Fix You (26 page)

             
Chris chuckled and the soft, warm sound did odd things to her already trembling stomach. “You’re gonna need help lugging the body over to the lake.”

             
She twitched a smile she didn’t feel. “Offering to be my accomplice?”

             
“Yes.”

             
The way he said it, the quiet, assured honesty of it, brought her head up and around, eyes searching for his. He was watching her in that unnerving way of his that had become normal by this point. A shiver stole through her that had nothing to do with Tyler’s departure.

             
“Hungry?” she asked when she could.

             
He nodded.

**

              The kitchen, wreathed in deep shadows, still smelled like the lemon chicken pasta Jess had made for dinner. Chris, feet spread flat on the floor, leaned back in his chair until his spine cracked, maintaining his silent vigil of the back property through the window. The house was a hulking, empty wreck all around him, groaning all night, but here in the new kitchen, stomach full of a woman’s cooking, that same woman asleep just down the hall, he allowed himself the moment he’d never had before to appreciate this kind of domesticity. Watching through windows for a stalker had nothing to do with being Jessica’s contractor, and they both knew that. Because she hadn’t protested it, he assumed her thoughts were in line with his: It was nice not being alone at night.

             
It would have been even nicer if he could leave the cold kitchen and climb into her bed. But she wasn’t ready for that, might never be, and he was about to give up pushing.

             
Something stirred behind him – there was the softest of sounds that caught his attention – and he swiveled around in his chair. Jess stood behind him, loose, tumbled hair gleaming in the blue light of the moonbeams that poured through the windows. She was in the whisper-thin white tank top and blue shorts he’d admired so much that first morning. His eyes went to her breasts – round and tempting with only a layer of filmy white cotton screening them – before he could help himself, then lifted to her face; her eyes were huge and glittering, her expression haunted. She was beautiful. Surreal. How in the hell, he wondered, had that prick Beaumont given her up in favor of someone else?

             
“I couldn’t sleep,” she explained in a small voice.

             
She seemed…meek, if such a thing could be true; losing her kid for the weekend had shaken her. He had an instant, basic male reaction to her vulnerability.
Easy
, a voice in the back of his head warned.
She doesn’t like your ass yet
.

             
But Chris leaned over and pulled a second chair away from the table, dragged it over beside his and waved for her to join him.

             
She did, without hesitation, settling on the chair and drawing her knees up, toes curled around the edge of the seat, arms linked across her shins. The morose way she rested her chin on her knee and tucked her hair behind her ear took a sledge hammer to his self-control.

             
“He’s a sorry son of a bitch,” he offered, “but he can’t be so sorry that he won’t take care of his kid.”

             
She turned to him, her green eyes an eerie color in the moonlight, and he expected a tirade. Instead, she said, “Is it wrong of me to worry, though?” The tip of her tongue darted out, wet her lips; he tipped toward her in his chair. “I know – I think – whatever he did to me, he has to love his son…doesn’t he? But there’s just this little voice in the back of my head…” she didn’t finish, eyes going to the window.  “Seen anything yet?”

             
“Nah. Who knows. He may have seen my truck here this week and decided to lay low.”

             
When she didn’t say anything else, he glanced at her again and saw the glimmering, crystal tracks of tears on her delicate cheeks. Her lashes fluttered as she continued to watch the window, unseeing.

             
Chris had never been romantic. Years ago, a woman had told him, nose wrinkled, that he petted the top of her head like she was a dog. But he’d never bothered to pick up a better habit. He reached out and settled his hand on top of Jess’s golden head, smoothed it back along the crown, all the way down to her nape, hand curling around her neck.

             
She dashed at her tears with trembling fingers, but she didn’t seem to think he was treating her like a dog; she moved into his touch, leaned toward him on the chair.

             
Now what the hell did he do? Sure, she was receptive now, but that didn’t mean anything…

             
She unfolded her legs and stood – he started to sigh, thinking he’d never wanted anyone who’d proved impossible before – but she didn’t bolt. Unemotional, unhurried, she got to her feet; his hand fell away, and she turned to him, wiping the last traces of wetness from her face.

             
Chris waited, wondering.

             
Her movements deliberate, she settled her hands on his shoulders. And, too disbelieving to react at first, he watched her hook one of her long, bare legs across his thigh and ease down to his lap, half-straddling him, leaning down into his face. Heat blasted through him and his brain kicked in again right before she kissed him.

             
He caught the back of her head in one hand and pulled her the rest of the way, her lips warm and open as they landed against his. He gave himself a moment to enjoy the sweet softness of her mouth, the way she let him be the aggressor, yielding to his pressure. Damn – he’d always liked pretty, dainty girls: feminine and heated and breathless.

             
Chris brought his legs together and caught her leg behind the knee, lifting her up and settling her again so she straddled his lap, his thighs supporting her weight. Her reaction was immediate. Her hands curled, nails digging into the tops of his shoulders; she pressed in close, a soft, female sigh leaving her lips between kisses. The sound was all the permission he needed – the permission he’d been waiting for.

             
He touched her. As he kissed her senseless, his hands found her narrow waist and then moved lower, over the slim, tight contours of her back. She was a sports car of a woman – sleek and tight and slender. Her lips spread beneath his, her mouth welcomed the invasion of his tongue, and his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her top, teasing along the satin ribbon of skin he uncovered.

             
Her skin was soft and far too fine for his callused fingers, but he touched it anyway, hands delving under the worn cotton to flatten across her spine.

             
Then her little white teeth nipped at his tongue and it wasn’t enough to touch just her back.

             
He slid his palms around her waist to her flat stomach, her muscles tightening at the contact, his own responding as if she were touching him too.
God, she feels good
, he thought, fingers seeking upward inside her tank top. His heart was thundering when he reached her breasts, and then it gave a great leap. They were warm, smooth as silk as he cupped them in his palms. Full. And so soft. He’d always hated fake tits: hard plastic beneath skin stretched so tight it shone like the fakeness it contained. But real ones…hers…

             
Her nipples contracted into tight buds against his touch, her breasts feeling firmer, rounder.

             
Jess broke the kiss and leaned back a fraction, pulling in a deep, slow breath. In the moonlight, he watched her lashes lay down against her cheeks, dark and curled, and her face went slack, the tension leaving her, lips parted. He stroked her, molded her in his hands, flicked a glance to the shapes of his hands outlined beneath her shirt.

             
She whispered a wordless plea, fingers digging hard into the base of his neck, her head tipping to the side. He traced her nipples with his thumbs, gave her a squeeze – he could have shaped and weighed and petted her all night if he didn’t need to drive inside of her so badly.

             
“How long’s it been?” he asked, enthralled as she offered her chest to him without shame.

             
A shiver went through her and her eyes opened a fraction. Her voice was a delighted purr: “A long time.”

             
Their eyes met – hers were clouded with wanting – and the silence stretched, broken only by the soft rustling of her tank top as he continued to trace light, teasing patterns across her breasts.

             
“Can you…?” She started.

             
“What?”

             
Her eyes dropped to his hands, chest swelling as she pulled in a deep breath, breasts thrusting into his palms. “I just wondered if you would…”

             
He wanted to drag her down to the cold hardwood floor and bury himself in her. But more than that, he wanted acknowledgement from her that she wanted it too. “Say it,” he urged, voice deep and rough.

             
She lifted her gaze, her green eyes giant and luminous, her expression imploring and almost desperate. “Kiss me?”

             
He knew without asking that she didn’t mean her mouth.

             
Chris dropped his hands, gathered the hem of her top in his fists, and drew it up over her head; she lifted her arms as he pulled it off, her spine arched, the moonlight slicing a pattern of shadows and cobalt shine across her lovely skin. Her breasts were perfect , the size of oranges, her nipples peaked and dark. As the shirt left her, her hair fell across her shoulders with a sound like silk settling.

             
Damn
.

             
He banded an arm around her waist and hauled her up higher on his lap, cupped her breast, lifted it, and put his mouth to it.

             
“God,” she murmured, and her nails raked across his scalp as she threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him to her.

             
If God was involved in this somehow, then Chris had done something very right to deserve such a reward.

             
He trailed his lips, feather light, across her skin, pressed a kiss to the inside of her breast, traced his tongue along the full underside. She gasped when he pulled her nipple between his lips and sucked, then again when he grazed it with his teeth.
A long time
, her words echoed inside his head, and suddenly, nothing was more important to him than making sure it was worth it to her to have gone so long without.

             
He gave the same attention to her other breast, until her hips rocked unconsciously and the feel of her moving against his erection had driven him nearly insane. Then he migrated north, kissing her clavicle, her fluttering pulse point, the side of her throat, her jaw; and took her face in his palms so he could kiss her mouth again, long and deep and slow.

             
“Take me to bed,” he requested when he pulled back.

             
Her eyes traced across his face, distant behind a screen of physical sensation. “Okay,” she said, and stood. And reached for his hand, a topless storybook princess in her benighted kitchen.

             
Chris followed her.

19

             
J
ess felt her pulse – the booming thump of a bass drum – echoing through every inch of her body, all the way down to her fingers and toes, flaring in her breasts – the places he’d lingered over with his hands and mouth – and lower, where she really wanted him. Somewhere, far back in her mind, she knew it was sadness and loneliness that fueled her desire, but though that was true, there was no cure now but what he could give her with his body. Tonight, she was the hungry one, and she had shoved fear, doubt, and self-consciousness aside in favor of the fever he’d ignited under her skin. It
had
been a long time. Too long.

             
She shoved the throw pillows off the far side of her bed and then stripped the comforter and quilts down to the base, leaving a stretch of pale white sheets glowing in the moonlight. There were lamps on the nightstands, but she left them off as she turned to Chris, not yet ready to make whatever existed between them real and official in the light. He stood behind her, tall, all broad shoulders and narrow waist and dark hair. A thrill went through her, something animal and desperate, that had never been inspired by Dylan’s refined, handsome brand of masculinity. She wanted Chris in an aching, physical, starving way.

             
He was watching her, his intensity palpable, and she saw the rapid rise and fall of her naked breasts as she reached for the hem of his shirt and slid her palms beneath. His skin was warm; it felt thicker and stronger than hers. She pushed up his shirt, saw the paleness of her fingers against his tanned stomach, the contrast obvious even in the moonlight. His abs clenched tight beneath her touch and she moved higher, exposing his ribcage and the heavy muscle draped over it; the dusting of coarse, dark hair on his chest that Dylan didn’t have, that she enjoyed threading her fingers through. He was too tall for her to finish, so he lifted his arms and tugged his shirt off over his head, dropped it to the floor. She felt his hands settle on her waist and begin stroking up and down her lean sides, but she wouldn’t let it distract her, stepping into him, hands roving.

             
She had always loved the contrasts between male and female, had enjoyed everything that made her husband different from her; had become, over the years, fascinated in a familiar, intimate way with small details. It had been months without sex. It had been over two years since she’d been allowed to enjoy a man’s body.

             
Chris didn’t protest as she ran her fingers over the cords and bundles of muscle in his chest, his arms, his abdomen; she kissed his skin, traced his nipples with her fingertips, played with his chest hair, hooked her fingers through the chain of his dog tags. Until she was flooded with heat and roasting.

             
She dropped her hands to his belt, slid the tail loose and unbuckled it, loving the metallic rattle of it. He let her get as far as the button on his jeans, then he snatched her up around the waist and lowered her across the bed; climbed over her and settled his weight on top of her, braced on a knee and an elbow. Her pulse galloping, Jess thought she felt her mouth curling into a smile before he kissed her.

             
It was more insistent this time. His tongue plunged deep into her mouth, sliding across hers; his lips spread hers wide and slanted over them, his goatee scratching at the delicate skin around her mouth. His dog tags fell against her chest, cold against her damp skin. Jess linked her hands behind his head and urged him on, shivering as his hand began a slow trip across her breasts, down her belly and back again.

             
She hated when he broke their kiss, but then he trailed down her throat, across her chest and to her breasts. She was desperate with the craze of the first time, hastened by her long dry spell, wanting him to touch her everywhere at once. She wasn’t afraid, she realized, as he drew her nipple into his mouth and his hand slid down low on her belly. She trusted him completely…at least with this. His hand slipped inside her shorts and she could trust this moment…

             
No one but her husband had ever touched her where Chris touched her now. She felt a fleeting, wild stab of fear – uncertainty – that this man who was almost a stranger would find fault with her. That she would fail to excite him the way she’d failed to excite her husband. Tears sprang to life behind her eyes and she closed them, already braced for rejection. God, what was she doing? How had she let things progress so far? Why hadn’t she…

             
“Damn,” Chris murmured, his breath raising gooseflesh across her damp, heaving breasts. His thick, rough fingers slipped through her wetness and sensation streaked through her, her thoughts and body seizing. One, his middle finger she thought, probed, and then he braced his other hand on the mattress and stretched up, kissed her again. “Can I?” he asked against her lips, just a whisper.

             
The sweetness of the request slammed into her, had her eyes stinging with a different variety of tears. She put her hands on his shoulders and felt the strain in them, the fine tremors of forced waiting. His voice had gone soft and almost boyish.

             
Jess swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and said, “Please. God,
please
.”

             
His finger slid into her and her knees fell wide, her acceptance complete.

             
He kissed her neck, locked on and sucked at her, no doubt leaving a mark, and he stroked inside her, his thumb finding her clit and teasing with a gentle expertise that told her he’d long since learned the importance of finesse in this arena.

             
Pleasure built in slow waves and she clung to his shoulders, letting it happen, letting him suck at her neck. But his hand withdrew before she was ready.

             
“Don’t stop,” she protested and he chuckled against her skin.

             
He pulled back, eyes black in the darkness as they traced over her naked, heated skin. When he hooked his thumbs in her shorts, she lifted off the mattress and helped him, lifted her legs so he could draw them off and throw them aside. She might have felt ashamed to be naked and sprawled under his gaze if he hadn’t still been so thorough and reverent in the way he watched her. She let him look, looked at him, too, as he stood, toed off his boots, stripped off his jeans and boxers.

             
She had never been attracted to men like her father or brothers before; standing over the bed, Chris looked wild and strong and dangerous compared to what she was used to. But his question –
“Can I?”
– whispered in her mind and the hungry way he watched her, his size and strength, left her mouth dry.

             
When he settled over her, his naked skin coming in contact with hers, his erection brushing against her hip, she smoothed her palms across his chest and strained toward him, seeking more contact. As gently as he could probably manage, he attacked her.

             
He touched her mouth with a brief, fierce kiss and his hand went down her side, curled around to the small of her back, brought her hips flush to his. The contact was electric.

Jess was panting when he broke their kiss. Her hands trailed down from his shoulders, across his biceps, his sleek forearms, as he sat back and spread her th
ighs. Her hands were clenched around his wrists when his were on her hips. She closed her eyes, tipped her head back on the pillow, inhaled…and he entered her.

She was tight, out of use, and he gave her a long, still moment to relax and accommodate him. On her back, the air conditioning brushing across her bare skin, she was so, so very aware of him deep inside her as he started to move. Her hands left his wrists, swept up her stomach to her breasts as he withdrew and drove in again, going deeper than before; and again, even deeper, until she exhaled in a rush and curled her spine up off the mattress, cradling her breasts in her palms.

Then the mattress groaned as he leaned down over her, settling his weight above her, flexing his hips and driving in hard, giving her his big shoulders to reach for and dig her nails into. She closed her thighs around his hips, gripping tight, more than ready for the invasion to escalate.

It did: He braced his hands on the mattress, whispered, “God, you feel good,” against her ear, launched into a rhythm that was slow and deep and exquisite.

Jess closed her eyes and clung to him; she came before she was ready, face buried in his neck, whimpering as the spasms overtook her.

He breathed against her ear and tried to laugh, but it was a strained sound. “You got another one in there?” he asked.

Yes
, she thought, but didn’t have to say, as he rode her through the tremors and then on, pace intensifying, hips circling against hers.

The second time was even better, and he was with her.

**

             
When he could, Chris rolled off of her and pulled her with him, bundling her up against his side, his arm around her waist, her face pressed over his thumping heart. It was official, he thought: her ex was the stupidest motherfucker alive.

             
“You okay?” he asked, breathless.

             
Her hand spread across the middle of his chest. “MmmHmm.”

             
He wasn’t convinced, though. “Jess.” He lifted his head off the pillow and watched the top of her head until it tipped back and her eyes strained up to meet his. “You’re not going to freak out on me, are you?”

             
She blinked. “No.”

             
“You sure about that?”

             
“Would it matter?”

             
“To me it would.”

             
With a little sigh, she disentangled herself and moved up in the bed so she lay on the pillow beside him, putting them on eye level with one another. His eyes had long since adjusted to the pale blue of moonlight and her face was still flushed, eyes still a little big, the echoes of pleasure still stamped across her beautiful features. She tucked a hand beneath her cheek and lay on her side, facing him. “I don’t want to freak out,” she told him. “But I can’t guarantee that won’t happen.”

             
“Talk to me, then,” he urged, “and I’ll keep it from happening.”

             
She rolled her eyes, and shivered.

             
Chris sat up, snagged the covers, pulled them up over both of them, then settled again.

             
Jess twitched a smile. “Thanks.”

             
“Okay, so…” he curled an arm behind his head, “the freaking out.” He grinned. “First time with a real man?”

             
She swatted his arm, but her frown was half-assed and not much of a reproach.

             
“Take that as a yes.”

             
“Don’t,” she warned.

             
“Why not?”

             
“Because…” she released a deep breath and he felt it stir against his skin. “My divorce isn’t final,” she said, in a tight, logical voice that wasn’t at all what he’d expected after what had just happened; just like that, she was rolling up the welcome mat, getting defensive and closed-off and acting like it hadn’t shaken her up in the least to be with him. Disappointment dropped in his belly. Had he lost his touch? Had she been faking…? No, he’d felt her tight and clenching around him.
That
she hadn’t faked. But the way she was retreating behind her walls again pissed him off. “I can’t just go tumbling into bed with someone every time I get a little

upset – ”

              Chris rolled toward her, levered up on an elbow and leaned into her face so quickly she gasped, startled.

             
“Stop,” he commanded, and for once she listened. Her eyes widened, giving her face a certain innocent, frightened quality. “You didn’t,” he told her firmly, “go ‘tumbling’ anywhere. You wanted this to happen – and not because of your kid or being upset. You wanted it. So don’t try to act like I’m taking advantage. If I’d thought you were just looking for a distraction, I’d have told you to go to hell back in the kitchen.”

             
He’d been harsh – too harsh – but damn it, he didn’t like being insulted. And he didn’t like thinking the woman he’d just been good to saw him as a piece of meat and nothing else. There were women whose adoration he’d spurned, but the thought of Jessica Walker dismissing him made him want to punch something.

             
He waited for her eyes to narrow, for the inevitable reprimand, but she blinked. And wet her lips. Her expression softened and he thought, maybe, her dismissal would have been easier to swallow than the sudden look of understanding that passed across his face.

             
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I thought…”