Hooper, Kay - [Hagen 09] (16 page)

Within fifteen minutes, they were completely out of
sight of the shack Kelly had led them to, and the scents and sounds
of the swamp closed around them like a hot, wet blanket. It was
darker now, the tall trees all around blocking most of the sky.

Jennifer paused, looking around slowly, and Dane felt it
the moment she did. Stillness. An abrupt silence as if all the birds
and animals of the swamp had suddenly become mute. He hadn't
realized how many sounds had filled the air until they were gone,
leaving a thick, heavy silence behind.

"A storm," Jennifer said, her tone normal now
that they were far from listening ears. "And a bad one, I think.
We'll never make it around the swamp in time." She looked at
him, hesitated. "I know a place about five minutes from here,
shelter. But we may be stuck there for hours."

Dane glanced at his watch, mentally calculating. After
four now: he had promised to play the final game with Kelly sometime
around nine tonight. He wasn't particularly concerned about being
late. The storm could serve as an excuse if he needed one. And Skye
wouldn't expect to see him until he saw him. "Let's go for it,"
he told Jennifer.

She led the way, angling slightly away from the swamp
and into the forest of mixed oak, elm and cypress trees. The footing
beneath them gradually became more secure, though still damp.
Thunder rumbled more insistently now, and in the trees above a
sudden wind snatched at the leaves and branches.

The rain hit them when they were still more than twenty
yards from a small structure that appeared little more sturdy than
Kelly s shack, and by the time they pushed open the door and lurched
inside they were both soaked.

Dane forced the door shut behind them, leaning into it
because of the building gusts of wind, and when the door finally
caught he turned to find Jennifer lighting a kerosene lamp. The
room had been pitch dark due to wooden shutters fastened securely
over the two windows.

"Welcome to Nama's home." she said somewhat
breathlessly.

He looked around, surprised to find the place much more
comfortable than he'd expected. There was a polished wooden
table and two chairs in the single room, along with a narrow cot half
hidden behind a startling and garish Chinese screen over five feet
tall and at least that wide. Woven rugs dotted the wood floor, along
with a thick, fluffy one before the hearth, and the fireplace was
made of river rock, with a generous supply of cut wood and kindling
stacked beside it. Shelves lined one wall, holding enigmatically
labeled glass jars and cans of food, and a couple of cabinets hid
whatever they contained. There as an old iron stove, cold and black,
and bright orange curtains at both windows.

"Who's Nama?" Dane asked, conscious of both
the damp and a surprising chill in the room.

"She's a Cajun witch-woman."

Dane stared at her. "You're kidding."

Jennifer solemnly returned his incredulous gaze.
"Seriously. She's lived on the edge of the swamp for thirty
years. Dad tried to relocate her half a dozen times, but finally gave
up. Her presence here generally keeps poachers out of the swamp.
The people around here believe the place is cursed. Kelly couldn't
have picked a better spot to hide his press."

"7s the place cursed?"

"Depends on your point of view. Since everybody
believes it and stays away – just what Nama wanted –
then I suppose you could call it cursed."

"You've been here before," Dane noted.

"Sure. I told you I practically grew up in and
around the swamp. Nama and I've been friends for years."
Gravely, she added, "I even came to her when I was twelve to get
a potion to make a boy fall in love with me."

"Did it work?"

"He carried my books for a semester after that. It
didn't last, though. Love never does when you're twelve."

Abruptly conscious of how her blouse clung wetly to the
rich curves beneath it, Dane cleared his throat and yanked his gaze
away from her to the fireplace. "Would Nama mind if I built a
fire? It's chilly in here."

"She wouldn't mind." Jennifer hesitated, then
stepped out of her ruined sandals and headed toward the folding
screen by the cot. "I'm going to get out of these wet clothes,"
she said steadily. "You should get out of yours, too."

Concentrating on building the fire, Dane fought the urge
to agree with her. He reminded himself with all the force he could
muster that Jennifer didn't know the truth of his life yet, didn't
know that he was deeply committed to his masquerade. She didn't even
know there
was
a masquerade, and he couldn't explain yet.
Until he could ...

His white shirt stuck to him uncomfortably. He had left
the hotel in such a hurry that he hadn't put on a jacket or tie, so
both his shirt and undershirt had been soaked in the downpour. He
didn't trust himself to remove even the top shirt, but he did take a
moment to pull off his drenched shoes and socks, and set them to one
side.

"Where is Nama now?" he managed to ask,
feeding kindling into the flames his lighter had ignited.

"In Seattle with her sister," Jennifer called
back easily. "She hates this place in the summer."

Dane glanced up as a rumble of thunder and accompanying
gust of wind shook the structure. "I don't blame her. Are you
sure her house can hold up under a storm?"

"Very sure. It's stood for thirty years, and
weathered several hurricanes. We're safe enough."

He listened to the storm raging outside, hoping she was
right. The fire was crackling loudly now. and he piled several of the
cut logs over the kindling until it burned steadily. Then, restless,
he rose to his feet and wandered over to look at the shelves, trying
not to think of Jennifer taking her clothes off behind the flimsy
screen on the other side of the small room.

"There should be at least a bottle of wine and some
glasses in that cabinet to your right," she said.

Her voice was closer now, but he didn't turn to look at
her. Instead, he opened the cabinet indicated, finding the wine
and a number of delicate glasses.

"This is a very strange place," he muttered.

Jennifer half laughed, draping her clothes over the back
of a chair to dry before moving to sink down on the thick rug in
front of the hearth. She had wrapped the quilt from the cot around
her, and felt more than a little vulnerable. "You mean because
of the odd mixture of things?" she asked, keeping her voice
light with an effort. "It's very like Nama, that mixture.
Kerosene lamps and iron stoves, along with delicate glasses and
bright colors."

"And love potions on the shelf," he said,
having noticed a particular label.

"Maybe I should put some of that into your wine,"
she murmured. "It worked when I was twelve." She tried to
laugh, but it didn't quite come off.

Dane turned toward her, holding the bottle and two
glasses, and went still when he saw her. She seemed Impossibly
fragile, wrapped in a colorful quilt, the firelight flickering
over her bare shoulders and exquisite face. She was defenseless, a
vulnerable curve to her lips, eyes shadowed. Her golden hair, drying
in the heat of the fire, fell over her shoulders in burnished waves.

After a moment, Dane went over and sank down beside her
on the rug, not quite touching her. He uncorked the wine bottle and
poured ruby liquid into the two glasses. Setting the bottle aside, he
handed her one glass and took the other himself. "Jenny, do you
doubt that I love you?"

"No." But the glance she sent him was
uncertain. She sipped her wine, adding, "I know this business
with Kelly is more important right now – "

"No, it Isn't." He swore softly. "Not
more important. It's just that you don't know the whole story, and
until you do . . . "

"What?" She turned her head to look at him.
"Are you so sure these answers of yours are going to make a
difference, Dane? How could they?"

He was silent for a moment, then said roughly, "Could
you live with a gambler, Jenny?"

"With you, yes," she answered simply.

He wanted to ask.
Can you live with secrets? With
lies and deceptions? Not between us – but all around us? Could
you love me even in the face of that?
But he couldn't ask; a
promise kept him silent, and he had never broken a promise.

"Dane?"

"I don't want you to regret anything, honey, that's
all." He kept his voice even.

She was incredulous. "How could I regret loving
you?"

He set his glass aside, his hands lifting to frame her
face. "I think I'd die if that happened," he said huskily,
gazing into her shadowed blue eyes. "I think that's what I'm
afraid of."

"It won't happen." She put her own glass aside
blindly, both her hands lifting to his broad chest. Without even
thinking about it, she began unbuttoning his damp shirt, her fingers
nimble despite the tremors that shook them. "I love you, Dane. I
could never regret it."

He was still for a moment, then bent his head and kissed
her. Gently at first, his lips toyed with hers, seductive and not
quite teasing. His tongue glided along the sensitive inner surface of
her lips, and her cool mouth opened to him. heating under the
Increasing demand of his.

Jennifer felt his hands slip down to her bare
shoulders, while her own coped with the remaining buttons of his
shirt and tugged it free of his pants. She was lost in the taste of
him, wine-sweet and drugging, caught by the heat emanating from his
big, hard body and almost burning her. She was barely aware of the
storm outside, of thunder and lightning and wind and the harsh rattle
of rain on the tin roof.

She was aware only of him, and of the building fire
trapped within them both.

She felt him shrug the unbuttoned shirt off and toss It
aside, and his mouth lifted from hers so that he could peel the
undershirt off over his head. Her hands touched his bare chest almost
tentatively, her senses flaring at the erotic brush of hair, and she
looked at him through dazed eyes, conscious of an almost primitive
shock. Because he was invariably semiformally dressed, she was
somehow surprised by the powerful, hair-roughened expanse of his
chest.

His half-naked body made her mouth go dry, her throat
tighten, and she could scarcely breathe. He was beautiful in a way
she'd never known a man could be, In a way that tugged at everything
female in her, making her acutely aware of her own body. The
black hair covering his chest was almost a pelt, thick and soft
beneath her fingers, and she could see his power now In the hard
muscles padding his tanned shoulders and cording his forearms.

He could break her, she realized vaguely, her trembling
fingers compulsively stroking over his chest, his ribs and hard, flat
stomach. He had a kind of natural physical strength that few men
could boast, the kind that would require a conscious effort to
temper. No wonder he was so calm and almost lazy on the surface, she
thought. He had to be so controlled, because if he ever allowed
himself a physical outlet for strong emotions . . .

"Jenny?" he questioned huskily, unmoving, his
hands holding her shoulders gently.

She lifted her gaze to the vivid sheen of his eyes,
realizing that he had seen her instinctive shock. But her trust In
him was complete, and after the first jolt she felt no fear of his
strength, no wariness or uncertainty. Her arms wreathed his neck
and she rose on her knees, her slender body pressing against him,
only the quilt still encircling her separating them above the waist.

"I love you," she whispered against his lips.

Dane's arms wrapped around her, hard but gentle, holding
her tightly against him. His mouth slanted across hers, deepening the
contact between them, his tongue invading, possessing.

Jennifer felt herself being eased back onto the soft
hearthrug, and an unconscious murmur of protest came throatily from
her when his mouth lifted from hers. But then she opened her eyes and
looked up at him, and what she saw in his face stole what little
remaining breath she could claim. She had never seen such hunger
in a man, such Intensity, his eyes were alive with it and fixed on
her face as if nothing else in the world mattered.

His big hands went to the quilt and pulled it gently
from around her, opening the covering as if she were some gift
brightly wrapped in shining paper, a delicate thing to be treasured.
A hoarse, raw sound escaped him when she lay naked beside him, the
firelight flickering over her slender but richly curved body,
and his hand shook a little as it slid up over her ribs to cup a
full, aching breast.

"God, you're beautiful," he said in a rasping
voice so low she Just barely heard it.

She gasped at the shock of pleasure as he touched her,
and when the rough pad of his thumb brushed her tightening nipple she
felt an explosion of heat inside her. She clutched his shoulders
wildly, her senses spinning, only a fire of need inside her to fill
the growing ache of emptiness. Then his mouth was on her,
sliding hotly over her feverish skin, wringing a wordless cry
from her when it captured her nipple. The swirling caress of his
tongue sent waves of pleasure through her, and she could hardly bear
to be still in the restless storm of her desire.

Jennifer had never realized her body was capable of such
feelings. She was dizzy with the clash of pleasure and torment, and
she would have asked why he was doing this to her if she could have
found the breath for it. Dimly, she heard soft sounds, like the
murmurs of a kitten, sounds that seemed to inflame him even more as
his mouth became rougher, the hands stroking over her body more
insistent.

It occurred to her only vaguely that the sounds were
coming from her.

She could feel one of his hands moving along her thighs
with a sure, enticing touch, until her legs parted for him, and her
body arched in a helpless reaction when his fingers settled gently
over the empty ache between them. She thought her entire body was
pulsing, a quickening heartbeat of need, and his slow, steady
caress was driving her out of her mind.