Where There's Smoke

“I wanted to fuck you anyway.” Reaching behind her head, he clutched a handful of her hair and drew her face close to his. “Damn me to hell, I still do.”

Key reached for her as she scooted off the bed and began gathering her clothes. “Where are you going?” he mumbled sleepily.

“To my room.”

“What for?”

“A bath.”

“We have a tub in here.”

“But we used all the soap. Besides, I need to organize my things so that when they come to take us to the airport I’ll be ready.” She dressed hastily.

“What time is it?”

“Nine.”

“Nine! We slept that long?” He sat up and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair.

“You don’t have to get up. We’ve got plenty of time before noon.”

“No, I’m getting up. I don’t want to give the bastards any reason to delay our departure. As soon as I shower, I’ll see if they’ll bring us some coffee.”

“I’ll have everything ready by then.” She smiled at him, checked to make certain she had her key, then unlocked the door and stepped into the hall.

Contrary to what he’d said, Key didn’t get up immediately, but lay back down and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Last night Lara had confessed to some confusion. Being less straight-forward then she, he hadn’t admitted to his own ambiguity.

To assuage her conscience, she had dredged up a psychological explanation for going to bed with him, although he doubted that she believed her own sales pitch. He didn’t think lust needed analysis or rationalization. It was a call to action all by itself.

His confusion was centered not on why it had happened but on how he felt about it—about her—now that it had.

He’d never enjoyed a woman more. Physically, they were a good fit. She had matched him in passion and skill. Despite all the tabloid journalism written about her, he hadn’t expected her to be so sexually liberated. Memories of their love play now sent heat surging through his loins. Even after their marathon of sex, he was for from satisfied. He wanted more of her.

That, too, was unexpected and disconcerting. Usually the chase was most of the fun. Once caught, a woman’s charms rapidly diminished. It bothered him greatly to realize that Lara had become only more intriguing. She had layers and dimensions he was eager to explore. Customarily, women were as disposable as razor blades. When one got dull, he threw it away and replaced it with another. He wasn’t eager to dispose of and replace Lara.

Not that she was his to do with as he pleased.

Ah! He’d finally acknowledged the crux of all these niggling misgivings. She didn’t belong to him. Furthermore, if circumstances had been different, she might still belong to his brother.

Clark had had her first.

That alone had prevented last night from being the most satisfying night of sex he’d ever engaged in. Inadvertently he must have conveyed his uneasiness about it. Either that or Dr. Mallory was damned perceptive.

She brought it up, after they had nibbled on the remainder of the food and decided that they should try to sleep. She lay on her side, facing away from him, her folded hands supporting her cheek. He’d been absently rubbing a strand of her hair between his thumb and index finger, thinking that she’d been luckier at falling asleep than he. He was surprised to hear her drowsily say, “I know what you’re thinking about.”

He moved his knee against the back of her thigh. “Okay, smarty, what am I thinking about?”

“Clark.”

His smile receded and the strand of hair sifted through his fingers. “What about him?”

“You’re wondering if I’m comparing the two of you, and, if so, how you measure up.”

“I didn’t know you were a shrink, too.”

She turned her head and gazed at him over her bare shoulder. “I’m right, aren’t I? Isn’t that what you were thinking?”

“Maybe.”