tried to hurt her, to chase her away. The fact that his motives had been good ones at the time counted for nothing. He felt empty and alone. He knew he was going to feel that way for the rest of his life. He’d almost certainly lost her. She talked about the fellow geologist as though he’d become her world.

He put out his second cigarette and glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go,” he said in a voice without expression.

“Another overseas assignment, no doubt,” she tried to sound cheery.

“Internal,” he replied. He glanced at her. “I’ve given up fieldwork, too. I lost the taste for it.”

That was surprising. He didn’t seem the type to thrive on a desk job. But then, she’d thought she wasn’t the type, either. She managed. Probably the widow didn’t want him in a dangerous job anymore, and he’d given it up for her sake. The thought made her sick.

“I’ll get your coat,” she said, smiling. Her face would be frozen in its assumed position by the time he left, she thought ruefully.

She picked up his coat from the bed. This would be the last time. He’d marry the widow and she’d never see him again. She’d lost him for good now. She drew his coat slowly to her breasts and cradled it against her, tears clogging her eyes, her throat. She brought it to her lips and kissed it with breathless tenderness, bending her head over it with a kind of pain she’d never felt before in her life. It held the faint scent of the cologne he wore, of the tobacco he smoked. It smelled of him, and the touch of it was precious. She was losing him forever. She didn’t know how she was going to live.

She straightened, feeling old and alone, wondering how she was going to go back in there and pretend that it didn’t matter about
his widow. That the past few months had been happy and full. That her life was fine without him in it.

In the other room, the man who’d happened to glance toward her bedroom had seen something reflected in the mirror facing the door that froze him where he stood. Her lighthearted act had convinced him that she didn’t care, that she never had. But that woman holding his coat loved him. The emotion he saw in her face would haunt him forever, humble him every time he remembered the anguish in those soft blue eyes. She wasn’t happy without him. He knew now that she’d been pretending ever since he’d walked into the apartment. She’d only been putting on an act about not caring, to hide her real feelings. He grimaced, thinking how close a call it had been. If he’d taken her act for granted and left, his life would never have been the same.

He caught his breath and turned away. All his former arguments about the reasons they were better apart vanished in an agony of need. If he walked out that door, she was going to die. If not physically, surely emotionally. She loved him that much. He loved her that much, too. It was vaguely frightening, to love to that degree. But even with the obstacles, they were going to make it. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life.

He took the coat from her when she rejoined him, her mask firmly in place again. She couldn’t know that he’d seen her through the mirror, so he didn’t let on. He wanted to see how far she was willing to go with the charade, if she could keep it up until he walked out. Now that he knew how she felt, it was like anticipating a Christmas present that was desperately wanted.

“It was nice to see you again,” she said as she went with him to the door.

“Same here.” He opened the door and stood silhouetted in it,
with his long back to her, looking alien and somehow unapproachable. “You haven’t said whether you were glad to see me, Jennifer,” he said quietly, without turning.

She lowered her eyes to the floor. “It’s always good to see old…friends, Phillip.”

He drew in his breath sharply. The sound of his name in her soft voice brought back unbearable memories. “Were we ever friends?”

“No. Not really. I’m…I’m glad…about your widow, I mean,” she said, unable to conceal a faint note of bitter anguish in her tone.

He sighed, still with his back to her. “The widow just turned eighty-two. She’s my godmother.”

Her heart jumped. She took a steadying breath. “The divorced man only takes me out so he can talk about his ex-wife. He still loves her.”

He turned. He shook his head, the light in his eyes disturbing, humbling. “Oh, God, what a close call we had! You little idiot, do you really think I came here on business?” He held out his arms and she went into them. And just that quickly, that easily, the obstacles were pushed aside, the loneliness of the past gone forever.

He bent to her mouth and hers answered it. She moaned, shuddering, her control gone forever.

He lifted his head, and had to fight her clinging arms. “I’m going to close and lock the door, that’s all,” he whispered shakily, reaching out to do it. “I don’t want the neighbors to watch us make love.”

“Are we going to?” she asked helplessly.

He nodded. “Oh, yes,” he said fervently. He bent, lifting her in his arms. “I love you,” he whispered at her lips, watching the soft, incredulous wonder grow in her face as he said it. “And now I’m going to prove it physically, in the intimacy of lovemaking. At least
I won’t have to hurt you, will I, little one?” he asked, smiling gently at the memory of that night in his house.

She clung to him, shivering helplessly, her face buried in the heated skin of his throat. “You won’t give me a child, ever, will you?” she whimpered.

His breath caught. He paused at the bedroom door, meeting her sad, hungry eyes. He started to speak, failed. He looked down at her mouth. “I won’t…use anything, if you like,” he whispered. His eyes went back up to hers, lost in their shocked delight. “It’s all right,” he said, his voice tender. “A child…will be all right.”

She was crying. He undressed her gently, but she couldn’t even see him through her tears. She loved him. He loved her. There would be children and years of being together, wherever they chose to live. On the reservation, off it, in the desert, anywhere at all.

She said so, seeing him come down on the bed beside her, a blur of mahogany skin and lean muscle.

“Say the words while I’m loving you,” he whispered, his lips slow and tender on her yielded body.

“The…words?” she echoed, arching as his mouth pressed down on her flat belly.

“That you love me,” he said lazily. “I said it, but you didn’t.”

“How could you not know?” she moaned achingly. “I offered myself every time you looked at me. I did everything but wear a button Oh!” She stiffened as his mouth touched her in an unexpected way.

He lifted his head, his eyes darkly smoldering. “Do you want that?” he whispered.

She almost didn’t answer him. She had a feeling that the experienced women he’d known had expected it, and an equally strong feeling that it was something he’d do for her sake, but never for his own.

She sat up, touching his lean face lovingly. “If you want it,” she whispered. “I…” Her eyes fell to his chest, and further. She caught her breath at the sight of him. “I’ll do anything you want me to.”

He tilted her eyes back up to his. “Is it something you want?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry…”

“Sorry!” He laughed with soft delight and caught her close, his mouth rough on her bare shoulder. “I’m as old-fashioned as you are, in some ways. Not really modern enough for this day and age. But if you want that kind of intimacy, you can have it.”

“Maybe someday,” she whispered. “When I’m less inhibited.” She flushed. “Right now, all of it is a little scary…”

He lifted his head and his dark eyes searched hers. “We’ll sit up this time, and you can control when it happens.”

She went scarlet. He brushed her mouth with his. “Don’t be shy,” he whispered into her lips. “It’s as new to me as it is to you, to make love and be in love. I don’t want to make it disappointing for you.”

“It could never be that,” she said gently. “Not with you.”

“Try to remember that it’s an art, like any other,” he said, brushing back her hair. “It isn’t perfection at first. It may be uncomfortable despite what we did in my bed that night, and there may not be much pleasure in it for you. I can make it up to you afterward.” He drew in a slow breath. “I’ve been without a woman for a long time, and my body isn’t always mine to control. I’ll hold back as long as I can….”

His anguish made her feel protective. She lifted her lips to his face and kissed his eyes closed, loving the newness of being in love, of being loved in return, of being wanted. “Whatever you do to me will be all right,” she whispered. “Love me, now, please. Teach me.”

“God, what a thing to tempt a man with,” he groaned. He eased her down on the bed, and his mouth found her with aching ex
pertness. He kissed and touched and teased until the flames were blazing in her slender body, until she was crying and twisting up to his mouth and hurting with her need of him.

She was only dimly aware when he moved, sitting back against the headboard with her body over his. He lifted her, his hands faintly tremulous, and positioned her so that she felt him suddenly in stark, hot intimacy.

Her eyes dilated, looking straight into his. He took her hands and placed them on his hips.

“Now,” he whispered.

She hesitated, but the strain in his face made her realize the torment he was enduring for her sake. She bit her lower lip and pushed. To her amazement, there was only a little discomfort, but not pain. She gasped.

He smiled gently, even through his excitement. “Yes,” he whispered. “I thought it might be so. There’s nothing to be afraid of now.”

His hands settled, warm and hard on her hips. He whispered to her, something that made her body shiver, something so intimate that she gasped and her blood surged in her veins. And at that moment, his hands jerked mercilessly and she felt the white-hot fury of sudden pleasure biting into her.