by J. Kenner
“I think she did,” Taylor said. He glanced at Lane. “I’m a little worried about her. It’s not like her to go to bed this early.”
“Oh, please,” Lane said. “She’s been going nonstop since Sunday. Let the woman rest.”
Taylor looked like he had more to say, but Davy piped up again. “So, what didn’t you learn, Mr. Jason?”
A muscle in Jason’s cheek twitched as he turned to face Boreas. “Beats me,” he said. “Ask the director of the oversight committee here.”
“Patience,” Boreas said. “You rushed in so fast, wanting to win, that you lost.”
Lane pressed a hand over her mouth, clearly smothering a burst of laughter.
“The point is to win,” Jason said. “And that means you have to be the first to name the cards.”
“Exactly,” Boring said. “But you didn’t win. And Directive nine-four-four-C very specifically states that a Protector shouldn’t act until all the facts are in order and the outcome is potentially predictable.”
“Potentially predictable?” Taylor echoed.
“You’re supposed to be pretty sure you know what’s going to happen,” Jason said. “That doesn’t apply in an emergency, though. Does it, Officer Wise As—”
“Ah-ah,” Lane said, casting her gaze toward Davy.
“Uh,” Boreas said.
Jason nodded, finally vindicated. “Exactly,” he said. “In an emergency, the directives make clear that the goal is containment and protection of any mortals present.”
“But we’re just playing Clue,” Boreas argued.
This time, Lane didn’t make any effort to hide her laugh. “He’s got you,” she said.
Jason couldn’t think of any decent response, so he turned his attention to Davy. The boy was yawning. “Bedtime, little man?”
“I am sleepy,” Davy admitted.
“I’ll tuck him in,” Taylor offered. “I wanted to go up and check on my wife, anyway.” Lane had offered Zoe the big bed, and her sister-in-law had gratefully accepted, on the condition that she wasn’t kicking Davy out of his room.
“Thanks,” Lane said. She kissed Davy’s cheek. “Just think, tomorrow’s your birthday eve.”
“Cool,” Davy said, snuggling up against his Uncle Taylor’s chest.
Jason stood, fighting the urge to take Davy in his arms and tuck him in himself. But the boy looked happy and cozy, and Jason didn’t want to push.
“Mr. Jason?” Davy held out his hand, and Jason took it, his heart just about to melt. “Can’t I stay up just a little longer? I want to play Mousetrap.”
Jason glanced toward Lane for guidance, but no help was forthcoming. “I think it’s your bedtime,” he finally said. “And besides, we didn’t bring that game. Only Clue.”
“I don’t need the game,” Davy said, his voice sleepy. “I can make a mousetrap out of stuff off your boat.”
Jason didn’t doubt that for an instant. “Sorry, kiddo. It’s still bedtime. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Davy yawned. “Thanks for teaching me stuff today.”
“You’re welcome,” Jason said. “I had fun.” They’d spent the entire day practicing levitation, and Davy had actually managed to lift Elmer about an inch off the ground. Not bad, considering the boy’s powers weren’t even really supposed to come into their own until his birthday on Friday.
Of course, if the expression on Elmer’s face was any indication, the ferret would just as soon Davy never fully grasped levitation. Jason recalled his own antics as a child and figured the ferret had a point.
“I had fun, too,” Davy said.
And then, before he could talk himself out of it, Jason leaned over and kissed the boy on the cheek. “ ’Night-’night,” he said.
“ ’Night,” Davy repeated. And, to Jason’s delight, he didn’t try and rub the kiss off.
Taylor said good night, too, then turned and headed out of the room, the bundle of boy flung over his shoulder.
“I guess I’m off to my post,” Boreas said. He nodded toward all the dirty dishes scattered across the floor. “Unless you want help with these?”
Lane shook her head. “We’ve got them. You go ahead.”
The cadet nodded, then headed out the door. With Davy’s birthday fast approaching, they’d decided Boreas and Jason would trade off on lookout duty. Hopefully, Hieronymous wouldn’t show; but if he did, they’d be ready for him.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind Boreas, Lane started gathering dishes. Jason helped, following her into the kitchen with a handful of plates and both of their wineglasses. Before, the boat’s kitchen had always seemed too small to him. Now, though, it felt just right. He stood close behind Lane, watching as she filled the sink. He breathed deep, the soft floral scent of her shampoo mixing with the lemony smell of his dishwashing soap.
There was something so right about being beside her, passing her dishes, their movements timed nearly to perfection. She reached for the plate he held out, then paused, her head cocked slightly as she regarded him. “What?” she asked, the hint of a smile touching her mouth.
He reached out to stroke her cheek, rejoicing in the way she smiled at him, full of hope and promise. “This was a good day,” he said.
She leaned against him, holding a soapy dish in one hand. “The best,” she said. She let the dish slip back into the soapy water, then turned to smile at him. “Davy had a great time.”
Simple words, but they meant everything. “I hope so,” he said. “He’s a great kid.” His kid. Lane’s kid. “You’ve done a wonderful job with him.”
“Thank you.” She turned back to the dishes, and he wondered if he’d said the wrong thing, somehow reminded her of his long absence. But no, that would be like reminding her of an elephant in the living room.
He moved behind her, his hands pressing against her arms. “Lane?”
She turned, shifting under his touch until her back pressed against the counter. She was trapped in the circle of his arms. Her cheeks flushed, and he traced the curve of her ear with his fingertip, wondering what was on her mind—hoping it was the same thing that was on his.
She licked her lips, looking down at the floor through her lashes. “It, uh, wasn’t just Davy who had a great time.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of promise . . . and unspoken questions. “I had a good time, too.”
“Lane,” he whispered, and his heart lurched. He pulled her close and stroked her hair. “We’ll make it right. We can be a family again.”
She stiffened then, and he stifled a cringe, fearful of what she would say.
“I want to,” she said, her words opening the door to hope. “I want to be with you. I want Davy to have his daddy. Today has made that seem possible.” She clutched his hands, the intensity of her gaze startling him. “But I need to know that Davy and I are your priority.”
“You are,” he said. “You always have been.”
She leaned back against the counter, shaking her head. “Is that why you left me so many years ago—because we were your priority?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
She laughed, the sound harsh, and he hated himself for the mistakes he’d made. Too, he hated his father for . . . well, everything. “Dammit, Lane, I’d just found out who my father was. All those years of the elders looking at me askance, of never getting a prime assignment, of always feeling watched and never completely trusted.” He gripped her shoulders. “Don’t you see? I had to make everything right. Had to prove myself. I didn’t want my child growing up under the same stigma. Not if I could help it.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Stigma?” she said, her voice rising. “Davy can live with a stigma a hell of a lot easier than he can live without a father. But I guess that never occurred to you.”
Her words hit him like a slap, and he recoiled. “I just wanted to make it right for him,” he said.
“For him?” she asked. “Or for yourself?”
He couldn’t answer, could only take h
er hand and hold her close.
“Don’t you see?” she continued. “It was a nice thought, but I needed you.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “I needed you and you weren’t there.”
“I’m here now,” he said. “And I’m not going away. You two are everything to me. We need to get past this, Lane. I want us to be a family.” He stroked her cheek. “I love you, Lane. And whether you’ll admit it out loud or not, I know you love me.”
“It’s not about you anymore, and it’s not about me. It’s about Davy.”
“And that guy Aaron is better for Davy than his own father?”
“Better than a father who won’t be there? Yes.”
Jason stifled the urge to throw his hands in the air. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Lane’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “I wish I could believe that.”
“Dammit, Lane, give me a chance.” He stroked her face, twisting a strand of hair around his finger. “I want to make this work,” he said. “I want you. I want us.”
She exhaled, her breath unsteady, but she didn’t argue.
Her silence encouraged him, and he pulled her near, his hands stroked her back, his lips kissed away her fears. “Lane,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” she whispered. She looked up at him, a small smile on her lips.
Those lips. He couldn’t resist, although he knew he should, and he bent to brush a kiss over them. She sighed—a surprised, dreamy sound—but she didn’t pull away. And that was all he needed.
His fingers sank deep into her hair to cup her head, and he held her steady, his mouth seeking the sweet taste of hers. Her lips parted, and his tongue sought entrance. She kissed him with a passion equal to his own, and he moaned, pulling her closer, wanting to consume and be consumed.
“Jason,” she murmured, pulling away.
He wasn’t about to give her any time to reconsider. With definite purpose, he trailed kisses down her neck, his fingers forging the path. He paused at the buttons on her shirt, managing to work them free, then slipped his hand inside.
She’d been sunbathing earlier, reading law books, and he cupped her breast through the thin material of her bikini. Her nipple peaked, pushing against the cloth, and he closed his mouth over it, bikini and all.
She sighed, the sound of her pleasure working an erotic magic on his body. His blood boiled and his entire body tightened with desire.
“Jason.” Lane’s voice, a breathy plea, tickled his ear. Her fingers caressed his neck, sliding up to glide through his hair as she moaned.
He pulled away, bestowing kisses up her body, pausing when he reached the indentation at her collarbone. She gripped his shoulders, tight, as if fighting a storm that was building inside.
“I’ve always loved you,” he whispered, as his fingers caressed her back.
Her hands tightened on his shoulders. “I know,” she said, her voice barely audible. “And I do love you.”
Jason’s heart skipped a beat. He loved her. He loved Davy. And she loved him. It was the perfect recipe for a family—except it had already failed once before.
Once again he cursed his father, a wave of regret for everything Hieronymous had stolen from him washing over him. But then he let it go. He slipped his hand down, his fingers tracing under the waistband of Lane’s shorts. Her breath hitched, but he didn’t slow his assault.
The tips of his fingers stroked the soft skin of her lower belly, brushing lower and lower under her swimsuit bottom until he found the coarse hair there and damp curls. Lane gasped, her head thrown back and her pulse beating wildly in her neck. Jason kissed her throat even as his fingers stroked her, seeking the heat at her core.
She moaned, the erotic noise making him as hard as he’d ever been.
His fingers found her soft folds, and he teased her, rolling the hard nub of her sex between his thumb and forefinger, delighting in the way she writhed against his touch. She murmured his name, and his body pulsed with the need to satisfy her completely, to make Lane his once again.
He could never get the lost years back, but, right now, Lane was his. And, dammit, he didn’t intend to lose her again.
Lane squirmed, needing Jason’s touch, wanting to feel him inside her, wanting him to hold her close and murmur soft words.
She wanted everything to be back the way it once was, so very long ago.
His fingers slid over her, and she moved shamelessly, trying to make him touch her just so. She wanted to lose herself—to both passion and to Jason. Her body was afire with lust and desperate need, and she’d beg if she had to.
“Jason,” she whispered. “Please.”
He met her eyes. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she said.
“For now, or for always?”
Her heart twisted. “For always,” she admitted. “I’ve always wanted you for always. But—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “No. Don’t say anything. Right now, I just want the good stuff.”
She laughed, then caught him around the neck and pulled him close. “Well, then, how’s this for good stuff? Make love to me. Make love to me now, or I swear I’ll scream.”
He hooked his arms under her legs and lifted her, then carried her to the patio.
He moved closer to the railing and she frowned, fearful that she knew what was coming. “Jason?” she asked.
“Trust me,” he whispered, putting her on her feet before him.
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. Drawing in a deep breath, she nodded. She would trust him. She did trust him.
With slow, methodical movements, he peeled off his clothes, revealing a tiny black bathing suit that left nothing to the imagination. Certainly not how much he wanted her.
She licked her lips, reluctantly dragging her gaze upward to meet his.
He flashed a knowing grin. “Your turn,” he said.
“I . . . I can’t swim.”
He took a step closer, his fingers plucking at the elastic waistband of her shorts. “I’m not asking you to.”
With a firm tug, he slid the shorts over her hips and down her legs, dropping them to pool around her ankles. Without a word, he took her hand, urging her to step out of them, then led her to the ladder that descended to the water.
He went first, down one step at a time, with her two steps above him. She could feel his breath at the small of her back, the sensation making her body tingle.
At the last step, water splashed her midthigh. With a gentle hand around her waist, Jason plucked her from the ladder, turning her to face him as he treaded water. They bobbed together, legs intertwined, the cool ocean sweet relief from the burning in her blood.
Together, they moved to a buoy, and he gently placed her hands upon it. “I’ll be back,” he said, disappearing below the surface before she could ask what he meant.
Despite the lights from the boat, she couldn’t see into the night-black water. But she could feel. And as the water gently lapped against her shoulders, Jason’s mouth caressed her stomach, his lips hot against her skin. A warm, delicious sensation filled her, and she leaned back, half-floating in the water as Jason worked his magic under the surface.
He slipped his fingers under her bikini bottom, urging it off, and Lane shivered from the sudden rush of cool water against her naked skin. Jason’s hand skimmed down to cup her sex, his fingers teasing. Every caress offered the promise of something more, but never quite delivered, and Lane’s body trembled with anticipation.
Under the water, Jason’s tongue skimmed over her belly, lower and lower, as if he were tasting her and couldn’t quite get enough. His hands grasped the insides of her thighs; the tips of his thumbs teased flesh more intimate. She squirmed, silently urging him to slide inside her and quench the fire that the water all around couldn’t touch.
His hands moved away, and Lane groaned, then moaned in surprised satisfaction when his mouth closed over her, kissing
her intimately, his tongue laving her in deep, rhythmic strokes. They built and built inside her until she was certain her body couldn’t withstand the force.
With one hand still holding on to the buoy, she slid her other into the water. She buried her fingers in Jason’s hair and arched her back, pressing closer. She was on the edge, desperate to tumble headlong into passion, and she writhed against him, seeking release.
He pulled away, leaving her hot and tingly. She moaned in protest, urging him up from under the water, a plea on her lips. “Jason, please, don’t stop.”
Water cascaded off him, the droplets glistening in the marina lights. “I don’t intend to stop,” he said. He slipped her bathing suit over the buoy; then he put his own over it as well. He kissed her, catching her in a tight embrace, his erection pressed hard between her thighs.
“Do you still trust me?” he asked.
She nodded, unable to think about anything except having him inside her.
“Let go of the buoy . . .”
She barely had time to comply before he held tight to her hips and pulled her down, impaling her. She gasped, her sex enveloping him, drawing him in.
The water supported them as they moved together. She held tight, wanting him to never stop, wanting to never lose this closeness.
“Lane,” he whispered her name, murmuring it over and over as he cupped her behind, pushing against her as he sank deep inside her. Her body burned against his, alive and on fire. She wanted to forget their past and her fears and lose herself in the power of his touch . . .
Over and over, she thrust against him, as if by joining their bodies, they could somehow rejoin their lives. A slow, delicious pressure built in Lane’s muscles, a physical anticipation, a craving, pleasurable in and of itself, but holding the promise of so much more.
She held her breath and closed her eyes, her body meeting his as she struggled to find release. And, just as the stars exploded in her veins, she felt his body tense and quake—and she knew he’d found release, too.
She pressed her legs tight around his waist, rocking with him as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through her. As the last tremors of passion took their course, Lane clutched Jason’s shoulders, her fingers pressing into his skin.