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Authors: Donna Clayton
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not having had the opportunity to press his lips against the long length of her elegant neck, or nip at her tender earlobes, or nibble on the line of her jaw.
Closing his eyes, he took a moment to inhale deeply. To try to gather his wits. Garner his strength. Rein in the need throbbing through him like the heavy beat of an insistent drum.
Unwittingly he reached up and combed agitated fingers through his hair. Then he stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers as he forced himself to look into her wide, dark eyes.
Her shoulders straightened, as did her spine, as she slipped back into some semblance of her pride as easily as if it had been the white satin robe she wore.
“Well,” she said, her tone husky and sexy as hell, “I guess you’re right. There really is no renouncing it.”
Strange, he thought. She, too, had obviously been unable to come up with a word to describe the fever from which they both suffered.
It, she’d said.
That would have to do, he thought. If they were lucky, they’d never have to put a name to it. They could acknowledge its presence, yet refuse it power over them.
If they were lucky.
“Like you,” she continued, “I’m not interested in a relationship. Of any kind. Serious. Frivolous. Physical. Whatever. I’m just plain not interested. In fact, I’ll do everything in my power to avoid becoming involved. With you, or anyone else for that matter.”
His eyes widened a fraction at the surprising resolve he heard in her tone. But he quickly nodded in the dark. “Good.” Again he nodded. “I’m glad we agree.”
“Oh, yes. We definitely agree.”
His head continued to bob. As if its up and down motion somehow lent more credence to their decision.
The silence grew awkward.
He said, “Okay, then. We’re in agreement about this.”
She said nothing. But he knew their thoughts were unified.
“Then I’ll go on up to bed.” He moved past her, taking care not to touch her. “And let you get yourself a little something to eat.”
But as he walked out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the stairs that would take him to his room, something nagged at him like the irritation of a poking stick.
Travis had explained the motives behind his decision not to become involved with Diana. Well…maybe not all of them. But his parents’ divorce, and his brother’s, too, were powerful reasons for him not to want the entanglements of a relationship. However, Diana had only expressed her aversion to relationships. And a stern aversion it had been, too.
As he climbed the stairs, a question whispered across his brain.
What had caused such hardness in her?
Saying that the restaurant wasn’t much to look at from the outside was an understatement. It was a dive. A hole in the wall. But it was clean and off the beaten path, so the majority of the diners were urban residents rather than Christmas tourists seeking fancy city lights and holiday shopping that Philadelphia had to offer. Besides that, the cook had nearly fifty years of experience. The good food and the battle stories were what brought Travis, Sloan and Greg to the place for lunch at least twice a week.
“Would the two of you just grow up,” Sloan said. “Travis, you’re a big boy. You ought to be able to control your hormones. And, Greg, stop baiting the poor man.”
Sloan indicated Travis with a jerk of his head.
“But you heard what he said,” Greg complained. “The woman is driving him crazy. I’m just suggestingthat he quit fighting it and dive headfirst into sexual dementia.”
“Now, there’s a new disorder for the psychology journals,” Sloan murmured with a chuckle. “Keep this up, Greg, and you’ll make into the annals of medical history, yet.”
Greg’s head bobbed, his face plastered with pride. “I’m working on it.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Travis glanced off toward the far corner of the room. These men might be his best friends, as well as his business partners,
Closing his eyes, he took a moment to inhale deeply. To try to gather his wits. Garner his strength. Rein in the need throbbing through him like the heavy beat of an insistent drum.
Unwittingly he reached up and combed agitated fingers through his hair. Then he stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers as he forced himself to look into her wide, dark eyes.
Her shoulders straightened, as did her spine, as she slipped back into some semblance of her pride as easily as if it had been the white satin robe she wore.
“Well,” she said, her tone husky and sexy as hell, “I guess you’re right. There really is no renouncing it.”
Strange, he thought. She, too, had obviously been unable to come up with a word to describe the fever from which they both suffered.
It, she’d said.
That would have to do, he thought. If they were lucky, they’d never have to put a name to it. They could acknowledge its presence, yet refuse it power over them.
If they were lucky.
“Like you,” she continued, “I’m not interested in a relationship. Of any kind. Serious. Frivolous. Physical. Whatever. I’m just plain not interested. In fact, I’ll do everything in my power to avoid becoming involved. With you, or anyone else for that matter.”
His eyes widened a fraction at the surprising resolve he heard in her tone. But he quickly nodded in the dark. “Good.” Again he nodded. “I’m glad we agree.”
“Oh, yes. We definitely agree.”
His head continued to bob. As if its up and down motion somehow lent more credence to their decision.
The silence grew awkward.
He said, “Okay, then. We’re in agreement about this.”
She said nothing. But he knew their thoughts were unified.
“Then I’ll go on up to bed.” He moved past her, taking care not to touch her. “And let you get yourself a little something to eat.”
But as he walked out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the stairs that would take him to his room, something nagged at him like the irritation of a poking stick.
Travis had explained the motives behind his decision not to become involved with Diana. Well…maybe not all of them. But his parents’ divorce, and his brother’s, too, were powerful reasons for him not to want the entanglements of a relationship. However, Diana had only expressed her aversion to relationships. And a stern aversion it had been, too.
As he climbed the stairs, a question whispered across his brain.
What had caused such hardness in her?
Saying that the restaurant wasn’t much to look at from the outside was an understatement. It was a dive. A hole in the wall. But it was clean and off the beaten path, so the majority of the diners were urban residents rather than Christmas tourists seeking fancy city lights and holiday shopping that Philadelphia had to offer. Besides that, the cook had nearly fifty years of experience. The good food and the battle stories were what brought Travis, Sloan and Greg to the place for lunch at least twice a week.
“Would the two of you just grow up,” Sloan said. “Travis, you’re a big boy. You ought to be able to control your hormones. And, Greg, stop baiting the poor man.”
Sloan indicated Travis with a jerk of his head.
“But you heard what he said,” Greg complained. “The woman is driving him crazy. I’m just suggestingthat he quit fighting it and dive headfirst into sexual dementia.”
“Now, there’s a new disorder for the psychology journals,” Sloan murmured with a chuckle. “Keep this up, Greg, and you’ll make into the annals of medical history, yet.”
Greg’s head bobbed, his face plastered with pride. “I’m working on it.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Travis glanced off toward the far corner of the room. These men might be his best friends, as well as his business partners,
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