Jack stared at his wife as the jet lifted into the night sky, not sure whether to be bemused or beguiled by the sight of her curled on the seat opposite, fast asleep.
Her russet hair haloed around her head, tendrils escaping from the practical ponytail to curl down her neck. Chocolate stains covered her well-worn jeans and the green and brown plaid shirt. She looked like a lush tomboy, the light flush on her freckle-dusted skin only adding to the spike in his groin. A few buttons had come undone on her shirt, giving him a tantalising glimpse of her cleavage as she slumbered, her body contorted into what looked like a very uncomfortable position.
She had been exhausted when she arrived. He had seen it in the smudges under her eyes and the lipstick that had been chewed off her lips hours ago. The stab of guilt joined the ache in his groin.
He shifted in his seat, visions of her soft, satiny flesh, that rich spicy scent of salted caramel, ripe apples and wild flowers permeating the cabin.
His gaze dipped and he imagined easing open the other buttons on her shirt, nuzzling the soft fragrant skin of her cleavage as it was revealed inch by tantalising inch, kissing the pulse in her collarbone, unhooking her bra, lifting her breasts free and sucking the plump pink nipples until they hardened against his...
He swore softly and swung his head away from her slumbering form to glare out of the aircraft’s window. He gripped the arm rests as the inevitable wave of heat swelled. He sucked in a tortured breath. When had he ever been tormented to this extent by any woman? It was becoming ridiculous. Not to mention distracting.
Christ, if she knew the hold she had on him she would surely exploit it.
The carpet of city lights below them disappeared as the jet headed into cloud cover and began to level off at its cruising altitude.
The hostess appeared. ‘Mr Wolfe, the bed chamber is ready for you and your wife,’ she said, sending him a rather too amused smile.
‘Right, thanks,’ he murmured. ‘If you could leave us, please.’
The woman immediately got the message and left.
He reached for his laptop, planning to work until Katherine awoke. But, as the minutes ticked past, he found it impossible to concentrate on the bids being put in place for the Smyth-Brown shares, something which should have had all his attention.
He sighed and closed the laptop. Hell, he’d have to check the contracts another day. It would be several months yet before the takeover was finalised and he could finally get his revenge on the man who had discarded his mother.
He had time.
His fervour for the fight would come back as soon as his new wife had become less of a distraction. Sun, sea, sand and lots of mind-blowing sex would cure this strange ennui.
His gaze landed back on Katherine, who had contorted herself into another uncomfortable-looking shape. He could smell her. The tantalising earthy aroma sent another unwelcome surge of arousal through his system.
She huffed and shifted, drawing her knees up and her chin down to snuggle tighter into the seat’s headrest, almost as if trying to protect herself from something. Her eyelids flickered with dreams, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed into a tight line, her breathing becoming rapid suggesting, whatever the dreams were, they weren’t happy or benign.
The shaft of guilt hit more forcefully. He dismissed it. She looked healthier than she had when she’d come to his office and told him of the pregnancy. A week in paradise would be good for her.
He tilted his head to one side to study her, while ignoring the tightness in his chest at the thought of what might be causing her unpleasant dreams.
Surely her nightmares had to be due to the uncomfortable position she was trying to sleep in? Nothing more disturbing than that. Even though it would be torture for him, she was clearly too tired for them to satisfy this hunger tonight.
He undid his seatbelt and approached her. Clasping her shoulder, he rocked her gently. ‘Katherine, wake up and I’ll show you to the bedroom.’
When she didn’t stir, he tried again.
She shook her head, moaned and turned away from him.
‘Damn,’ he whispered. She really was shattered.
Unclipping her seatbelt, which had become tangled around her hips, he hooked one arm under her bent knees, the other across her back and scooped her up against his chest.
Her cheek nestled against his collarbone, her body soft and pliant and satisfyingly substantial in his arms, her warm breath tickling the skin under his chin. Heat gathered and throbbed in eddying waves in his groin, adding to the torture as he carried her through the darkened cabin and opened the narrow door to the master bedroom.
The hostess had turned down the bed, and a night light embedded in the headboard had been switched on, casting an eerie glow. But, as Jack deposited his cargo in the middle of the smooth satin comforter, Katherine’s eyelids fluttered open. Trapped in her emerald gaze, her pupils dark and unfocussed, his breath squeezed his lungs. And his heart hammered against his ribs in hard, heavy thuds.
Thoughts of taking advantage of her drowsy, semi-conscious state bombarded his tortured body. He imagined joining her on the bed, stripping off her clothing, undoing his trousers to free the strident erection and thrusting heavily into the tight, wet heat.
But then her hand reached up to cradle the taut muscle in his cheek, the gentle touch soothing the rampant thoughts—as if he were a wild beast and she a fairy-tale maiden come to rescue him from his own depravity. Before he had a chance to make sense of the ludicrous notion, her fingertip stroked the jagged scar.
His heartbeat slowed, every part of his being focussed on that consoling, feather-light caress, and for one terrifying moment he almost believed it would cure the pain of his past.
‘Does it still hurt?’ she asked, her voice thick with sleep, her faced softened by the dream-like quality of someone who was not fully aware of what they were saying or doing.
He shook his head, but the relentless, insistent desire shifted, swept along by something a great deal more disturbing... Longing.
‘Who did it?’ she asked, still caressing the torn, ugly flesh, the symbol of how defenceless he’d once been.
‘The man I thought was my father,’ Jack said as the truth released from his chest in a guttural whisper.
Anguish shadowed her eyes, the glint of moisture reflecting in the half-light and making him aware of the gold flecks in the emerald-green. But then she blinked and a single tear dripped from the corner of her eye to roll down the side of her face. ‘I hate him,’ she said.
Shock washed through him like acid as his heart clamoured and roared, the desire returning in a heady rush but driven this time by the brutal yearning.
He grasped her consoling fingers and dragged them away from the ruined flesh. He levered himself off the bed. Her gaze remained riveted to his, conveying emotions he didn’t want to see, didn’t even want to acknowledge, but could feel turning the weight in his chest into a ten-ton slab of reinforced concrete. ‘Go back to sleep, Katherine. I’ll see you in the morning.’
He left the room, closed the door behind him and headed into the other bedroom. Not caring any more about the torturous desire still throbbing in his groin.
Because he had a much bigger problem to deal with now. How the hell was he going to lift this concrete slab off his chest while spending a week in paradise with the woman who had dumped it there in the first place?