Joint Forces (20 page)

How about forever? she wanted to ask. Except needing him meant more loss if he left again. Not that she expected him to walk out the door with the baby on the way. But she'd learned there were so many other ways to leave. He'd lived in the house with her for years while still seeming thousands of miles away.

J.T. rubbed circles on her back. "Did everything go okay with Chris upstairs?"

She nodded. "He actually fell asleep. I think the fear exhausted him. Is it totally ridiculous that I stood there at the door and watched him sleep as if that could somehow shift things back to when he was five and I used to do the same thing?"

"Not ridiculous at all. The five-year-old was a helluva lot easier to deal with. Bigger kids. Bigger problems." His arms tightened around her.

Frustration sparked inside her, the need to do something, fix things in a way she could with a little child.

"What did we do wrong that he didn't come to us right away?"

"Teenagers don't always see long-term ramifications. I'm guessing he kept slapping Band-Aids on the problem hoping it would get better on its own."

A coping method that sounded familiar. "Who are we to judge on that reasoning?"

"Guess you have a point there, babe." His chin fell to rest on the top of her head. "But bottom line, he's old enough to know better. He understands right from wrong, and whatever is going on with Miranda Casale is very likely wrong."

"He was worried about us. He was trying to protect us. That's not how it's supposed to be. We're supposed to protect him."

"And we are. He did come to us—even a little late—but he came clean on his own. He could have kept trying to bluff. I don't know about you, but I'm proud of him for standing up. He had to be scared as hell."

She turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on his chest. "God, you must think I'm a total mess. I'm okay now though. I only needed a second to find my footing again. Thank you."

He didn't let go.

And she didn't argue.

His hands kept their steady pace along her springy curls and against her back, slowing, shifting from soothing to sensual.

Still she didn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't do anything but stand, gripped by his arms and the fire swelling through her as surely as the proof of J.T.'s arousal. "What are we doing here?"

"Nothing yet, babe."

The promise in his deep voice strummed through her. She buried her face deeper into his chest, scent, heat. "But we're going to?"

"I sure as hell hope so." He tipped her chin until she looked up at him. "But not if it means you're going to send me packing tomorrow."

She couldn't stop herself from asking, "You would hold out to stay because of the kids?"

He cupped her face, in both hands. "I would hold out so I could stay and have more time to fix this mess we've made of our lives."

Could they be "fixed," like the house or the car? She couldn't sort through it all now with her mind awash with worries for her son, her body craving the reliable comfort only J.T. could provide. And even though he'd avoided answering her question about staying for the kids, the fact that he wanted to try sent hope–

and fear—lancing right through her.

Her fingers splayed across the ridged bands of muscles along his chest. "How about we cut a deal?"

"A deal?"

She smiled up at him playfully, even while the magnitude of her risk threatened to buckle her already wobbly knees. "I won't pitch your weights out on the lawn tomorrow, if you'll promise to talk to me.

Really talk to me—after."

It wasn't a promise of forever. And the problems would still be there—everything from the lengthy separations brought on by his job, her temper, his hang-ups about her paycheck. But this compromise would pacify her irritatingly insistent logic enough for her to jump this man before she combusted with lust.

"If that's what you want."

She blinked, stunned by his easy acceptance. "You agree?"

His intense gaze shifted to a sensual smile to match hers. "But then I'm a guy. I'd promise to dance down the flight line in a tutu right now."

Much-needed laughter bubbled, a welcome reminder of one of the things that drew her to this man—the surprise humor he saved for just the right moments.

Even as his blessed sense of timing had attracted her, so did his innate honor. This man would never lie to her. The promise of that talk offered her pride and common sense enough hope to let her body do exactly what she so desperately wanted.

Her forty-year-old pregnant body.

A moment of insecurity flickered. Then his eyelids went to half mast, silvery gray eyes gliding over her with an icy tickle that heated, excited. She knew. He definitely wanted her body, no matter what the age or pregnancy state.

Relief sweeping over her to bury any doubts deep, she brushed her lips across his collarbone. "Do you still like it when I do this?"

* * *

Hell yeah, he still liked it when she did that. His body shouted a resounding
Go for it
, while his brain insisted,
Don't forget how often sex screwed things up
.

And not the good kind of screwing.

He should take his time, do some more of that talking now to be sure she really wanted—

She licked his earlobe.

His brain fogged. The sensuous glide of her moist tongue against his skin proved too damn tempting on a night when the combination of the flight and the invasion of his home left him feeling raw. Basic. In the grips of the elemental need to stake his claim, protect what was his. "Rena, babe—"

"I still remember the first time I did that and how your eyes turned all intense and your lids went to half mast. Knowing what I was doing to you made me shiver. Which sent your eyes even grayer." She sketched his eyebrows with whisper-light fingers. "You still do that to me with just a look."

No doubts. She really wanted this, too.

He dipped his head to kiss her quiet before she could send him over the edge with only her words. The fan behind Rena blew her spiraling hair forward to tangle around his shoulders.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" Where he could give her an air-conditioned room and bed, if not roses and candles and all the things this woman deserved.

"I want here. Now. With you."

She nipped his shoulder, tunneled under his T-shirt, scored him lightly with her nails on a trek down that led her to snap the waistband of his boxers. Her hand dipped inside, found him, cool fingers wrapping around in a single stroke down. Up again.

All right then.

They'd done it in every room at some point, unable to resist an empty house when the impulse hit. But for some reason, they'd never had sex out here, in this place completely his.

Maybe there was his answer. He'd considered it too stark, messy, gritty for his wife. But with her gentle fist gliding along him as they stood right in the middle of the freaking weight room, he wondered if he'd caused them to miss out on something incredible by limiting their options.

Gripping the sweet give of her hips, he scrunched her dress up with crawling fingers, baring her legs to rub skin to skin against him. His fists full of silky dress, his legs against silkier skin, he tugged the dress up, over her head, her hair sweeping, falling free and…

Hell yeah. More creamy skin, lush woman and sensuality filled his gaze while lust filled his body. Her breasts swelled within the purple cups of her demi-bra. Generously. All those extra pregnancy hormones worked their magic. The bikini cut of her panties rode low, drawing a gentle line and attention to the slight curve of her stomach.

Again that primal chord strummed inside him. She was his. She carried his baby inside her. His heart pounded in his ears, his hands gripping tight to the soft fabric still holding the warmth of Rena's skin.

A final question stalled him. "Is everything okay with the baby? You've been through a lot the past couple of weeks."

"Everything's fine." She stepped closer. "Totally fine." Moved even closer until her breasts grazed his chest, beading nipples peaking the lace to tease along his skin. "The doctor said no restrictions. Although I don't think he'd be pleased if we strung up a trapeze."

"A trapeze, huh?"

She traced the corner of his smile with the tip of her tongue. "I'm not particularly graceful right now, anyway."

"I disagree." Something he intended to confirm. With his mouth. Starting now.

He kissed her, deep, moist and so damn hot, hands busy finding their way around purple lace, unhooking, skimming down and off. Passion combusted higher than any fan could combat.

Months of abstinence stoked the flame from red to blue. Bluer still until nothing but white light dotted behind his eye as he remembered how close he'd come to never being with her again.

Rena ripped at his T-shirt, yanked it up and off while he kicked free his boxers. Her body melded to his.

She sighed, damp breath caressing his chest, kisses and nips following. "I've missed this so much, missed you."

They were in total agreement on that. He cupped her breast, thumbed over the beading nipple, tugged, increasing gentle pressure between two fingers until she arched into his palm. "Why can't it all be this easy?"

"Shh." He soothed with his mouth and hands. "Right now it can be."

Creamy skin. All for him. No barriers. He dipped his face to her breast.

She was right. This was so easy, losing himself in the taste, scent, feel of her. No roar in his head other than the blood charging through his veins.

And even as he touched her in every place he knew she enjoyed, even as she reciprocated, somehow it all felt new. As powerful, impulsive—reckless—as their first time.

Without the fumbling.

He stroked down her side, delved past damp lace to trace along her folds, dip two fingers into even damper heat that contracted around his touch. Her nipple grew even harder in his mouth as she moaned.

Flat surface. He needed one. Now. Sooner.

His mind raced with options, the Astroturf floor too rough, the bed too far away. Time for creativity.

Turning, he backed her toward the weight bench, and thank goodness she seemed too absorbed in cupping his ass to question his intent since—oh yeah, her soft hand slipped around front—no way did he want to move his mouth from his current sweet target long enough to explain himself.

Bending forward, he eased her down along the bench, then knelt between her knees.

Her hands glided along and off his shoulders as she relaxed against the padded bench. "So much better than any trapeze."

"Hell, woman, you turn me inside out anywhere, anytime, and you know it."

Skimming her panties down slender legs and off, he flung aside the purple lace. He hooked her knees around his arms, spread her thighs slightly, her upper body totally there and on display just for him. For his hands. For his mouth.

He pressed his lips to her ankle, over to the still-pink scar from her stitches as if he could take all her pain into himself. He nuzzled the crook of her knee, worked his way up, and man, but did she ever sigh and make all those sweet sounds to guide him. Affirmations somehow became clearer, more arousing now that he realized how close he'd come to losing her.

His smile caressed her inner thigh just before he continued his path up until her scent filled his senses—

roses and pure her.

"Yes," she sighed.

Again, he heard, agreed, settled between her legs and parted her to drink, deeper, fuller, his tongue circling the tight bundle of nerves. Her next sigh hitched on a sweet whimper-moan that encouraged.

Urged. Guiding him to what she wanted, needed now, right now from his hands and mouth.

From him.

And then he heard the sweetest sound of all in her completion. But different, edgier somehow. Torn from her throat in a way he totally understood because this woman tore the breath from him sometimes.

J.T. pressed a lingering kiss that drew another tremble of aftershocks from her.

He may not be able to control forever with Rena, but he could make sure he heard that echoing completion again tonight. And again after that until she was damn near hyperventilating, if he had his way.

But first, he allowed himself a second to look at her—couldn't have looked away anyhow as more of that

"first time" sensation rolled over him anew. Instead, he took in the image of her long dark hair spiraling to the floor. Her arms overhead, fingers still clenched tight around the steel grips, her perfect breasts rising and falling so fast, her body flushed from the release he'd brought her.

Her eyes fluttered open. A hesitant smile flickered. "You're making me a little self-conscious here."

He shook his head slowly, kept right on staring his fill.

"No need for that, babe. I'm just…" He paused, swallowing, words scarce for him on a normal day, and right now with so much of the past, present—damn it all—emotion clogging his throat and brain, words came tough. "There are times I can't believe I'm the lucky bastard who gets to sleep with you."

He extended a not-so-steady hand, traced the fragile line of her hipbone up, along the curve of her breast. She gazed back at him, her eyes unwavering, unblinking, glistening with tears when he'd vowed never to make this woman cry again.

She arched up and he forgot how the hell to think. One of the things he appreciated most about losing himself in Rena. She scooched toward him, wrapped her legs around his waist and guided him home. Oh yeah.

Gripping her hips, he steadied her, nudged into the tight fist of moist heat. Waited for her to accommodate, waited for her sigh. Then moved. Again, in time with her, their bodies in sync if not always their minds.

He kept his pace slow, controlled, careful. Her heels dug into the small of his back, urging him deeper, and he let her take the lead, let her body dictate, easy enough since they wanted the same thing.