See Jane Fall (30 page)

But he didn’t walk by. He stopped in front
of her, the heat from his body startling her as she
stared—helpless, undone—at his chest, unable to move, holding her
breath.

“Jane,” he breathed, low and fierce, in
disbelief or anger or surrender. Her eyes fluttered closed against
the anguished mosaic of feelings she perceived in the way he said
her name. Her aching heart took comfort in the desperate intensity
she heard in his voice, because she recognized it, and she longed
to answer it by sharing the strength and depth of her own
struggles.

If her chest didn’t feel so physically tight
from the force of her heart thumping against her gasping lungs,
which grounded her in reality, she may have believed she was still
asleep, still dreaming. She had been holding her breath, but she
released it in a sob, gasping for another gulp of air quickly as
she opened her eyes, wild not to break the moment. It felt unreal,
like a spell; too fragile, too dream-like to be
possible
.

The backs of his fingers caressed her chin
before lifting it, and when she opened her eyes, she caught hold of
his, which were…shattered. And not just that…betrayed.
Betrayed.
His shoulders moved up and down with the force of
his breathing, and his face contorted, searching hers
frantically…

Jane had only one thought that she imbedded
unconsciously in her gaze:

I am yours.

His eyes widened, briefly reading hers, and
without warning his lips descended, furious and punishing. His
teeth clashed against hers as he growled into her mouth, pulling
her body to his unforgivably, his corded arms imprisoning her
against the wall of his chest as he slanted his mouth over hers
again and again. Desperate to touch him, she writhed against him
like a wild thing, pushing at him, desperate to loosen her trapped
arms from the cage of his body.

Still kissing him, struggling free, she
moved her hands up to his face, her cold fingers settling on the
feverish ridge of skin under his eyes. She felt him flinch beneath
her palms, and he sobbed into her throat, his fingers curling in
defeat on her lower back.

She quieted his despair, cradling his face
in her small white hands, her gentleness a ballast to the rawness
of his fury. Moving her lips against his with a slow, soothing
rhythm, she tenderly coaxed his tongue to love hers, to stop
fighting.

As he surrendered to her, he seemed to lean
into her compassion with exhaustion, in gratitude. She felt his
passion shift from anger to tenderness and slid her hands into his
hair, arching her body against his, melting into him, at his mercy
even as he acquiesced to her.

Settling into the kiss, neither able nor
willing to break away from the other, they moved lightly to the
rhythm of their beating hearts, clasped to one another as the mist
swirled around them. Lars’s hands finally uncoiled and he held her
as gently as he would something precious. Jane gradually lowered
her hands from his face until they laced at the back of his neck,
as she would if he belonged to her.

After a while, she drew back, tucking her
head under his chin, which she felt on top of her head as his arms
tightened around her.

“Jane,” he sighed, in a broken whisper, and
she tilted her head to look up into his eyes. They were
fraught—still hungry, but also mired in injury, which confused her
because she acknowledged herself as the injured party between them.
She lowered her hands from his neck and his arms went slack,
letting go of her, stepping away.

“Lars?” she murmured, her body still
tingling, still reeling, furrowing her brows in confusion and
frustration.

“You’re killing me…you’re…” He shook his
head, looking down. “I can’t do this, Jane.”

“
I’m
killing
you
?” Her mouth
opened and she shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m sure
Paul
could help you figure
it out.”

“Paul?”
Paul? What did Paul have to do
with this?
“Paul! What are you talking about?”

“I don’t think I have to spell it out for
you, Jane.”

“How
dare
you!”

“How dare
I
? How dare
you
!”

“You’re not making any sense,” she
snapped.

“Neither are you!”

“I’m…I’m leaving. I have things to do.”

“Good! Go already!”

“I will! I’m going!” She pivoted and started
walking away, but he grabbed her hand as it swung back and jerked
her back up against his body. In one whip-fast motion, he placed
his hands firmly on her hips and leaned down with unerring
precision, sealing his lips over hers, demanding, branding. And too
brief. As he drew back from her, his eyes flashed and glinted like
jagged glass sweeping sharply over her face.

“I’ll pick you two up in an hour,” he
growled, and she realized his hands were still holding her
hips.

“Fine,” she spat, frowning at him. “I think
you should quit kissing me.”

His lips twitched up and he leaned down one
last time, brushing his lips against hers with an agonizing, almost
unbelievable gentleness that made her knees so weak, she swayed
when he released her without a word or glance, and walked into the
mist.

Jane took a deep breath, filling her lungs,
turning her neck to watch him go, utterly confused by what the heck
had just happened.

***

Goddamn it, Lars, what is the matter with
you?
He poured himself a cup of coffee at the kiosk, waving
hello to the front desk clerk, and sat down in the lobby, waiting
for Samara’s team to gather in the lobby. If he hadn’t gotten such
a rotten night’s sleep, he wouldn’t have been up so early…he
wouldn’t have left so early…he wouldn’t have bumped into—

Damn it, Lars!
He had been so wound
up over her, wanting her, feeling rejected by her, to suddenly see
her walk out of the mist had been an occasion for which he was
wholly unprepared. He meant to walk right past her, without a look,
without a word, but he was drawn to her like a magnet, and somehow
found himself standing in front of her.

But it was her eyes that had propelled his
mouth onto hers.

Her eyes that told him some part of her
still wanted him, whether she was with Paul or not. He was so angry
at her, so hurt, he had grabbed her roughly up against his body,
slammed his lips down on hers so mercilessly, their teeth had
clashed.

Damn it, damn it, damn it!
When she
fought against him, pushing at him, it struck him that his behavior
was deeply inappropriate. He had loosened his grip so she could
pull back, and smack him good across the face. Feeling her small
hands reach up to caress his face so gently had shocked the hell
out of him, and his whole body had reacted to her tenderness; all
he wanted to do after that was show her how much he liked her, how
much he wanted her, how fine and dear and irreplaceable she was to
him. Even after that kiss ended, he couldn’t bear to let her walk
away, so he’d grabbed her back, held her for an extra stolen
minute, almost smiled when she told him to stop kissing her,
because even as she said the words, her body didn’t back them up by
making a move to leave his arms.

Damn it anyhow! You shouldn’t have done
that!
He was angry with himself, and with her, and more
confused than ever. He
knew
what he saw last night. He saw
Jane and Paul sitting alone, holding hands, Paul making cow eyes at
Jane, and leaning in so close to her face, he was either kissing
her or inspecting her pores. And while, no, Lars had to admit he
hadn’t actually seen the lip-lock, there was little doubt in his
mind as to what had happened between them.

So how come Jane had been so indignant? And
why did it make him feel like maybe he had jumped to some hasty
conclusions based on circumstantial evidence? He sat back in his
chair taking a deep breath and letting it out in a forceful,
frustrated sigh.

“That bad?” He looked up to see Margot, the
portly costume person, standing in front of him.

“Aw. Women!” He shook his head, standing up.
“No offense.
A
woman. One very exasperating woman.”

“Miss Amaya?” she guessed.

He shook his head. “Jane.”

Margot looked down at her coffee, her lip
trembling. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Lindstrom. Miss Amaya made me tell
her. I wouldn’t make trouble. I hate that she made me.”

“Wh—” Lars cocked his head to the side,
watching her. “Wait a second…What are you talking about?”

Margot’s anguished expression doubled and
her shoulders fell.

“N-no. You’re not making anything worse. I
promise. Just, um…” He swallowed, reaching out to touch her
forearm. “Just, please tell me what you’re talking about.”

“You kissing Miss Amaya. She made me tell
Jane.”

Lars closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring
in anger and frustration as he realized what Margot was saying.
“Samara made you tell Jane that you saw us kissing.”

Margot swallowed, nodding nervously.

“What else did she say?”

“Oh…well, she said she was in her—her
underwear because you ripped off, um, her, um clothes. And she said
you were going to, um, pick up where you left off when you got to
Jackson Hole.”

Lars nodded at her, keeping his eyes trained
on hers, keeping his hand gently on her arm to keep her focused on
him.

“She said I was going with her to Jackson
Hole?”

Margot nodded.

“Anything else?”

Margot shook her head no, looking sorry.

“Hey, Margot,” Lars asked, and she looked up
at him. “You didn’t hurt anything here. I think you helped. I know
you did. Thank you.”

Her eyes brightened. “Jane’s the best, Mr.
Lindstrom.”

“I know it,” he answered, released her arm
and patted it gently, offering her an encouraging smile. “By the
way, it’s Lars. Mr. Lindstrom is my father.”

“Between you and me, Lars?” She lowered her
voice, looking around to be sure they were alone before leaning in
close to him. “I sure wouldn’t mind if Samara got fucked.”

***

Jane let herself in the little cottage and
realized Sara was still sleeping, so she put on the coffee and went
into the small guest bedroom to pack a few things for her cousin’s
weekend at the Amangani.

She was glad to do something that required
very little thought or attention. She knew that Sara needed three
outfits for tonight’s dinner and another three for tomorrow’s
dinner, all trendy, all fabulous, in case there was press there or
she ran into someone she knew or wanted to impress. She would need
a couple of bathing suits, her favorite bathrobe, and at least four
sets of yoga clothes, in case she wanted to work out twice a day
while she was there. Then there were lounging-around clothes for
her suite and chic dressy-casual outfits if she wanted to hit the
lobby for a drink or a snack. Accessories and shoes for every
outfit. It all fit in three suitcases, and then Jane went to the
bathroom to pack up a small cosmetic bag with toiletries and
makeup.

She refused to pack Sara’s negligee,
however, and didn’t care if Sara was angry about it later. Instead,
Jane packed Sara’s ugliest pajamas: worn-out boxer shorts and a
MassBay Community College t-shirt, which was faded, frayed and old.
She sure wasn’t going to help Sara seduce the man she lo—

Jane gasped sharply, refusing to let her
brain finish the word it had started and turning her thoughts away
from it.
Don’t go there, Jane. You’re in hot enough water
without adding that word to the confusion.

She shivered, raising actual goose bumps all
over her body, remembering the passionate, demanding way he’d
claimed her, how much she’d liked it. She knew he was angry with
her, but she was okay with that, because she appreciated anger as a
passionate emotion, and he wouldn’t feel passionately about her if
he didn’t care for her. But, she’d wanted so badly to comfort him,
to connect with him in the only manner at her disposal, and by
gently touching him, she had felt his anger segue to tenderness, to
gentleness, to lo—

No again, Jane. Stop it with that word. I
mean it.

She deliberately changed the course of her
thoughts again, grinning as she packed a bag of essentials for the
almost three-hour car ride from the shoot location to Jackson Hole.
Water, lip balm, snacks, extra ear buds and a portable charger for
Samara’s phone. She stared at the charger, lost in her thoughts
again. No matter what had happened between Lars and Sara, there was
still some serious heat and emotion between her and Lars that Jane
had to accept as true and real, and it made her unbelievably
happy.

Of course, several problems remained; as far
as Jane knew, although she was seriously starting to question
things, Lars had made out with Sara and was joining her cousin in
Jackson Hole. She knew Margot wasn’t lying, but Jane was starting
to wonder what exactly Margot had seen—what exactly she had walked
in on. Because, as Ray pointed out yesterday, Lars wasn’t acting
like a man obsessed with Sara.

Paul had been so insistent that Lars would
never leave Gardiner while his family was coming to town, and Jane
had never actually heard Lars accept Sara’s invitation.

But, most baffling of all was Lars’s anger
toward her this morning. She knew that he hadn’t wanted to break
things off with her on Monday, and she felt his sad anger on
Tuesday, but this morning felt different. It didn’t feel sad; it
felt a lot angrier, a lot more current, a lot rawer. And he had
mentioned Paul so deliberately, which further confused Jane. How
many times did she have to tell him that they were just friends?
Didn’t Lars know about Miss Mystic, for heaven’s sake? Paul was a
friend—a friend Jane liked very much, but a friend nonetheless, and
nothing more.

Could all of that teeth-clashing, growling
anger possibly have been about Paul? What a ridiculous thought. It
made absolutely no sense!