Untamed

by Nora Roberts

  Jo’s eyes clung to his. Hers were enormous and direct, his quiet and searching. “No,” she whispered, knowing she wanted nothing more at that moment than to belong to him. He circled her throat with his hand and pressed his fingers against her pulse. It fluttered wildly.

  “You’re trembling.” He could feel the light tremor of her body as he brought her closer. “Is it fear?” he demanded as his thumbs brushed over her lips. “Or excitement?”

  “Both,” she answered in a voice thickened with emotion. She made a tiny, confused sound as his palm covered her heart. Its desperate thudding increased. “Are you . . .” She stopped a moment because her voice was breathless and unsteady. “Are you going to make love to me?” Did his eyes really darken? she wondered dizzily. Or is it my imagination?

  “Beautiful Jovilette,” he murmured as his mouth lowered to hers. “No pretensions, no evasions . . . irresistible.” The quality of the kiss altered swiftly. His mouth was hungry on hers, and her response leaped past all caution. If loving him was madness, her heart reasoned, could making love take her further beyond sanity? Past wisdom and steeped in sensation, she let her heart rule her will. When her lips parted under his, it was not in surrender but in equal demand.

  Keane gentled the kiss. He kept her shimmering on the razor’s edge of passion. His mouth teased, promised, then fed her growing need. He found the zipper at the base of her throat and pulled it downward slowly. Her skin was warm, and he sought it, giving a low sound of pleasure as her breast swelled under his hand. He explored without hurry, as if memorizing each curve and plane. Jo no longer trembled but became pliant as her body moved to the rhythm he set. Her sigh was spontaneous, filled with wonder and delight.

  With a suddenness that took her breath away, Keane crushed her mouth beneath his in fiery urgency. Jo’s instincts responded, thrusting her into a world she had only imagined. His hands grew rougher, more insistent. Jo realized he had relinquished control. They were both riding on the tossing waves of passion. This sea had no horizon and no depth. It was a drowning sea that pulled the unsuspecting under while promising limitless pleasure. Jo did not resist but dove deeper.

  At first she thought the knocking was only the sound of her heart against her ribs. When Keane drew away, she murmured in protest and pulled him back. Instantly, his mouth was avid, but as the knocking continued, he swore and pulled back again.

  “Someone’s persistent,” he muttered. Bewildered, Jo stared up at him. “The door,” he explained on a long breath.

  “Oh.” Flustered, Jo ran a hand through her hair and tried to collect her wits.

  “You’d better answer it,” Keane suggested as he pulled the zipper to her throat in one quick move. Jo broke the surface into reality abruptly. For a moment Keane watched her, taking in her flushed cheeks and tousled hair before he moved aside. Willing her legs to carry her, Jo walked to the front of the trailer. The door handle resisted, then she remembered that Keane had locked it, and she turned the latch.

  “Yes, Buck?” she said calmly enough when she opened the door to her handler.

  “Jo.” His face was in shadows, but she heard the distress in the single syllable. Her chest tightened. “It’s Ari.”

  He had barely finished the name before Jo was out of the trailer and running across the compound. She found both Pete and Gerry standing near Ari’s cage.

  “How bad?” she demanded as Pete came to meet her.

  He took her shoulders. “Really bad this time, Jo.”

  For a moment she wanted to shake her head, to deny what she read in Pete’s eyes. Instead, she nudged him aside and walked to Ari’s cage. The old cat lay on his side as his chest lifted and fell with the effort of breathing. “Open it,” she ordered Pete in a voice that revealed nothing. There was the jingle of keys, but she did not turn.

  “You’re not going in there.” Jo heard Keane’s voice and felt a restraining grip on her shoulders. Her eyes were opaque as she looked up at him.

  “Yes, I am. Ari isn’t going to hurt me or anyone else. He’s just going to die. Now leave me alone.” Her voice was low and toneless. “Open it,” she ordered again, then pulled out of Keane’s loosened hold. The bars rattled as he slid the door open. Hearing it, Jo turned, then hoisted herself into the cage.

  Ari barely stirred. Jo saw, as she knelt beside him, that his eyes were open. They were glazed with weariness and pain. “Ari,” she sighed, seeing there would be no tomorrow for him. His only answer was a hollow wheezing. Putting a hand to his side, she felt the ragged pace of his breathing. He made an effort to respond to her touch, to his name, but managed only to shift his great head on the floor. The gesture tore at Jo’s heart. She lowered her face to his mane, remembering him as he had once been: full of strength and a terrifying beauty. She lifted her face again and took one long, steadying breath. “Buck.” She heard him approach but kept her eyes on Ari. “Get the medical kit. I want a hypo of pentobarbital.” She could feel Buck’s brief hesitation before he spoke.

  “Okay, Jo.”

  She sat quietly, stroking Ari’s head. In the distance were the sounds of the Big Top going down, the call of men, the rattle of rigging, the clang of wood against metal. An elephant trumpeted, and three cages down, Faust roared half-heartedly in response.

  “Jo.” She turned her head as Buck called her and pushed her hair from her eyes. “Let me do it.”

  Jo merely shook her head and held out her hand.

  “Jo.” Keane stepped up to the bars. His voice was gentle, but his eyes were so like the cat’s at her knees, Jo nearly sobbed aloud. “You don’t have to do this yourself.”

  “He’s my cat,” she responded dully. “I said I’d do it when it was time. It’s time.” Her eyes shifted to Buck. “Give me the hypo, Buck. Let’s get it done.” When the syringe was in her hand, Jo stared at it, then closed her fingers around it. Swallowing hard, she turned back to Ari. His eyes were on her face. After more than twenty years in captivity there was still something not quite tamed in the dying cat. But she saw trust in his eyes and wanted to weep. “You were the best,” she told him as she passed a hand through his mane. “You were always the best.” Jo felt a numbing cold settling over her and prayed it would last until she had finished. “You’re tired now. I’m going to help you sleep.” She pulled the safety from the point of the hypodermic and waited until she was certain her hands were steady. “This won’t hurt, nothing is going to hurt you anymore.”

  Involuntarily, Jo rubbed the back of her hand over her mouth, then, moving quickly, she plunged the needle into Ari’s shoulder. A quiet whimper escaped her as she emptied the syringe. Ari made no sound but continued to watch her face. Jo offered no words of comfort but sat with him, methodically stroking his fur as his eyes grew cloudy. Gradually, the effort of his breathing lessened, becoming quieter and quieter until it wasn’t there at all. Jo felt him grow still, and her hand balled into a fist inside the mass of his mane. One quick, convulsive shudder escaped her. Steeling herself, she moved from the cage, closing the door behind her. Because her bones felt fragile, she kept them stiff, as though they might shatter. Even as she stepped back to the ground, Keane took her arm and began to lead her away.

  “Take care of things,” he said to Buck as they moved past.

  “No.” Jo protested, trying and failing to free her arm. “I’ll do it.”

  “No, you won’t.” Keane’s tone held a quiet finality. “Enough’s enough.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” she said sharply, letting her grief take refuge in anger.

  “I am telling you,” he pointed out. His hand was firm on her arm.

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” she insisted as tears rose treacherously in her throat. “I want you to leave me alone.”

  Keane stopped, then took her by the shoulders. His eyes caught the light of a waning moon. “There’s no way I’m going to leave you alone when you’re so upset.”

  “My emotions have nothing to do with you.” Even as she spoke, h
e took her arm again and pulled her toward her trailer. Jo wanted desperately to be alone to weep out her grief in private. The mourning belonged to her, and the tears were personal. As if her protests were nonexistent, he pulled her into the trailer and closed the door behind them. “Will you get out of here?” she demanded, frantically swallowing tears.

  “Not until I know you’re all right.” Keane’s answer was calm as he walked back to the kitchen.

  “I’m perfectly all right.” Her breath shuddered in and out quickly. “Or I will be when you leave me alone. You have no right to poke your nose in my business.”

  “So you’ve told me before,” Keane answered mildly from the back of the trailer.

  “I just did what had to be done.” She held her body rigid and fought against her own quick, uneven breathing. “I put a sick animal out of his misery; it’s as simple as that.” Her voice broke, and she turned away, hugging her arms. “For heaven’s sake, Keane, go away!”

  Quietly, he walked back to her carrying a glass of water. “Drink this.”

  “No.” She whirled back to him. Tears spilled out of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks despite her efforts to banish them. Hating herself, she pressed the heel of her hand between her brows and closed her eyes. “I don’t want you here.” Keane set down the glass, then gathered her into his arms. “No, don’t. I don’t want you to hold me.”

  “Too bad.” He ran a hand gently up and down her back. “You did a very brave thing, Jo. I know you loved Ari. I know how hard it was to let him go. You’re hurting, and I’m not leaving you.”

  “I don’t want to cry in front of you.” Her fists were tight balls at his shoulders.

  “Why not?” The stroking continued up and down her back as he cradled her head in the curve of his shoulder.

  “Why won’t you let me be?” she sobbed as her control slipped. Her fingers gripped his shirt convulsively. “Why am I always losing what I love?” She let the grief come. She let his arms soothe her. As desperately as she had protested against it, she clung to his offer of comfort.

  She made no objection as he carried her to the couch and cradled her in his arms. He stroked her hair, as she had stroked Ari, to ease the pain of what couldn’t be changed. Slowly, her sobbing quieted. Still she lay with her cheek against his chest, with her hair curtaining her face.

  “Better?” he asked as the silence grew calmer. Jo nodded, not yet trusting her voice. Keane shifted her as he reached for the glass of water. “Drink this now.”

  Gratefully, Jo relieved her dry throat, then went without resistance back against his chest. She closed her eyes, thinking it had been a very long time since she had been held in anyone’s lap and soothed. “Keane,” she murmured. She felt his lips brush over the top of her head.

  “Hmm?”

  “Nothing.” Her voice thickened as she drifted toward sleep. “Just Keane.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jo felt the sun on her closed lids. There was the summer morning sound of excited birds. Her mind, levitating slowly toward the surface, told her it must be Monday. Only on Monday would she sleep past sunrise. That was the en route day, the only day in seven the circus held no show. She thought lazily of getting up. She would set aside two hours for reading. Maybe I’ll drive into town and see a movie. What town are we in? With a sleepy sigh she rolled onto her stomach.

  I’ll give the cats a good going-over, maybe hose them down if it gets hot enough. Memory flooded back and snapped her awake. Ari. Opening her eyes, Jo rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Now she recalled vividly how the old cat had died with his eyes trusting on her face. She sighed again. The sadness was still there, but not the sharp, desperate grief of the night before. Acceptance was settling in. She realized that Keane’s insistence on staying with her during the peak of her mourning had helped her. He had given her someone to rail at, then someone to hold on to. She remembered the incredible comfort of being cradled in his lap, the solid dependability of his chest against her cheek. She had fallen asleep with the sound of his heart in her ear.

  Turning her head, Jo looked out the window, then at the patch of white light the sun tossed on the floor. But it isn’t Monday, she remembered suddenly. It’s Thursday. Jo sat up, pushing at her hair, which seemed to tumble everywhere at once. What was she doing in bed on a Thursday when the sun was up? Without giving herself time to work out the answer, she scrambled out of bed and hurried from the room. She gave a soft gasp as she ran headlong into Keane.

  His hand ran down the length of her hair before he took her shoulder. “I heard you stirring,” he said easily, looking down into her stunned face.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Making coffee,” he answered as he gave her a critical study. “Or I was a moment ago. How are you?”

  “I’m all right.” Jo lifted her hand to her temple as if to gain her bearings. “I’m a bit disoriented, I suppose. I overslept. It’s never happened before.”

  “I gave you a sleeping pill,” Keane told her matter-of-factly. He slipped an arm around her shoulder as he turned back to the kitchen.

  “A pill?” Jo’s eyes flew to his. “I don’t remember taking a pill.”

  “It was in the water you drank.” On the stove the kettle began its piercing whistle. Moving to it, Keane finished making the coffee. “I had my doubts as to whether you’d take it voluntarily.”

  “No, I wouldn’t have,” Jo agreed with some annoyance. “I’ve never taken a sleeping pill in my life.”

  “Well, you did last night.” He held out a mug of coffee. “I sent Gerry for it while you were in the cage with Ari.” Again he gave her a quick, intense study. “It didn’t seem to do you any harm. You went out like a light. I carried you to bed, changed your clothes—”

  “Changed my . . .” All at once Jo became aware that she wore only a thin white nightshirt. Her hand reached instinctively for the top button that nestled just above her bosom. Thinking hard, she found she could recall nothing beyond falling asleep in his arms.

  “I don’t think you’d have spent a very comfortable night in your costume,” Keane pointed out. Enjoying his coffee, he smiled at the nervous hand she held between her breasts. “I’ve had a certain amount of experience undressing women in the dark.” Jo dropped her hand. It was an unmistakable movement of pride. Keane’s eyes softened. “You needed a good night’s sleep, Jo. You were worn out.”

  Without speaking, Jo lifted her coffee to her lips and turned away. Walking to the window, she could see that the back yard was deserted. Her sleep must indeed have been deep to have kept her unaware of camp breaking.

  “Everyone’s gone but a couple of roustabouts and a generator truck. They’ll take off when you don’t need power anymore.”

  The vulnerability Jo felt was overwhelming. Several times in the course of the evening before, she had lost control, which had always been an essential part of her. Each time, it had been Keane who had been there. She wanted to be angry with him for intruding on her privacy but found it impossible. She had needed him, and he had known it.

  “You didn’t have to stay behind,” she said, watching a crow swoop low over the ground outside.

  “I wasn’t certain you’d be in any shape to drive fifty miles this morning. Pete’s driving my trailer.”

  Her shoulders lifted and fell before she turned around. Sunlight streamed through the window at her back and poured through the thin folds of her nightshirt. Her body was a slender shadow. When she spoke, her voice was low with regret. “I was horribly rude to you last night.”

  Keane shrugged and lifted his coffee. “You were upset.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes were an open reflection of her sorrow. “Ari was very important to me. I suppose he was an ongoing link with my father, with my childhood. I’d known for some time he wouldn’t make it through the season, but I didn’t want to face it.” She looked down at the mug she held gripped in both hands. A faint wisp of steam rose from it and vanished. “Last night was a
relief for him. It was selfish of me to wish it otherwise. And I was wrong to strike out at you the way I did. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want your apology, Jo.” Because he sounded annoyed, she looked up quickly.

  “I’d feel better if you’d take it, Keane. You’ve been very kind.”

  To her astonishment, he swore under his breath and turned back to the stove. “I don’t care for your gratitude any more than your apology.” He set down his mug and poured in more coffee. “Neither of them is necessary.”

  “They are to me,” Jo replied, then took a step toward him. “Keane . . .” She set down her coffee and touched his arm. When he turned, she let impulse guide her. She rested her head on his shoulder and slipped her arms around his waist. He stiffened, putting his hands to her shoulders as if to draw her away. Then she heard his breath come out in a long sigh as he relaxed. For an instant he brought her closer.

  “I never know precisely what to expect from you,” he murmured. He lifted her chin with his finger. In automatic response, Jo closed her eyes and offered her mouth. She felt his fingers tighten on her skin before his lips brushed hers lightly. “You’d better go change.” His manner was friendly but cool as he stepped away. “We’ll stop off in town, and I’ll buy you some breakfast.”

  Puzzled by his attitude but satisfied he was no longer annoyed, Jo nodded. “All right.”

  ***

  Spring became summer as the circus wound its way north. The sun stayed longer, peeking into the Big Top until well after the evening show began. Heavy rain came infrequently, but there were quick summer storms with thunder and lightning. Through June, Prescott’s Circus Colossus snaked through North Carolina and into western Tennessee.

  During the long weeks while spring tripped over into summer, Jo found Keane’s attitude a paradox. His friendliness toward her was offhand. He laughed if she said something amusing, listened if she had a complaint and to her confusion, slipped a thin barrier between them. At times she wondered if the passion that had flared