Leaping Hearts(46)

As soon as A.J. put her hand on the front doorknob, he opened the door. His hair was still wet from the shower and he’d changed into a pair of black slacks and a black shirt. He looked dangerously handsome as he shrugged into a leather jacket.

“I’m going out,” he told her.

“Will you be back for dinner?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I wanted to finish our conversation.”

She watched him stiffen and knew he was feeling as conflicted as she was. It was obvious in his preoccupied expression and the way he wouldn’t look her in the eye.

“A.J., I need some time to think. I want to do the right thing by you. I really do.”

“And what’s the right thing?”

“To stay away from you. To be your teacher and your trainer and your friend. To support you unconditionally as you reach for your goal.”

“But you want me to go.”

His eyes became fierce. “Having you leave is the last thing I want. All I want is you.”

He closed the distance between them and pulled her against him. She could feel his body, hot and throbbing, and his eyes roamed over her with a hunger she found thrilling.

“I can’t get you out of my thoughts,” he said. “I’m consumed by the need to be with you. I feel you in my dreams and wake up aching when you’re not there. I don’t want you to go. I want you in my bed. I want to be in you.”

“So take me.”

Their lips met in a blaze of passion and she welcomed the invasion of his tongue, matching his urgency with her own. His mouth moved hungrily over hers, demanding what she was all too ready to give him, and in response, she pressed her body against his, her breasts straining for his touch, her hips welcoming the rigid length of his need. Underneath her hands, his chest was a solid wall that housed a pounding heart and she thrilled at the knowledge she was the object of his passion. As they kept kissing, she was aching, aching at her very core, to have the ultimate union with him. He was a fever in her blood, the sole cause and only relief for her longing.

“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman before,” he moaned against her mouth. “More than I’ve wanted anything.”

His kisses rained down on the skin of her neck and she gripped his shoulders, scratching into the leather of his jacket. She wanted him to go further, to rip off her clothes and press her down onto the couch. She wanted him naked against her skin, thrusting deep inside her and making her feel the burning pleasure until she screamed his name.

But then he slowed down and soon he was pulling away. With a tender motion, he stroked her cheek. His hand was shaking.

“This is dangerous,” he said softly. “This heat between us…I can’t be rational when I’m so attracted to you.”

“I don’t want you to be rational.”

“You’re going to need me to be. Sometime, in the course of getting to the Qualifier or when you’re in the throes of it, you’re going to need me to be there for you in a way that’s strictly professional. The problem is, I can’t think clearly because I’m consumed by the need to have you.”

“We can make it work.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Are you saying it’s either you or the Qualifier? Either we live apart or you won’t train me?”

To Devlin, her eyes were pools of need and her body an aching torment for him, everything he wanted but was determined to deny himself. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest, her hips as they fit into his, the passion that swirled in the air between them. His will, slipping away again, told him to put his mouth down on hers. He wanted more of her honey, more of that intoxication that was for him better than any drink.

Deliberately, painfully, he stepped back from her.

“I don’t think I can hold back anymore. I can’t have you in this house and walk into the bathroom after you’ve bathed and smell that lavender in the mist. I can’t toss and turn in my bed alone, wanting you. I can’t keep going like this and I hate myself for it.” He zipped up his jacket with a sharp, frustrated movement. “What I’m saying is that I can be your lover or your trainer. And I need you to choose.”

Devlin looked at her for a moment, tracing over the lines of her face with eyes that were conflicted and sad. Then he stepped out of the house and went down to his truck. She watched him get in and drive down the dirt lane until he disappeared into the curve of the woods.

It was a long time before A.J. could shut the door. She was willing him to come back and take her into his arms and tell her she didn’t have to pick between her passion for him and her drive to compete. But she knew he wouldn’t.

With a heavy heart, she put her jacket on its lonely peg and was careful not to look at the empty space where Devlin’s usually hung. Wandering around in a daze, unable to confront the decision she was being forced to consider, she eventually went into the kitchen to lose herself in cooking. It was the only thing she could think of doing in a house that had no TV, no magazines, and books only on carpentry and baseball.

She decided to make lasagna, figuring it would be straightforward. With no cookbooks to consult, she knew it was best to keep it simple. After all, how hard could it be to layer noodles and sauce in a pan and throw it in the oven?

It was a prophetic thought. Between her lack of know-how and a preoccupied mind, she turned the kitchen into a combat zone in less than an hour. She burned the canned sauce while heating it up and the noodles congealed into something close to Spackle when she forgot to take them out on time. After she started cramming the mess into a pan, she discovered there was no mozzarella. With dubious genius, she substituted sour cream, clumping it on the top in big scoops.