Midnight Vengeance

by Lisa Marie Rice

  Though Jacko had huge hands, he handled the glasses delicately, precisely. The cutlery was lined up like...well, like soldiers. Perfectly. When she raised her eyebrows, Jacko quirked one side of his mouth up.

  “First month in the navy,” he said quietly, “and we’re all raw recruits and most of us come from what a sociologist would call disadvantaged homes and what we called dumps, and we’re sent into a mess hall with seats and a blackboard at one end. And this tiny little lady comes out, not a hundred pounds dripping wet, and she was scarier than the scariest Drill Instructor and believe me when I say that most DIs boiled straight up from hell. But even they were scared of Mrs. Billings. She gave us long talks, with diagrams on the blackboard.”

  Lauren stopped stirring the frozen split pea soup she’d made a month ago, in another life, and listened to him, fascinated.

  He continued working, placing the napkins with mathematical precision, folding them carefully. You could shave with the crease. “Half of us barely knew how to use cutlery. Most of us held forks like spears. Mrs. Billings walked up and down the mess halls during meals for six weeks. We’d have a lesson in dining etiquette from informal to highly formal meals and then we’d have a practice meal. You didn’t hold your cutlery right and you got whipped across the knuckles with a stick. Hard. I had some Catholic buddies and they said Mrs. Billings was meaner than any of the nuns they had as kids, and that was saying something. But she got the job done. By the end, any of us could have gone to dinner at the White House and not disgrace ourselves.”

  “And you learned,” she said as he lay a dessert spoon horizontally above the plate, spoon ladle left, handle right.

  “Oh, yeah.” He shook his head. “I learned everything the navy could teach me, from handling a fifty cal to eating soup.”

  She turned off the burner and brought the pot to the table. “Well, you’re going to be able to show me your soup-eating skills right now. I hope you like split pea soup.” She ladled some into his bowl. He didn’t begin until she sat down, placed her napkin across her lap and started eating. Only then did he eat himself, delicately, without spilling a drop.

  “Yeah, I do,” he said. “I’m not fussy about food. I’ll eat most anything, and have. But this is delicious.” He looked over at her. “Everything looks delicious.”

  She still had a lot of stuff in her freezer, certainly enough to offer Jacko a decent meal. The soup, a square of eggplant parmesan, a baguette, a whole frozen cheesecake.

  Lauren smiled, pleased. “Well, you saved me from a life on the run. A meal seems like a poor thanks.”

  He put his huge hand on hers. “Don’t,” he said, deep voice serious. “I keep telling you. Don’t even think that way. You don’t owe me anything.”

  Oh but she did. She turned to him, opened her mouth to argue, and he stopped her with a kiss. Soft, hard, soft again. Enough to make her senses swim. He pulled back and she opened her eyes with difficulty. Her eyelids felt heavy.

  When he was so close like this it was as if he were this huge planet that exerted its own gravity and it messed with the neurons in her head like the moon did with the tides. He sat back, watching her closely, and she was sure she had turned beet red.

  Because, well... that kiss had been pure sex. Her entire body lit up, pulsed hot.

  He put his hand on hers again, her hand disappearing under his. He gave a gentle squeeze then let her hand go. “This is a great meal. But why don’t we go out to dinner tomorrow night? I heard Suzanne talk about a new French restaurant. You look like the kind of chick that likes French.”

  Lauren sighed, smiled. “A restaurant. I haven’t been out to a fancy restaurant in two years.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. “It would be like—like a date.”

  “It would. We could even go to the movies after. Eat popcorn. Hold hands. Maybe smooch. Make the experience complete.”

  “Sure.” She handed him an extra-large slice of cheesecake. “There’s a film on by that Danish director. The one who doesn’t believe in special effects or fancy camerawork or artificial light. It’s about a woman sliding into Alzheimer’s. Three hours long.”

  “Okay,” Jacko said equably. Nothing in his deep voice betrayed any kind of emotion.

  “Or... we could go to the new Spider-Man movie,” Lauren suggested.

  Jacko’s lips moved slightly. But she was beginning to crack the Jacko code—in any other man it would have been a grin. “That was another test. How’d I do, coach?”

  She smiled sunnily at him. “It was a test. And you passed with flying colors. Congratulations.”

  The contours of his face changed. Became hard, almost grim. His eyes narrowed, the dark skin over his cheekbones becoming even darker, lips red with blood. He looked at her mouth, then met her eyes. There was a question there and there was only one possible answer.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  Afterward, she could never remember how they got to her bedroom. Floated there, possibly because one second they were in the kitchen eating cheesecake and the next they were in her dark bedroom, clothes flying.

  She landed on her back and Jacko landed on top of her, his weight almost too heavy to bear. Almost. Because it was also so incredibly exciting having him on top of her. It was the perfect position for her to touch him all over. Her hands could roam over his back, over those amazingly hard muscles that were like an anatomy chart. She could trace each one. Trapezius, deltoids, lats...Fitting over each other perfectly. Perfect, everything about him was perfect.

  Everything about him was overwhelming. He was kissing her deeply, mouth moving over hers, tongue tasting her mouth, and she could lose herself in his kisses alone. He left her mouth and moved to her neck, which was, she had been astonished to discover, a huge erogenous zone for her. She’d had no idea.

  When he kissed it, with that double whammy of soft lips and slightly abrasive beard, she shivered. Goose bumps rose along her arms.

  “You like that,” he murmured, and his voice was dark and enticing.

  “Yeah,” she breathed. “But then I like everything you do to me.”

  She could feel his smile against her throat. He nipped her lightly and she jumped, pleasure coursing through her like electricity. It seemed every time they made love she became more responsive, the feelings more intense.

  At this rate, she’d be dead in a month.

  There was never any awkwardness in the bed with them, ever. Everything he did to her seemed to be calculated to evoke maximum pleasure. And he seemed to enjoy every touch, every kiss of hers.

  How many times had a man been rough, even unintentionally? Pinched her breast instead of stroking it. Sawing at her clitoris, holding her too tightly. There was absolutely nothing of that with Jacko, the strongest man she’d ever known. The strongest man she’d ever even seen.

  He never hurt her, ever. His powerful hands seemed to know exactly how to touch her, better than she knew how to touch herself. She was like a book in a language he knew how to read.

  His mouth drifted down to her breast and he did that perfectly too. He never suckled too strongly, never bit her nipple hard. He licked her breast and she shivered. One big hand moved down, over her belly, cupping her mound. He didn’t have to do anything—she understood. Her legs moved apart and there he was, hand touching her where her flesh was so sensitive. His touch was perfect here, too; so perfect her sheath wept with happiness.

  That’s what it felt like, anyway. She could feel moisture welling, her body reacting to him instinctively. He gave a long sigh against her breast when he felt her softening for him, becoming wetter.

  He loved that and said so.

  A finger was circling her flesh. His hands were rough, callused, but somehow he never hurt her. If anything, the calluses excited her, just that tiny touch of abrasion that was exciting.

  “How are we doing down there, hmm?”

  Lauren lifted her head slightly to look down at him. There was just enough light from the living room to see h
im. His eyes were closed, black lashes over high cheekbones, mouth on her breast.

  His hand between her legs moved and he slid a finger inside her where she was supersensitive and she stiffened. The breath went out of her.

  “We coming along?” he asked. He took her hand and curled it around his penis. “Because I sure am.”

  Lauren smiled and tightened her hand. He was huge, hard as steel, big engorged veins running up his penis. “Yes,” she said, “you sure are. But you always seem to be in this state.”

  A rough rumble. Jacko chuckling. It was a charming sound that went straight to her sex. She contracted around his finger and he stopped chuckling. His finger entered more deeply and she contracted again, hard.

  His penis pulsed, became somehow harder.

  Jacko blew out a breath. He withdrew his finger, slid it back in, and she felt electric pleasure. Her fisted hand slid down to the root of his penis, back up. He was so aroused his hips moved with her hand. When he made a sound of helpless pleasure she did it again, and again.

  His finger was sliding in and out of her now, thumb circling her clitoris. She contracted around him so hard her stomach muscles pulled and she moved straight into orgasm just as his penis enlarged even more around her hand and he started coming too, in great pulses she could feel under her hand, jetting all over her stomach.

  Her head tilted back against the pillow, all of her concentrated on his hand between her legs, inside her, stroking her as sparks of sensation so strong they were almost painful shot through her. He was stroking her harder, faster.

  “Don’t stop, honey. Ah, God...” His hips were moving fast and he groaned when she tightened her fist.

  Lauren cried out, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, her body now completely out of her control. Her heart hammered and she felt close to blacking out. Jacko gave a shout, pulsed one more time and stilled. He was sprawling on her now, a complete deadweight, his heavy torso making her ribs creak.

  Lauren lifted her hand, which weighed several tons, and caressed the back of his head. “God,” she murmured. It was only foreplay and she was exhausted.

  “Yeah,” he answered. “Just as soon as I get some blood back to my head we’re going to do that again, only better.”

  Lauren smiled in the dark, remembering what Claire had said about her husband. “Any better than that and I’ll pass out.”

  * * *

  Slowly, her senses returned. She became aware of the pinging on her bedroom window as the snow turned to sleet, loud in the deep quiet of the house. She pulled in a deep breath, the scent of Jacko mixed with her potpourri heady and exciting. By now his scent worked on her limbic system like pellets to a hamster. She felt lax, but energized, a crazy feeling, but good-crazy not awful-crazy. Actually, she felt good all over, joyful and hopeful all at once.

  She turned her head slowly and watched Jacko sleep. He slept like he did everything—intensely. He was utterly still, fierce face slightly relaxed in repose. When he slept he looked younger, without that eternal vigilance. It occurred to her that maybe he was closer in age to her than she thought. He seemed like he’d lived a thousand lifetimes but that was because of the soldiering. When he woke up, she had to ask him how old he was.

  When he woke up, she was going to ask him a lot of things, of this man she was unexpectedly going to be living with.

  That was another thing. Living with Jacko. She barely knew him but the thought didn’t scare her, not a bit. She lay there, staring at the darkness of the ceiling, turning that thought over and over in her mind.

  Sharing her life with Jacko. Not being alone anymore, as she’d been these past two years. True, Suzanne and Allegra and Claire had simply pushed themselves into her life and she’d be eternally grateful that they never accepted no for an answer. Because of course she’d tried to push them away, gently, for their own sakes. Finding peace only when she closed the door of her little house behind her and she was on her own. Only it hadn’t been peace, not really. It had only been emptiness, an emptiness that stretched out before her for her entire lifetime.

  She’d been alone much more than the last two years though, she realized now. Maybe her entire life. Because she’d never felt like she did now, with Jacko by her side. He was like a rock. A sexy rock.

  So much to look forward to. Coming home to Jacko, who had a strong, vibrant personality behind all that impassivity. Jacko who cared for her. Jacko who would accompany her anywhere, including to movies of ungodly boredom. She smiled at the thought of dragging him to that tedious Danish film. He’d sit through it with her, if that was what she wanted, and he’d pay attention, and he’d talk about it with her afterward.

  That took courage.

  A lot to look forward to. Someone to care for. Someone to care for her. Someone to have meals with, do things with, someone to share the cares of the day with.

  She wasn’t alone anymore. It was almost impossible to process. She’d been alone for so long. Most of her life, in fact.

  From the living room came the sound of the opening bars of The Four Seasons. Her cell phone. She slipped out from under Jacko’s heavy arm and out of bed, pulling on a dressing gown.

  Closing the bedroom door quietly behind her, Lauren rushed to catch the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, this is Paul Andrews. May I speak with Ms. Lauren Dare?” The voice was a pleasant tenor, very Eastern Seaboard, very posh. A light tenor. The farthest thing from Jacko’s Texas basso profundo possible.

  “This is Lauren Dare. How did you get this number?” she asked suspiciously. Because she did not give it out easily. Perhaps ten people had the number.

  “Ah—Suzanne Huntington gave it to me, I—I hope that is all right? I met with her this afternoon for a commission.” The male voice suddenly quavered.

  She took a deep breath. Start as you mean to go on. She’d just been handed her life back. Being paranoid and unpleasant would ruin her as surely as Jorge had tried to ruin her.

  “Yes,” she said, voice normal. “Of course. How may I help you?”

  This must be Suzanne’s three o’clock. The one who had looked at Jacko the way a shark looks at chum.

  He must have been reassured that he hadn’t been given the number of a crazy woman. “I am proceeding with a project together with Ms. Huntington—the decoration of the penthouse in the Sorenson building. And I happened to see the show of your pictures of the homes decorated by Ms. Huntington, and I absolutely want to commission your work for the penthouse. I will have offices there and I want the artwork on the walls to be yours. I would have made an appointment tomorrow during normal office hours to begin the process but unfortunately I have been called to New York. An emergency. But I wanted to have a provisional agreement before leaving. My plane is departing later this evening, and I wonder if you could spare me ten minutes of your time. I assure you I am prepared to pay you handsomely for your work and would pay you a thousand dollars just to meet me now. What do you say?”

  Wow. The penthouse of the Sorenson Building. Undoubtedly the priciest piece of real estate in Portland, in all of Oregon. Landing a commission to create illustrations, landing a well-paying commission...well.

  Start as you mean to go on. She wanted, more than anything, a life. A successful life, doing work she enjoyed, living with Jacko. No more running, no more hiding her light under a bushel, keeping her head low.

  She was free. And she had a new life to build.

  “Certainly,” she said crisply. “Where do you want to meet?”

  “Where do you live?”

  She forced herself not to hesitate. Suzanne had given him her number. Jacko was with her. It was crazy to think twice about it.”1124 Evergreen. It’s near Warren Square—”

  “I just put the address in my GPS, and it appears that I am not far from you. I could be there in fifteen minutes. So, may I come over? As I said, I will just take a few minutes of your time, which will be recompensed. Can you accept a check?”

  “Yes, I
can accept a check. And I look forward to our meeting.”

  Lauren had to hurry to make herself professionally presentable but before that, she had to let Felicity know she was okay. It had been on her mind a lot, that she hadn’t contacted her virtual friend.

  Taking her laptop out of its bag, she set up on the dining room table. In an instant she was diving into the depths of Tor.

  Runner: Man, things are happening.

  Felicity: Yeah, saw on the news. Your bad guy imploded, suicide by cop. What an idiot. We sure he’s really dead?

  Runner: Yeah.

  Felicity: You sure he’s not a Time Lord. Won’t be coming back?

  Runner: No. So I’m safe. Back in my house.

  Felicity: With Captain America?

  Lauren smiled. Jacko as Captain America. Well, why not? Except for the fact that he hadn’t been encased in ice since World War II and didn’t have a magic shield...yeah. The same.

  Runner: Um, yeah.

  Felicity: What’s it feel like?

  Runner: What does what feel like?

  Felicity: Being safe. What does it feel like?

  Runner: Good. Really good. Like someone has given me my life back.

  Felicity: That must feel fantastic. Really...fantastic.

  Runner: Will tell you all about it later. Bfn.

  “Who was that on the phone?” a deep voice asked behind her.

  Lauren whirled, heart in mouth. A very naked and very aroused Jacko was standing right behind her. As always he moved incredibly quietly.

  “God!” She put a hand over her heart. “You have to learn to make some noise when you move, Jacko. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” She waved a hand at him. “And, um, put some clothes on because that will definitely give me a heart attack.”

  “Who was it?” he repeated, going back into the bedroom.

  “Dress fast. That was a client of Suzanne’s. He has to leave unexpectedly but wanted to talk to me first, about a freelance assignment.”

  She entered the bedroom, went to her open suitcase and chose a soft turquoise sweater and black slacks. Perfectly respectable for someone who is in her own home.