Reckless

by Ruth Wind

  He would never listen to the rain pattering against the glass and the trees without remembering Ramona beneath him, waiting as he poised himself above her, Ramona so hot and close around him, making him whole as she took him into her, wrapping him with her arms and legs, breathing against his neck a soft, loving litany of encouragement, Ramona as she rocked and clutched him.

  They became liquid, flowing together. He was no longer aware of where he ended and where she began. When he spilled into her, it was not only his seed, but his heart and soul and life and body, all pieces and shreds, and he felt her spirit fill him in return, felt the flow of their union go between them like some ethereal, unseen ribbon born of the colors they made, wrapping them, binding them. He kissed her and felt her pulse around him, and with a cry, he buried his face against her shoulder and let her love him, hold him.

  And for a moment, in Ramona’s arms, he was alive and whole and saved.

  Love washed through Ramona on waves of pleasure and desire and wonder. Jake lay heavily against her, his great dark head buried in her shoulder, and she held him close, within and without, wanting him to be with her always, never to part from her again. She would lie in this bed with him for as long as she lived, never leaving it, as long as he would stay.

  His mouth moved on her throat, infinitely gentle, so much sweeter than she would have imagined of him.

  Then he was kissing her jaw, and her face, and her mouth and her eyes. His hands wound around her head, his palms over her ears, and he kissed her as if she was some precious, long-wished-for being, as if she was his most sacred love.

  She touched his hair, the dark, thick strands tangling around her fingers, and let him kiss her, and she kissed him in return. So precious. So vulnerable. So full of pain.

  But here in her arms, he had found peace for a little while. In her arms, he had slept all night. Once he had awakened, crying out, and instinctively, Ramona had known it was the same dream that had haunted him, the dream that pinned him to the past. But holding her hand so tightly she’d feared her fingers would be crushed, he had fallen asleep again. It seemed a very large victory.

  The intense intimacy had to end, and it did, all too soon. Jake moved, first to pull the quilt over them, then to lie on his side facing her, his head cradled on his arm. With one big, dark hand, he reached out and covered her breast. “Are you okay?”

  Ramona had not been sure. She felt as if the whole world had shifted in those rain-colored moments of their lovemaking, as if nothing would ever be the same again. It frightened her. But his hand felt right, and his voice was the voice she had waited for, and she turned to face him, to put her hands on him. She smiled. “I’m wonderful, thank you. Are you okay?”

  He chuckled, and Ramona felt the sound in her palm, held against the silky dark hair that glazed his hard chest. “I’ve been a lot worse.”

  In the low gray light, his eyes were a blue so clear and bright they were almost painful to look upon. Long black lashes and his deeply tanned skin increased the contrast. “You have beautiful eyes,” she said. With the tips of her fingers, she lightly touched his cheekbone, rubbed the prickles of his unshaved beard. Soberly, he let her, and Ramona touched his beautiful, unsmiling mouth.

  Everything had changed, Ramona realized. Everything.

  Somehow, Jake had turned her life upside down, making her feel things, wild things. Until he had come into her life, with the roar and intensity of a tormented lion, she had been very careful. She had created for herself a safe and comfortable environment, had put up walls of kindness and goodness. And within that secure and beautiful world, she had lived without fear or worry, serving as well as she could and living out her dreams within a walled garden.

  But like a wild creature, Jake had scaled those walls and stalked her among the flowers, tempting her from the first to stroke his dangerously beautiful hide. And even knowing she could be mauled, the temptation had proven too great to resist.

  Now, as she let her eyes feast on his masculine form, she felt desire creep up her spine and fill her body, and she rose on one elbow and pushed away the quilt that covered him, pushed it down to his waist. A brilliance burned in his sapphire eyes and he fell back as if he understood she wanted to look at him. Without shyness, she admired his lean, long torso, tracing the dark line of hair over his belly. He was too thin, his body showing only the muscles he must have gained as a soldier and the fine elegance of bones. “You don’t eat enough,” she said.

  Her hair had fallen over her shoulders, to half cover her breasts, and Jake reached out to lift it away. “I want to look at you, too.” His fingers lightly brushed her nipples.

  It aroused her to have him admire her, to look at her body as if it was beautiful, and she wondered if he felt the same way. She pushed the quilt lower and exposed his member and his thighs and his knees, then she pushed it all the way off him so she could admire his ankles and feet, too.

  She rocked back to rest on her knees and looked at him, all of him. His hand stroked her thigh, but he said nothing as she continued to admire his splendid form. She felt marvelously pagan dressed only in her hair, unashamed of her plumpness as she always had been before.

  “You look like some mythical goddess of nature,” he said quietly, moving to touch her. “All hair and eyes and breasts. I think that must be what you are.” He curled toward her, putting his lean thigh over her legs as he kissed her ribs. “You’re magic, I know that.”

  Ramona clasped his head and pressed her mouth to his hair, feeling heat and hunger rise up in her again as his mouth found her breast, as his tongue flickered over the aching tip. “Oh, no,” she whispered, “you’re the one who’s magic.”

  He tumbled her sideways, and they fell into a lazy exploration, seeking the tender spots and the ticklish ones, touching and kissing and stroking. A long time later, they made love again, very slowly, in contrast to the furious heat of their first joining. Slowly, he entered her, and slowly he moved, and slowly, easily, Ramona met him. Easily, slowly, gently, they kissed and touched and drifted, lost in one another for a long, long time in the rain-swept morning.

  And as he moved within her, and over her, and became one with her, Ramona knew it had been worth whatever happened later. Whatever happened when she lost him, she would always have this morning to remember, this morning when she had made Jake forget his sorrows and his pain, this morning when she had been beautiful and whole.

  She had held the lion.

  Chapter 15

  “Much as I hate to do it,” Jake said, “I’m going to have to get home and take care of Mr. E. I’m sure he’s lonely by now.”

  They were lingering over second cups of coffee, the remains of a very late breakfast scattered over the table. Ramona felt replete and content. “I understand. I guess you need a ride, too, don’t you?”

  “That I do.” Under the table, he covered her bare foot with his. “Then I think I’m obligated to go to my mother’s house for what was supposed to be a picnic, a little pre-Fourth celebration.”

  Ramona glanced at the still-gray skies and chuckled. “Cancel the picnic.”

  “She’ll just move it inside.” He hesitated. “Don’t suppose you’d want to go with me?”

  A strange little stab pricked Ramona’s heart. Go with him to his mother’s house? Where everyone would take one look at them and know exactly what was going on? “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Jake. It might be... uncomfortable.”

  “I won’t be uncomfortable. And you know the whole family. It isn’t like being around a bunch of strangers.”

  “I know.” Still, her gut told her it was a bad idea. This thing between them was new and precious and private, and she didn’t know how it would change when it was reflected back to them from the eyes of his family. “They’ll all be able to tell we’ve...” She almost said, “become lovers,” but that made it sound like an ongoing thing, and Ramona suspected quite the opposite was true. “We’ve been lovers.”

  He reached for
her hand. “‘Been,’ Ramona?” His thumb moved over her wrist. “Does that mean we won’t be anymore?”

  It was hard to look straight at him, at that face full of elegant planes and sensual angles, at the vivid blue of those eyes, and think anything at all. “I don’t know. Will we?”

  Her question hung uneasily in the room. Ramona heard her need for reassurance in it and hated herself for it.

  Jake bent his head and kissed her inner wrist very gently. “Please come with me today.”

  Light caught in his dark hair, glossing the crown, and Ramona touched it, glorying in the heavy, silky feeling of it against her palm and in the shape of his head beneath. Her heart ached with the wonder of him, with the sheer pounding force of her love for him. And even though she knew it wasn’t wise, she said, “All right. I’ll go.”

  Louise was totally in her element The refrigerator bulged with potato salad—made with mustard seed, her secret ingredient—pasta salad with olives and fresh tomatoes and green onions, and gallons of sweet tea, brewed in the sunshine all day yesterday.

  In the oven were baked beans and her extraspecial, to die-for barbecue chicken, which would have been better cooked over the grill, but tasted just as fine coming out of the oven. It was the sauce that made it special.

  In the living room, playing a game of Chutes and Ladders with her grandsons, were Lance and Tamara, still newlyweds enough to want to be touching all the time. Tyler had delivered Curtis to the house last night, but had begged off himself, pleading a need to sleep off his flu. Louise had taken one look at his red-rimmed eyes and pasty skin and excused him.

  In the dining room, Alonzo entertained two of Louise’s museum friends with tales of the Mexican revolution, in which his father had ridden with Pancho Villa. Both women listened, rapt, as he described a dangerous mission across the desert, his words lilting and falling in musically accented English. Louise smiled. She never tired of the sound of his voice and evidently she wasn’t alone.

  Dinner was almost ready, and she glanced at the clock with a frown. Jake still hadn’t shown up. It worried her. She hoped he hadn’t gone out and gotten himself in more trouble. He’d pretty much managed to avoid her since her visit to the hospital, and she wondered if maybe she’d been a little harsh in her lecture.

  Taking the huge roasting pan of chicken out of the oven, she set her mouth in a firm line. No, she hadn’t been too hard on him. He’d acted the fool, driving down that mountain like he was sixteen and stupid. By now, he ought to have learned he was mortal.

  A slim young woman came into the kitchen. “You need help with anything?” she asked. She, too, had an accent, but it was decidedly less lyrical than Alonzo’s. Anna Passanante, the new curator of the museum for which Louise worked part-time, was a native of Queens.

  Louise straightened. “Well, let’s see. You can chase that chatty Alonzo out of my dining room and we can start setting the table.”

  Curtis, her son Tyler’s boy, ran into the kitchen and flung himself around Anna’s legs. “Tell me a story, Miss Anna! Pleathe?”

  Anna patted his head. “Right now I’m going to help your grandma set the table. After we eat, okay?”

  “The dragon story?”

  “Absolutely.” She gave him a stack of napkins. “You can help me if you want. You want?”

  Curtis nodded happily, and Louise felt a pang. Curtis ached for a mother. Although Louise spent as much time as she could with the boy, it wasn’t quite the same. His own mother had died in childbirth, so Curtis had never known her, but his father showed no signs of ever getting over her.

  As Curtis rushed off to put the napkins on the table, Louise said, “You’re sweet to be so good to him.”

  “He’s a good boy. I feel sad for him.”

  A commotion arose at the front door. Louise peeked around the corner, and relief rushed through her when she saw Jake come in. To her surprise, someone came in behind him, a woman bundled in a raincoat and hat. Louise frowned, hoping he hadn’t brought one of his bubbleheads around for her to be nice to.

  But the woman took off her hat, her long, pretty hair spilling out over her shoulders, and Louise smiled broadly, cutting a glance toward Alonzo, who winked. It was Ramona Hardy, looking a little shy and flushed. And if Louise was hot mistaken, the woman had that slightly blurry, dazzled look about her that meant she’d been recently and thoroughly loved.

  Louise couldn’t help chuckling quietly to herself. Alonzo joined her in the doorway, putting his hand on her arm. “The doctor, no?”

  “Am I good?”

  Alonzo looked at her soberly. “Do not meddle today, do you hear?”

  “I never meddle.”

  He snorted. Taking her hand, he pulled her back into the kitchen. “You meddle,” he said. “Always thinking about everybody else. Think about you, today, hmm?”

  “Alonzo, this whole day is for my family. Let me enjoy giving it to them.”

  “Okay.” He nodded, and his mustache wiggled. “But then, let me give you something, okay?”

  She frowned. “Like what?”

  Before she could blink, he pressed a kiss to her mouth. He held her arm loosely, right above the elbow, and his mustache tickled her lip. Louise didn’t even have time to close her eyes, so she was looking deep into his eyes with those starry lashes while he kissed her.

  Just as quickly, he straightened. With a wink, he said, “You want to think so much about romance, maybe you should think a little about me, hmm?”

  He left her standing there in the middle of her kitchen. Louise lifted her hand to her mouth, and for a brief, wild moment, she felt about fourteen. He kissed me!

  It was a very good feeling indeed.

  Jake knew it was a mistake the minute he walked into the house and saw his mother’s expression. It was the cat-that-swallowed-the-canary look—a suppressed grin, a shine in her eyes. And he wondered how he had forgotten her faked sprained ankle. Had she been matchmaking?

  The notion that he’d somehow been manipulated caused him to feel a suffocating sense of pressure in his lungs. He didn’t want to think, not about Ramona or his future or anything else. He just wanted to keep this sense of warmth and satisfaction she gave him. Thinking would mean facing everything—not only his own wounded psyche, but what had happened to Ramona and how that made him feel.

  No.

  He slid a glance at Ramona out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she sensed his panic. Maybe she had been right—this was a mistake. And he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable or strange or—

  Covertly, she squeezed his arm and moved into the room. “Tamara!” she cried, and crossed the wide living room to give the woman a hug. “You look gorgeous!”

  Even Tamara, who was somewhat shy and reserved, couldn’t resist Ramona. She jumped up to accept Ramona’s embrace.

  Curtis and Cody rushed forward, chasing away gloomy thoughts. “Uncle Jake!” they cried.

  “Give uth piggyback ridth!” Curtis pleaded, jumping up and down.

  “No, I want to play alligator!”

  Relieved to have a distraction, Jake dropped on all fours. “Hop on, guys.”

  “Oh, boy! Horsie!”

  But the respite didn’t last long. The boys were called to wash their hands, and Jake was left to sit down in the living room with Tamara and Lance, who sat side by side. Holding hands. Tamara had a sunny glow from their trip to the islands, and Lance looked—Jake frowned—happy.

  Ramona sat in a chair near Tamara. Jake sat in a chair across the room. He couldn’t imagine himself all tangled up with her the way Tamara and Lance were sitting, holding hands and making eyes at each other. Not all the time—Tamara wasn’t like that. But every so often, they’d look at each other and something would flash between them. Rich and hot and deep.

  Jake felt a little pang. He glanced at Ramona. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, and she appeared to be perfectly comfortable. Along her jaw was a faint reddish mark, and he frowned, then realized it was a whisker bu
rn. A sudden flash of her beneath him, holding him, washed through him, heating his blood. Following that came a sense of embarrassment. She looked as if she’d been well loved. Would everyone see that?

  Did he care? Could be. But maybe not for the reasons he might have in the past. He didn’t want them to think anything about Ramona. He wanted her protected from speculation.

  She didn’t talk much and carefully avoided his eyes. In a little while, she excused herself to go say hello to Louise.

  The conversation ground to a halt. Tamara slid her hands over her thighs and gave a bright, false smile. “Maybe I’ll go see if I can help set the table. Or something.”

  Jake shifted. “Where’s Ty?”

  “He’s got that flu,” she answered as she headed toward the kitchen.

  Jake nodded.

  “So.” Once they were alone, Lance leaned forward and lowered his voice. “What’s up with you and the doc?”

  A dozen responses rushed into his head, were considered and rejected. Finally, he said, “None of your business. Between me and her.”

  Unaccountably, Lance smiled. “Cool.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing, man.” Lance raised his hands, open palmed. “I always liked her.”

  Jake suddenly wondered if Lance knew about the rape, if he knew everything Ramona had overcome to be the woman she was today. Then he remembered what Harry had told him—everyone involved had kept it quiet so Ramona wouldn’t have to face the speculation and suspicious looks that inevitably went along with such cases. He was suddenly, deeply grateful she hadn’t had to endure that along with everything else.

  “Hey,” Lance said quietly, “chin up, man. I’m just kind of surprised. She’s not your type.”

  “That’s the whole problem,” Jake said. She was way too good for him. And he would just drag her down. He’d already started.