Goes down easy: Roped into romance (12 page)

The entrance was marked by a curtain of blue beads, a twin to the one that led from the shop into the kitchen hallway. This one he’d never seen before, tucked as it was into the far corner of Sugar Blues.

The room was lit by a single-bulb lamp that hung low on a chain from the ceiling. In the center of the room was a table. Beneath the table, two chairs. On top, a dark bowl of water-covered petals.

The petals were fresh. He could smell the floral aroma as soon as he entered the room. He waited for Della to speak. She said nothing, did no more than indicate he should sit in the closest chair.

She took the other, facing him and asking him to place his hands, palms down, on either side of the bowl. Her voice, when she made the request, was barely audible. Her eyes, which hadn’t yet made contact with his, appeared hazy and lost. He supposed it was more like a trance than confusion.

The chair was comfortable enough, the seat and back both covered in a dark blue velvet, and the smell of the flower petals was soothing, like lavender or jasmine.

He figured the water could have turned them blue
since he didn’t think either of them were. But then he quit thinking of anything because Della dipped her fingertips into the water before she placed them over his.

Her skin was cool, as was the water, her touch calming and light. He wasn’t sure where to look, and so he focused on her face. Her eyes were clear as she stared into the bowl.

“You’ve been hurt,” she finally said, her voice soft, the words even. “You’ve also hurt others.”

None of that was news, or specific enough to cause a blip in his pulse. He figured, in fact, that it was a fairly universal complaint.

“Choosing the military over moving with your family was the best choice. You need to stop wondering and move on.”

Thinking about Janie, about his parents, about how he’d failed them emotionally by not being there…His chest tightened, the fingers of his left hand twitched and he would have made a fist had Della not been holding him in place. Funny, she didn’t seem that strong.

And, really. It wouldn’t have been hard to discover the reasons for the choice he’d made. His friends in Austin knew, though he couldn’t quite see Della calling up any of them to ask.

She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. The tips of her fingers flexed; her touch stroked over his knuckles. “Having met you, I can’t say I’m surprised you drew the attention of your superiors so quickly. You’re not an easy man to overlook.”

He hadn’t thought to ask in advance if he was allowed to talk. And so he said nothing instead of telling her that what got him noticed was the same thing that got him into trouble. Trying to make a difference.

He didn’t do well with authority. Not when those in such positions wouldn’t give him the one thing, the only thing, he wanted. Logical reasons for the decisions they made. “That’s the way it’s always been done,” just didn’t cut it. That mindset stopped progress in its tracks, kept good men from making a difference.

“That path isn’t always the easiest one to take.” Della’s fingers slid over his knuckles and the backs of his hands before growing still. “And the price can be so very great.”

But military men and women paid it on a daily basis, and not just in ongoing wars in places like Afghanistan and Iraq. Also in covert operations infiltrating terrorist cells around the world, to gather information to bring them down, and thwart future attacks being planned.

“Most leave their tours never experiencing a gunshot. But you carry scars from several.” Her fingers searched out the pressure points between his bones, pressing lightly, sliding to his wrists then back. “You’ve seen more conflict than a man should ever see.”

He wasn’t about to argue with that.

“But there is one incident that won’t let you go.”

He hadn’t even swallowed and still he nearly choked, waiting, waiting…his blood pounding its way
through his veins. God, he hoped she wasn’t going to say what he feared. He didn’t want her to know. He didn’t want anyone to know. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to forget.

Dark eyes against skin that should not have been so deathly pale. Shackles securing the unwitting prisoners. Chains thicker than the human limbs they bound. Mewling, desperate noises.

“The men you freed don’t go a day without thanking you. They offer up prayers for your health and longevity.”

And still he waited, only this time he did so with his gut so painfully knotted he had to fight the urge to double over and crawl beneath the table.

“They wonder how long you were kept without being allowed to eat. Or to drink. They spill their own blood, hoping your God will replace what you lost with their offering.”

It had begun with his pride and his dignity, and had swiftly spiraled down until he came close to losing his mind. He’d lost enough that he’d no longer known night from day, minutes from hours from weeks. He’d lost enough that he’d no longer known if the faces he saw were real or monsters in his dreams…

He’d lost enough that he’d given up on living.

“They go to their wives at night and sleep close to the soft, precious bodies they never thought they’d see again. They don’t shut their eyes until they picture you at peace and at rest and in love.”

Those men, those men. He could see every minute of the torture they’d endured. Except he couldn’t see
anything at all because his eyes were filled with the tears flowing down his cheeks.

A sob caught in his chest. He fought to hold it back. It escaped in the same heated, panicked rush as the men he’d released from their cage.

He heard the splash of water as they dived overboard, swimming for the life raft he’d cut loose hours before. He’d always wondered if they’d made it, if they’d lived, if they’d died.

He’d never wondered if they thought about him. He’d never thought himself worth it. He’d been a part of the group that had rounded them up and stolen them from their village, from their families. He didn’t deserve their prayers or their thanks.

If anything, he had deserved to die.

P
ERRY HAD
spent the last half hour alone, pacing the kitchen, instead of heading upstairs to bed. She had a thousand questions she wanted to ask of both Jack and Della, but she knew that she never would.

She wanted to go home. She wanted Jack to go with her. Yet she wasn’t comfortable leaving Della alone.

All her indecisiveness meant was that she did nothing constructive during the wait except put clean sheets on the bed in the utility room, just in case Jack stayed.

Because, honestly? She had no idea what he was going to do after tonight. He’d run all the leads he’d mentioned, and that was before Book had made it clear that it was now Jack’s job to butt out.

She didn’t see that happening, but she was clueless as to what he was going to do. If he had any plans, he hadn’t shared them. And being kept in the dark was driving her insane.

But the real crazy maker of the moment was wanting to know what was going on in the reading room. And that she would never find out unless Jack decided to tell her. That was another thing she didn’t see happening.

In fact, she couldn’t help wondering if Della was getting any reaction from him at all. If the reading didn’t go well, if Jack came out of the experience still doubting Della’s gift, and had nowhere else to turn…

At the sound of the beaded curtain stirring, Perry turned and looked up from the refrigerator—into which she’d been blindly staring—in time to see Jack barge into the kitchen, and slam straight out the back door.

Frowning, she closed the fridge, thinking it was a good thing the new door was sturdier than the old, what with the way it bounced off the wall with a thud loud enough to wake the dead. She crossed the room to close it, but was stopped halfway there by her aunt.

“Don’t shut him out,” Della said, standing in the kitchen entrance, her face drawn, her eyes damp. “Go to him. He needs you.”

The words were an echo of what she’d said this morning. Perry started to ask what had happened, but closed her mouth at the shake of Della’s head and the walking stick she lifted to point the way.

Perry’s nerves shivered like flowers in the rain. She flipped the light switch, plunging the kitchen into darkness, and opened the door.

The moon was high and bright, the streetlamps on either end of the alley shining down. It was enough light for her to see where she was going, and to see where Jack was pacing a circle around the empty fountain.

She cut in behind him on his next trip around, and boosted herself up to sit on the concrete ledge. She
didn’t want to say anything to set him off or to hurt him, so she grabbed the first innocuous thought that came to mind.

“This is exactly where Della was sitting when Book first met her. It was as cold then as it is now, but that night the fountain was on, and she was soaked by the time I made it here from Court du Chaud.”

Jack didn’t say anything, but his steps did slow. Perry wasn’t sure that was such a good thing since the aerobic exercise was the only thing keeping him warm. That, and the fury or rage or whatever was clearly burning him up.

She had no way of knowing, so she continued to talk. “There had been a break-in next door. It went down pretty badly, someone ended up getting killed. Book and his partner were the ones who responded.”

Jack had quit circling the fountain and was now pacing back and forth in front of her. He’d stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and hunched his shoulders for warmth.

She wanted to go to him, to wrap him in her arms, to take away whatever it was he was feeling. She wanted to know what had happened during the reading, but could only hear her aunt’s words insisting that he needed her here.

“It’s amazing she didn’t catch pneumonia. She was wearing pajamas, and not very warm ones at that. We finally got her inside, and Book stayed to take her statement.”

Perry’s teeth began to chatter, and she crossed her arms and huddled in on herself. “I’ve lost track of how
many times she’s helped him since. And I keep wondering if they’re going to get together. They make such a great couple, though I’m pretty sure neither one…”

She let the thought trail because Jack had stopped. He stood on the sidewalk facing her, his hands still in his pockets, his shoulders still stooped.

But the moon was shining down just so, and she could see lines of pain etched on his face, the tracks of tears she doubted he knew he’d cried streaking his cheeks.

“Oh, Jack,” she said, her chest tightening until she thought she wouldn’t be able to breathe. “What happened to you?”

It was all she got out, and his only answer was to look away, jerk his hands from his pockets and scrub them over his face, shaking his head as he did.

The sound he made then was a mad howl of anger, a gut-ripping wail that tore her heart. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. She caught back a sob and waited, because that was when he turned.

He turned, and he came toward her, and before she could do more than blink he was holding her head to keep her from moving while he covered her mouth with his.

He stepped between her legs when she spread them, cradled her face, slid his tongue between her lips and devoured her. She brought her hands up to his shoulders, clawing at the fabric of his shirt to hold on.

He was shaking when he moved his hands to her thighs and started rucking up her skirt until her legs were bare and he could get to her panties.

When he hooked a finger over the fabric of the crotch, she gasped into his mouth. When he found her wet and ready, he growled and pushed a finger inside. She gripped his shoulders to keep from falling back and further widened her legs.

And then his hands were at his fly and he was lifting himself out of his boxers and jeans. She held on to the ledge at her hips, bracing her weight there and hooking her heels behind him.

He moved in, tore her panties out of the way and positioned himself at her entrance. And then, his gaze locked furiously with hers, he pushed in.

It was an agonizingly slow penetration. He took his time stretching her open when what she wanted was to be filled with him now. But she let him take her, possess her, surround himself with her as it seemed he needed to do.

And then he began to move, and she scooted her hips forward, knowing this wasn’t about any emotion beyond what she’d seen in his face and heard in his voice.

It was about survival and being alive and being human and being good enough. It was a validation, and that was all she needed to know. She gave him all that she could of her body.

And when he came, when he tossed back his head and cried out his release, when he returned to her, wrapped her in his arms and held her until she felt she would break, that’s when she gave him her love.

T
HEY LAY
together afterwards in the utility room’s twin bed. It was a tight fit, but neither minded. They’d
shed all of their clothes, and the nearness allowed them to experience the pleasures of intimacy with nothing in the way.

It was what Perry had been wanting forever. And the idea that she’d known Jack less than four days didn’t even make sense. What made sense was this. Being here with him. Skin to skin. Touching him and never saying a word.

She couldn’t even talk about what had happened outside. Words failed her, as did understanding. The loss of her parents had been a horrific event, but it was one she had learned to live with.

Whether or not he believed in ghosts, Jack was haunted. And she knew this wasn’t about his family. What he fought against, what he fended off, what he hid from, she didn’t know. She might never know. She only knew that was his truth.

All she could do was be what he needed. He was here and he was with her. For now, maybe for longer, that was enough.

She rolled toward him, her breasts flattened against his chest, her knee flung over his. He lay with his elbow beneath his head, and used the fingers of his other hand to play between her legs.

She pulled in a sharp breath, wishing the room wasn’t so dark, wanting to see his eyes. She supposed he didn’t want anything of the sort, not after the breakdown she’d witnessed outside.

His index finger was long and thick, and she loved how he used his hands, loved the way he teased her, stroking and circling and dipping in and out until she was panting and so very close to coming undone.

Shuddering, she kissed his chest, scrunching up her nose when his hair tickled. She found his nipple, swirled her tongue around the flat disc, used her fingertips to massage the muscle there.

He groaned, and his erection prodded her belly, bobbing against her as if knocking to come in. Smiling to herself, she pushed him onto his back and climbed over him, straddling his hips, her hands on his shoulders, her breasts swinging above his mouth.

He pressed them together, sucked at one nipple then at the other until moisture began to trickle down her thighs. She reached down and wrapped her hand around his shaft, rubbing the head of his cock through her folds.

He moved his hands to her hips, guiding her as she took him inside. She lowered herself slowly, leaning back and bracing her palms just above his knees for the ride.

It was a sweet grinding pressure, the up and down motion, the fullness of his erection spreading her wide. She pushed up on her knees. He followed, lifting his hips off the bed.

They came down together, and then he held her still, sliding his hands up her thighs, capturing her clit between his thumbs.

She strained against the sensations that seized her. She wasn’t ready. She wanted to wait. She hadn’t yet had enough of him, his mouth, his fingers, his cock.

And so she leaned over him, her palms flat on the bed above his shoulders, and took what she wanted from his mouth. She kissed him with a fierceness that
surprised her. She hadn’t known how deeply her hunger ran, how very deeply her love did.

His return kiss matched her fever, his tongue sliding over hers, his lips bruising. He lifted one knee and bumped her sideways. She fell to the mattress; still buried inside her body, he followed her over.

And then he was above her, looming, hovering, groaning when he couldn’t wait anymore. He hooked her knees over his forearms and drove forward, again and again.

Since there wasn’t a headboard to keep her there, the pounding nearly drove her off the bed. The springs creaked and the frame shook until she finally planted her palms overhead to keep from bouncing against the wall.

And then she closed her eyes and rode out the storm, letting Jack take her where he wanted to go. He dropped his head to his chest, his eyes screwed tightly shut, his arms straining to bear the weight of his motion, his hips shaking as he came.

She followed him seconds later, the vibrating pressure between her legs the push that sent her over. She cried out, slapped her hands against the mattress, flexed her fingers into the sheet on either side of her hips and held on.

He ground down against her, and she straightened her legs, pushing her clit up against the base of his shaft. It was almost too much, the sharp bursts of pleasure bordering on pain, and she whimpered as he rolled them both to their sides.

“You okay?” he whispered, and she nodded.

“A bit too much of a good thing, is all,” she said, feeling the burn of raw skin.

He reached up, brushed her hair from her eyes. “You should’ve said something.”

“No. It was a good thing, remember?” She rubbed her face against his palm and purred.

“Yeah, well, let me…do this.” He eased his body from hers, then reached for the blanket they’d kicked to the end of the bed and pulled it over them both. “There. That’s better, yes?”

“Yes, much,” she said, nodding rapidly as if the movement would keep unexpected tears from spilling. After-sex hormonal overload, that was all it was. Tight-wire emotions finally set free.

“Perry?”

She sniffed. “Jack?”

“You’re not crying, are you?”

“Not really.” This was so embarrassing. “Just sort of…leaking.”

“If I scared you outside earlier, or hurt you—”

“No, it’s not that. Not really.” She wasn’t even sure she could explain it to herself.

And then she felt him tense. “If you don’t want to be here—”

“Oh, no. Don’t even think that for a minute.” She found his hand, cradled it between both of hers, lacing all of their fingers together. “There’s no place I want to be more.”

“Including your own bed?”

“Right now? No. It’s too big.”

“And this one’s not too small?”

“Size isn’t everything, you know.”

“Hmm. And here I’d been under the impression that it was the only thing that mattered.”

She sighed, loving how easy he was to be with, to tease with. “I suppose in some cases it does matter.”

“Such as?”

“Like when buying in bulk.”

He snorted. “Does anyone really need that much of anything? Think about it. You buy it, don’t use it, it goes bad. Then you’re out a lot of money on all those ruined condoms.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “So, less is more, then?”

“Less is at least worth considering,” he said.

“Sorta like quality versus quantity?”

He pulled his hand from hers, draped it over her hip and pulled her close, caressing her back and her bottom and the length of her thigh. She closed her eyes and tucked both of her hands beneath her cheek as if in prayer.

Because, in a way, that’s exactly what she was doing. Praying that he wasn’t going to walk out of her life. She knew so very little about him. She wasn’t ready to let him go.

“I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be here. It’s going to depend on where the case takes me.”

“Have you decided what to do next?”

“Beyond talking to Della in the morning?” He shook his head. “I’ll do that, find out exactly what drove her away from the warehouse, then I’ll decide.”

Perry asked the question she knew had to be asked,
the question that had been eating at her all night. “Does that mean you believe in her now?”

He didn’t answer, and his hand stilled just long enough that Perry began to worry that he was thinking about leaving her alone in the bed.