His eyes met hers in the distance. The last thing you need is alcohol when you didn’t have a thing to eat at dinner, he telegraphed.
She smiled faintly, uncrossed her legs, strode over to the coffee table between the two men, poured herself a liberal glass of brandy, then returned to the curved wicker throne chair.
Seven steps seemed to be the safest distance. If she moved any closer to Jake, something went haywire in her nervous system, something disgracefully sexual that didn’t belong anywhere near his grandfather and emerald cushions and the lazy conversation about Gil’s antique sword collection. In his red flannel shirt and jeans, Jake looked distinctly feral. Undoubtedly a stranger would only have seen a normal-looking man with strong features and lazy humor in his silver-gray eyes, but Anne knew feral when she felt it. The man was about as trustworthy as a hungry lion let loose in a meat market; he was as unpredictable as a kite in a windstorm; he would never outgrow the need to take the road less traveled by…
Go with him, Anne, her heart whispered.
She quickly censored the vagrant thought, picked up the last cracker with cheese and delicately nibbled. She was not pleased with Jake at the moment. Silver mining, the fool. So he’d finally accumulated a little money. And he would probably throw it away. Again.
Marriage to a man like Jake would mean steak one year and canned beans the next. Bleakly, Anne acknowledged to herself that beans weren’t the point; it was the up-and-down lifestyle that threw her. The thought of children being tossed from one place to the next; a house all decorated just in time to move again… She’d lived that kind of life as a child with her mother. She hadn’t stopped having nightmares until she was old enough to dictate her own lifestyle. Jake’s life was very, very exciting; Anne’s was boring. She loved boredom, and she apologized to no one for valuing roots and stability and lifelong friendships.
Jake’s eyes met hers again, and Anne rapidly took another sip of brandy. Look, Buster. If I want a glass of brandy, I will certainly have one.
Your choice, Jake’s eyes warned her wickedly. I hate to have to tell you this, honey, but you’re not much of a drinker. And you do tend to become endearingly amorous when you drink on an empty stomach.
Her eyes darted to the windows, and she became intrigued by the ivy clinging to the window frames. Thoroughly irritated, she acknowledged that Jake knew too damn much about her. If she were meeting him now for the first time, she would certainly be smart enough to avoid him like the plague. The whole problem was that they’d known each other far, far too long.
Go with him, Anne, her heart whispered once more. Marriage-you know better. But what if…what if this was her last chance to be with him? What if he really never did show up in her life again, if he never made love with her again? Always, it was Jake who stood between her and the imaginary mate in the gray flannel suit he made fun of so regularly. Something always seemed to go flat when she found herself close to a commitment to someone else, a hint of panic that made no sense when Anne was totally honest with herself about exactly what she needed and wanted in a relationship.
Setting down her brandy glass, she rose restlessly from the chair and wandered to the window, staring at the fluttering leaves of the tall old maple in the yard. The night was lonely, a black sky offering no stars, a silent, cold, colorless world. She shivered, and just then suddenly felt two warm arms wrap around her from behind. Ever so naturally, Jake tugged her against the secure strength of his chest. It must have been those two sips of brandy that made her snuggle back against him like a kitten. “I love Anne,” Jake remarked offhandedly to his grandfather.
She stiffened like a cat, and turned around.
Slowly, Gil stood up from the couch, an affectionate smile wreathing his features. “Then perhaps you won’t be such a fool as to take off without her this time,” he scolded his grandson, and added absently, “I always hoped that the two of you…”
Anne didn’t say much until the Morgan was zooming along the deserted country road. “You gave him every reason to expect great-grandchildren,” she accused Jake furiously. “I just don’t believe that you would involve him-”
“All I did was tell him I loved you.”
Jake’s voice was quiet and reasonable. From Anne’s point of view, fuel for a fire. A wisp of hair had escaped from her figure-eight bun. She blew it back. “You all but announced you were sleeping at my place!”
“Which I am.”
“Which you are not.” She stared straight ahead, at black branches dipping so low they nearly touched the roof of the car. Of all the strange roads for Jake to have taken! “You’re going to drive me home, and then you’re going back to spend a respectable night at your grandfather’s. I don’t know where you got this wild idea about marriage, but it’s going no further, Jake. Nothing is going any further.”
“You are absolutely right.” He eased on the brakes and pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road. Puzzled, she stared at his jagged profile in the darkness, a profile set in stone except for the silver eyes. “Get off the throne, princess. The imperial approach sure as hell isn’t going to work with me.”
“I beg your-”
“Out.” He slammed the door on his side as he got out of the car. Wisely, Anne ordered her heart to simmer down and her body to stay put. Jake was angry. That certainly didn’t happen very often, and rarely with her, but every instinct informed her that she was safer exactly where she was. Her eyes followed Jake as he stalked around the front of the car. It was jet-black midnight outside, yet there was a liquid silver in his eyes that she could follow, and his lithe, smooth movements were those of an animal seeking prey. She would not be his prey.
Belligerently, she glared at him when he pulled her door open. “If you think I have any intention of talking to you when you’re not in a reasonable mood-”
“I’m inclined to shake you silly, but I intend to do that-or see anyone else lay a little finger on you-when hell freezes over. Now get out of the car.”
Well. As it happened, her legs were a little cramped. That was the problem with sports cars. Her sleek, elegant calves emerged, followed by the crimson dress from Saks and the pale gold jacket, and last the regally coiled champagne hair. Her eyes were pure emerald. “You think you’re very good at intimidation-”
“And you damn well have to be retaught honesty every time we’re together.” She had her chin stiffly in the air about the same time her toes were. Jake must have suddenly decided she wanted to sit on the hood of his Morgan. Anne was not going to be reduced to making a fuss. If he wanted to argue in the middle of absolutely nowhere, sitting on the hood of a car, on a tree-lined lane in a thick mist… She shivered when his arms suddenly closed on both sides of her hips, deliberately forcing her to face him. “Honesty, Anne? You remember it?” he snapped.
“You’re not angry-you’re scared. You think I don’t know you? I know you shave your legs on Sundays and you turn into a moody little minx right before a storm. I know you, Anne, just as I knew you three years ago, and three years before that, and another three years earlier, too, and back when you were a prim little virgin-”