Truth or Dare (8 page)

Shock waves, warm and tingling, rushed through her.  She had no defense against this tender onslaught, nor did she wish for any.  She stood paralyzed, unable to move, not responding except for the rapid increase in her pulse and breathing.

Jared pulled back and looked at her.  In her eyes he saw the same startled wonder that he was feeling.  Something was happening here
—
something important
—
and he wanted to explore it more thoroughly.  The pulse pounding along her temples matched the rapid thundering of his heart.  His hands trailed down her silken arms until he reached her fingers.  He grasped her hands and brought them to his shoulders, where he held them until he was assured by the movement of her fingers that they would stay.

Rachel felt his large, warm hands settle on the curve of her waist.  And then he kissed her again.  But this kiss was different.  She felt his barely controlled passion, and as his lips took hers, she felt their plea.  They reached for her, yearned for her, begged her to open herself to their demand.  They seemed to say,
This move was mine.  The rest is up to you.

Emotions long dormant shimmied to life as his kiss became more insistent, and the sensuous woman buried deep inside her for so many years responded.  Her fingers dug into the smooth fabric of his dinner jacket.  Her mouth opened to his.

His tongue immediately darted within to explore, to taste, to tease, and soon her own tongue joined in the dance.  When she ran it along the sleek, silky underside of his, she felt a deep groan come from his throat.  His arms circled around and pulled her tightly against his chest. 

It was impossible to tell whose heart was pounding harder until Jared slipped a hand around and settled it possessively over her breast.  He turned her a little, for better access, and Rachel could only cling to him as his hard palm closed over her full, firm, flesh, nothing separating their skin but the thin layer of gold lamé.

She trembled with the force of feelings she'd never thought to feel again, feelings she wasn't sure she'd ever felt before.  His thumb flicked over her nipple and it instantly hardened.  Liquid warmth pooled deep inside her.  This time, it was Rachel who groaned.

Her response intoxicated him.  He felt her hands slide around his neck until they clutched frantically at the back of his head, holding him there where he most wanted to be.  He pressed his hips against her and knew she could feel the evidence of his arousal against her stomach.

At the first touch of his hardness against her abdomen, Rachel panicked.  The here and now receded, and the past swept forward, smothering her in gaping darkness and icy fear.  Rationally, she knew it was Jared who held her.  Jared wouldn't hurt her.  But sheer terror left no room for rational thoughts.  The panic overwhelmed her, and she fought for her life, squirming, shoving, trying to break free of the arms that imprisoned her.

Jared felt the change in her instantly, but didn't understand she was trying to get free until she tore her mouth from his and he saw her eyes.  God, her eyes.  He'd never seen such terror in his life.

"Rachel?"

With an anguished cry, she broke loose of his arms and stumbled backward against the balcony door.

Rachel cried out again as her head struck the glass door.  Blood rushed in her ears until all she could hear was a loud roar.  Panting, her one thought was of escape.

CHAPTER FOUR

She had to escape the huge, menacing body bending toward her.  Escape the large hand reached for her.  "No!"  She pushed back against the wall and held her hands out to ward him off.  "No!"

He backed off.  Thank God, he backed off.  His lips moved, but she heard nothing over the roar of her own blood, the rasp of her own breath.

It seemed as though she huddled there against the wall forever, shaking, shaking so hard.  Freezing.  She was so cold.

"Rachel?"

The voice penetrated this time.  She blinked to clear her vision, shocked to feel moisture trickling down her cheeks.  "Jared?"

"It's me.  You're safe.  Do you hear me?"  His voice lured her out of the darkness and terror.  "You're safe, Rachel."

Slowly, slowly, Jared saw sanity creep back into her eyes.  Nothing in his life had shaken him the way her terror just had.  His heart pounded.  He ached with the need to comfort her, yet he didn't dare touch her.

"Rachel?  Are you all right?" 
Stupid question, Morgan.

But she gave him a shaky nod.  "I
—
"  She paused to suck in a deep lungful of air.  "I'm
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
sorry."  Then her knees buckled.

Reflex had him reaching to catch her before he could stop himself.  He held his breath, praying his sudden touch wouldn't set her off again.

She fell against him, then tried to straighten.  "I'm okay."

The hell you are.
  "I know.  It's all right.  Here."  He led her toward the armchair in the corner.  "Sit down a minute and catch your breath."

He eased her onto the chair and reluctantly let her slip from his arms.  Kneeling before her, he pushed her hair back from her face.  "Better?"

Nodding, Rachel sniffed and closed her eyes.  Oh, God, how would she ever face him again?  She couldn't believe what had just happened.

She felt Jared move away, but refused to open her eyes.  A moment later he was back.

"Here, have a sip."

She opened her eyes and stared at the glass of water he held out.  When she reached for it, her hand shook so violently he had to help her get the glass to her lips.  After she took a sip, he set the glass
on the floor beside her chair.

"Thank you," she managed.

"You're welcome."

She wanted to cry at the way he carefully moderated his voice, as if afraid one wrong word, even a wrong tone, would send her into another fit of panic.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly.

Talk about it?  She couldn't even bear to think about it.  "I'm sorry."

"Would you quit saying that?  It's my fault.  I shouldn't have rushed you.  I should have
—
"

"No," she cried.  "It's not your fault.  I just panicked, all right?  I'm sorry.  I
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
I had a bad experience once.  It was a long time ago.  I
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
I thought I was over it."

She hadn't meant to say so much.  As she watched a taut stillness come over him, she wanted to call back the words.

Jared felt ice creep through his veins.  "Were you raped?"

She shook her head and swallowed.  "No, but it was a near thing."

He forced himself to relax his hands.  "Does this sort of thing happen often?" 
Another stupid question, Morgan.  It's none of your business.

"God, I hope not."

"Did I do something that scared you?   Tell me, Rachel.  Was it something I did?"

She gave him a sad smile.  "You kissed me."

Jared felt the blood drain from his face.

"No," Rachel cried, reaching for him.  "I didn't mean it like that.  I wanted you to kiss me.  You didn't do anything wrong, Jared.  I didn't know this would happen.  You're the first .
 
.
 
. I mean, I haven't
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
I
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
I didn't know this would happen."

He took her trembling hand in his and studied it intently.  What she'd just told him, without actually saying it, was that he was the first man she'd kissed since someone had nearly raped her.  He'd been so intent on his own pleasure, he hadn't worried about being gentle.  He'd let his hunger for her get control and fog his brain.  "I feel like such a bastard."

"And I feel like a total fool."

"You have nothing to feel foolish about.  What happened was not your fault."

"It wasn't yours, either, Jared."

Logically, Jared might someday be able to convince himself of that.  Someone from Rachel's past had traumatized her, attacked her, nearly raped her.  The rage that surged through Jared at the thought made him want to find the man responsible and make him pay.  With his life.

But when he looked around the room, the only man present was Jared Morgan.  No matter what she said, he would always blame himself for that look of terror in her eyes.

"Jared," Rachel said.  "I mean it.  It wasn't your fault.  Please don't blame yourself."

Jared brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.  "Get some rest.  If you want to skip the meeting tomorrow
—
"

"No.  I'll be fine."

So she said.  But he wondered.

*  *  *  *

When the phone rang at seven the next morning, Rachel shot straight up, surprised to realize she'd actually fallen asleep sometime during the night.  She answered the wake
–
up call, then lost any semblance of alertness.  Groggy from only a few hours of sleep, she groped her way through the darkness to the bathroom.

She flipped on the light, then groaned as a thousand needles of pain shot into her eyes.  Two giant hammers took up a rhythmic pounding inside her head.  A glance at the mirror confirmed that she looked as bad as she felt.

She'd spent most of the night shivering in the aftermath of her panic, tossing and turning, trying to forget.  Sutton, Hank, Jared, Jared's mother.  The world's longest elevator ride.  The world's most disastrous dinner.  The world's most devastating kiss.  The terror that had followed.  There were a lot of things to forget.

Jared's kiss had been so sweet, so hot.  And then she had panicked. 
Damn you, Carl Sutton, what have you done to me?

How was she ever going to face Jared again?

I won't,
she told herself.  At least, she wouldn't face him again the way she had last night
—
without her disguise, her protection.

He hired a bag lady, and that's what he was going to get.  If he wanted a fashion model, he could damn well find one somewhere else.  If he wanted a normal woman who could share a simple kiss without go
ing
berserk, he'd have to look elsewhere for her, too.

With her mind made up, Rachel showered, then resumed her hated disguise.  It was still early when she was dressed and ready to go.  She didn't want to wait for Jared.  She'd rather face him in a conference room full of people than here, alone, in her room.

*  *  *  *

Jared stepped from the shower, tucked the towel around his waist, and frowned at his blurred image in the steamy mirror.

What the hell had happened last night?  Had that really been Rachel?  Was that gorgeous creature with a body that would make a monk break his vows really his secretary?  Had he held her?  Kissed her?  Had she really responded to him the way no woman had before?  And now that her disguise was out of the way
 
.
 
.
 
. now what?  Go on as before?  As if nothing had changed?

But something had changed.  Last night they'd crossed a barrier he'd never crossed with someone who worked for him, but it was a barrier he'd gladly cross again
—
with Rachel.

Rachel.

He closed his eyes and pictured her as she'd been last night, all golden and soft and desirable.

It was a full minute before he remembered how the night had ended.  He swore at himself viciously.  He should have known better, dammit.  The disguise, the fear in her eyes when he'd discovered her deception, her half
–
hearted explanation of the wig and glasses.  He should have known it was more serious than that.

He looked in the mirror again, and his mouth quirked up at one corner. 
What now, Morgan?  You gonna chase her around the desk?

He sneered at his reflection.  No, he wasn't going to chase her around the desk.  He knew that.  But right now, that was about all he knew, except that he didn't want to think about not ever being able to kiss her again.  He would just have to take things as they came.

With a troubled sigh, he reached for his shaving kit.  Something white flashed in the mirror.  He poked his head out the bathroom door and saw a piece of paper on the floor, just inside the door to the hall.

Puzzled, he walked over and picked it up.  It was Rachel's handwriting.  "Jared:  I got ready early, so I'll meet you in the conference room.  Rachel."