Joint Forces (21 page)

Eventually, as always, he couldn't tell who controlled anymore. Neither probably, because the driving need had hold of both of them. Something that had controlled them for years.

Eyes closed, his face settled against the damp curve of her neck, his skin equally as slick, growing wetter as she rocked against him. More of that frantic edge slugged through him, the sense that he had to hold on to this moment because he might never have another chance with this woman.

An unacceptable thought.

"Don't stop." Her nails jabbed into his back with urgency. "Not yet."

"Don't worry, babe," he growled into rose-scented hair. "I have no intention of stopping or going anywhere."

Damn straight on that.

She pulsed around him, harder, massaging him in her release that threatened to send him over with her.

Still, he held back, took her cries into his mouth, absorbed her trembling, drew out her fulfillment until his body roared for relief. Her cries building, fading, she sagged against him.

Only then did he allow himself the final thrust that would send him flying into the mist. Rena's husky voice and sighs, right there with him, steered him through the haze. Damn, but he loved listening to her.

Shuddering, he gathered her close, his face still in her hair. How long? Who the hell knew? Finally the world, concerns, their son, his work—the promise of Rena's talk—all started echoing through the fog to drag him back. And he would deal with all of it.

He knew his duty, never cut out on responsibilities, always kept his word. But for right now, the world could just shut the hell up, and Rena's talk would have to wait.

He reached for more of the total escape he could only find in his wife's body.

* * *

Then why was she afraid of tomorrow?

Their legs tangled, she listened to the percussion of his heartbeat in her ear. "The Astroturf must be giving you a serious case of carpet burns."

"Worth it."

"We could go upstairs," she felt obligated to offer even as she yearned to stay here, in the moment.

"In a minute," he growled, his eyes still closed, hands warm on the small of her back. "Don't want to think enough to walk yet. Not sure I could put my shorts on to head that way anyhow."

She swirled a finger through the hair sprinkling his chest, his skin slick with sweat. "It's cooler upstairs."

His eyelids snapped open. "Ah hell, I'm sorry." Bracing her waist, he sat up. "I didn't even think about how uncomfortable this must be for you. Let's go."

He stared back at her in his lap, his gray eyes intense, resigned and fortified for what would come next.

Déjà vu left her swaying, transporting her to nearly four months ago when he'd worn that exact same heartbreakingly intense expression. Just before their final argument that had sent him walking.

Her throat closed as if to hold back words and the possibility—probability—of a repeat showdown.

Something she couldn't face yet with her emotions so bare. Vulnerable.

To hell with getting cerebral right now. Surely she could enjoy the physical nirvana of just lying with J.T.

after how many hours she'd dreamed about touching him, tasting him. "No, really. I'm okay. I wanted to make sure you're all right." She tickled his chin with a lock of her hair. "Let's stay here a while longer."

"How much longer?" He nipped the tip of her finger.

She wriggled until her knees landed on either side of his hips. "As long as you can last, flyboy."

"Now, what man could resist that challenge?" He cupped her breasts while she rolled her hips until he throbbed hotter, harder against her. He lifted, shifted, guided her down.

So what if this was a reliable delay to their talk? It was an incredible way. And she would get around to doing the right thing soon enough.

Damn. She hadn't changed one bit in twenty-two years. She was still totally at the mercy of her body's craving for this man.

Right now she wanted to enjoy the shimmering sensations and connection and a blissful moment when she was absolutely certain they could work things out because they couldn't have something this perfect that wasn't meant to be. They couldn't deny this connection for the rest of their lonely lives.

Yes, she understood it was carnal and elemental, but this wasn't just sex. It was almost as if when reason, defenses, human foibles and stupid, stupid pride fell away, their souls recognized each other at the most simple level, so right. Mates. For life.

She wanted to believe they would make changes this time, but her wary heart couldn't escape a fearful sense brought on by years of experience with this man. That as soon as the sweat chilled on their sated bodies, they would hurt each other again.

M
orning sunlight streaked through the bedroom curtains, throwing lacy patterns on the walls. A familiar enough image for J.T., but one he hadn't experienced in nearly four months. Not in this room, with his wife curled against his side. Naked. Something he intended to enjoy for a few more minutes before life intruded.

J.T. stroked her arm, watching the digital clock blink away minutes. They'd never gotten around to a conversation the night before, and he couldn't say he regretted the delay.

He'd braced himself for the discussion, even to the point of planning where it should take place. At the kitchen table with a bowl of peach ice cream. He hoped the ice cream would remind her of happier times and soften her up before the tough talk.

Only, she'd faded into one of her pregnancy narcoleptic naps. He'd wrapped her in a quilt, scooped her up and carried her to bed. If he'd even considered sleeping elsewhere, she'd put an end to that with a groggy arm around his neck pulling him down to join her.

Fair enough. No need to ask him twice.

His gaze skated from her feet peeking out of the covers, along her curves draped in a sheet patterned with a thousand little flowers, up to the creamy skin of her shoulders and neck.

Damn, but her hair looked good on his pillow.

His hand explored her arm, along her hip. Sighing, she flipped onto her back, landing his hand square onto the tight curve of her belly. Shock stilled him. Longing held him there.

He'd been careful the night before not to touch her stomach. Only a bonehead wouldn't realize she had hang-ups about reconciling because of the baby after their shotgun wedding. Hell, maybe he had a few of those hang-ups himself—wondering if this was the only way to work himself into Rena's life.

But for now, while she slept, he allowed himself a moment to meet his new kid. He palmed the slight swell, turned onto his side until his face rested against the top of his wife's head while he rubbed a slow circle greeting.

Rena snuggled closer, still asleep and warm, mumbling stuff he couldn't make out.

He smiled into her hair. "It's okay, you have a while longer before you need to get up."

"Hmm. Good. So sleepy. Love you."

Sucker punched, J.T. couldn't move. She rolled to her other side, away, and clutched her pillow while her breathing resumed a steady snoozing rhythm.

She was probably stuck in some time-warp dream state from twenty years ago when she'd said those words all the time and he hadn't appreciated how much they meant. But did she mean them now and if so, how would he keep from hurting her this time, too?

Swinging his feet to the floor, he sat on the edge of the mattress, scrubbing his fingers through his hair.

Minutes ago he didn't want to leave the bed and now he couldn't haul ass out fast enough. What the hell was wrong with him? The truth blindsided him like a bogey sneaking in from his six o'clock.

He'd fallen in love with his wife all over again.

His head fell into his hands. Hadn't he always loved her? He'd told her so. Sure as hell thought so. But somehow those feelings paled in comparison to the gut-gripping emotion twisting through him.

And that scared the crap out of him.

Now he had to accept the fact that she had been right about demanding more over the years—and about the ways he'd hurt her through a distance he hadn't even known he'd put between them. He had a helluva lot more backpedaling to accomplish than he'd thought.

Okay, so the stakes were higher. At least he had his feelings lined up. He would just tell her when they talked and make damn sure she listened.

Except he couldn't help but wish he had more to carry into this confrontation than three little words he'd used before without realizing their full importance.

Shoving to his feet and away from the temptation to wake his wife up with sex, a reliable connection, he headed for the bathroom and a lonely shower. Maybe the showerhead would beat some inspiration into his brain.

Dressed in a fresh flight suit, he loped down the stairs, his socks making no sound on hardwood. He wasn't sure he wanted to face the garage and all the hot memories there. One look at the weight bench and he would be right back in a world of hurt. But he needed to snag his boots and swap out the Velcro patches off his dirty flight suit onto his clean one.

J.T. paused at the base of the stairs. Maybe he could bring Rena breakfast in bed first. That would start the day on a nicer note.

As long as he didn't pick something that would make her hurl on his socks.

Around the corner, into the kitchen, he stopped short at the sight of his son. "Good morning."

Chris slouched against the counter, spooning a bowl of Frosted Flakes into his mouth, eyeing his dad with confusion. "'Morning."

"You sleep all right?"

"Yeah, how about you, uh, I mean—" Red-faced, he looked down and stuffed his mouth full of another bite.

The bed shuffle hadn't gone unnoticed. Hell, the door to Nikki's old room had probably been standing open. Keeping things low-key for his son had been the last thing on his mind when J.T. carried Rena up to bed the night before.

Still, Chris kept quiet. Shoveled cereal. Didn't ask if his parents were back together, which stung worse than facing the question, because silence meant the kid had stopped hoping.

Breakfast in bed with Rena would have to go on hold for a few minutes. J.T. poured a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk for himself and leaned back against the counter beside Chris, crossing his feet at the ankles. "You okay?"

He stirred soggy flakes. "I'm sorry for screwing up with the stuff at the restaurant."

Not the subject J.T. had been thinking of, but then Chris obviously wanted to ignore the other topic. "I'm not going to lie to you, son. It would have been better if you'd come to us right away."

"Because of Mom's accident?"

No soft-soaping that. His gut burned. J.T. tipped back half a glass of milk, without relief. Hopefully Spike would have some good news for him when they met in a few hours. "Yes, and also as far as having the authorities believe your side of the story."

Nodding, Chris shoveled another spoonful of soupy cereal into his mouth. J.T. waited, ate, the clock ticking by seconds over the door.

Pivoting on the heels of his athletic socks, Chris dumped the rest of his cereal down the disposal and made an overlong production out of washing the bowl. "When you were over there, in Rubistan, I mean

—" he paused, washing the spoon—twice "—did you, uh, get scared?"

Water running, he eyed his dad sideways.

"Yeah." J.T. nodded, the understatement of the century. A dry smile tugged one corner of his mouth.

"Sometimes so much I thought I'd piss in my pants."

Chris stared back. Shock sent his jaw slack. He dropped the spoon and shifted to face his dad full on.

"Really?"

"Really." He'd always thought children needed to feel parents were invincible. Maybe finding out parents were human might not be so bad, after all. Sure would have helped prepare the kid for the breakup.

"Only a fool wouldn't have been scared. Anyone can be brave when the odds are in your favor. It's what you do when you're scared that's the true measure of courage."

"Is that from Shakespeare?"

He hadn't even realized Chris knew he read the Bard's works. "Nope. Actually, it's from my old man."

One of the few conversations they'd had. Right after he'd found out Rena was pregnant. Strange how he'd forgotten about going to his father at that time until just now.

Other talks with his dad shifted around in J.T.'s head. Short exchanges, sure. His parents were just as closemouthed as he was, but they made their words count.

Had he done the same? "You don't have to go to school today."

"Yeah, I think I do have to go."

His son was becoming a man. "Okay, then." The kid was probably safer there than at home, anyway.

"But remember, you can call me if you have any problems. I'll be there in minutes."

"Thanks, but I'm okay." He pushed away from the counter and started toward the door.

Make the words count. "Son?"

Chris turned. "Yeah?"

"Love ya." J.T. hooked his arm around Chris's neck and pulled him in for a hug.

His son hugged back. Thumping. Rena would have laughed over the fact that men had to hit while they were hugging, but hey, guys understood the lingo.

Thunking his son once more on the back, J.T. pulled away. "And you're still grounded 'til the end of time."

Grinning, Chris shrugged, baggy clothes rippling. "I figured as much."

"Go grab your backpack and I'll see what's keeping your mother."

Scooping a muffin off the counter for his wife, J.T. hoped the upcoming talk with Rena could go even half as well as the one with his son, simple, low-key. Otherwise, they were all screwed.

* * *

Inching back from the kitchen door, Rena steadied her steps if not her pulse. The image of father and son, standing together, white athletic socks on crossed feet side by side, squeezed all those pregnancy emotions until she could barely breathe. Watching J.T. and Chris in sync like that was … perfect, the family she'd always wanted.