Jamie (2 page)

Taking him off guard, she lifted one small, woman-soft hand to touch the side of his face. “Thank you.”

 

 

Very slowly, Jamie set her on her feet. Faith tried not to waver, but a hollow weakness invaded her every muscle. At the moment, staying upright seemed pretty impossible.

Showing all the external emotion of a manikin, Jamie caught her upper arms to steady her.

“I'm sorry,” she told him in a voice that sounded raspy and thin. She clutched at his shoulders. “I've been sick. I ... I need to sit down.”

“Not until I know you're safe.”

A lump of uncertainty lodged in her throat. He didn't mean safe from danger; he meant safe to have her in his home. Carefully keeping her thoughts blank, a practice she'd perfected through necessity, Faith nodded her agreement. She didn't know what he'd do, but she had no choice other than consent. “All right.”

With eyes so black and fathomless they should have been frightening, Jamie stared at her. But she recognized those eyes in more ways than she dared to consider, because anything she thought, he'd know. And right now, he couldn't know anything. The timing had to be right.

“I'll help you,” he said low and slipped one strong, steady arm around her waist to support her, drawing her cold, limp body flush against his.

Grateful that she wouldn't be falling on her face, Faith leaned into him. Even through his soaked clothes, he radiated heat, and it felt good. He felt good.

Being naked disconcerted her, but complaining would gain her nothing. She understood that much about him. “Go ahead,” she said. “Do what you have to.”

“You won't like it.”

“Neither will you.” He smelled of wind and rain and man, strong and mysterious—and more than capable of any number of things, good and bad.

Because she'd allowed those thoughts to ring clear in her mind, Jamie stalled. The sense of danger darkened his eyes even more. “You know me?”

Faith tried to still the trembling of her limbs. “Yes.” Naturally seeking his heat and strength, her naked body pressed closer to his. She should give him her name, but not yet.

“Why?” As he asked it, his fingers sifted through her tangled hair, searching her scalp, rough fingertips exploring each ear, along her nape and under her chin.

“You don't trust me.”

“I don't trust anyone.”

Faith closed her eyes when his warm hand moved down her body, under each arm, beneath the fullness of each breast. Her nipples tightened from the cold, and her skin prickled with goose bumps. She felt ultrasensitive, horribly exposed.

“I don't remember you,” Jamie told her, still staring at her face, his voice low and moderate while he touched her. Everywhere.

“That's okay.” She swallowed audibly and began to shake more. “I know ... know you can't,
won't,
take my word for it. But I'm not bugged.”

“You could have a device on you and not even know it.” His deep voice held no inflection, no emotion. “Who sent you here?”

She shook her head fast, dislodging the thought before it could form. If he knew, all would be ruined. “No one who means you harm.”

“You know the people who would harm me?”

“No!” Oh God, she felt sick. Her legs wanted to collapse beneath her. “That is ... I know people who ... who care about you.”

His expression didn't change, but he might as well have yelled
liar
for all the stock he put in her statement. “You'd never have found my cabin on your own.”

“I know.” Her heart clapped in time to the raging storm as his palm coasted over her behind, warmly palpating each cheek, slipping under, lifting—going between.

Gripping him tight, she hid her face against his soggy shirt and prayed she wouldn't embarrass herself by crying.

Watching her, soaking up her every reaction, Jamie didn't falter. He caught her right leg and lifted it high against his hip, catching it there with the press of his elbow, making the most intimate parts of her body accessible to him.

The need to plead with him burned in her throat. But more than that, she wanted to beg for his help. She wanted him to care about her—about them.

“Shhh.” With his rough hand open on the cool skin of her belly, he whispered, “I'll be quick.”

And then his fingers pressed low, moving along the crease of her legs before going inward, sifting through her pubic hair. As unemotional as a doctor, he stroked along her damp cleft. His fingers explored, prodding between her lips, over her,
into her
for a brief but deep and thorough exam that physically burned and robbed her of all modesty, leaving her close to keening in frustration, humiliation, and more.

His fingers felt big and hard, touching her in ways she'd seldom been touched. The idea of fainting to escape the inevitable appealed to her. Unfortunately, she remained cognizant of his every move, the watchful way he took in her every breath, her every shudder, how dispassionately he searched her body.

Her breath chopped, bordering on panic, and her vision blurred....

He withdrew his hand and scooped her up, carrying her to a short, stuffed sofa shoved up against the far wall. Faith didn't meet his gaze when he set her on the edge of the cushions. Cold and desperation had her curling in on herself.

But Jamie wouldn't have that. He crouched in front of her, touched her chin, and brought her face around to his. His long hair hung wet down his back. His silly beard dripped. He'd changed so much....

Faith blanked her mind, wiped it clean and returned his enigmatic gaze with insouciance.

Quirking one ebony eyebrow, he lowered his attention to her mouth, then her legs.

“I-I'm cold.”

“I know.” His gaze darted up to hers and then away. “I'll be quick.” He ran his hands over her thighs, behind her knees, down to each foot. He checked her wet toes, between each one, then straightened and did the same to her hands.

Met with the sight of his tall frame, his lean strength, Faith shook her head. With his disreputable beard and ponytail, he now resembled a hermit more than a highly intuitive genius. If it hadn't been for those eyes, so deep and intelligent, so caring, she might not have recognized him.

Teeth chattering, she stammered in indignation. “What do you p-possibly think I could have h-hidden between my fingers or toes?”

He didn't pause in his inspection. “There are devices invisible to the naked eye, as small as the head of a pin, that can give off a powerful signal.”

“Not up here. Not in th-these woods.”

He snared her gaze with his. “Depends on how determined the hunter is.” He watched her a moment, then smoothed her wet hair back and pressed his palm to her forehead. Scowling, he said, “Don't move. I'll get you some towels so you can dry off.” With fluid grace, he rose to his feet and started away.

Faith squeezed her eyes shut.
Damn him, he spoke without feeling, as if he hadn't just touched me more intimately than any man had in—

Abruptly turning, Jamie narrowed his ebony eyes on her face. Faith gulped; his look was so tactile she felt again the intrusion of his hands on her body. Shocked by her own wayward thoughts, Faith emptied her mind.
Nothingness,
she chanted to herself,
nothingness, nothingness.
She would
not
blow this by thinking things she couldn't think.

After a long, inscrutable silence, Jamie walked away, and Faith slumped, so emotionally and physically depleted she didn't know how much longer she could stay awake. Every muscle ached, every breath hurt. Considering her worry and her strain and the exhaustion of her trip, she didn't have much left in her.

To help keep awake, she looked around Jamie's small cabin. Made of logs and planks of wood, so natural, it seemed grown from the mountain instead of built by men. Square, with a wraparound porch, it boasted several curtainless windows—none with locks. A rustic ladder led to a loft where she could just barely see Jamie moving around the footboard to a full-sized bed.

Beneath the ladder, a door led to a tiny bathroom that appeared to have only a toilet, sink, and minuscule shower. Before too much longer, she'd make use of that shower. But right now, she just wanted to be warm.

She glanced at the large stone fireplace dominating one wall. It appeared to have been cold for a very long time. Not even a hint of ashes remained in the grate. Faith wrapped her arms around herself and prayed Jamie would hurry.

On the opposite side of the room, open kitchen shelves, holding only a few dishes, flanked a double-bowl ceramic sink situated beneath a window. She imagined Jamie there, rinsing a coffee cup while staring out at nature. Contemplative. Alone.

She shook her head again, refusing to get maudlin.

But still, the sight of his neat, tightly situated kitchen made her heart ache. He owned a squat refrigerator, a tiny freezer, a two-burner stove, and a stacked washer and dryer. A single chair rested beneath his round wooden table.

She couldn't imagine eating alone night after night.

Obviously, he had electricity. He also had lamps. But they weren't on. Deep shadows and a dreary chill filled the cabin.

She feared they might fill Jamie's heart, too.

She was just about to give up and lie down, cold or not, when Jamie reappeared with towels, a quilt, some clothes, and a jar of suspicious-looking liquid. Somehow he'd come down the ladder without her hearing him.

Hesitating in front of her, he visually explored her nakedness again, his gaze lingering on her breasts and belly, before reluctantly handing her the towels. “Did you drive here?”

Her hands shook and her lips trembled. “Part of the way.” She stood and awkwardly wrapped one towel around herself, but it barely touched the top of her thighs. Never in her life had she flaunted herself in front of anyone, and she disliked doing so now.

“Let me. ”Jamie set his bundle on a simple square table at the end of the couch, next to a battery-operated radio, and took the second towel from her.

“I can do it.”

Lacking sympathy, he said, “No, you can't.”

True. Her heavy limbs dragged at her, and her knees wanted to buckle. She pressed her legs together, trying without success to conceal herself.

But as he began drying her with methodical indifference, she gave up. He ran the towel up the insides of her thighs, behind her knees, and she shuddered, feeling very unhinged and out of control.

“You drove ... ? ” he prompted, while easing her back against the couch to save her from collapsing.

Knowing he needed answers, Faith slumped into the deep cushions. “I left my car several hours back and hitchhiked to Visitation.”

Jamie paused, then resumed drying her. “You could have been hurt.”

“I knew I wouldn't be.” As he rubbed the loose towel over her arms, upper chest, and shoulders, she clutched the other towel to keep from losing it. “And I couldn't risk being followed here, though I knew that wouldn't happen either.”

His gaze roamed from below her breasts all the way to her feet. He kept looking at her, giving her nudity a lot of attention.

Absently, he pointed out, “You're not psychic.”

“No.” She'd never demonstrated even the slightest ability, much as she wished it otherwise.

He peered up at her. “Why?”

“Why what?”

Impatience showed briefly in his dark eyes, then disappeared. “Why do you wish you had psychic ability?”

At her mental curse, he again quirked his eyebrow. Given that he almost never showed reaction of any kind, Faith supposed a raised eyebrow meant a lot. It thrilled her.

But rather than give herself away, she utilized the one talent she did have: blanking her mind. Given the new tightness in his features though, she'd been too conspicuous. Her throat felt scratchy and she cleared it with a rough cough. “It, um, would have been easier if I had some ability.”

“Easier how?”

She flapped a hand. “You know, to deal with ... some people.”

“People close to you?”

“Yes.”

Accepting her verbal reluctance, Jamie sat down beside her—not touching, but not with obvious distance either. Did he even notice her as a woman? Unless she'd misunderstood, which was entirely possible, he was supposed to ...

He handed her the second towel, touched her chin, and brought her face around to his. “Who said I would?”

Her eyes flared.

“You may as well tell me.”

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth before giving up and admitting with disgust, “I'm usually
much
better at blanking my thoughts.”

“An odd talent.”

“One I've honed. But for some reason, around you, I'm slipping.”

“You're tired.” His fingers glided through her wet hair, tunneled in close to her skull and gently massaged.

It felt
too
good. “Jamie . . .”

Following the length of one long tress, he trailed his fingers downward over her bare shoulder, her breast, almost to her nipple. Odd, the way his touch affected her. Her eyelids went heavy, her heartbeat quickened.

And just like that, Jamie released her hair and flattened his hands onto his thighs. “You're also sick. It's no wonder you're having trouble concentrating. So I'll ask again: Who told you I'd notice you as a woman?”

His deep, mellow voice could lull an enraged bull. Faith used the second towel to dry the rain and mud from her hair, and this time she managed to keep her thoughts elusive. “No one that you know.”