by Imogene Nix
“I’m so sorry.” Her words echoed the sorrow and grief that clawed at him.
Nothing could change what was. The woman he loved was dead. For a brief second, he wondered if anyone other than the three of them would attend the funeral and mourn her passing.
The thought sobered and scared him. Who would be there at the graveside to bid their farewells? It felt like a lonely, sad ending to a life lived briefly. He dragged his thoughts away.
Morbid introspection would only make matters worse.
“Tell me what happened after Cara found Lola,” Jenny said.
Steve rose, making his way toward her, and reached out a hand for her glass. He refilled it, handing it back to her before refilling his own. She was sure it was an avoidance tactic, dragging out the time before he’d have to tell her what had happened, no matter how hurtful.
She was willing to give him time, to let him compose himself and form an answer. This was what she did daily. It was a job she loved, but right now, right here, it felt overwhelming, and she wondered if this was how others felt, those who were traveling the path of grief. She reminded herself this wasn’t about her, but helping Steve come to terms with his emotions.
Give the grieving time to work through their problems.
The clink of glass settling on the wooden benchtop was loud in the silence. When he turned back, a violent storm of anger brewed in his eyes. His hands shook a little, and the liquid in the glass sloshed against the sounds with an audible blop.
“That’s when the threats started happening,” he said. “Initially, it was just a message on her mobile phone or a letter. It quickly escalated though—bricks thrown at her car, animal entrails in the mailbox. She told me more than once that she was sure Lola knew who was stalking them, but we couldn’t get her to talk. The government psychologist suggested we should leave her be for the moment, let her feel comfortable and settled. So we stopped asking. Lola’s more relaxed now, but...” He shrugged, as if unable to quantify what it was that bothered him about this aspect of the situation.
Jenny agreed with the psychologist’s advice. Forcing the child to talk would only make her sink more deeply into whatever ailed her.
He sat down heavily, and Jenny waited, sipping at the spirits in the glass again. Now that she’d become more used to the bite and fire of the alcohol, she could enjoy the subtle flavors of the rum.
“By the time Child Services came back, Lola was comfortable and Cara and I were in a...” Steve stopped, and a single tear tracked down his cheek. He humphed and cleared his throat, dashing at the moisture on his face. “We were in a relationship. So they were satisfied and left Lola with us. They arranged for Cara to consult further with a psychologist who diagnosed Lola’s selective mutism. He believed it was caused by anxiety and some traumatic event. He felt she would benefit from his proposed agreement on living arrangements. Cara wasn’t sure though.”
Steve looked at her and she nodded.
“That was when Cara decided she needed to talk to you. I didn’t want her to go even though things had settled. There’d been no further attacks, no more calls or visits, so she was sure everything was fine and safe. I guess something deep down told me that she was in danger, but Cara was emphatic. We argued, but she refused to change her mind, so I brought Lola here to stay with me until Cara returned. We’d been using Cara’s place as our base.” He shook his head. “That was a week ago. When I didn’t hear from Cara, I knew something was wrong. I made enquiries, but she hadn’t told me much about you, or how to contact you. I didn’t even know where she was staying. Before she left she refused to tell me anything more than the basics of why she was going.” His voice cracked.
Though she wanted to, Jenny didn’t reach out to him. He’d bowed his head, clearly not wanting her intervention. So she watched, searching for signs he wanted her comfort. When he raised his head, his eyes were watery and red-rimmed. Jenny’s heart ached for him.
“So I had to wait,” he said.
Jenny put her hand to her stomach, trying to control the agony that bloomed, but it didn’t abate. Cara had always been secretive. It was something that had driven Cara’s mother nuts before she died.
Then a thought occurred to Jenny. “She never told you about me?”
He shook his head. “All I knew was you were some kind of psychologist, and you were in Melbourne. We didn’t... Talking about our past wasn’t something we spent a lot of time doing.”
Jenny accepted that as the truth. Cara never liked revisiting the past, and she only told people what she wanted them to know. Her favorite saying was it’s done, why bother about it again?
“So?” Steve spoke so quietly she had to bend closer to hear him.
“They found her in that hotel and contacted me through her phone records. There was no record of your number though. They checked to see who else they should contact. They couldn’t break the encryption on her computer to access her address book.”
Steve frowned. “But you could, and you emailed me. That was because of the letter, wasn’t it?”
It was easy now to put the dots together, and she watched as he mentally connected all the links. “Yeah.”
Chapter 5
Jenny was so easy to talk to. Steve poured out the story; her watchfulness told him she wasn’t judging, just listening and letting him grieve. The pressure that had built in his chest, the suffocating ball of anger and regret, melted away with every word he spoke.
The only time Jenny interrupted was to clarify a point or to ask for more information, as if she knew exactly how to extract the final knot of pain.
Cara hadn’t been a listener. She’d talked and prattled, sharing news and gossip with abandon. Right now, he needed this woman’s ear. It was a balm to his soul. He needed a calm voice, and the soft, soothing touches that reminded him of his mother. She offered that and comfort that none of his male friends could extend.
Then he damned himself for the unfair mental comparison. After all, Jenny was a psychologist, and Cara had said she was very good at what she did. And he’d loved Cara, hadn’t he? So how could he do that to her memory?
He squinted into his drink, lifted it, and swallowed it down. Jenny did the same then put the glass down carefully on the table and rose, wobbling a little. He reached out to help her, noting how the room seemed to shimmer beneath his feet.
“Sorry, not shure why the room is shpinning,” he said.
He saw the small smile on her face and how something in her eyes lightened. It opened a chink inside his chest, and he smiled at her.
“It could be we’ve had a few drinks. And qwitch...quite quickly.” He held out a hand. “Come on, it’s time for ush cho go cho bed.” He blinked, knowing how slurred his words sounded even to his own ears.
Jenny giggled a little, her gaze less than clear. She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes blinking owlishly.
He noticed how fine her skin was, and when Jenny shivered he pulled her close. “You cold?” He looked at her and frowned. “I think I’f had a few choo many.”
She nodded and smiled. “I think we’ve both misjudged how much we’ve drunk.” She hiccupped and blushed. Her lashes fluttered a little against her skin and he watched, mesmerized, only to pull away again. “D’you...do you need to check Lola?” She swayed slightly in front of him, and he nodded, then regretted the action. “Che’s... She’s on the way.”
Jenny started to make her way toward the hall, then stilled before he could reach her. “You know, I don’t... I rarely drink anything. It’s not...” Her blush was deeper again, and he couldn’t help the momentary flash of protectiveness.
Steve gave a half-nod, unwilling to examine what drove the emotions rising in him. “Me either. This isn’t...”
“It’s stress. I should have known better.”
“Which means we need... Time for bed.” He held out a hand, then his fingers gripped hers, linking around them, and they moved up the corridor, their hips bumping and sliding together.<
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His body felt scorched by her nearness, and when he reached Lola’s room and peered within, he stepped away.
Jenny whispered, “She’s sleeping soundly.”
“She is.” The relief cleared his head just slightly.
Once assured that Lola was safe for the night, he walked with Jenny to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Confusion filled him once more as they moved on. When they arrived at her door, she placed her hand on the knob, but her fingers slipped. He placed one of his hands over hers.
They had to work together to open it, and she giggled as it flew open. They jostled together and used each other to balance precariously in the entry.
“Well...” The husky tone of her voice echoed through his body.
“Well.”
She turned, her eyes seeking his, and in the depths he saw a flash of hunger and loneliness. “I should...I should go to bed.”
He blinked at her words and watched as she tottered to the bed. He told himself it was only concern that she didn’t fall over that made him followed her in, and he caught her as she fell to the satin cover. She tugged him or he tugged her, it didn’t matter once they were on the mattress together.
“Jenny...” His lips caught her cheek and she turned toward him, her lips parting. He saw the startled surprise in the depths of her eyes and the way they fluttered closed as skin touched.
She tasted amazing. Soft and succulent. He leaned closer, letting his body slide against hers. Felt her feminine figure mold against his and knew the minute she felt his arousal. Hunger flared, a wild conflagration that started with a moan.
Her hands slipped up around his neck, every nerve singing with joyous abandonment as the kiss deepened. His tongue found hers, and she made a mewling sound in the back of her throat.
It galvanized him into action, thoughts scattering wildly as a rush of desire crested. He pushed her back against the pillows, and his hand roamed, searching for the mound of her breast hidden beneath the ugly, black blouse.
She shuddered and arched into his touch, while his free hand quested, looking for her waistband, and burrowed beneath it. Hot, satiny skin quivered under his touch.
She let go of him, and her hands, wobbly and unsure, worked at his shirt, popping the buttons. He raised his head and looked at her. Jenny’s face glowed in the dim light, her eyes shining, and for an instant, the merest hint of reality flashed within him. He almost pulled away, but then she moved, causing him to slide against her. With a growl, he dipped his head as she rose up, her chest heaving. The tip of her luscious pink tongue peeked out from between her plump lips and mesmerized him. The last of his mental defenses melted away, and he gave in to the craving that hollowed his belly.
Jenny pushed the shirt from his shoulders and placed her lips to his chest. He shuddered under the onslaught as a myriad of sensual needs exploded within him.
His skin and chest burned under her homage, and any vestige of his usual skill fled. Her tongue flicked at his skin, laving his nipples, and he hissed as he tugged at her blouse, needing more. Jenny pulled back, letting him strip it away, and he saw her black bra beneath. It barely contained her lush curves, and he salivated, knowing they were for him. Her nipples jutted proud against the lycra, and he slid his thumb slowly over a nub. She quaked and cried out, her eyes closing as she strained. The tip grew and she gyrated her hips against his, lost in the same web as he.
Her clever fingers found his erection, dancing for an instant over the straining zipper, and then the button was undone and the zipper rasping as she pulled the cloth from his body.
She moaned again, and his heart raced with excitement. One hand worked behind her back, struggling with the clasp of her bra, while the other sought and found the closure of her pants. Once he had them undone he murmured brokenly, “Lift your hips.”
She raised her bottom, and the cotton hiding the glorious length of her legs came away as his body burned. Now that her bra clasp had released, her breast slid free, and he moaned, seeing one generous nipple poking out. His breath left in a whoosh as his groin tightened at the sight of the raspberry tip.
“Oh, Jenny. You’re so beautiful and hot.”
“Steve?”
Her voice called like a siren, and he shucked the rest of his clothes as she fumbled with her panties, then he was on her, covering her body with his. The feel of her against him nearly had him coming as his cock glided against the skin of her belly.
His skin burned everywhere it touched hers. He skimmed his hand down her body, sliding his fingers between the curls he discovered, before dipping between the cleft. His fingers found her core and the tiny nub. He pressed down and she bucked against him, and he slid two fingers deeply inside, the dampness easing his way. Her legs moved as he sought the secrets of her body, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to be buried within her.
Her legs shifted further, and he withdrew his fingers, which were coated with moisture. Her eyes opened as he licked his tongue over the wetness between her legs. “Sweet and wet. And so damned hot.”
Now he moved deliberately, his hands sliding over the flesh of her thighs as he positioned himself at the juncture of her beautiful, white legs. His cock nudged at her entry, and he paused, giving her one last chance to stop the intimacy, but she merely wound her legs around him and squeezed. With that, he thrust deep and hard. The rasp of intimate body parts joining urged him on to fill her.
She cried out, arched up, and he moved again. She squirmed against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as the wild dance took over. Again and again he thrust, felt her meet him halfway until she cried out, holding herself taut, and he shoved home one last time. The glorious milking sensation of her sheath drove him to a climax such as he’d never known before. He was sure he would pass out from the exquisite sensations that consumed him. It continued on and on as his release overcame himself while hilt deep within her body.
“Oh God!” he cried and slumped forward, his heart beating a fierce tattoo. He closed his eyes and sleep caught him up, rocked him gently in its arms as the world melted away.
Something woke her. Jenny wasn’t quite sure what it was, but her body ached almost as much as her head did, particularly her breasts, and there was a delicious throb between her thighs.
“Ugh.” Her mouth was dry and sandpapery, and her face felt scraped raw.
She turned and heard an oomph close to her face. She cracked open an eyelid and nearly shrieked seeing a dark head on the pillow. A broad chest lay next to her on the bed, and her gaze followed the line of hair down the length of the male body barely hidden beneath the white sheet.
“Oh. My. God.” She breathed the words as silently as she could, backing away.
He stirred with a grunt, rolling toward her, one large arm landing on her naked stomach. Naked! I’m naked! How in heaven’s name did that happen? Disjointed memories—at least she thought they were memories—flooded her mind, and she shied away. This was Cara’s man. Not hers. How could she?
She wanted to cry but contained herself as she tugged at the weight locking her still.
“Stay still, Cara.” He muttered the words into the pillow, and she felt lower than a snake’s belly.
What have I done? The answer, though, was clear. She’d had sex with her newly-dead best friend’s lover!
She couldn’t even blame the alcohol, because she’d been attracted to him before taking a drink. No. She was lower than any kind of reptile. Self-recrimination rained down upon her, and she sat lost in the whirl of misery as his eyes opened.
“Jesus Christ! What are you doing here? Naked?” He reared back and seemed to note he was in her bedroom as his bloodshot eyes took in the decor. “Oh Christ!” The loathing in his voice flayed at her. He pulled away quickly, his eyes filled with horror and disgust.
For just a second she wondered...if she had been as thin as Cara, would he have pulled away quite so quickly? She looked down at her bare, pendulous breasts then back at him. The look in his eyes echoed th
e curl of derision on his lips.
She raised shaking hands to cover herself as she scooted over the linen. His eyes closed, and she took the opportunity to clamber over the edge and head for the bathroom, swiftly locking the door behind her before dropping to the floor. A sob wracked her body as she remembered the distaste on his face.
A knock on the bathroom door had her raising her head. “What?” The word shot from her lips as her soul shriveled to nothing.
“I’m sorry...” His voice died away and silence descended.
Her brain screamed out me too, but her heart stopped the words from finding a voice. She stayed there, feeling the cool tiles beneath her burning hot skin. She’d never been perfect—all she had to do was look in the mirror to know that—yet she had never before sunk so low.
Jenny refused to blame the alcohol. No, she’d made the decision in her mind, subconscious or not, and it was she who had to pay the price. She looked around, found a towel, and covered her nude body.
Gathering as much dignity as she could muster, she opened the door. “If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll call a taxi and be out of your hair.”
He frowned. “You don’t need to leave.”
She shook her head, her hair whipping to and fro. “No, I really should.”
His lips firmed. “I really don’t think that would be a good idea.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he raised a hand.
“Trust me on this.” He held up his phone, the one he must have dug out of the pants he now wore...without a shirt. He showed her a photo of the three of them at the airport. The text message was brutal apparently, because his gaze turned flat and she couldn’t read more than anger in their depths. “You’ve been seen and tagged.”
She snapped her mouth shut, understanding what he just told her. Their conversation from last night was fuzzy, but she recollected the majority of it.