A Woman's Heart (19 page)

"Tell me," Peter commanded, his breath ruffling her hair.

Tell him that her parents' death had been her fault?

She could never tell him that.

He gently pushed her from him and held her so he could see her. She longed to shut her eyes, to block out the demand in his.

"How did they die?" he asked softly.

Few people over the years had even asked her that question, and those who had, had done so swiftly, not really wanting to know.

"We were on our way to the cabin we always rented at the lake." She didn't look at him as she spoke, found it easier that way. "It was my birthday. We were going to celebrate. My parents and I... we celebrated everything." Every day had been a party, every moment a joy. Birthdays especially. A burning scorched her throat, as though a thousand tiny flames had been lit and flamed to life.

"How old were you?"

"Does it matter?" she asked wearily.

"Yes," he answered, his attention as relentless as sand blowing across a desert.

"Fourteen," she said, swallowing hard. "My friend Dale asked me to go to the theater with her and her family. I was thrilled. I thought it seemed very... grown-up."

"But you were headed towards the cabin?"

"That was later, after the theater." She looked at him then, found eyes soft with concern, tinged with an emotion she couldn't define.

Bewildered, she lowered her gaze. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, and wiry black hairs spiraled out through the opening. She longed to return her head to his chest, to block out the past and never examine it again.

"So you went with Dale and her family?"

"Yes," she said reluctantly, "My parents told me to go with Dale and enjoy myself, said it sounded the perfect birthday treat."

Peter's face was like marble, impassive, not moving.

"They went up to the cabin as usual then came back for me Saturday evening when the play was over. They said we still had time to go to the cabin for a few days, so we headed back again that night." She was starting to feel dizzy again, as though no matter how many breaths she took, not enough oxygen found its way to her lungs.

She also felt chilled, as chilled as that night her parents had died.

"The road was icy," she said, glancing at the pavement in front of the car, "and narrow, like this road." Her lips felt frozen, too, like two blocks of ice sticking together.

"We went over the edge," she whispered, holding herself stiffly. Peter stroked her back in a long, caressing sweep, his fingers tracing a fiery path up her spine and across her shoulders, but the heat from his touch didn't penetrate her skin. She sat straighter yet, tried to hold onto her composure, tried to remain in control... unbreakable.

But no one was unbreakable.

Glancing back toward the cliff, she involuntarily clutched Peter's leg, remembered how she'd felt when she was little when her father threw her giggling and shrieking above his head

But this time, no one caught her. This time, she had landed. Not in a laughing tangle of arms and hair, cheek against cheek and warmth against warmth, but in a screaming, burning mass of metal against stone.

She would never forget the noise, or the terror in her mother's eyes as she wrenched her head around for one last helpless look, or the icy whiteness of her father's fingers as he fruitlessly clutched the steering wheel, twisting and turning it in a vain attempt to stop the car's headlong plunge.

But the silence that followed had been even worse. Complete. Absolute. Empty.

She had returned to consciousness yards from the burned-out wreckage of their car, flung from the back seat like a doll from a giant's hand. When she opened her eyes, she'd seen nothing at first, only the stars and the moon, and the black wall of the cliff. But when she twisted her head, the fiery ball that had been their car filled her heart and brain like a never-ending nightmare.

"They died," she said tonelessly, trying to shut out the images.

Peter stared down at her, his expression unchanged. No sign of horror, or even of pity. He stroked her hair now, his fingers tangling in its strands.

Numbness engulfed her once more. "It was my fault."

Peter's eyes grew black as shadows.

She pushed herself from him and huddled against the car door, the air surrounding her body as icy as her battered soul.

"It was an accident," Peter said firmly. His hand clamped her shoulder, as hot as the flat side of an iron. He dragged her around to face him. "It had nothing to do with you."

"If I'd gone with them in the first place we'd never have been on the road that late at night." She pressed her lips closed, determined to keep them from trembling. "We'd never have been going back."

"You've been a mother now for months," he growled. "You know how demanding parenthood is. Your parents probably relished the opportunity to spend some time alone."

She knew all that, had been trying to convince herself of it for years. "They made the trip back to town especially to get me!" she repeated dully. "If they hadn't, they'd be alive today."

"They could have died," he said, his words slow and distinct—compelling belief—allowing freedom from pain, "picking you up from school, or from the store, or from a friend's house. Or flying in a plane—like mine. They could have been killed crossing the street, for God's sake. Thousands are."

He made it sound so possible, made her want to believe.

"It's not your fault," he said gently, placing both hands on her shoulders. "Their fate had nothing to do with you."

His eyes had changed to the crystal green of a mountain lake. Their honest strength reached for her, loosening her despair and diluting it with acceptance, pushing it from her heart in wave after trembling wave.

He gathered her to his chest, the warm ballast of his arms stilling the tremors suddenly shaking her. Tears rolled down her face in unremitting currents, stretching the shackles binding her until some of them snapped, paving the way for healing.

Where her face lay, his shirt was damp. For a long moment she rested against him, drinking in his solace. Then gradually, so gradually it was all but unnoticeable, the pounding of his heart picked up speed, breaking through the stupor of her relief. It beat erratically at first then raced so insistently her heart matched its cadence.

Where her body touched his, her skin prickled with anticipation, became lit with the heat of a desire so intense, she moaned. As though sparked by the sound, heat flamed from him.

Her arms, motionless until now, disentangled themselves from his and stole upward until her hands joined around the back of his neck, the soft silk of his hair tickling her fingers.

"Peter," she whispered, struggling to remember he was the enemy, but unable to construct that image in the forefront of her mind. She was unable to think of anything, was able only to feel, relinquishing herself at last.

Peter's lips would heal. They descended towards hers slowly, compassion darkening his eyes to the color of a forest pool.

"Yes," she breathed, a sound as soft to her ears as the sigh of the wind.

He claimed her mouth and she shut her eyes, sinking beneath the wonder of his kiss. The taste, smell, and feel of him—all dazzled her senses and banished thought from her mind. Drowning in oblivion, she felt the moment could last forever.

Whoosh!

The car gave a violent shake. Fear jolted back as though it had never left. Unwilling to relinquish the touch of Peter's mouth, but needing to know the worst, Jann wrenched her lips from his and opened her eyes. An enormous truck laden with lumber had thundered past them, the cavernous air tunnel it created rattling the car's windows and setting its body to vibrating.

It was as though she had been rattled, too, shaken by an external force to pull away from this man before it was too late.

"We'd better be going," she said hoarsely, loosening her grip from around Peter's neck.

He moved to kiss her again.

With difficulty, she averted her lips.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she lied, "but we should go before it's too late."

"Too late for what?" he demanded huskily. "To hide what we're feeling?"

She couldn't allow herself to feel anything. This man had already succeeded in blurring what past experience had taught her—that love causes pain and was best avoided.

Love! Just saying the word sent a paroxysm through her chest and into her heart. She couldn't feel love for Peter. This was simply a physical reaction. Chemistry. Nothing more!

She tried to laugh lightly, as she'd seen other women do, but her effort ended in a croak, and appeared, if the rear view mirror was to be trusted, to be the falsest of smiles. She tried again, was more successful this time, her smile no longer a plastered-on parody of the real thing.

"I feel better," she said brightly, careful not to meet his eyes. "It's idiotic to be afraid of heights." She glanced at him then. "It was good of you," she began, her words stiffening as her body withdrew, "to be so sympathetic."

His lips, only seconds before moving wondrously over hers, were now a thin line. "We can't run away from the truth," he growled.

No, but she could damn well hide it from him.

"It has a way of catching up, whether we want it to or not".

She crossed her arms in front of her body, fending off the misery biting into her like hail.

With an angry movement, Peter pulled his arm from behind her back, reached for the car key, and turned it in the ignition.

Chapter 12

Heat lines danced on the steep path in front of Jann, tugging and straining at the nerve endings behind her eyes. Or maybe it was the memory of Peter's too-perceptive gaze staring accusingly into her own that was making her head throb so unremittingly.

She carefully shut her eyes. If she did it slowly enough, maybe the pain would go away. It didn't. Bleakly, she opened them again. There was no point in being careful. The pain in her head might disappear, but not that other pain—the one stabbing into her chest like a knife.

Her heel hooked a root and she stumbled as the path wound its way through a grove of bamboo. The plants' leafy branches met overhead, swathing through the blanket of heat beating relentlessly down. An unexpected breath of cool air rose up from the earth, chilling the perspiration dripping between her breasts.

It might be cooler beneath the trees, but the tension crackling between Peter and her was blistering. They had exchanged barely two words during the rest of the car ride and even now he walked ahead of her, his back ramrod straight.

"Let's head back," she suggested.

"No," Peter said stubbornly, turning to face her. "We're going to the top pool."

"Why? You can't possibly be enjoying yourself."

"The day has had its moments."

She flushed, trying to ignore the way her insides melted at the memory of his lips on hers.

"I want to show you the pools," he said again. His expression softened. "They'll be worth it," he promised.

"Don't you ever change your mind?"

"Never."

Jann's heart pounded. For a moment in that car, Peter's kisses had almost made her forget the reason he had come to Hawaii. She couldn't afford to forget. Pulling the tail of her cotton blouse from the waistband of her shorts, she wiped her damp forehead.

Peter's shirt was damp, also. It clung to his body, outlining his broad chest and muscular shoulders.

"Let me take that," he offered, reaching for the camera case dragging down her left shoulder.

She shivered at the touch of his fingers on her bare skin, but beneath the goose bumps she felt his heat.

He swung her camera bag over one shoulder then reached toward her again. This time he trailed his hand lightly down her arm creating spirals of sensation along its path. When his fingers met hers, they closed around them gently.

"Come on," he said, tugging on her hand, not seeming to notice the effect he had on her. "It isn't far now." Turning back to the trail, he half-pulled her up the slope behind him.