“You have no idea how much I want to drag you down here and finish this.”
“Then do it.” She let her arms go to her sides, making no attempt to hide herself from him.
He reached behind him and retrieved his wallet from his pants. Her mouth watered, thinking he was going to pull a condom out and do exactly what she’d suggested. And a packet did appear, but he made no move to haul her down onto the couch.
“Here or in your bedroom?”
“It doesn’t matter.” It was the truth. She wanted him. Badly, and she didn’t care where it happened, as long as it happened. And soon.
He smiled again and set the condom on his thigh, making her tighten inside. Because six inches north of that packet was a bulge that left no question as to whether or not he wanted her.
“Does that dress have a zipper?”
It took a second for the question to register, and when she glanced up at him she saw that he knew exactly where she’d been looking. That he’d meant for her to measure the distance between possibility and reality. Because nothing was for sure until he slipped that protection over himself and thrust into her.
“Yes.”
“Can you reach it?”
She nodded, her now shaking fingers going to the side of her dress, finding the pull tab then sliding it down to her hips, her other hand holding the rest of the garment in place.
“Let it go,” he murmured, his meaning clear.
Releasing her grip, the fabric slid to the floor, leaving her standing in front of him clad only in her panties.
She expected him to tell her to remove those as well, but instead his fingers went to the button of his slacks and undid it.
“Once those come off, honey, it’s all over.” His bald words made the breath stall in her chest. As did the fact that he was sliding his own zipper down and ripping the condom open.
She wanted to do that. “Wait.”
Wary eyes moved to her face. Oh! He thought she was stopping him.
Hurrying to correct him, she said, “Let me.”
He took the condom from the packet. “Next time.”
Next time!
Her lips parted as he drew the waistband to his briefs down and exposed himself. And unlike her, Clint had no inhibitions. None. Not the last time they’d been together. Not this time. His eyes burned into hers as he sat there. He toyed with the open condom.
The nub at the apex of her thighs tightened, making her squeeze her legs together, aching for some kind of relief.
She licked her lips. “Put it on.”
“First your panties.”
Hurrying to do as he asked, she hooked her thumbs into the elastic and started to bend over to slide them down, only to have him interrupt her. “Watch me as you do it.”
Shifting her focus back to his face, she finished, stepping out of her underwear and standing back upright.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Even more now than then.”
He finally rolled the condom down his length, and took himself in hand. “Now come here, honey.”
She moved between his still splayed legs and shuddered when the fingers of his free hand slid in a smooth move up her thigh and found the heart of her. Just the process of removing her clothing while he’d watched had made her body moist and ready.
“Hell. Just like I remember.”
By the time he’d finally touched her by the creek, she’d been shaking with desire. One flick of his finger had sent her over the edge. She’d been so embarrassed, only to have him shush her and tell her how much he liked it. When he’d finally entered her, she had already been riding the crest of that same wave, shattering right along with him.
The Clint of today slid one finger inside her, wringing a moan from her. He stayed there, just like that, not moving. She shuddered, needing him so badly she couldn’t speak.
“Spread your legs for me.”
Somehow, she shuffled her legs farther apart.
“Perfect.” He sat up straight, the pressure of his finger inside her holding her right where she was, putting his face dangerously close. Too late, she realized that was what he’d been aiming for all along. “How much will it take this time, Jess?”
Another reference to their first time together.
He added a second finger and pushed deep, using the pair to edge her hips closer. Suddenly off balance, she was forced to clutch his shoulders. “How much, Jess?” he repeated.
Then, as she watched, he moved his mouth until it was pressed against her … and let his tongue slide right across her.
It was as if he’d lit a fuse inside her. Her nails dug into his shoulders and every muscle in her body stiffened as what he was doing blotted out everything except the sensation of his tongue moving backward along her in a slow, drawn-out motion. The fuse ran out of line in a millisecond, and she detonated, crying out as his fingers finally moved, pumping inside her while she convulsed around them.
Then she was in his lap, his hands gripping her butt as he thrust hard into her, filling her beyond belief. She wrapped her hands around his neck, her mouth going to his ear as she rode him furiously, whimpering as her climax continued to crash all around her. He gave a muttered oath and then jerked his hips forward, holding her tight against his body as he strained upward for long seconds, the pressure inside her causing a new wave of convulsions.
When his muscles finally went limp, his arms encircled her back, thumb gliding along her spine.
She drew a deep, careful breath, registered Clint’s heavy breathing and smiled, the problems of the day melting as his scent mixed with her own and filled her head. She nuzzled his cheek and then went back to his ear.
“I guess I’m not the only one who went up pretty fast.”
His fingers tightened around her, although his voice was light. “Is that a complaint?”
“No. It was sexy, watching you lose control.”
He drew her mouth back to his and kissed her long and deep. “Is that so? In that case, maybe we should find out which one of us holds out longer … the second time around.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“IT’S JUST BEEN a long time, and I was upset.”
Not the first words a man wanted to hear when he woke up after a night of passionate lovemaking. But there they were, and Clint was at an obvious disadvantage, since he was lying on her couch, an afghan draped over his privates, while Jessi hovered above him, already dressed, looking both worried and …
Hungry.
It was there in her eyes as they slid over his body and then darted back to his face, as if she was doing her damnedest not to look at him.
They’d never even made it back to her bedroom last night, instead using the long L-shaped couch to its full advantage.
Well, if she thought he was going to make it easy for her …
He slid up and propped himself up one of the throw pillows as he eyed her right back.
“Well, that’s a hell of a good morning.”
She took a step closer. “Sorry. I just don’t want you to think …”
“That last night meant something other than great sex?”
Her eyes widened. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
“So it did mean something,” he said, not sure which he preferred.
“No.” She held out a hand to stop him from saying anything else. All that did, though, was give him a way to reach out grab her wrist.
She half laughed, half screamed. “Clint, stop. I’m trying to be serious.”
“Oh, honey, so am I.”
She let him drag her to the sofa and haul her down on top of him, where a certain area of his body was already displaying its delight at this turn of events.
“Wait. Let me finish my thought.”
Leaving his fingers threaded in her hair, he looked at her, knowing his next words were not what he wanted to say at all. Hell, he didn’t want her to say anything except what she wanted him to do to her. But he forced the words out. “Okay, so talk.”
She drew an audible breath. “I just didn’t want you to think last night had anything to do with Chelsea.”
Her eyes trailed away from him, but the words themselves hit him in the chest like a bucket of ice water, sluicing away any hint of desire and leaving a cold trail of suspicion in its wake.
A sour taste rose up in his throat.
“I hadn’t thought that at all, Jess.” He rolled until she was wedged between him and the back of the couch as he stared at her. “Until just this very second. Did last night have something to do with her?”
“No! Yes. There are just things that you don’t know. About how her father … about how Larry died. Not even Chelsea knows. But if someone from our past sees you, I’m afraid she could find out.”
“I think you’d better tell me, then.”
Jessi’s eyes filled with tears. “A few months after we got married he told one of his friends I was pregnant. Well, the friend had seen us—you and me—leave graduation together and come back within minutes of each other. It got him thinking. He suggested Larry ask me whose child I was carrying.” There was a pause before she continued. “We had a huge fight, and he accused me of sleeping with you. When I wouldn’t deny it, he said Chelsea probably wasn’t even his.”
She shifted against the couch, and he eased back to give her some breathing space.
Clint could barely open his mouth. “His death?”
“He stormed off … so very angry. He went to a bar, and then a few hours later his car hit an embankment. He died instantly.”
Hell. He felt like the biggest ass in history.
He leaned his forehead against hers, guilt causing his muscles to cramp. One more thing destroyed by his lack of control all those years ago. “Dammit. I’m sorry, Jessi. I had no idea.”
So many mistakes: if he hadn’t impulsively raced after her that night. If he hadn’t stayed there with her and done the unthinkable … If he hadn’t left her to deal with it all afterwards.
The small box of baggage from the past morphed into a shiny new trunk of regret.
They remained like that for a minute or two until Jessi gave a little sniff.
He scooted back some more, giving her a chance to compose herself, trying to ignore the quick swipe of palms across damp cheeks. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.
Then … or now. But it would seem he’d done both.
And he knew what he had to do to keep from hurting her further.
He sat up and slid off the sofa, conscious of her eyes following his movements as he gathered his clothing and headed for the bathroom just down her hallway. After he’d flushed and washed his hands, he dressed quickly, avoiding his image in the mirror as much as he possibly could, because whenever his eyes met those in the reflection, angry accusations stared right back at him.
How had he let this happen again?
When he was around her, his common sense went out the window, and he let his emotions rule.
Just like his father. He didn’t hit, but his actions caused just as much damage. Dammit, they’d culminated in a young man’s death. Someone Jessi had loved.
He had to take himself off Chelsea’s case. It was no longer about remaining objective but about doing what had served him—and everyone around him—well for the last twenty-two years: staying away from emotionally charged situations.
If he’d known the details about Larry’s death, he would have taken himself off Chelsea’s case that very first day. This time, though, he wasn’t going to let Jessi carry any of the blame for what just had happened between them. Nope, he was going to stuff it into his own bag of blame. One that seemed to swell larger every time he laid eyes on her. When he returned to the living room, Jessi was still there, seated on the sofa, only this time she had a phone to her ear.
“Of course, honey,” Jessi said to whoever was on the line. “I’ll check with Dr. Marks and see how soon we can arrange it.” Her glance met his and she mouthed, “Chelsea.”
Jessi’s daughter was calling her? Right now?
He sat beside her, suddenly very aware of all inappropriate things they’d done in this house last night.
The second she clicked off the phone, she finally looked at him. Really looked at him. “Chelsea wants to talk about something.” She licked her lips as if afraid of saying the next words. “She wants us both to be there.”
Please, don’t quit yet.
The words chanted through her skull as Clint dropped her off at Scott’s Memorial to pick up her car and then waited for her to follow him back to the VA hospital.
They hadn’t said much once she’d got off the phone, and the interior of his car had been filled with awkward silence and a sense of dread that had blocked her stomach and clogged her throat.
How could she have been so stupid to think last night wouldn’t have any serious repercussions? Her only excuse was that it had felt so good to be in his arms. So right.
Only it wasn’t right.
The timing had always been lousy when it came to her and Clint. If he’d stayed all those years ago, she never would have married Larry. But she never would have had Chelsea either.
And just like last time Clint wouldn’t be there for the long haul. As soon as they’d found a replacement for him, he’d be gone.
He would waltz out of her life once again.
It’s just not meant to be. It never was.
The words trailed through her head as if dragged on a banner behind a plane for all the world to see.
Her subconscious rejected them, though, cutting the line and watching as the lettering fell to the ground in a swirl of white canvas and belching smoke.
Before she had a chance to come to any conclusions, Clint pulled to a stop in one of the few parking spaces that had another spot beside it. She slid her car next to his and took a couple of deep breaths before she got out and went to where he stood, waiting. “You won’t say anything, will you?”
Clint looked at her as if she had two heads. “About what? Larry? Or about us having a second one-night stand?”
A flash of intense hurt zinged through her chest, making her gasp for air.
As if realizing what he’d done, he hooked his index finger around hers. “Sorry, Jess.” He gave a squeeze before letting her go. “I seem to spend a lot of time issuing apologies nowadays.”
She tipped her chin back. “Let’s just see what she wants.” The words came out sharper than she’d meant them to, but maybe that was a good thing. She could put her armor back in place and pretend last night had meant nothing. “We can discuss everything else later. If we could avoid arriving at her room at the same time, that would make me feel more comfortable.”
“So you want me to hide out in my office for a few minutes before joining you.”
Saying it like that made Jessi realize how cheesy and paranoid the idea sounded. “You’re right. Let’s just go together.”
Once they got to Chelsea’s room, they found her seated on the bed, that eerie tissue-paper baby on top of the nightstand. Jessi tensed. That had to be what she wanted to talk about.
She leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Chelsea grabbed her around the shoulders, wordlessly hugging her tight for a minute or two. Then she whispered, “I’m sorry for putting you through what I have for the past couple of months. I love you, Mom. Always remember that.”
A chill went over her at the solemn words. She stood up and glanced at Clint. “All that matters is that you start feeling better.”
“I think I will as soon as I get something off my chest.”
Once they were all seated, Clint started things off with some light conversation, never even hinting that he’d been with Jessi in anything other than a professional capacity. Instead, he asked about Jessi’s day at work yesterday, subtly guiding her to tell the fishhook-in-the-ear story. Chelsea actually laughed right on cue.
“You hate worms,” her daughter said.
“I do. I still remem
ber you bringing in a jar of dirt for me on Mother’s Day. Little did I know that that you and Grandpa had spent hours digging up earthworms to put in it.”
Chelsea grinned again. “You screamed when one of them dug through the dirt and slithered along the inside of the jar. Grandpa laughed and laughed.”
Jessi smiled at the memory of Chelsea and her dad’s conspiratorial glances at each other as they’d handed her their “gift.”
“You always were the fearless one.”
“Not always.” Chelsea’s smile faded. “I need to tell you something. Something about when I was held in Afghanistan.”
“Okay.” She glanced at Clint, but he simply nodded at her.
Setting the doll in her lap, Chelsea took a deep breath. “You were right about my pregnancy. I was expecting when I was captured. I hadn’t told anyone because it meant a ticket straight home—and I didn’t want that. The whole thing was so stupid. It was an accident. I kept meaning to do something—say something—but I put things off … and put things off.” Her eyes came up. “And then we were ambushed.”
Jessi’s heart contracted. “Did they … did they do something to you, honey?”
“No.” Chelsea glanced up at the ceiling her eyes filling with tears and spilling over. “I mean, they didn’t hurt me physically. They isolated me and made me change into a long, loose tunic. Then they wrote a script and forced me to read it in front of a camera.”
Jessi had never heard about any message, but she didn’t say anything, just let Chelsea continue talking.
“As one month turned into two, the isolation started to get to me, and I began talking to the baby. Every day. I went from just wanting her to go away to needing her for my own survival.”
Her?
Oh, God, had they made Chelsea deliver the baby and then stolen it from her? Was that what the doll was all about?
When Chelsea’s words stopped, Clint voiced the question that Jessi couldn’t bring herself to ask.
“What happened to the baby?” The line of his jaw was tight, as if he too was struggling with his emotions right now.
“She died.”
“Oh, Chelsea …” Her mind went blank as she tried to find the words to say. But there was nothing.
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