The Diva Diaries (7 page)

“I hope we can have dinner together tonight,” he said as he took her hand, then looked at it in surprise. “Jenna, your hand's like ice.”

She was chilled. Chilled that she had to lie to Sam, who really seemed like a decent man, but again she couldn't risk it. She felt the heat from his big hands engulf hers and she smiled up into his concerned face. “It'll be fine. I'm going to practice and my hands always warm to the strings. Go take your shower before you're late. You've already spent enough time entertaining me.”

“Not nearly enough,” he said, letting her go. “I enjoy your company.”

She felt guilt surface inside her. It was an emotion she hadn't expected. She could at least tell this much of the truth. “I enjoy yours, too.”

He turned and disappeared into his room and Jenna moved to her door. Entering, she left the door ajar so she could see when Sam passed. She pulled a chair next to the window, picked up her violin case and set it on the bed. The gleaming Stradivarius caught the sunlight from the window, blinding her for a moment. She took out the bow and examined the bow hairs, picked up the rosin and applied it generously to the bow until she was satisfied.

She heard the water go on in Sam's bathroom and glanced up, momentarily distracted by the thought of
him naked and under the spray as she'd been only hours before.

Hard, thick muscle and warm, wet skin and the exciting smell of him. She wasn't going to leave this house until she'd had her full taste of that passion Gran had described in her diary. She wanted to wrap herself around Sam until she blended with him, pulled from him the music of ecstasy with the strength of her hands. She looked down at her fingers wrapped around the bow. It would only be a taste of passion, though, because her music eclipsed everything.

Jenna lamented that she didn't have more friends outside the music business, felt regret that she wouldn't marry or mother children. The fire inside her to perform burned with a fervor that she couldn't overcome. She closed her eyes and admitted to herself that, in that realization, she was her mother's daughter. Selfish and unwilling to let anything intrude. Oh, there were subtle differences. Where her mother embraced fame, sought it out and nurtured it, Jenna accepted it for what it was, and understood that it was necessary for her to be allowed to continue to play. To express herself in the lilting chords of music, the flow of the bow, the vibration of the instrument, the feel of the wood against her skin.

Where her mother wanted worship, Jenna wanted only to perform. Where her mother took from people and hurt them beyond repair, Jenna shunned intimacy, unwilling to subject another living soul to her obsession with her music.

It was true she'd found herself alone most of her life. She'd filled those hours with a companion that
couldn't leave her or hurt her, because it was an inanimate object. Her true talent lay, not in the instrument, but in herself. And, in that self-containment, she felt secure.

She walked to the door with the bow in her hand and looked at Sam's room. It wasn't that she couldn't care about him—she could, deeply. It was that she wouldn't let herself, wouldn't let him into her life because hers was given over to the music.

And she would not see him a burned-out, twisted, empty hulk of a man, as her father had been before he'd disappeared from her life. Love was a powerful and intense enemy, but Jenna would fight against it with all she had. Sam needed a woman who wanted to stay put and give him children. To embrace the ranching life and everything he was. Jenna couldn't. Her life was her concerts and one city after another.

Her life
was
the music.

The water turned off and she heard his bathroom door open. Earlier, he'd shut the door to his bedroom, but it hadn't latched. In the gap between the jamb and the edge of the bedroom door, she could see him toweling himself off, oblivious to her eyes.

Her mouth went dry at the rousing sight of him. Sleek muscles delineated from tough physical work, ripples of steel through his thighs from hours in the saddle, a flat washboard stomach, thick, wide chest, broad shoulders and arms that really knew how to hold a woman.

Unprepared for the sudden desire that stabbed through her, Jenna leaned into the doorjamb for sup
port. She'd never been so aroused by simply looking at a man.

But Sam was so much more than a body. He had quick intelligence and a wry sense of humor, responsibility to a town that was his own special, cherished legacy, courage and strength and a gentleness that brought tears to her eyes.

He used the towel on his hair and rubbed it with vigor, just as he did all things, with an intense, contained energy that must vibrate through him.

He disappeared from her sight, but then was back, his hair neatly combed off his face. His upper body disappeared and then reappeared as he stepped into a pair of black briefs, then black socks. Then the black dress pants, the silky electric-blue T-shirt that hugged the contours of his chest. Efficient and confident, he slipped a black belt through the loops in the pants, twisting his upper torso until he buckled it over his groin. He pulled on a pair of shiny black boots. With a quick shrug, he slipped into the Western-cut coat and grabbed the black Stetson.

She retreated away from the door as he disappeared from sight again. She could only imagine he was grabbing his wallet, putting on his watch and slipping that loose change into his pocket with those maddening, graceful hands.

She heard his footsteps as he left the room. He glanced in just as she put the bow to the violin. Waving casually, he smiled. “Have a good day.”

When she acknowledged him with a little smile, he angled his head and held her hostage for a few extra seconds. The bright shirt intensified the color of his
eyes. Eyes she could get lost in, she thought, as he broke eye contact. In two strides he was across the room, cupping her face, leaning down and kissing her. His scent filled her as she closed her eyes and absorbed every sensation. He broke the kiss and then he was gone.

She waited until she heard the front door slam. Placing the violin and bow back in the case, she walked to the window and saw him get into his truck after a quick wave to Cal, who was bringing a magnificent black stallion out of the barn.

His truck disappeared over the rise. She walked silently back to the office. But at the sound of a vehicle, Jenna froze. Had Sam forgotten something? She rushed back to the front of the house and had her foot on the first step of the stair when there was a loud knock on the door.

Jenna hesitated, turned and walked into the foyer. Through the glass, she could see three men waiting outside. She opened the door and the tallest one smiled at her. “Sam or Maria?”

“Both of them are gone.”

“No problem. I'm Jake Stanton and these are my two sons. The crown molding came in finally and we're here to finish Sam's office. We'll try to keep the noise down to a minimum.”

Frustration and disappointment filled her chest. Damn, when was she going to get a break? She tried to appear unruffled and graciously opened the door the rest of the way. “I'll be leaving soon myself, so your noise won't bother me.”

Just then, Maria's car appeared in the distance and Jenna knew that there was no use trying to search the desk during the day. She'd have to give it a shot tonight.

October 10, 1957

“Dance with me,” he demanded.

The reception, where I was the center of attention, faded into insignificance. My eyes locked on his dark, compelling face, and I let him lead me onto the dance floor. Moving into his arms was heaven. I couldn't control the tiny sigh of absolute satisfaction as he drew me close enough to feel the beating of his heart. He was a gorgeous man—dark hair, dark liquid eyes and a burning fire in them to possess me.

I knew who he was. I'd heard rumors that he was a prince of Egypt, descended from the pharaohs and that he was a connoisseur of women, which meant he might be the one. The perfect passion that I'd been searching for.

He said he wanted me to join him at his palace. He said he desired me.

We stood in the middle of the floor, bodies melded, hearts thudding as one. Of course, I protested leaving the reception, but he insisted that the festivities could go on without me.

I wanted to experience the forbidden with him,
so I left and soon found myself whisked to his palace on the edge of Cairo.

He brought me into an amazing room that had a bubbling fountain in it along with small divans with numerous pillows.

He wasted no time as he pulled me to him and kissed my lips. He tasted of heady wine and the exotic. My mouth felt sensitized and tingled with each kiss he gave me until I was moaning into his hard kisses.

He took each piece of clothing off as if this were some kind of a dance to him. I loved his rhythm, this humming delight I couldn't contain.

His mouth was hot on my body, my breasts. I cried out when I felt him pour something heavy onto my breast. When I opened my eyes, I saw him smile. He held a jar in his hand and I could see the thick amber liquid was honey. He told me that I was an exquisite flower. I giggled like an idiot. No man had ever said such a thing to me.

Then he dipped his fingers in the honey and brought it to my lips. I thought I would come apart at the seams, as I tasted the sweetness on my tongue. He kissed me, savoring the taste, too, his tongue exploring my mouth. Then he lowered his head and took my nipple into his mouth, sucking at the honey and my flesh.

I writhed beneath him and, still, as he suckled me, he poured the honey over my other breast. A delicious tightness filled my groin at the feel of the amber liquid sliding over my hot, taut nipple. When his tongue caught and followed the slide of
the honey to my aching bud, I cried out and climaxed, the sensations exploding inside me like firecrackers.

He took me then, pushing his hard, full heat inside me in one penetrating thrust. Another climax was upon me and I gave myself over to his lovemaking.

Afterward, as I lay sated in his arms, he told me about his ancestors and produced these jewel-encrusted rings. Of course, in my naiveté, I thought they were earrings. But he soon told me that they didn't go into the ears, but attached to the nipples and women wore them as an erotic enticement to their men. I was intrigued by them and asked him how the women went about getting their nipples pierced.

He asked me if I would be interested in wearing them for him. I told him that they excited me and that I wanted to try.

October 12, 1957

The next time we came together, I disrobed for him and danced to the fast-paced Moroccan music coming from his Victrola. When I revealed my breasts, he gasped at the sight of the rings in my nipples. I felt such power over him, his desire clear on his face. The rings swung from my flesh and felt so decadently erotic that I climaxed while I danced.

When the music ended, he pulled me down onto the divan and rasped his tongue over my pierced nipples. It was like no sensation I've ever felt before as I climaxed so hard I could barely catch my
breath. Then he was inside me, taking me back up to the heights of passion.

It was only later when he was asleep that I lay in his arms and ached inside. Why? I don't know. It was more and all that I wanted to experience, but I just don't know why I feel this way.

I left Egypt with the rings, the memory of his lovemaking and nothing more.

 

Jenna lay on the four-poster bed in her room and closed the diary, breathing hard, aching with unfilled desire. Such passion and need taken and enjoyed in abandon. How would it feel to let go? Perhaps that was the lesson of the diary and the passages written in her gran's delicate hand.

The day had passed in a whirlwind of activity. Once the Stantons arrived Jenna abandoned the desk, as she'd gone on to rehearse for some time in the college's beautiful theater. The acoustics were so deliciously right for each note she played.

The reception for students and faculty was a blur of faces, questions and appreciation. She greeted, answered, talked, ate and had a wonderful time. The people in this small town were generous and sweet.

When she'd gotten back to the Wildcatter, Maria was there and Sam had already arrived, as well, but he'd missed dinner because six longhorns had dropped their brood, along with another two mares. It was long past midnight and she'd heard him come in an hour ago. He was probably asleep by now and she would be free to search the desk.

She got up from the bed, tucking the red diary back
into her briefcase. It was time to go find the other diary and that scandalous jewelry. Nipple rings?

Her gran was an adventurous one and it made her suddenly wonder how that would feel.

Jenna slipped out of her room, drawing the diaphanous nightgown around her. She glanced toward Sam's room, the longing inside her more intense than she'd yet felt. Reading her gran's diary always seemed to put her on edge.

She imagined him in that bed, the covers dislodged, the moonlight painting his skin. She leaned against the wall and brought herself under control. Her rampant desires would have to wait.

She descended the stairs quietly and made her way to the office. Twisting the handle, she opened the door. In the dim light she saw the figure of a man sitting in a leather chair with his arm bent, a glint of a glass halfway to his lips.

“Jenna?”

Sam was still up and she was caught. He stood, setting the glass on the table next to the chair. She moved into the room unable to retreat. He stood and she got a glimpse of his face. He seemed different tonight somehow. His eyes were hooded and intense. He looked as if he was in need of relaxation.

It was apparent that he'd just finished showering. His dark hair was damp, curling around his neck and feathering across his forehead. The dark blue chamois shirt that he wore made his eyes shine like lasers and was gaping open, allowing her a tantalizing view of his chest. Her eyes noted his well-worn blue jeans, unbuttoned and loose around his trim waist.

“What are you doing up so late? You must be tired,” Jenna said breathlessly, trying to cover up her surprise and her sudden devastating arousal.

“I can't sleep. It's either this or spend my time howling at the moon.” He ran a hand through his hair, displacing his shirt so that she caught a glimpse of his muscular ribs.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She reached over and snatched his glass of whiskey, needing the distraction. She took too large a swallow and coughed. The whiskey spread like wildfire in her chest and she gasped, dumping the remainder of the liquid down the front of her gown.

Jenna looked at the wet stain. The whiskey dampened a path of silk over one nipple and left a narrow line of shadow all the way to her groin. His eyes tracked the movement of the liquid, watching with narrowed intent the expansion of the whiskey as it was absorbed into the silk of her nightgown.

She blinked rapidly, her eyes tearing from the potent liquid. She wasn't a drinker, and what had possessed her to take such a deep swallow could only be labeled as unease.

She dared to meet Sam's eyes and what she saw there made the glass drop from her nervous fingers. With his chest heaving, he stood, staring at her with a hot gaze burning in his eyes, and desire etched in the very sinew of his muscles. His eyes raked over her body with such a possessive, savage look that she felt a surge of warm, wet desire saturate the soft curls of her femininity. A look that made her tremble, a look that submerged her in sultry need.

His power, his masculine beauty, and his blatant purpose for her captivated Jenna.

Dark blue eyes, hot with a look of stark desire collided with her deep brown ones. She felt that collision throughout her, igniting her passion.

She parted the open shirt and pushed the material off his shoulders. The shirt fell to the carpet. She brushed her fingers along the strong breastbone that defined his torso. Feathering her palms over the hard nub of his nipple, he hissed in a breath. The sound caused little frissons of heat to dance in her stomach, multiply on her skin. With a soft sound, she hesitated, closing her eyes. She wanted him so much, her blood a pounding tempo in her head, but she just had to be clear about what she wanted from him. She was losing the indifference she usually had when she took her pleasure with a man. It frightened her down to her toes.

She trailed her hands across his chest and walked behind him. Pressing against his back, she placed her lips on the corded muscles of his heavy trapezius muscle and kissed his hot skin. With her hands, she molded the taut thickness, skimming her hand down his spine. She turned her head and her hand froze.

The desk stood in the darkness like a crouching giant ready to destroy and conquer. Guilt assaulted her in waves. Seducing Sam to get to the diary made her feel cheap. Anything they had together would be tainted by her duplicity.

Sam turned, took hold of her upper arms and drew her close.

“Do you enjoy torturing me?”

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the material of her nightgown across her breast and lowered his mouth. The hot, wet, unbearable sensation of his clever mouth made Jenna loose her tentative control. He sucked hard on her nipple and a broken cry came from her as she twisted against his mouth.

She looked up at him and suddenly was overwhelmed by her needs, her emotions. With a sob, she darted away from him and ran from the office.

He caught her halfway up the stairs. “Jenna, shoot, I'm sorry. I thought you were teasing me. I didn't mean to scare you.”

She struggled against his hold. His hand dropped of its own accord and traveled quickly to fasten on her waist. She freed herself from his grasp and fled to her room, trying to turn away the out-of-control sensation taking over her body.

She stopped suddenly, stunned at the woman she saw in the full-length cheval mirror. Her face was taut and wild, her eyes deep and sultry. Her mouth was red as a berry, her body lush, her nipples beaded against the black silk of her gown. Through the dim light from the hall she could see the outline of her body.

Sam came up behind her. He groaned softly when he saw what she saw. She watched him in the reflection of the mirror. His mouth went to her throat, his lips burned her skin. Her gaze was momentarily cut off as her eyes closed and a shivery sensation cascaded like warm rain along her heated body.

Her eyes flew open when she felt his hands in her hair. Slowly, seductively she watched his rapt face,
lingering on the hard-chiseled mouth and strongly arrogant jaw as he removed the elastic that held her hair in a braid. The simple unraveling of her hair had changed into a provocative act. Her shimmering hair came free in a wild, tumbling mass around her shoulders.

Sam lowered the narrow straps of her gown down her slim arms and dipped his head to kiss the exposed skin of her back. The thin material slid down to her wrists. When he raised his head again, she wiggled from the narrow straps, her hands reaching back to cup his head. Twisting her face to him, she sought his mouth.

He pulled her even closer, lowered his mouth and met hers. Her lips were hot, wet, tangy with the flavor of the whiskey. It wasn't whiskey that caused this heady feeling, this intoxicating passion.

With his mouth still firmly on her enticing lips, he lifted her up to his ravenous kiss. He slanted his mouth across hers for a better, more satisfying angle. His tongue skimmed over hers and then captured it.

Releasing her mouth, he saw that the damp fabric had caught on one of her taut nipples and he groaned softly as he reached up and freed the silk. Her pouting nipple thrust against his fingers as Jenna cried out, arching her back into his chest. With a tug, he set the material free. His eyes watched in the mirror at the sensuous glide of the silky fabric as it slipped down her body to pool on the floor around her feet. He watched his face contort into an agony of pleasure as he fought for mastery over his highly aroused body. He waited for the heated, electrifying rush to ease.
She had on nothing but a tiny piece of silk, obscuring her lusciousness from him.

He thrust his hips against her buttocks sliding his hands up over her hips to her sleek belly, trailing his fingertips over her ribs. Jenna moved feverishly against him.

His mouth went to her shoulder, sliding his tongue along her sweet skin to her neck at the same time he cupped her pretty, shapely breasts, her tight pink nipples drawn to firm points against the palms of his hands.

Sam raised his head slightly and looked into the mirror with narrowed eyes. It was obvious to him that Jenna was beyond herself, lost in the drugging sensation of his hands, and a powerful need drove through him. Sparks danced inside him at the smooth, full feel of her breasts in his hands. His breath caught at the sharp sensation, so powerful it made him ache.

He slid his hand down until he found the core of her, hidden from him. He rubbed his thumb rhythmically against the nerve-rich nub. Jenna cried out and he sighed with satisfaction as she bucked hard against him.

Jenna turned toward him, her hands sliding down his chest to the waistband. With sure, tantalizing movements, she pressed the heel of her hand against the hard, long length straining against his fly. The pulsating hardness in his groin nearly exploded when she slipped her fingers beneath the waistband. He ground his mouth hungrily against hers, heat searing through him as she lightly smoothed her thumb over the moist, slick tip of his arousal.