The Diva Diaries (5 page)

“Let's get you down from there before you fall,” he said with a flashing grin of white teeth.

“Right into your arms?” Her blood roaring in her
ears, she grinned back at him and felt a zing of danger. It settled into the pit of her stomach and tingled there. She liked the tingle.

Even though her feet hit the ground, his hands lingered at her waist. She liked that, too. He moved one big hand up and she thought that his hands looked too elegant for a rancher. He looked like he belonged in her world, playing the piano or holding the thin wood of a baton.

“I wouldn't mind,” he said, his voice harsh and low, his thumb moving in a slow circle around her throat.

“Neither would I. I bet you're real good at catching people,” she whispered. His light touch was magic, her nipples hardening beneath the flimsy material of her dress.

“Do you need catching?” Layers of meaning shaded his measured syllables. He cupped her neck.

“Maybe you should ask if I want to be caught.”

The night wind lifted the leaves of the cedars, shades of gray off to her left. She could hear the whisper of wings on the air as night owls hunted for their prey. The shimmer of stars were gone from his eyes, but were replaced by a gleam that was so much more tantalizing the longer she plumbed the depths of his gaze.

She could imagine they were in some other place where he could lay her down and stroke her softly, endlessly until she whimpered and her eyes widened with need. Where she could see every nuance of his face, every pleasure-filled expression, see the light in those eyes burn brighter, hotter.

And then in that bright, clean place, he would burn inside her.

“Do you want to be caught?” he asked, tilting her face up to his.

“Maybe. Temporarily.”

“Temporary suits me.”

“It would have to, because my life is my music.” She leaned into his touch. She knew what she
should
do, but his warmth was too enticing and she'd gone so long without that warmth.

He closed his eyes when her face moved insistently against his palm. “Music can't catch you.”

“Sure it can, it always has. It always will.”

He stilled, looking deeply into her eyes. “This is a warning?”

She realized it was. A warning that no matter what happened, music would have to come first. She knew when she was very young that she had to choose. Her gran had chosen love, but her mother had chosen music. Jenna would, too. It made her squirm inside to realize in that respect she was just like her mother. But the difference between them was that Jenna wouldn't use people. Her mother was a user. She manipulated and cajoled. Jenna preferred to take the straight tack. Even if it meant a head-on collision.

“When I have sex with a man, I like for him to know what I'm about.”

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Every time you look at me, Sam, I feel ravished.”

He groaned softly, leaning closer to her. He lowered his head. She lifted her chin. His mouth found hers, soft and willing.

She didn't mean for him to kiss her, not when she was strung-out with too little sleep and too much postconcert adrenaline jazzing up her insides, not when her guard was down and her hunger so powerful.

She kissed him back, tasting the answering hunger that had him driving her fast into passion, yet not fast enough for the hunger spiraling inside her.

Slanting his mouth across hers, he tugged at her lower lip, opening her mouth and deepening the kiss, tongue to tongue, stroking the innermost places.

She opened for him, his mouth warm and welcoming, inviting the sweep of his tongue.

She'd thought she'd only whimper with need.

Instead, his touch made her twist restlessly against him, one knee sliding up the side of his thigh, and he cupped her, pulling her into his rhythm, pulse to pulse in urgent, tearing need in the night.

And she found that this, after all, was what she wanted.

Him, against her, pushing her with each light touch of his hand. Her tucking her fingers into his waistband and dislodging his shirt as she brushed her knuckles against him, drowning in mindless dangerous sensation.

Jenna clung to him as if the world ended and began with Sam Winchester, exploded and recreated itself in his touch on her, hers on him.

She sighed in delight as Sam impatiently hooked his thumb into the silky material covering her breast and pulled the material away from her throbbing nipple.

Pushing her against the truck, he used his other
hand to shift the material up her legs until he could cradle himself in the vee of her legs, flush against her groin. He rocked his hips at the same time his hot, wet mouth engulfed her straining nipple. And he made her ache to have his touch on her, in her. Where he thrust, she yielded; where she retreated, he followed in a dance as old as time, as new as innocence.

Running her fingertips up the thick, well-defined muscles of his ribs, she flattened her hand against his skin. He buried his groan in the curve of her breast, his breath hot against her as he nipped the tip and held it between his teeth, the delicate pain trembling through her in an unending wave of shivers.

“Oh God, Jenna,” he muttered against her breast, pulling her tight against him, taking her shivers and blending them with his shuddering response to the feel of her fingers. “I want you. God help me, but I want you so much it's killing me. Every time I touch you…”

And he took her mouth, gripping the sides of her head between his hands while the rough material of his jacket shot ripples of pleasure through her charged system. She lost all sense of anything except the drumming of her body against his, or his against hers—she no longer knew which. His flesh, hers, intertwined, humming with shared energy, both of them captive to that strumming beat.

She pulled her hand from his shirt and cupped him through the trousers he wore. He gasped against her, losing the measured rhythm of the kiss. She loved knowing his control was unraveling.

With his breath harsh and his lungs pumping, he
pushed against her hand in a mindless slide. Another low groan rumbled in his chest.

Somewhere in the deep recess of her mind where memories lived, she must have known this bliss of skin on skin and a man's dark, stubbled face against hers, this yielding to the mellifluous flow tingling through her.

But if her mind held such a memory, how could she have forgotten the experience? How would she have been able to separate herself from the thrilling buzz along her skin, the yearning to get beyond the silken barrier of skin to the core that beckoned?

Fear, like ice water, flooded her veins and she let go of him. Cupping his face, she brought it up to her. “You understand what this would be, right?”

He looked at her, confused, his eyes glazed. Her heart turned over. He looked so vulnerable she didn't want to say the words, but they had to be said. She couldn't have him believing there could be anything more. She couldn't bear to hurt him.

His eyes cleared and she smiled at the slash of wicked danger in the night.

“Sex, darlin'. Just sex. Is that what you want to hear?”

He drew away and tucked in his shirt and she wondered if he needed something to do with his hands so he wouldn't reach for her again.

“That's right. Not love, not friendship. Lust, sex, getting our groove on. Whatever you want to call it.”

Jenna saw him retreat and part of her wanted to cry, but he had to be on the same page as she was. Her gran had wanted Jenna to read the diary to dis
cover that this kind of passion was possible. Jenna realized now she'd found it, here in Sam's arms. She wanted it with him, but it had to be on her terms. He would have to agree.

“Damn, Jenna, you know how to kill the moment.”

“Don't worry. I'll still respect you in the morning,” she jeered, knowing that she would do more than that, but she couldn't let on.

His melting smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “That makes it easy on me. Temporary sex with a fancy city gal suits me just fine.” His words were tough and struck hard, but she didn't buy them. The sound of his impassioned voice when he'd told her he wanted her made her heart tighten with an ache she'd never experienced before. He was using them as a defense mechanism. It was something she understood and accepted.

“That's all I can give.”

“Tell you what, darlin', since you're trying so hard to convince me, why don't you decide when and where and let me know?”

She rearranged her dress just as she heard the scuff of boots on gravel.

“Sam. That you?”

Sam bent down, retrieved his Stetson and jammed it on his head. “Yeah, what is it, Tooter?”

She could hear the frustration in his voice.

“Just wanted to tell you it looks like the calving started, too. Black Beauty dropped a fine, strapping fella.”

“Thanks, Tooter. Let's go have a look.” He
grabbed Jenna's elbow and escorted her none too gently to the house. “I reckon you can make it from here.”

She lifted her chin. “I reckon I can.”

He was the kind of man who wasn't down for long. She could see it in the set of his broad shoulders. As easy and as lazy as a long, hot summer day, that smile had returned and, with it, a healthy dose of trouble.

“We're straight, city gal. But before you lay that pretty head down on your pillow tonight, why don't you think about the reason you're trying so hard not to like me?”

“I'm not trying that hard.”

He laughed and she couldn't help herself, she was charmed down to her toes. Damn him, she wanted to kiss that laughing mouth.

So she did. Just grabbed the back of his neck, angled her head under the hat and kissed his startled mouth. Then she looked him in the eye. “Mmm, you are starting to grow on me,” she said, before she licked her lips. She turned and sauntered into the house, smiling when she heard his very quiet, very fierce one-word epithet.

“Damn.”

She made her way up the dim staircase to her designated room. Going over to the window, she watched him walk to the barn with Tooter. She was a fool. She had to relegate Sam as a distraction, a nuisance. The diary was her primary concern. Here she'd been in his home for two days and she still hadn't found even the desk, let alone the diary. Just when she thought she might have a chance to search the house,
she saw Sam emerge from the barn. She stepped into the shadows, noticing how he glanced up at her window while he walked. Keep it light. Keep it shallow. She moved to the bed, weary and lonely. She'd just lie down for a moment and wait Sam out. He'd go to bed soon and when he did, she'd look for the diary. A sudden, desperate need to find her grandmother's legacy gripped her.

Her gran had talked about love and about time running out. For Jenna, her time ran out the moment she'd picked up the bow and dragged it across the strings of the violin.

A dedicated musician couldn't have both a loving family and a successful career. Her own family was proof enough.

Nope, she didn't want to get in over her head with Sam.

So why did it feel as if she were already drowning?

J
ENNA WOKE
with a start, still in her dress and hose. She'd pulled the comforter over her in the night, so at least she hadn't been cold. She looked at the clock on the nightstand and saw that it was four o'clock. Her internal clock seemed to still be tuned to New York time.

She let herself drift and when she next opened her eyes, she saw that it was six o'clock. Pushing out from under the covers, she realized that she'd fallen asleep last night while waiting for Sam to do the same. She promised herself that today there'd be no more distractions. Jenna was no closer to discovering where Sam had placed her grandmother's rolltop desk than she was when she'd first arrived three days ago.

She stretched and reached back to unzip her dress, but the zipper caught and, no matter how she tugged, she couldn't get it free.

She slipped off the edge of the bed and walked to the door, hoping that Maria might be nearby. Jenna peered into the hallway and saw Sam come out of his bedroom. When he saw her, he froze.

She closed her eyes in mortification when he started forward. “Jenna?”

“Could you…” Her voice trailed off.

“Could I what?” he asked, walking over to her, an intrigued look on his face.

Jenna turned, closing her eyes. The heat of him permeated her clothing. She smelled the muskiness of his skin. She felt his desire like a tangible force. She felt the power of it, sensed his barely controlled passion. And she wanted, as she'd never wanted before. Just to lean into him to take the burden of her own desire off her shoulders. Just to let it go and see where it led her. But she couldn't, not now. She needed to have time alone to search his house. If she enticed him into her room, where would it lead? She could see herself spending the whole day in bed with this man.

She felt his hot breath against her ear. “What do you want, Jenna?” he whispered.

Her voice a hoarse rasp, she asked, “Could you please unzip my dress? I fell asleep with my clothes on last night. Now the zipper is caught.”

“Sure. Is that all you need?”

His gentle fingers found the zipper and he fiddled with the tab, separating the fabric from the zipper's teeth. His fingers brushed her skin. She shivered and felt his body heat against her back like a lick of flame. He pulled the tab down her back. His fingers trailed along her spine in a tingling slide. They were strong, masculine hands that were very good at holding a woman, stroking, caressing. Every touch seemed intimate beyond her belief.

“That's all I need for now,” she replied.

The need flared in her, hot and urgent. His lower body pressed up against her softly rounded buttocks.
His heat scorched her. She could feel the hardness of his arousal press into her. An ache tied her stomach in knots, sent a rush of heat over her exposed skin and sparked a fire that began to burn.

He lifted her heavy hair off her left shoulder, pushing the mass aside. Then she felt his lips on the curve of her neck and heat burst through her. Right now everything seemed as it should be. God help her, but she desired him, his touch, his body. His mouth moved to the top of her shoulder and he very softly kissed her exposed skin.

His hand settled at her waist and she reached down and covered his hand.

“I never did tell you last night how beautifully you play.” He whispered against her ear, sending prickles of heat stabbing into the tips of her breasts.

Gently she squeezed his hand. “Thanks.” His breath gusted out. She released his fingers, and he removed his hand.

His fingertips brushed along her scalp, sending little prickles of heat into her neck as he gathered her hair in his hands and smoothed it down her back.

“Are you on your way out to do chores?”

“I have to get into the hayloft today and tidy up. I have meetings this afternoon with the Savannah Hospital fund-raising group.” He was silent for a moment as if weighing his next words. “Would you like to come?”

The seductive cadence to his voice made her almost want to agree with everything he said. She took a deep, shuddering breath. Joy leaped inside her. It would give her ample time to search. “Sounds like
you'll be busy all day. I'm sorry, so will I. I have a reception with the faculty and chair of the music department at one o'clock at Savannah College along with a rehearsal at three. I have to get in some practice time today, as well.”

She clasped her hands together, desperately needing something to do with them or she'd soon have them all over his enticing, hard-muscled body.

Unabashed and unapologetic, she escaped. There was no other word for the way she scampered away from him, gave him a quick smile and shut the door.

Was it because she wanted the morning to find the desk or was it because he unnerved her like no other man ever had? Made her insides curl into knots and her heart beat hard and uneven. Or was she just being…well, practical?

Maybe not. Practical women knew how to retreat gracefully.

Cowards knew when to run and Jenna had been running as she backed away from the door. She shucked her dress, her hose, and hotfooted it for the safety of the bathroom before she did something really foolish like throw the door open, grab Sam and slake her desire with the hardness of his body.

The water was steaming hot and relaxing as she sighed beneath its spray. She was determined to get to that desk this morning and remove the diary. Then she could go to her events this afternoon secure in the knowledge that she'd fulfilled her gran's dying wish.

Guilt stabbed at her when she realized she'd barely thought of Gran in the past twenty-four hours. Gran
had been a staunch supporter for as long as Jenna could remember. It used to pain her that her mother only breezed through her life. Her disappointment and dislike of her mother had never left her. It'd been hard for a five-year-old to take, but now she had learned to live with her mother's behavior, and realized that love and music couldn't mix. One had to lose. It was the same with her gran. Susanna had left the opera for her husband and tiny granddaughter. Jenna thanked God every day for her gran's sacrifice.

Jenna had no intention of letting her feelings get in the way of her music career. She was at the height of her fame and she intended to stay there as long as she could. Music was a safe pursuit. She understood it, unlike the emotions of desire and need, which were confusing and always led to a loss of control.

The second time she opened her door that morning it was quiet in the house. Sam was at the barn and it was still very early. She glanced at Sam's bedroom door, wondering if the desk could be inside. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the hall and turned the knob. The door swung open on silent hinges.

She stepped inside the sunny room. Her eyes roamed over the simple cedar furniture, the big double bed with a colorful Native American comforter, a dresser and a nightstand. Near a window, a big overstuffed chair sat, and beyond were the pastures where longhorn cattle grazed.

No rolltop desk, and that should have been the end of it. Yet she couldn't bring herself to leave.

She went to the dresser and scanned the contents: a man's very old pocket watch, a simple star with a
circle and some loose change. Jenna picked up the watch and examined the silver timepiece. It was a priceless antique. Jenna had been around them enough in her life to know one when she saw it. She pushed on the winder. The faceplate snapped up, revealing the clock beneath. Inside, the inscription read, To My Beloved Husband, Silas, with All My Heart. Love, Savannah.

The personal words made her realize that she was snooping through Sam's private belongings. Appalled at herself but unable to stop, she gently closed the timepiece.

Next, she picked up the star and easily identified it as a Texas Ranger badge. Bringing it close to her eyes, she could see that around the circle it read, Department of Public Safety, Texas Rangers, Company A. Sam was a man with a rich past, just like Jenna, who had the burden of her gran's scandalous diaries.

Perhaps a man like Sam would understand if Jenna just explained to him how important her gran's mementos were to her. Except she remembered her expectation that a judge would understand the legalities of an illegally auctioned desk and return all items found in that desk. She couldn't take the chance.

She approached the bed and imagined his big body sprawled there among the blankets and pillows and her stomach jumped. She ran her hand over the footboard, carved with the skull of a longhorn, the long, thin horns reaching from one end to the other. Belts and chaps were draped over one corner, along with the white shirt he'd worn to the concert. Stepping around the numerous boots in jumbled disarray at the
foot of the bed, she reached out and snagged the shirt, bringing it to her nose. She was used to sweet-smelling men, but Sam didn't wear cologne. He didn't need the artificial scent. Breathing deep, she took in the wonderful, enticing fragrance of Sam.

She closed her eyes and savored the aroma. It was like no other: leather, wind, soap, raw and all-consuming.

The front door slammed and Jenna heard quick footsteps cross the foyer and start up the stairs. She hooked the shirt back on the post and headed for the door. She made the threshold just as Maria came to the foot of the stairs.

Jenna stepped through the open door. She could hardly believe she'd been going so thoroughly through his things. A blush rushed into her cheeks.

“If you're looking for Sam, he's in the barn. I saw him when I dropped Cal off twenty minutes ago. I'm way behind schedule because of that talkative Tooter. Would you mind telling Sam breakfast will be served in a jiffy?”

Jenna smiled and tried to ease her fast-beating heart. “I'd be happy to. Thanks.”

She headed for the stairs as Maria went into his bedroom. Jenna could see her gathering up his dirty clothes. She sighed, her only thought was that Sam's shirt would get washed.

Halfway to the barn, Jenna started to get nervous, feel as if she'd gotten a glimpse into Sam's soul. The star and the pocket watch said so much about him and she hungered for more.

“Sam, are you in here?” The floor of the loft above squeaked, and hay and dirt rained down.

When he came into view, he was naked from the waist up, except for a blue bandanna tied around his strong throat. His dark hair lay thick and wet against the back of his neck.

The black Stetson sat on his head, she presumed to keep the hair off his face, the brim pulled down so that his intense eyes were in shadow. Shadow that kissed the sleek line of his bare arms and pooled in the hollow of his throat.

All that was visible was the stubble on his cheeks and chin, which only accentuated his chiseled lips and strong cheekbones. Well-used brown leather gloves covered his hands for protection.

Her words dried up. She was struck dumb and all she could do was stare. She watched as a trickle of perspiration slid down his chest, over the taut muscles of his stomach to soak into the already wet waistband of his jeans. Jenna licked her lips, almost able to taste the sleek saltiness of his skin.

He crouched and lowered his voice. “What's the matter, darlin'? Cat got your tongue?”

She watched the soft beaten denim stretch and remembered the heavy muscles of Sam's thighs as he had straddled her the night before. Her voice came out hoarse. “No. Just got a little bit of dust in my eyes.”

She couldn't help watching him, her eyes roaming over the sleekness of his chest.

He hesitated, his blue eyes flashing in the semidarkness of the barn.

Sam put his hands on the edge of the loft's floor. With a deft turn, he swung his body off the lip and let himself drop down to the hay below, landing securely on his black-booted feet.

Sam strode, then stopped just inches from her. Heat radiated off him. The musky smell of him made for a heady combination.

His eyes caressed her face and she knew that her desire for him was written there. So easy for him to read.

He stripped off the gloves and moved close to her. “Let me see that dust.”

He stuck the gloves in his back pocket and leaned even closer. Instinctively she reached out to steady herself and her hand came into contact with his wide chest. His breathing quickened as he peered into her eyes. His hands came up to her face and she flinched suddenly.

“Steady,” he murmured in a coaxing voice he probably used on his horses and longhorns. His hands were rough and callused from hard work. How could they be so gentle? Jenna ached with the comfort of his hand on her face, with the warmth of his breath on her forehead, stirring the fine strands at her hairline. She could feel the steady strength of his heartbeat beneath her hand where it lay against moist, hard flesh.

He frowned slightly and said, “They look fine to me. You telling me stories?”

She gulped, desperate for composure, knowing she wasn't going to find it with him standing so close. “Okay, I lied. I was a little taken aback by your lack
of attire. You don't see many males running around like that in New York.”

“My lack of…well, shoot. Does it bother your delicate sensibilities?”

“No.”

“No? So it doesn't bother you?”

“Yes.”

“It does.”

“Not really…Sam, you're confusing me.” She closed her eyes, hoping, praying for composure.

He smiled and stepped closer. “Want me to put on a shirt?”

“No…I mean, yes.”

He crowded against her. “What is it? Yes or no?”

“You are exasperating. Your body doesn't offend me.” She took a deep breath. “I came down here because I thought you might be hungry and Maria's about to serve.”

“I know all about hunger, Jenna. The kind that burns in my gut every time you look at me like you're doing right now.”

Jenna, feeling trapped, tried to take the upper hand. “Sam, are you going soft on me?”

Her words died as he slipped his arm around her waist, his forearm tightening against her lower back. Dragging in a ragged breath, he pulled her against him. “Darlin', there isn't anything
soft
about me right now.”