Читать книгу Back in His Bed - Heidi Rice, Aimee Carson - Страница 11

BRENNA struggled to make sense of his words. The chirp of crickets and the bubbles of the tub’s jets covered the sound of her rough, shallow breaths as the ramifications of his simple statement hit home. “I always assumed it was me keeping you away.”

Jack shrugged a muscular shoulder, drawing her attention back to his body. Thankfully, much of it was submerged, and no longer quite the magnet for her eyes. Jack in nothing but swim trunks brought back too many memories, and her brain simply couldn’t balance both important conversation and gawking at Jack’s body at the same time. She struggled to focus on what Jack was saying.

“Why? You knew good and well by the time we got divorced that there wasn’t much attraction out here for me.”

She’d been the attraction before. That explained some things…“But you didn’t even come to see Max after the divorce.”

“Staying under the same roof with your ex—especially when your former mother-in-law is sleeping with your father—isn’t exactly a tourist attraction.” A wry smile crossed his face. “No matter how nice the scenery.”

Okay, she knew that. She’d even considered moving back into her old house at the time, only Max and her mom had talked her out of it.

Jack’s legs were so close to hers under the bubbling water they rubbed against hers as he shifted position. The brief contact sent a zing through her. But she couldn’t hold eye contact, because the smoldering look there wreaked havoc on her insides. If she kept her eyes on his forehead it was easier to concentrate, and she’d be able to keep up with this conversation.

“Then Max started spending even more time out here and less in the city,” he continued, as if he didn’t know how she was having trouble following along, “and the company took over my life. What little free time I had left I wasn’t going to spend it out here, regardless.”

Suddenly she realized that for the first time since…well, since the beginning of the end, there was no anger underlying Jack’s words. While that absence calmed her guilty conscience, and the part of her that was always so on edge whenever she so much as thought of him, she wasn’t deaf to the other heat adding weight to his words. That heat her body recognized immediately, even though she hadn’t heard it in years. To her great embarrassment her breasts began to tingle and a familiar ache settled in her core.

It was gratifying to know that after everything Jack wasn’t completely immune to her. That he didn’t hate her enough to make his body forget what had brought them together in the first place. Her skin felt flushed, and she hoped the steam and the hot water would take the blame.

But she couldn’t lose focus. This conversation was too important. His concise explanation didn’t quite explain as much as his casual demeanor implied. “But Max always…” She stopped herself, unwilling to say the words.

Jack looked at her closely. “You think Max blamed you?”

She nodded. “He had to. He was so disappointed after the divorce.”

“Max didn’t like having his plans thwarted. He had this whole hotel-slash-winery empire planned, and you managed to accomplish the one thing he couldn’t do—made me give a damn about this place. The divorce put him back at zero—at least until he came up with this ridiculous scheme. Max didn’t blame you for the divorce, Bren. He saved all the blame for me.”

Jack didn’t sound bitter, just matter-of-fact. If anything, it made her feel worse about the situation. “Then I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I caused a rift between you and Max.”

“Quit apologizing. You didn’t cause anything. You were just a handy excuse.”

Just an excuse? No way. “There’s got to be more to it than that. Your relationship with Max—”

“Has nothing to do with the current situation.” He brushed her words aside with a wave of his hand.

She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged them. The stress she’d come out here to alleviate was building instead. Hot tub jets were no match for the knots Jack caused, but the stress was much less disturbing than her inappropriate tingling. “Then why? If it’s not because of me and it’s not because of Max, then why do you want to sell so badly?”

She worked up the courage to look at him then, but he didn’t look angry. More like resigned and tired of talking about it. “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t want to own a winery. I know that’s an alien concept for you, because you do, but not everyone has a burning desire to make wine. You need to get off the property more. Expand your circle of friends and see there’s a whole world out there not obsessed with grapes.”

There it was. The snide remark. The dismissive tone. She should have known it was coming instead of being lulled by his civility and the intimate atmosphere caused by their surroundings and the conversation. She needed more space, and she pushed herself out of the steaming water. The air felt chilly against her heated skin but did nothing to cool her rising temper. “God, you’re such a jerk.”

Jack had the nerve to look taken aback. “What now?”

The tingle thankfully disappeared as old resentments bubbled up. This was much easier. “You. Acting so superior and condescending. Little Brenna is so sheltered and naïve, she couldn’t possibly know any better.”

“You can’t deny you’ve been sheltered out here. You used to admit that readily.”

She started to pace in agitation. “Maybe. That doesn’t mean I’m naïve. Just because I never went to college…”

Jack pushed out of the water as well and sat on the edge of the tub. “That was your decision. UC Davis would have let you in.”

“Only because my last name was Garrett at the time. And why would I spend all that time at school for them to teach me what I already knew about wine-making?”

“You might have enjoyed it. Or you could have gone to a different school and studied something else.”

Now a pang of old hurt joined the resentment. “Oh, I’m so sorry my lack of formal education was such an embarrassment in front of your snobby city friends.”

“Having interests other than grapes makes them snobs?”

“No, looking down on people makes them snobs.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You should know from all the practice you’ve had.”

Jack ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Why are we having this fight again? We’re not married anymore.”

And they’d just run through many of the reasons why. Again. “Thank goodness for that.” She reached for her wine glass and drank deeply.

“If anyone’s a snob, Brenna, it’s you.”

She choked on her wine. “What? Hardly.”

Jack stood and walked to within an inch of her. “You’re a wine snob. All that ‘fruit of the vine, nectar of the gods’ garbage. It gets old. And quite boring.”

The comment stung, but she stood her ground. “Gee, I’m sheltered, naïve, snobbish and boring—and you’re an overbearing, condescending jerk with a superiority complex. I don’t know how we ever ended up together in the first place.”

She regretted the words the moment they left her lips. When would she learn not to wave the red flag in front of the bull just because she was angry?

Jack’s eyes lit alarmingly and traced a path down her body, leaving her skin tingling again in their wake. How had she forgotten she was practically naked? And that he was, too? Her nipples tightened against the fabric of her bikini, and a slow half-smile crossed Jack’s face. “Oh, I think you remember why, Bren,” he said quietly. “I know I do.”

His husky voice moved through her and every nerveending came to life. She was close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. A rush of desire slammed into her, making her knees wobble and her heart beat faster. Damn him. “D-don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. This has always been the subject.” He traced a finger over her collarbone and down the top of her arm. Gooseflesh rose up in its wake, and a shiver moved through her. “We’ve always had this.”

“Jack, don’t.” Her voice sounded breathy and unsteady even to her, but she couldn’t pull away from the tease of his touch or the promise in his voice. Her body screamed for more, and all she’d have to do would be to take a tiny step forward…

No. She closed her eyes, blocking the sight of temptation, but her other senses were still under assault and she swayed on her feet. Sex wouldn’t solve anything. It never had, she reminded herself. They’d been down this path many, many times. Fight bitterly, then have fabulous make-up sex. It never made anything better. In this case it could only make things worse. More complicated.

She had to remember that, no matter how much her body begged to differ. No matter how strong the ache was.

No matter how much she wanted him.

She knew what his hands could do to her, remembered the feel of his skin against hers. And from the fire in Jack’s eyes she knew he was remembering as well. A tiny shiver of desire rippled through her.

His finger finished its slow path down her arm and now tickled across the sensitive skin of her waist, over her stomach, where butterflies battered her insides.

“Jack, I…I mean we shouldn’t. Can’t.” She didn’t know exactly what she was trying to say, but weak protest was better than none at all.

Jack’s voice rumbled through her. “But we can. And you know you want to.” The tickling fingers became a warm caress as his palm moved over the dip in her waist to the plane of her lower back.

Be strong. Brenna inhaled, filling her starved lungs with oxygen and the enticing smell that was uniquely Jack. Now step away. The signal to her feet to move got lost in transit as Jack’s arm began to encircle her.

She was wavering, and she hated herself for it. What harm could it do? her body argued.

A lot, her heart responded.

Hundreds of reasons—solid, rational reasons—why this would be a mistake raced through her mind, but that didn’t stop her from taking a step closer to him. Jack’s fingers tightened on her back, urging her closer still, until she could feel the hairs on his chest tickling faintly across her skin.

Brenna’s brain felt foggy, and she lifted her hand to his chest to create a barrier. Jack inhaled sharply at her touch, and the muscle under his skin jumped in response.

Just a taste.

Jack’s hand came up to lift her chin, angling it for his kiss, and reality intruded one last time. She’d regret this either way, but which choice would she regret more?

His mouth was almost on hers when she clasped her hand around his wrist. She could feel the heavy beat of his pulse under her fingers, matching the thumping in her chest. Jack’s cheek slid across hers as she turned her face away.

“You want me, Bren. I can feel it,” Jack whispered.

Oh, he was so right about that. And she could feel how much he wanted her. All she had to do was say yes…

“I’ll make this easier for you.” Jack kissed her temple, then moved to her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine. “Give me tonight, and I’ll give you the winery.”

Jack heard her sharp gasp a second before her hands landed on his chest and pushed him forcefully away from her. Anger hardened her jaw as her fingers flexed, then curled into a fist. Closing her eyes with the effort, she lowered her hand to her side.

When she opened her eyes, the heat blasted him. “Are you kidding me?”

Her anger cut through the last of the sensual haze that had snared him and had to have been the source of his offer. The thought of simply giving her the winery had crossed his mind briefly, as a quick and easy way out of this unholy mess, but he hadn’t entertained it seriously. After all, as Brenna had pointed out, business was built into his DNA, and giving one away wasn’t exactly approved business practice.

But the offer was out there now, even if he didn’t know what had possessed him to make it. “I’m serious, Brenna.” He held the stare, watching as Brenna moved from anger, to shock, through disbelief, and finally settled on outrage. He wasn’t going to back pedal, not even as he watched the angry flush creep up Brenna’s neck as her temper boiled. Even with indignation radiating off her in waves he burned for her. His fingers itched to touch her again, to feel that smooth skin quiver in pleasure and desire. He knew her taste, and the craving was awakened, familiar and frustrating at the same time.

It would give her the excuse she needed to give in to the desire he knew she felt without recriminations in the morning. He’d be able to get Brenna out of his system and break their stalemate over the winery at the same time. Win-win all around.

“Oh. My. God.” Brenna took another step back, shaking her head in disbelief. As her shoulders tensed, he braced for the full blast of her temper.

But the blow-up didn’t come. Her anger seemed to drain away as quickly as it had flared. She moved to the table and perched on the edge, her hands folded against her chin. “I always thought we’d hit every low possible, but this is a new one.” Her shoulders slumped as the last of the ire went out of her voice, and she laughed hollowly. “It’s a hell of an offer, Jack. Prostituting myself in order to keep my vineyard. It’s appropriate, though. I’m screwed no matter what I do.”

Put like that, his proposition sounded tawdry, instead of expedient yet pleasurable for them both. “If you want to look at it that way—”

“There’s another way?” she scoffed. “If I sign off on the sale I get you out of my life permanently, but I gain God-only-knows-who as a partner, and there’s no telling what that will do to my business. If I don’t sign off on the sale you’ll make my life hell in a multitude of interesting ways.” Brenna started to pace, her hands moving in agitated circles as she talked. “So I can sleep with you, throwing away what little self-respect I still have, but gaining my business free and clear. In theory, that sounds really great—except I’ve already told you that I need your name backing me for a while.”

She finally faced him, her hands on her hips, her chest heaving under her skimpy bikini top. The anger was back. “Tell me, exactly what other way there is to look at it. The way where I’m not screwed, personally and professionally?”

Wide-eyed and expectant, she glared at him, waiting for an answer. He didn’t have one readily available. He’d backed her into a corner, and she had no graceful means of escape. The professors from his MBA program would be proud—hell, Max would be proud—of his use of the time-honored strategy of putting his adversary into a position where he definitely had the upper hand in the negotiations.

Except putting Brenna there didn’t bring the satisfaction it would in any other situation.

As the silence stretched out Brenna’s breathing turned ragged, and he saw the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, as if she were trying to pull herself together and hold the tears at bay.

The action stabbed him in the chest, as he’d never seen her tear up before. Brenna didn’t cry. She exploded, she shouted, she slammed doors, and she even sulked occasionally, but she didn’t cry.

He’d pushed her too far this time. Considering their past, that was an accomplishment in itself. Their marriage had fallen apart and she’d never shed a single tear. Hell, she’d sat dry-eyed and stoic through her own mother’s funeral. But her beloved damn winery brought out the waterworks. Astonishing and insulting, but he still felt like a snake.

Neither of them had a graceful escape route, but he could try to defuse the situation. It wasn’t easy—not with his body still wired and ready to finish what he’d started—but he managed a toneless “Forget it, Bren. Chalk the offer up to temporary insanity.”

Brenna’s eyes flew open, widening in shock as her jaw dropped. She looked as if she’d just been slapped. “What?”

“I said forget it.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Brenna’s hackles were back up, but it beat her tears. “You can’t toy with me like that and then just walk away. Things have changed, Jack. I won’t let you hurt me again.”

Where had this come from? “Hurt you?”

“Maybe you can keep things in little boxes, all compartmentalized in your head, but I can’t. You can’t come out here and turn me inside out and expect me to just take it. You broke my heart once, Jack. I’m finished crying over you.”

Her? Heartbroken? Crying? She’d walked out dry-eyed and never looked back. “You left me, Bren. Don’t forget that.”

Her mouth twisted. “Yes, and you were kind enough to order a ride for me while I packed.”

“What, exactly, was I supposed to do? You said you were miserable and that you wanted to go home. I couldn’t force you to stay.”

“You didn’t want me to stay. You were just as miserable as I was.”

“Did I ever say that, Bren?”

“You didn’t have to.” Her voice broke on the last word, and Brenna cleared her throat. “You’re right. We should just forget this.”

Oh, no, he wasn’t going to let Bren retreat. Not after tossing down the gauntlet. “Here’s a newsflash for you. You left. You served me with divorce papers. Don’t blame me for your broken heart when you’re the one who walked out.”

Brenna pulled back as if he’d slapped her. Then her eyes narrowed. “You’re saying it was all my fault? Don’t even try. It takes two people to make a relationship fail that spectacularly. I loved you, Jack, and it hurt too much that you didn’t love me.”

Had he heard her correctly? “You think I didn’t love you?”

“You wanted me.” She made it sound distasteful.

“I’m not denying that. But if you want to talk pain and heartache, try your wife telling you she’d rather live at a damn vineyard in Sonoma than with you. We can divvy out blame however you want to for the rest of our problems, but don’t try to tell me I didn’t love you. Because you’d be wrong.”

He was rewarded for his honesty when Brenna’s eyes grew wide. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again with a snap. “Maybe we were better off when we weren’t speaking to each other.”

No one could wind him up like Brenna could. This debacle of an evening was proof of that. “I’m inclined to agree with you.”

“Then why—?”

“I think we’ve taken this discussion as far as it can go. No sense circling back and rehashing the past again. When you’re ready to sign the sale papers, let me know.” Picking up his towel from where he’d dropped it earlier, he draped it over his shoulders and left her standing there, glaring at him.

It certainly wasn’t for the first time. Oddly, though, this time he felt as if he deserved it.

Watching Jack walk away was like reliving yet another painful scene from their marriage. Except this time there wouldn’t be the fabulous make-up sex later on.

Knees shaking, she made her way carefully to the table and sank into a chair. She heard the door to the house close, and now, safely alone, she let her head drop into her hands. So much had been thrown at her tonight, and she wasn’t sure she could process it all.

This was a nightmare—the kind she couldn’t wake up from. She’d been so close—too close—to giving in to the sensual pull of Jack that if he hadn’t whispered his indecent proposal into her ear at that exact moment she’d probably be happily under him right now.

But to have him offer her…God, it didn’t bear thinking about. She didn’t know which was worse: the fact Jack thought so little of her now he believed she’d be willing to sell herself for Amante Verano, or the fact she’d seriously considered it for a nanosecond.

And how to explain the pain that had shot through her when he withdrew his offer altogether?

No one could rip her apart with the effortless efficiency of Jack Garrett. She’d thought—make that hoped—time and maturity would have made her immune to him. Or that he’d forgotten how.

Tears burned in her eyes. No, she told herself angrily as she took deep breaths. She would not cry over him again. She’d long ago grown weary of crying after one of them walked out, and she was finished with that. It had to be the rehashing that had her so close to blubbering again.

She’d loved him so much back then, but over the years she’d decided it had been a one-sided affair. To have him say he’d loved her? To hear that she’d hurt him when she left? That was a one-two punch she hadn’t seen coming, and her head was still reeling.

Once upon a time she’d believed her love for Jack could solve anything life threw at them. But the cold reality of their endless cycle of fight-truce-sex-fight had shown her how big the gap between them really was. The inability to bridge that gap had always been her secret failure, the thing she’d never admitted to anyone.

But for a few minutes tonight she’d thought they’d almost built that bridge. She’d briefly felt that old connection—the one they’d had in the very beginning, when they could talk for hours about everything and nothing. That feeling had been buried quickly in the ensuing mess, and she felt a pang of disappointment at the loss.

Brenna sighed and lifted her head. Everything looked exactly the same, seeming to belie the upheaval she’d just gone through. The glowing lights from the pool, the bubbling hot tub, the chirp of the crickets and the smell of the flowers created a serene setting designed to soothe—exactly what she’d come looking for tonight. But it was wasted on her now.

Her insides tumbled over each other and her head ached from the emotional extremes and pressure. Even her wine couldn’t calm the storm within her. Grabbing her robe, which she didn’t bother putting on, she concentrated on making her shaky legs move her back to the privacy of her bedroom quickly.

Because, damn it, Jack had made her cry. Again.