The Monkey Jungle (The Bennt, Montana Series) Page 12

  “Like I said, it didn’t help.” She sounded irritable. “Neither does pacing, exercise, cold showers, jalapeños or shopping. I’ve got it bad,” she muttered through closed eyes, but her fingers curled on his shoulder. “Not even those danged jalapeños distracted me—IBS has nothing on you.”

  He chuckled and pulled her against him only to have her sigh sadly and slump comfortably against him.

  “Your timing is atrocious, Mary Kathryn.” He glanced at her face when she didn’t respond. She was asleep, curled against him as if she’d slept there for years. And it felt right. She felt right.

  He wondered what she would say when she discovered she wouldn’t even be able to take off a shoe around him. His erection was painful, and growing more so every time—which meant since he’d met her he’d been in perpetual discomfort. He wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her—his lips twitched. She would be batting them away and he’d be talking her into quickies or she’d never get anything done. His chest trembled with amusement. They’d starve to death living off her waffle! She would be easy to love—because she was easy to love. She lied when it suited her purpose, she cheated to see if she could get away with it, she manipulated because she was clever and thought it was amusing even when it backfired on her. The noose around her finger was tightening.

  Her face in repose was pale, silky smooth. Faint laughter lines fanned from the corners of her eyes. Garth pushed strands of heavy black curls from her lips, staring at the colorful mountainous landscape on the wall by the door and thinking about what he’d learned about her the night before. He’d never been privy to an entire evening with such a group. Mary Kathryn’s friends were different, refreshing.

  While they’d flirted outrageously, and taken jabs at him and each other, they all had more regard for one another than they did for whatever conflict he might bring between them. These women wouldn’t let a man come between them. They valued their friendship with each other more. Well, not Mary Louise—but the others tolerated her need for constant validation. It was almost as if Mary Louise was a buffer. With her constantly on the prowl, she weeded out the men who tried to infiltrate their tight-knit little club. And if she were successful in her man pilfering, the others knew he wasn’t serious and let him go—with no hard feelings toward Mary Louise.

  She was their damned goat! Tethered in their little Margarita Garden to eat the man weeds that occasionally popped up.

  They were completely ruthless, because even if the fool figured out he’d made a mistake, he was cut, maybe kept as a friend, but never again trusted. And they weren’t even doing it consciously. Or were they?

  He glanced down at Mary Kathryn’s face. Yes, she knew. They all knew. How many times had Mary Louise with her needy, blatant grab for a conquest snagged some man Mary Kathryn might have been interested in? And how badly had it hurt Mary Kathryn? Mary Kathryn was nothing like the overblown, brazen Mary Louise, whose real personality had been further unveiled as the evening had progressed. And Mary Kathryn allowed her friend to play her games, perhaps knowing Mary Louise was a necessary evil in the bigger picture.

  Was that also why she’d taken him with her? Not only to stifle the gossip her shooting had stirred, but to show him that she wouldn’t compete for him. Not ever. He either wanted her, on her terms, or he could walk away. And she would let him, and go on with her life—Mary Louise, with her dyed blond hair and need for admiration from men, all men, and Mary Kathryn the observer, aware of his reactions to her friend’s ploy. She’d known Mary Louise would see him as a challenge.

  Mary Louise hadn’t been shy, even coming behind their chairs and leaning between them, forcing his arm from Mary Kathryn’s chair, her breasts in his face, asking him to help her pick songs again, offering a game of pool.

  Mary Kathryn had tested him. Garth wasn’t offended, recalling the hazing they’d given her. They didn’t, couldn’t, see her with any man. Because they never had. How odd. Of all of them, she had a latent sensuality that was obvious to any man with brains to look beyond the size of Mary Louise’s astounding cleavage; a cleavage he knew more men had climbed and flagged than the Indy 500. He’d stopped looking at women like Mary Louise long ago. She was toxic, needy and couldn’t resist the next man who one of her friends brought around. She’d go after the man whether she really wanted him or not just to prove she could have him.

  Mary Kathryn was hard as nails in her own way. She would give no quarter if she were ever betrayed.

  And she didn’t wear panties—it was driving him nuts.

  “Garth,” she murmured against his chest.

  “Hmm?” His arm tightened about her.

  “Let’s go fishing this afternoon. I need some catch and release.”

  His fingers slid through her thick hair. He’d passed her test, her tossing him out like bait to her hungry friend. He knew exactly what he’d accomplished not taking up the various offers he’d received as their evening had progressed. From Mary Louise, from the Chamber of Commerce lady and a few others who had been slightly less obvious. He’d earned a small degree of her trust. Other women had tried to chat him up, but Mary Louise had been the most offensive. The woman didn’t understand why every man she met didn’t fall flat for her. She had some serious issues.

  “Fishing would be nice, Mary Kathryn, but there are better ways to burn off energy,” his voice was husky against her forehead. “Like seeing how much memory this foam really has.”

  “You just like my bed,” she grumbled. “I shouldn’t even have let you sit on it.” She fell quiet once again, her breathing becoming even.

  Garth relaxed into her marvelous bed, his eyelids falling. He had her exactly where he wanted her. She liked him beyond the physical attraction they were experiencing; she might even have begun to care for him a tiny bit. Now to up the ante a notch.

  Chapter Twelve

  “MARY KATHRYN—”

  Hours later Garth’s voice whispered in her ear. She awoke dreamily to find herself face to face with him, her body draped half across his, one arm across his chest. She blinked slowly, her fingers curling into his shoulder as she relaxed into his warmth.

  He was in her bed—the object of her obsession. Heat from his body warmed her, the hardness of masculine muscle and bone teased her, she stretched sensually, half asleep, relishing the warm solid comfort his body offered.

  “I’m going to shower,” he murmured against her mouth. “Would you like to join me?” He was so close their breath was one. She met his eyes to find him studying her face with a warm, lazy perusal. Desire curled and wrapped itself along her nerves. Her attention fractured when his finger began to move against her hip, caressing her flank, tightening as she became aware of his erection against her thigh. Her eyes flew to his face. Garth remained silent, simply meeting her gaze, as if to say: it’s a fact. It’s there.

  Her eyelids lowered and she sighed. He withdrew from her slightly, pulling his head further away. “Will you?”

  “Will I what?” her husky question was barely a whisper.

  “Take a shower with me?” The deep timbre of his voice held rich promise. The sensual tone lured, seductive, the intensity of green in his gaze seeming to look through her.

  “A shower?” she inquired breathily. “Although tempting, that would come down the road as a natural progression of a relationship.” Her gaze focused on his lips. He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. Acute disappointment flared through her. She trembled, her lips parting slightly.

  He peered closely into her face. “Think of it,” he coaxed, his voice low, his gaze never leaving hers. “Warm water cascading over you—me standing behind you, brushing against your body.” His head lowered again, his mouth going against the hair next to her ear as his hands began to move.

  “I’m kissing your ear. You close your eyes and feel my hands—slick with soap—sliding slowly down your breasts as I kiss your neck.” He was whispering, desire thickening his voice, his hands following his words. “Kiss
your shoulders. It’s quiet...only the sounds of our breath...and the water running over us. You can feel every inch of me behind you... You lean against me, arch your back...”

  She shivered, his mouth on her neck as she tilted her head sideways to give him better access—she imagined water flowing over her, them—his hands hard, warm, slick; her own covering, resting lightly on his, moving with his. His mouth creating heady sweet sensations, his erection hard against her naked bottom. Mary Kathryn shifted against it restlessly.

  She inhaled sharply as Garth rolled her onto her back and moved over her. She trembled again, anticipation curled, licked along her senses as he pressed her deeper into her bed. He nestled against her body, then moved again, both of them fully clothed. He raised onto his elbows, his hips cradled in hers as he kept the bulk of his weight from her. She could feel the heaviness of his erection through their clothes. She tilted up restlessly, dragging against it. He jerked, his eyelids to lowered, his attention transfixed on her mouth.

  “Take a shower with me,” he coaxed softly. The planes of his face were stark, desire etched on them.

  “I-I—” her disappointment in herself rankled. It was obvious when he didn’t kiss her that he wasn’t going to try and convince her to finish this—this thing between them...

  He was silent for moment, not moving, then said quietly, introspectively. “Women have always been too easy for me. Which is why I don’t respect them in general. I don’t ever remember a time in my life when they weren’t throwing themselves at me. Even my wife chased me relentlessly. When I learned to value what I had with her, it was too late. I couldn’t find another one that I truly wanted. Those needs changed, as I matured—as they should.”

  “We both know women were easy for you because of your looks.” Mary Kathryn stated the obvious, her gaze roaming over his perfect face. Handsome was mild when describing the man, symmetrical masculine planes, clean and boldly put together. The slight stubble on his unshaven jaw and chin only added to the attractiveness. Even his eyelashes were perfect, long and thick, framing those oh so green eyes he’d been blessed with. Bedroom eyes, she decided. Right now they were focused completely on her, no questions, no waiting for an answer, simply looking at her, and so emerald she was drowning in them. He moved slightly, pressing, no, teasing her as his erection settled deeper into the cradle her body gave him. Her own arms slid up to hold his shoulders, only to fall back to the bed.

  “I can’t have an affair with you,” she said starkly, not hiding her regret. “I won’t. It might—hurt too much when you left. And I don’t want to tease you...not like this anyway. Not sexually. I’m not making promises I won’t keep. Not for you, for me.”

  “I know,” he didn’t appear disturbed by her quiet admission, the intensity in his gaze increasing. This was what he liked about her the best. She wasn’t going to commit unless she committed her all. If she did, she’d be his salvation. Because she’d work with him to keep their relationship strong. “But you can take a shower with me. An innocent shower. No sex, just soap and water, mutual desire...anticipation.” He moved his hips again and watched her eyes darken. The change fascinated him. “Just two people learning each other. Learning something about one another.” He murmured evocatively against her mouth, “Innocently sensual...revealing...” Once again he captured her imagination, captivated her. He wove a picture, created a set of images she wanted to experience. “But no sex,” he ended with on a hoarse, regretful note.

  She absorbed the idea, wondering what he was about, what tact he was taking. His erection belied his words. “I don’t understand what you are saying. I mean, I do. But I don’t”

  His fingers slid through the hair to cup her face, an almost intrigued look played on his own. “I’ve been no angel,” he admitted what she already knew. “We could hop into a hot tub naked as relative strangers and think nothing of it. But most women can’t and won’t take an innocent shower with a man without having first had sex. But they’ll go home with a stranger from a club, have sex, and then take a shower with them.”

  Mary Kathryn stared up at Garth. He would know. Was it too personal—being naked and vulnerable in a shower, not having had sex and knowing they wouldn’t? How many one night stands had the man had, that he would have thought of that? She was intrigued. Could she take a shower with a virtual stranger? No, not her—But sleep with him and then take a shower?

  “Your twenties were for sleeping with all the wrong people,” she observed wryly, not knowing what else to say, wanting that shower with him, no longer a stranger, and so wonderfully warm and hard against her she was weakening. The idea tantalized her. She flirted with her sense of daring. Self preservation won out.

  “And my thirties.” Garth’s smile was ironic. “I knew, but—” he grimaced. “Habits.” And loneliness, but he wouldn’t admit that right now. Coming to terms with himself and what he wanted, like her, he knew it was simply easier to be alone.

  Her fingers caressed his face as she said drolly, “Men are like dogs. Give them a bone they want to bury it in something.”

  Amusement flashed across his face. He didn’t want to laugh, but he did, then kissed the tips of the fingers trailing on his face. “Witty witch—are you a man hater? I haven’t received that impression at all.”

  “You know I’m not man bitter,” Mary Kathryn said easily. “Just honest with myself. When I want to be. Too much beef bad,” she patted his head and smiled. She stared at his mouth and he pretended not to notice. Bless him.

  “You’re flirting with me?” His voice went an octave deeper. “When I have you vulnerable?” He flexed his back slightly, eliciting a small gasp from her. “Where does that leave me?”

  “Showering by yourself.” The man was lethal when he put some effort into it.

  Garth deliberately flexed his back again, rubbing the bulge in his jeans against her intimately. Her response was immediate. Her eyes darkened even more, an enthralling, sensual pleasure crossed her face, one that made him catch his breath. One of her hands slid around his neck, her fingers caressing his nape, the other went to his shoulder. Her lips parted slightly. Her back arched almost imperceptibly. Her hip tilted to increase the friction through their clothes. Her face took on a languorous sensuality.

  Eminent satisfaction filled Garth, it took everything in him not to lower his head and claim her mouth with the ravenous hunger she caused in him. She was a giver, satisfaction for her came from touching, from the sensation and pleasure of another’s skin and mouth—from the confidence of knowing she could wallow in her partner’s body. To this end she would be giving of herself, caress, touch, feel, explore until her partner was absolutely and completely engaged. She would bring her vibrancy, her sense of mischief, her sense of adventure, her very confidence to bed. And she was confident. She knew herself and knew what she needed, and refused to settle for less.

  His groin ached. His big body shook.

  “Kiss me.” Mary Kathryn tugged his head down. “Just this once. I need to know—”

  Garth leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose then reluctantly pulled away, aware of her disappointment, deeply aware her fine eyes were brilliant—molten heated dark blue. He wanted to howl, to give in, tear off clothes—as she would someday do to him, both of them frantic and laughing, breathless. But, no—it was too soon. This clever, beautiful woman would take what she wanted and send him on his way. It was too soon. She didn’t even get a kiss. Not yet. And it was killing him. She squirmed against him, causing him to catch his breath as she deliberately lifted her hips and slid up, then back down his erection. He pulled away, knowing his face was harsh with the effort.

  “And I was worried about you thinking I was a tease...” Mary Kathryn slumped back without another word, her arms falling away from him as he pushed himself from her and rose from the bed. The loss of him against her made her shiver, not with cold, but with longing, acute yearning. Garth stood beside the bed for the longest time, not concealing anything—regret, desir
e, lustful need colored his face.

  “I’ll save you some hot water,” he said slowly, his voice husky, hoarse to his own ears. “Get your marvelous butt out of bed, don’t forget you’ve invited me to go fishing.”

  “Mom?” Henry’s voice was outside her door. It opened. He strode in, his expression blackening at the sight of Garth on the other side of her bed reaching for his shoes. Henry appeared somewhat mollified to see his mother dressed on top of the bed with blankets rumpled around her.

  “Henry?!” Mary Kathryn’s voice was cool, quick shock flying across her face at his rude entrance.

  “I, uh, it’s almost eleven,” Henry continued forward boldly. “I wanted to see if you were awake.”

  “And?” Mary Kathryn’s eyes narrowed as she looked at her son. She swung her legs over the bed, reaching for her own shoes.

  “I’m taking the jeep, Alison was called in to work.” He almost looked petulant.

  “And you couldn’t have left me a note? Or figured out by now I have a brain and would have realized when I saw it gone you were using it again.” Her observation had him scowling and looking significantly at Garth, who only nodded as he exited the room. Henry wandered around looking at her things before he pivoted and glared accusingly at his mother. He opened and closed his mouth before it straightened into a thin disapproving line.

  “What now, Henry?” Mary Kathryn said, angry he’d entered her bedroom without her permission. “Spit it out or choke on it.”

  “You’ve got a new bed!”

  That wasn’t what she had expected. Not that she’d known what to expect. She stared at him blankly for a moment then shrugged carelessly. “It’s pretty, isn’t it.” She admired the richly dark almost red wood with its natural grains so cleverly brought out by the cut itself. She ran her hand over the cool, polished surface. “Next time you come into my room, Henry, knock first.” She eyed him with chilly reproof. “And wait for permission to enter. As I would do for you.”