Chapter 13
He needed a cigarette.
He could have lit one, but he was afraid the smell of smoke would wake her up. He could have returned to his room or moved to another part of the house to smoke, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave her yet. He could have stayed away from her in the first place.
That’s what he should have done.
It would have been much more prudent not to have stopped when she opened her door to him last night. He should have accepted her apology, which was unnecessary to begin with, perhaps shaken hands with her, maybe given her a friendly little good-night kiss on the cheek, and then beat it into his bedroom, locking himself in if necessary.
Had he done that, he wouldn’t have to hurt her. He could have exited her life as breezily as he had entered it.
Well, not quite.
Yesterday morning was still listed in the column of his sins.
He muttered a terse obscenity. No matter how you looked at it, it was a muddle. He was involved with Kerry Bishop. He had been since she had enticed him to leave that cantina with her. And he would be until he waved goodbye to her, saying something clever like, “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid,” and riding off into the sunset.
It worked in the movies. Poignant, bittersweet goodbyes made terrific scripts. In real life they stunk.
He placed his forehead against the cool windowsill and pressed hard, as though trying to drive his head through the wood. Saying goodbye was only half the problem. Even after he did, it would be a long time before Kerry was out of his system. He might just as well admit it. She had her claws in him, but good. He was steeped in Kerry, and she was all he could think about.
Her smile. Her voice. Her eyes. Her hair. Her body.
Again he swore and pressed down the swelling flesh beneath his jeans. His body was responding to his recollections of last night. He didn’t know how he could possibly get hard again, but he was. He would have thought he’d been pumped dry last night. They had been insatiable. Their lovemaking had been earnest and playful and lusty and tender, but had always, always, left them wanting more.
Had he ever met a more responsive woman? In any country? On any continent? At any age? Their loving had gone beyond sexual gratification. Kerry had opened up something hidden deep inside him. It was that element to their lovemaking that he found so disturbing.
Having resisted the temptation as long as he could, Linc turned his head around and looked at Kerry where she lay sleeping. He couldn’t hold back the smile that softened his stern mouth and relieved his face of its usual cynicism.
One shapely leg was lying outside the light sheet, which had been their only cover all night. He’d embarrassed her by raising a light bruise on the inside of her thigh with a fervent kiss.
“Who else will see it?”
Laughing, she had thrown her arms around his neck. “Jealous?”
It had surprised him to realize that he was. He had initiated her, by God. He had introduced her to the pleasure her body was capable of experiencing. He, Lincoln O’Neal, had taught her how to give pleasure. The thought of another man enjoying this wonderful, affectionate, sensual woman, whom he had discovered, had filled him with a crimson rage.
Now, he could see that slight discoloration on the tender flesh of her thigh and remembered how delightful it had been for both of them when his mouth had put it there. His gaze moved over her. There wasn’t an inch of her body that didn’t bring an erotic memory rushing to his mind. From the arch of her slender foot to the crescent rim of her ear, he’d caressed, kissed, licked, tasted.
Yet, for all the sensuality she had expressed last night, she looked as innocent as a child now, with her dark hair lying tangled on the pristine pillowcase, and her lips, still rouged by his kisses, slightly parted. Her lashes were dark and feathery, her cheeks creamy.
One breast was peeping from beneath the sheet. With each breath, it rose and fell beguilingly. The tip of it was rosily pink. He intimately knew its texture and taste. How many times during the night had his mouth returned to her breasts, taking and giving pleasure?
With an inaudible groan he turned his head to stare out the window again. The landscape was just being bathed with the glow of the rising sun. Where only minutes ago everything had been gray, now colors became distinguishable. The sky had been a pale noncolor; now it was vividly streaked with the reds and golds of sunrise.
The dawn was a beautiful sight, but it did nothing to lighten Linc’s black mood. He had to leave today. Hanging around any longer would be just plain stupid. Any further delay would only make things messier. Because, face it, you can’t stay under the same roof with her without wanting her in bed with you.
This thing between them, whatever the hell it was, couldn’t go on. Sooner or later they both had to get on with their lives. His common sense told him that sooner was better.
Mission accomplished. End of story. Over and out. They’d done what they had set out to do. It was time to move on to other endeavors. She’d gotten all the orphans safely out of Monterico. They’d all been placed with families, except for Lisa, and that was no cause for alarm. Finding parents for her wouldn’t be difficult.
Linc had decided to accept the offer an international magazine had made for his photographs documenting their escape. The price he had demanded would financially sustain him until the next military coup, or airplane crash, or volcanic eruption, or whatever it was that caused mayhem and havoc which people wanted to see pictures of.
Odd, that he wasn’t feeling his usual restlessness. He had a wanderlust that had never been quenched. At the drop of a hat he had been ready to pack his cameras and catch the next plane out. Why was he dragging his feet this time?
That's an easy one, you bastard. Take a look behind you.
All right, so it was Kerry. He wasn’t too anxious to leave her. But what other choice did he have? What could he offer her? A cluttered, dusty apartment in Manhattan where he picked up his mail every month or so. The bathroom doubled as a darkroom. He stored his chemicals in the living room. He didn’t own a car. An answering service took his telephone calls. He ate out every meal except breakfast, which he usually skipped. The only appliances in his kitchen were an unstocked refrigerator, which he used only to make ice, and a coffeepot.