The Invitation (Matchmaker Trilogy) (10 page)

“Noah…” she whispered.

“So soft…” His fingers were splayed, thumbs dragging up along the crease where her thighs met her hips, tracing her pelvic bones, etching a path over her waist and ribs. Then his fingers came together to cup her breasts, and she went wild inside. She arched into his hands, while her head came around, mouth open, tongue trapped against his jaw.

She was melting. Every bone in her body, every muscle, every inch of flesh seemed to lose definition and gather into a single yearning mass. Had she missed this so, this wonderful sense of anticipatory fulfillment? Had she ever experienced it before?

He was roughly caressing her breasts, but it wasn’t enough, and her mouth, with hungry nips at his chin, told him so. Then her mouth was being covered, eaten, devoured, and she was taking from him, taste for taste, bite for bite.

Totally oblivious to her role at the helm she wound her arms backward, around Noah. Her hands slid up and down the backs of his thighs, finally clasping his buttocks, urging his masculine heat closer to the spot that suddenly and vividly ached.

“Oh God,” he gasped, dragging his mouth from hers. He wrapped quivering arms tightly around her waist and breathed raggedly as his pelvis moved against her. “Ahh…”

More hungry than ever, Shaye tried to turn. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck, to feed again from his mouth, to drape her leg over his and feel his strength where she craved it so. But he wouldn’t have it. He squeezed her hard to hold her still, and the movement was enough to restore the first fragments of reason. When he felt that she’d regained a modicum of control, he eased up his hold, but he didn’t release her.

With several more gusts of wind, their breathing, their pulse rates, began to slow.

Shaye was stunned. It wasn’t so much what had happened but the force with which it had happened that shocked her most. She didn’t know what to say.

Noah did, speaking gently and low. “Has it been a long time?”

She’d returned a hand to the wheel, though her fingers were boneless. “Yes,” she whispered.

“It took you by surprise?”

Another whispered, “Yes.”

“Will you be sorry in the morning?”

“Probably.”

He released her then, but without anger. When he reached for the wheel, she stepped aside. “Go below … please?” he asked gruffly.

She knew what he was doing, and she was grateful. He was alerting her to the fact that if she stayed she might have even more to be sorry for in the morning. She’d felt his arousal; she’d actively fed it. She had to accept her share of responsibility for what had happened, just as she had to respect the pleading note in his voice. He was human. He wanted her. And he was asking her not to want him back … at least, not tonight.

Without saying a word, she climbed down the companionway. At the bottom, she gasped, a helpless little cry.

“I frightened you,” Samson said. “I’m sorry. You seemed very deep in thought.”

She was, but her heart was pounding at thoughts that had taken a sudden turn.
What if Samson had awakened earlier and come up on deck during … during …

“I should have been up a while ago,” he was saying. “Noah must be exhausted. I’m glad he wasn’t alone all that time.”

Shaye wasn’t sure whether to be glad or not. As she made her silent way to the cabin, then stole back into bed, she wasn’t sure of much—other than that she’d be furious with herself later.

*   *   *

S
HE WAS FURIOUS
. She didn’t sleep well, but kept waking up to recall what had happened, to toss and turn for a while, then bury her face in the pillow and plead for the escape of sleep. Mercifully, Victoria was gone from the cabin by seven, which meant that Shaye could do her agonizing in peace.

She slept. She awoke. She slept again, then awoke again. The cycle repeated itself until nearly noon, when she gave up one battle to face the next.

Noah was in the galley. All she wanted was a cup of coffee, but even that wasn’t going to be easy.

“Sleep well?” he asked in a tone that gave nothing away.

“Not particularly.”

“Bad dreams?”

“It was what was
between
the dreams that was bad,” she muttered, pouring coffee into a cup with hands that shook.

“Are you always this cheerful in the morning?”

“Always.”

“If you’d woken up in bed with me, it might have been different.”

Bracing herself against the stove, she squeezed her eyes shut and made it to the count of eight before his next sally came.

“I’ll bet you’re dynamite in bed.”

She went on counting.

“You were dynamite on the deck.”

She cringed. “Don’t remind me.”

“Are you schizophrenic?”

At that, she turned and stared. “Excuse me?”

“Do you have two distinct personalities?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why are you so crabby this morning when you were so sweet last night?” He gave her a thorough once-over, then decided, “It
has
to be the clothes. You’re wearing shorts, but they must be binding somewhere.” Her T-shirt was big enough for
him
to swim in, so it couldn’t be that. “And your hair. Safely secured once again. Does it make you
feel
secure when it’s pinned back like that?”

She grabbed her coffee and made for the salon.

He was right behind her. “Careful. You’re spilling.”

She whirled on him, only to gasp when several drops of coffee hit his shirt.

He jumped back. “Damn it, that’s hot!”

She hadn’t intended to splatter him. Without thinking, she reached out to repair the damage.

He pushed her hand away. “It’s all right.”

“Are you burned?” she asked weakly.

“I’ll live.”

“The coffee will stain if you don’t rinse it out.”

“This shirt has seen a lot worse.”

Eying the T-shirt, Shaye had to agree. She guessed that it had been navy once upon a time, but no longer. It was ragged at the hem and armholes, and it dipped tiredly at the neck, but damn if it didn’t make him look roguish!

Sighing unsteadily, she moved more carefully into the salon and sank into a chair. Her head fell back and she closed her eyes. She felt Noah take the seat opposite her.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she whispered.

He didn’t have to think about it, when he’d done nothing else for the past few hours. “You intrigue me.”

It wasn’t the answer she wanted. “I didn’t think you were intrigued by cactus prickly women.”

“Ahh, but are you really cactus prickly? That’s the question.”

“I’m prissy.”

“Really?”

“You said it yourself.”

“Maybe I was wrong.”

“You weren’t.”

“Could’ve fooled me last night.”

Eyes still closed, she scrunched up her face. “Do you think we could forget about last night?”

“Jeeez, I hope not. Last night was really something.”

She moaned his name in protest, but he turned even that to his advantage.

“You did that last night and I liked it. You wanted me. Was that so terrible?”

Her eyes shot open and she met his gaze head-on. “I do not want you.”

“You did then.”

“I was too tired to know what I was doing.”

He was sitting forward, fingers loosely linked between spread knees. “That’s just the point. Your defenses were down. Maybe that’s the real you.”

“The real me,” she stated as unequivocably as she could, “is what you see here and now.” She had to make him believe it. She had to make
herself
believe it. “I live a very sane, very structured, very controlled existence.”

“What fun’s that?”

“It’s what I choose. You may say its boring, but it’s what
I
choose!”

“Is that why you burst into flames in my arms?”

She was getting nowhere. She’d known from the moment she’d left the deck so early this morning that she was in trouble, and Noah wasn’t helping. But then, she hadn’t really expected he would. So she closed her eyes again and tuned him out.

“You were hungry.”

She said nothing.

He upped the pressure. “Sex starved.”

Still silence.

He pursed his lips. “You can’t seduce Samson because he has his eye on your aunt, so that leaves only me.”

“I wouldn’t know how to seduce a man if I tried,” she mumbled. It fit in with the image of prissiness, but it was also the truth. She’d never had to seduce a man. Sex had been free and easy in the circles she’d run in. Perhaps that was why it had held so little meaning for her. Last night—this morning—had been different. She was still trying to understand how.

“I told you. All you have to do is bare those legs, shake out that hair and say something sweet.” He shifted and grimaced. “Lord, you’re only one-third of the way there, and I’m getting hard.”

Her eyes flew open. “You’re crude.”

He considered that. “Crude connotes a raw condition. Mmm, that’s pretty much the same thing as being hard.”

She bolted from the chair and stormed toward her cabin.

“You can’t hide there all day, y’know!” he called after her.

“I have no intention of hiding here,” she yelled back. “I’m getting a book—” she snatched it from her suitcase, which, standing on end, served as a makeshift nightstand “—and I’m going on deck.” She slammed past Noah back through the salon, then momentarily reversed direction to grab a cushion from the sofa.

“You can’t escape me there,” he warned.

“No,” she snapped as she marched down the alley toward the companionway, “but with other people around, you might watch your tongue.”

He was on her heels. “I’d rather watch yours. I liked what it did to me last night.”

“This morning.” She stomped up the steps. “It was this morning, and I can guarantee it won’t happen again.”

“Don’t do that,” he pleaded, once again the little boy with the man’s mind and body. “You really turned me on—”

“Shh!” She whipped her head around to give him a final glare, then with poise emerged topside, smiled and said, “Good morning, Samson.”

*   *   *

N
OAH STOOD AT THE WHEEL
, his legs braced apart, his fingers curled tightly around the handles. Steering the
Golden Echo
didn’t take much effort, but it gave him a semblance of control. He needed that. He wasn’t sure why, but he did.

Shifting his gaze from the ocean, he homed in on Shaye. She was propped on a cushion against the bulwark in the shade of the sails, reading. Her knees were bent, her eyes never left the page. Not a single, solitary strand of hair escaped its bonds to blow free in the breeze.

Prickly. God, was she prickly! She was the image of primness, but he knew there was another side.
He
knew it. She refused to admit it. And the more he goaded her, the more prickly she became.

He was no stranger to women. Granted, he wasn’t quite the roué he’d told Shaye he was, but his work brought him into contact with women all the time. He’d known charming ones, spunky ones, aggressive and ambitious ones. Shaye was as beautiful as any of them—or, he amended, she was when she let go. She’d done it last night, but it had been dark then. He wanted to see her do it now. If she freed her hair from its knot, relaxed her body, tossed back her head and smiled, he knew he’d take her image to his grave.

But she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He recalled the times when they’d bickered, when she’d bitten back retorts, taken deep breaths, done everything in her power to ignore his taunts. Sometimes she’d lost control and had lashed back in turn, but even then she’d been quick to regain herself.

What had she said—that she lived a structured and controlled existence? Beyond that he didn’t know much, other than that she was from Philadelphia and that she had neither a husband nor a cook. He did know that she was aware of him physically. She couldn’t deny what had happened right here, on this very spot, less than twelve hours before.

Nor could he deny it. He knew he was asking for trouble tangling with a woman who clearly had a hang-up with sex. But sex wasn’t all he wanted. She intrigued him; he hadn’t lied about that. He felt a desperate need to understand her, and that meant getting to know her. And
that
meant breaking through the invisible wall she’d built.

As he saw it, there were two ways to go about it. The first, the more civil way, was to simply approach her and strike up conversation. Of course, it would take a while to build her trust, and if she resisted him he might run out of time.

The second, the more underhanded way, was to keep coming at her as he’d been doing. She wouldn’t like it, but he might well be able to wear her down. Since she was vulnerable to him on a physical level, he could prey on that—even if it meant prying out one little bit of personal information at a time.

He had to get those bits of information. Without them, he couldn’t form a composite of her, and without that, he wouldn’t be able to figure out why in the hell he was interested in the first place!

*   *   *

“H
OW’S IT GOING
, ladies?”

Shaye looked up from her book to see Noah approach. So he’d finally turned the sailing over to Samson. She had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that he was doing his share.

“I should ask you the same question,” Victoria said, smiling up in welcome. “Are we making good progress?”

Noah looked out over the bow toward the western horizon. “Not bad. If the trade winds keep smiling and we continue to make five knots an hour, we’ll reach Costa Rica right on schedule.”

Shaye was relieved to hear that.

Victoria wasn’t so sure. “I’m enjoying the sail,” she said, stretching lazily. “I could take this for another month.”

Noah chuckled, then turned to Shaye. “How about you? Think you could take it for another month?”

Had it not been for that knowing little glint in his eye, Shaye might have smiled and nodded. Instead, she boldly returned his gaze and said, “Not on your life. I have to be back at work.”

He hunkered down before her, balancing on the balls of his feet. “But if you were to stretch your imagination a little and pretend that work wasn’t there, could you sail on and on?”