"If you stay, you have to keep your distance from Brent."
"No problem," she said fervently.
"Done," Travis said, took her in his arms and kissed her.
He'd intended it as a joke, a way of sealing their bargain. But as her body stiffened in his embrace, her palms pushing against his chest, it very soon changed into something else. Fire streaking through his belly. A searching for a response he wanted more than he'd ever wanted anything before. He moved his lips over hers, one hand stroking her spine, the other moving lower to clasp her by the hips.
With a suddenness that jolted through his body, Julie kissed him back. The resistance melted from her frame; her hands moved up his shoulders to lace themselves behind his head, her fingers tangling in his hair. In a surge of heat he felt the softness of her breasts against his chest, and deepened his kiss, easing her lips apart, drinking deeply of their sweetness.
His groin hardened. But instead of moving away, she leaned into him, her hips pressed to his. "Julie," he muttered, "beautiful Julie," and thrust with his tongue. His whole body was aflame with need. And what better place to make love with her than here, his favorite haunt since he was a small boy?
She was willing. He was in no doubt of that.
He fumbled for the hem of her shirt, easing his hand beneath it to find the silky smoothness of her back, the curved ridges of her ribs. With another of those disorienting jolts he realized she wasn't wearing a bra; as his fingers slid around her ribs to cup the soft swell of her breast, she whimpered with pleasure.
Her nipple hardened beneath his thumb. He plundered her mouth, desperate for her, and felt her tug his T-shirt free of his jeans. Then her palm glided from his navel up to the tangle of dark hair on his chest. He freed his mouth long enough to mutter, "We're wearing far too many clothes." Easing her away, he reached for the top button on her shirt. "I want to see you. All of you. Lie down with me, Julie … "
Her eyes were dazzled, her skin delicately flushed; her mouth was swollen from his kisses. He nibbled gently at her lower lip, murmuring between kisses, "I want you so much, you're so lovely, so generous." With a husky laugh he added, "But the buttons on your shirt are much too small … can you help me?"
Taking her consent as a given, he hauled his shirt over his head. She was standing very still, watching him, her eyes glued to the taut lines of his body. Her face convulsed, and briefly she pressed her hands to her cheeks. She looked stunned, he thought. Stunned and frightened out of her wits. Frightened? Of him? "You don't need-"
She said faintly, as though he hadn't spoken, "Travis, we can't! We can't make love like this. We don't know the first thing about each other, and all we've done is fight ever since we met." Her breath caught in a little sob. "It would be madness."
Her distress was all too evident; it was no act. Even so, he was almost sure that if he kissed her, he could change her mind. But did he want to make love with her and then have her regret it afterward? He said hoarsely, "Let me tell you this much-I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. And that's the God's truth."
She bit her lip. "You terrify me," she whispered. "You make me into a stranger, a woman I don't even know. I never behave like this. Never!"
The tumult in his body was slowly subsiding. Travis said roughly, "Stay, Julie. Stay the whole weekend. At least do that."
"I don't know. I just don't know!"
She was like a hare cornered by wolves, he thought, with the same desperate need for escape. He'd been a fool to kiss her so passionately, frightening her away.
What scared him was how little choice he'd had; how something about her called to him in the most primitive way possible. And explain that if you can, Travis Strathem.
He should be begging her to leave, not to stay. He had enough on his plate right now without adding to the mix a woman as complex and desirable as Julie.
"I've got to get out of here," she muttered. "I can find my own way back- I'll see you at breakfast."
In full view of the family. He said, making no attempt to hide his frustration, "I don't know the first thing about you-where you live in Portland, whether you're working there, where you're from."
She looked straight at him. "You know something about me I didn't even know myself," she whispered. Then, before he could respond, she'd turned and was running down the path. The shrubs closed over her passage, the leaves swaying and then still. As though he'd dreamed her, Travis thought. As though she didn't really exist.
CHAPTER FIVE
By the time Julie had crossed the ornately carved bridge over the stream, she was panting for breath. She'd run hard all the way from the cliffs; and it had helped her make up her mind. She'd go straight to her room to pack. Then she'd go in search of Oliver to find out what time he was leaving for the mainland; she could always tell Corinne and Charles that her headache was worse, not better.
Running away, Julie?
You're darn right, she thought, bursting out of the woods, then stopping dead in her tracks. Corinne, tastefully dressed in tailored trousers and a pale pink sweater, was clipping roses in the garden, laying them in a basket that could have come out of a Jane Austen novel. She raised her head when she saw Julie. "Good morning," she said cordially. "How are you feeling, Julie? Better, I gather?"
Julie swallowed a tremor of laughter. She could hardly say her headache was worse, not when she'd been pounding through the woods as though she were training for a marathon. "It's fine, thank you. What beautiful colors!"
"I want them for decorating the buffet table tonight." Corinne started naming the different varieties, giving Julie a brief history of each as she went. Julie listened with half her attention, wondering why Corinne couldn't be as interested in her stepson's welfare as she was in her roses. Then Corinne broke off to ask, "Have you seen Travis this morning by any chance?"
"He's out at the lighthouse."
"I should have guessed that's where he'd be." Rather too casually, Corinne added, "He did say last night that he may not stay for the party. Oliver could take him back around nine."
Julie didn't know if Travis was going to stay. Even less did she know her own decision. She stared down at the petals of a rose called Ferdinand Pichard, its petals striped deep pink and white. Passion and purity, she thought, and forced down the memory of Travis's devastatingly passionate kisses, and her own equally ardent response.
Stay or go. Which was it to be?
"Are you sure you're all right?" Corinne asked.
"I'm fine." Julie gulped, and added impulsively, "I hope Travis will stay. He mentioned something about making peace with his father. Life's too short for families to be estranged, wouldn't you agree, Corinne?"
Corinne snipped off a spray of creamy floribundas. "Travis isn't easy to get along with. Nor do I want anything to spoil Charles's party-we've gone to far too much trouble and expense for that." Reaching for a delicate pale yellow rose centered with pink, she added, "Have you known Brent long?"
"Long enough," Julie said dryly, not really caring how Corinne interpreted that. "I'm going to have a shower, I'll see you at breakfast."
She marched across the grass. Huge tents with striped awnings were being erected near the main door; baskets of blue and pink hydrangeas flanked the stone walls. It would be a beautiful party, she thought irritably. Appearance over substance. Just like her entire life with her parents.
Would Travis stay? Or would he leave?
When Travis entered the dining room, where breakfast was always served buffet style on the vast mahogany sideboard, Charles and Corinne were already there. "Good morning," he said pleasantly. "No sign of Brent?"
"Brent rarely eats breakfast," Charles said shortly.
"Did you sleep well?" Corinne asked with punctilious good manners.
"About as badly as a man can sleep," Travis said. "I'm staying, Dad. I'll tell everyone tonight that I just got in from Angola, that's why they haven't seen me around. And before that it was Tanzania and Laos. Apart from anything else, it happens to be the truth."
"And when are you returning to Angola?" Charles rapped.
"I've taken over a private practice in Portland for the summer, because the resident doctor wanted to go to Scotland with his family. So I'll be heading out early in the fall. Although probably not back to Angola."