Wild Rain (11 page)

Damn it to bloody hell. So he wanted to protect. After all, it
was
his job. The one and only thing he was good at—both his saving grace and his eternal curse.

But the very last thing he wanted—ever, ever again—was to
need
to protect.

And yet he wanted.

Her breasts, so soft and small, pressed against his rib cage. Her slender legs fit perfectly between his larger, heavily muscled ones. Her small hands … He stifled a groan. Her wonderfully skilled hands were those of a healer. And damn if they didn’t bring him a sense of solace he’d never expected to feel. Never expected because it wasn’t deserved.

Still, he wanted. He wanted till he fair burned with it.

“Jillian?” His voice was hoarse with the effort to speak at a time when his body was screaming at him to act.

She shifted slightly against his chest, and he ground his teeth together. She started to draw her hands away, but no matter how deeply he understood that he should allow her to put some space—any space—between them, there was no way in hell he was going to let her. Not yet.

He pressed his elbows down, clamping her arms to his sides. She tensed, then stopped. He sighed, the sound filled with as much frustration as relief.

“What?” she whispered.

“Tell me why you risked your life for Cleo.” Again, his voice was dark and rough, but it was all he could manage.

“Another order, Mr. Braedon?” Her tone was dry, but not angry, as if she somehow understood how vital it was for him to reestablish the space between them—even if it was only verbal.

“Curiosity, Ms. Bonner. You don’t strike me as a person to put herself in unnecessary danger.”

Reese felt her tense. He wondered if she realized that by being in his arms she’d placed herself directly in the path of another fierce, potentially dangerous storm. That of desire. Surprising, unexpected, but no less powerful than the one pounding down on them.

Reese called on what control he had to keep his
hold on her relaxed, to keep the heart beating under her cheek steady.

“Normally, I’d be the first to agree,” she said, the wry quality more evident now.

Good on you, mite, he thought, satisfied that the survivor instinct was still alive and strong inside her.

“What made Cleo different?”
What made me different?
was what he really wanted to ask. He swallowed hard against the urge.

After a pause, her voice floated up to him in the darkness, clear and steady.

“She was brought to me several months ago. Her rear left leg had been almost completely severed in a steel trap designed to catch small mammals.”

“Why you?”

“Why not me?”

“You said you weren’t a vet. I guess I just figured you’d leave the bigger cases to the government wildlife folks. You have a staff here?”

“I have a few volunteers. Cleo was brought here because I was the closest person available. Around here it’s catch as catch can. She wasn’t an endangered species, and while there are several breeding programs currently underway, she wouldn’t have rated special attention. It was either me or leave her to die. If they’d taken her even as far as Sanibel, she wouldn’t have survived.”

“So she was a goner when she got here, huh?”

“The guys in the pickup truck that brought her in thought so.”

“But not you.” It wasn’t a question. He knew her well enough now to realize that nothing short of death—even her own apparently—would stop Jillian from doing whatever she thought she had to do.

“Actually, I thought it would be over before we got her from the truck to the clinic. I sedated her to keep her down and went to work on her leg. As you said, I’m no vet. But even I knew the leg had to go.”

“Wait a minute …”

“Yes, Cleo was the one I was referring to when I was stitching you up.”

“You mean the scaly bludger that attacked me only has three legs?”

Jillian laughed. “Don’t feel bad, Reese. She still moves pretty darn fast. Usually it’s in the other direction when humans are involved. Most alligators prefer smaller, easily captured meals and since they’re cold-blooded, they are notorious for not expending any unnecessary energy.”

“So why attack me?”

“The only time alligators—at least this species—get aggressive to the point of unprovoked attack is when their nests are involved. And Cleo is a very protective mother-to-be.”

“I wasn’t anywhere near the pond or the nest.”

“I’ve thought about that. Females usually stay very close to their egg mounds during incubation,
but I guess maybe the winds and impending storm confused her or agitated her. She must have been on the other side of the compound, and you just had the bad misfortune of coming between her and her nest.”

“If you let her roam free, you should have signs up.”

“I do. Or at least, I did. The winds must have blown them down. This is a pretty isolated area. I don’t have that many guests other than those who are bringing in injured animals. If they know about me, they more than likely know about Cleo. Even so, I hooked up a buzzer and an intercom on the gate. I guess you didn’t see it.”

Her tone made it clear that she didn’t think he’d taken the time to look before barging in, but Reese didn’t comment. Mostly because she was right. But also because he wasn’t ready to give her an excuse to leave the shelter of his arms. He knew she’d stayed this long only because he’d kept her talking.

“I still don’t understand why you stayed. Do you have other animals still here?”

“No. I was very fortunate. Besides Cleo, I only had several waterfowl here when the storm warnings were announced. I have an arrangement with another rehabber near Ocala who takes on birds when I don’t have enough space. Luckily she had room and took them on for me.”

“You couldn’t move Cleo?”

“Actually, I’d planned to release her back into
the wild. She seemed to have adapted to her new limitations well enough, and I checked with the U.S. parks people on the best place to put her. But before I could arrange it, she started building her nest. If everything goes well, we’ll transport them all after they hatch.”

Reese paused for a moment, trying to decide how best to ask the next question. “Don’t do a lolly, but if she’s not endangered, why not move her anyway? One less egg mound wouldn’t hurt the population.”

“Do a lolly?”

“Tantrum, fit.”

It was Jillian’s turn to pause. It went on just long enough for Reese to start to feel uncomfortable. He hadn’t been self-conscious about his accent or Australian background in over sixteen years, since he’d first hit the back alleys of Miami as a rebellious teenager fresh from Oz. That he felt that way now spoke volumes on how much he’d let Jillian get to him. They were volumes he’d as soon leave unread.

“I’m not going to ‘do a lolly,’ ” she replied, imitating him, the soft accent on her lips breaking gently into his thoughts. “It’s a valid question.”

Reese fought his initial reaction, which had been to smile. Then realizing she couldn’t see it, allowed his mouth to relax a bit, his lips curved slightly. “For a Yank, you do a passing fair job of speaking Strine.”

He didn’t have to see her smile. He felt it. She
smiled with her whole body. His body had passed smiling eons ago, it was well into pleading. He ignored it. But not without paying a dear price.

“So why didn’t you leave her here?” he asked quietly. “Not much you can do barricaded in the house.”

Her arms tightened around his waist, and Reese used what was left of his control not to roll on top of her and the hell with the conversation. But he sensed her hold on him was prodded by the need for reassurance, not barely restrained passion.

Double bloody hell.

“Tell me.”

At his roughly spoken request, she started to pull away. He held her tighter, the action automatic.

“Don’t run.”

“I can hardly do that in here, now can I?”

“You know what I mean.”

She wedged her arms between them and pushed. “Yes, I do.” She struggled again. “Dammit, Reese, you’re asking me to—You’re asking for more than a simple explanation.”

He’d placed his lips next to her ear, so his whisper could be heard over the noise of the storm. “Am I?”

Jillian’s response was to fight harder. Reese relaxed his hold, but just enough so that she could roll away from him, then he caught her around the waist with one arm and pulled her back against him.

“Reese, wh—?” She flailed around momentarily. “Let me—” She broke off when her backside encountered the hard line of his hips. “—go.” The last word was nothing more than a whisper. He felt the vibration of it against his body.

Forcibly preventing himself from examining his motivations, he held on tight as he bent his head, placing his lips by her ear again.

“Darkness is a cloak. So is facing an empty room.”

“Let me go.” The words were raspy, but the only plea was for understanding.

“You want a shield. You’ve asked me for one twice. That’s all my arms around you are. Protection. Respite. A shield. Now, shut your eyes and let the words out, Jillian.” His mouth opened against the shell of her ear. “Tell me why a survivor like you would willingly do something so self-destructive.”

He let his lips graze the tender skin of her neck, swallowing hard on the groan that rose from the depths of his chest and lodged in his throat. “Tell me.”

Reese wasn’t aware he’d been holding his breath along with the need to groan, until several excruciating moments passed and she relaxed against him. He sensed she was more resigned than willing, but he was past caring. With the remains of his control, he pulled his mouth away from the tantalizing scent of her nape and tucked her head back beneath his chin.
Where it belonged.

“I … um,” Jillian paused to clear her throat. Never in a million years did she expect to be having this conversation with a man like Reese, but to be doing it with her bottom pressed against his zipper went beyond all comprehension. She purposely let her gaze become lost in the dark room in front of her. “I guess it’s part of what I said earlier, about people’s motivations being self-serving. Animals aren’t that way. Their motivation is simple, basic. It’s to survive.”

“And reproduce.”

She drew in a ragged breath. “Yes, and that.”

“So you’re saying that the animals you treat are more loyal or appreciative? Ducks, snakes, alligators?”

“Not in the way you mean, maybe. Not like a pet. I guess I just like knowing that my efforts will give them the one thing they desire above all else—to live. No power games, no hidden agendas, no regrets.”

Jillian’s pulse pounded inside her ears as the silence between them grew. She purposely allowed the sounds of the storm to reenter her mind, trying not to think about what his next question was almost certainly going to be.

But the storm took a poor second in her thoughts to the feel of Reese’s arms around her, the feel of his silent strength braced behind her. It was surprisingly reassuring. Not the protection he offered from the dangers of the raging hurricane, she knew he had an instinctive code to protect.

What captured her attention was the fact that the feel of his body wrapped around her provided far more than a cloak to hide in while revealing past hurts. It made her feel safe. Truly safe. Able for the first time, to sort out the events that had shaped her life, driven her down her chosen path. He enabled her to be vulnerable without fear that whatever she said would be twisted around and used against her.

The knowledge didn’t require thought and decision. It was solely instinctive. Why? For the past four years she’d successfully, easily, shut off any emotion she deemed risky to her heart. To her soul. Giving that part of herself only to her patients, whose existence in her life was temporary by necessity. The result had provided her with a tremendous sense of relief. She’d never regretted her decision to isolate herself. In fact, she’d reveled in it. And she’d sworn she’d never do anything to disturb it. Ever.

Apparently until now.

So why Reese? Because he was very likely the last man, the last human being, she’d talk to before the storm swept them both away? Because he’d bullied his way into her life and didn’t take no for an answer? Because she saw a soul mate when she looked into his battle-weary blue eyes?

Or was it because he made her feel female in a way that only someone so supremely male ever could have? In a way she’d never ever expected to feel?

Yes. Maybe. She didn’t know.

Most telling, in that moment, was that she didn’t care.

“Who abused your trust, Jillian?”

The question drifted into her mind on a raw whisper.

“Who abused your heart?”

After a long pause, she said, “I think it would be easier, not to mention faster, to name those who hadn’t. I’m apparently a lousy judge of character. Although that doesn’t excuse my mother. I didn’t get the option of choosing her.”

As if doors too long closed had suddenly sprung open, she’d spoken in a heated rush. Only when the relative silence of their small space descended once again did she realize what she’d said, what she’d revealed.

Reese relaxed, letting his hand drift to her arm. He drew his rough hand along the taut skin that stretched from her elbow, over her slight bicep muscle, to her shoulder. He paused for a split second, then repeated the excruciatingly exquisite gesture as he let his hand drift back down.

“You want to tell me about it?”

The question, though expected, sent her over some unforeseen edge. Everything shattered apart.

His voice, that accent, those arms. His hands, his body, his strength. The dark, the storm, the small room. His scent, his zipper, the unmistakable bulge behind it. Her pulse, her want, the need to turn in his arms and …

Oh my God. What in the hell was she doing?

Suddenly Jillian wanted out. Away from Reese, away from the way he made her feel, away from the things she wanted to say. Away from the things she wanted to do.

She wanted light. Air. Blessed quiet. Both outside and in her head.

As if he’d sensed her thoughts, Reese’s arms tightened around her. “Okay, okay. None of my business.”