by Jo Goodman
His mouth followed the curve of her ribs, liking the way she sucked in her breath when he reached the flat plane of her stomach. He kissed her navel while his hands stroked her thighs, reaching between them with an infinitely gentle probe that pleasured even as it sought proof that she was ready for him again.
She was. And this time there was no thought in Jericho's head that he render her nearly helpless as he took her. He wanted her willing, giving. God, how he wanted her.
But it was she who was unafraid to voice her desire. "Soon, Jericho. Please come to me." The tender sole of her foot rubbed his calf, and as her knee lifted she was opened more fully to him. Her fingertips threaded in the sunlight yellow of his hair, tugging a little desperately, a little frantically, as she signaled her need and pulled his face close to hers.
His eyes were hypnotically dark at the center, like polished black onyx, and ringed with ice blue, the color of diamond chips. She imagined she could see herself in those eyes; certainly she saw the reflection of her own desire. "Now. I want you inside me. Fill me as you did before... then stay. Don't leave me." Her palms slid down his chest, his abdomen, and rested momentarily on his narrow hips before reaching for his stiff manhood. Her hands closed around the warm and pulsing length of him and guided him to her, arching into him.
Jericho's groan of need and longing was muffled in the curve of her shoulder as he thrust into her. He forced himself to be still at her cry. "Have I hurt you again?"
She shook her head, a hint of a smile on her well-kissed lips. "You feel wonderful," she said guilelessly. Quite by accident, she tightened the warm velvet walls holding him as she adjusted to his intimate and welcome invasion. "Have I hurt you?" she asked at Jericho's soft groan.
She had no idea what she had done, how good she felt surrounding him with her moist heat. Jericho did not venture a reply, merely shook his head and began to show her what her innocent movements had wrought.
In the beginning the rhythm he taught tested their patience. She accepted Jericho's lead, matching his slow thrusts with every rise of her hips. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she tightened about him each time his stroking took him away from her, and relaxed, opening to him, when he thrust forward. Jericho had never known anyone like her before, had never known anyone who wanted him the way this woman did.
Her fingers marked Jericho's back as a sense of urgency swept through them. She felt as if she were at the end of some forest trail and reaching for a branch that would swing her across a great abyss. It swung tantalizingly in front of her, daring her to take hold. In her mind's eye she saw the yawning crevice beneath her, black and bottomless, and wondered if the branch would hold. Then she didn't care any longer, and when the wind brought it to her she strained to grasp it. Each time she missed only made her want it all the more. Finally, frustrated beyond bearing by the teasing limb, she stretched, every muscle taut, and dove into the wind to take it.
"Jericho!" she called to him as she was suspended in midair, nothing to support her above the dark mouth of the abyss. Her hands flailed for purchase. "Jericho!" she cried again. She was falling with shattering speed; she could barely catch her breath. The rushing air was not cool, but hot, and she thought she would die as a flash of heat and light, her soul scattered and sparkling.
Then he was there, reaching out to her, and she caught his hand, and though it trembled in her own, she never doubted that he would pull her to safety. His voice soothed her. "It's all right, Red. Open your eyes. I've got you."
She did as she was told and looked into the black centers of Jericho's eyes, finding she had never been in any danger. She felt his hands on her buttocks, supporting and lifting her as his final thrusts brought him release. This time she soothed him, loving his power and strength even as he yielded to pleasure's end.
Jericho lay beside her, careful not to crush her with his weight, though in truth she would not have minded at that moment. As their breathing eased he twisted on his side, propped on one elbow, and studied her flushed face and languid eyes. On impulse he brushed his mouth across her moist and softly parted lips, then lifted his head in time to be bathed in her lovely siren's smile.
"That smile heralds trouble for any man with a breath in him," Jericho said huskily, tracing its fullness with a fingertip.
"Mayhap I should not look so pleased." She attempted a bored expression, but the touch of his finger tickled, and childlike, her grin widened.
"I think I prefer the witch's smile. I am many things, but a cradle robber is not one of them." His humor faded and his eyes grew troubled. "Until this night I had never lain with an innocent."
She sighed, reaching up to smooth the frown lines at the corners of his eyes. Her soft palms remained on the taut planes of his cheeks. "Do not refine upon it. I have no regrets—and surely they would be mine to have. How can I regret such an introduction to womanhood? You don't want me to be shamed by the pleasure you gave me?"
"No," he said slowly, grasping her wrists and pressing his lips to the center of each palm. "You were beautiful—are beautiful." He released her, fell on his back, and stared at the knotty pine ceiling. "I don't care much for the idea of you lyin' with other men," he told her at last. "I want you to go to the McClellans'."
"Of course."
"I won't argue ab—Of course? You mean you intended to go all along?"
"Well, yes," she said, matter-of-fact. "I don't care much for the idea of lying with other men either."
"But—" He sat up abruptly, placed a stiff arm or either side of her, and stared at her face for some hint that she was lying. He found none. "But you deliberately let me think you still wanted to be a lightskirt."
"Credit me with some sense. I was not trying to appeal to your better nature. I could never have seduced you otherwise." She laughed at his incredulous expression. "I find that I can be quite without scruples in the pursuit of something I want."
Jericho's eyes widened, softened. "I've never met anyone like you, Red."
"And I've never met one such as you."
He grinned suddenly. "How can you know? You don't remember anyone in your past."
"I know that if there had been someone like you in my life, I would not have been in Wolfe's."
His grin vanished at her simple sincerity. He kissed her deeply on the mouth and felt her heartbeat quicken in response. He broke the contact abruptly and in a swift motion left the bed. Bewildered, she sat up and reached for him.
Jericho put a hand on her shoulder, quieting her. "I'm not leavin', Red. But it's too soon for you. I don't want to hurt you."
She would like to have denied that it was too soon, yet there was a certain discomfort, not precisely pain, but enough of a twinge to let her know he was probably right. She took a corner of the sheet and drew it to her breasts. "I'd like to wash," she said shyly.
The trace of a smile flitted across Jericho's mouth. "Give me a moment and I'll see to you." He cut off her objection by turning his back on her and going to the basin. Unselfconsciously he washed himself at the nightstand, then pulled on his breeches. "Just to make it more difficult to seduce me," he told her over his shoulder. He set the porcelain basin near the edge of the bed while she lay back, then brushed aside the sheet. With great care he bathed her thighs, wiping every trace of their combined passion from her dark triangle of hair. When he was finished he helped her into her nightshirt and kissed her closed eyelids.
"Are you crying?" he asked, tasting a salty wetness on his lips.
She sniffed. "Of course not."
"Of course not," he mocked indulgently. "What a waterworks you are." He put the basin away, gathered the blankets they had dropped on the floor, and pinched the candle. Sliding into bed beside her, he covered them both against the evening's chill that had begun to penetrate their senses.
"I suppose she never cries," she said a trifle wistfully.
Jericho knew instantly who she was and surprised himself by feeling a little satisfied by her thinly disguised jealousy. "I
have no idea. What does it matter, anyway? You've quite mistaken my feelings for Ashley."
"Have I?"
But Jericho would not be drawn. "I think you will like working for the McClellans. They're fine people."
"You spoke to them, then?"
"No. They were not at home."
"Then how do you know they will hire me? Mayhap they have no positions." She wished she had not sounded so hopeful. She was in danger of begging Jericho to allow her to stay at the schooner.
"But I know that they do, Red. They had a young woman named Meg who looked after the children. Now that wench had hair of fire and a temper to match." He felt her flounce beside him, and he could well imagine her eyes a shade greener than they had been a moment before. "'Course, once she set her sights on Salem's good friend Shannon, he was done for. She finagled matrimony out of that one, oh, it must have been two years ago, and Ashley hasn't replaced her."
"There you have it," she said certainly. "Mrs. McClellan doesn't want any help."
"Not so, Red. Her sister-in-law, Salem's sister, has been with them almost since Meg's marriage. I suppose she makes herself useful."
"Then mayhap she will object to my presence."
"If she does, it won't be for the reasons you imagine. I've never met her myself, though heaven knows Ashley's tried to arrange the thing often enough. Salem says he despairs of her attitude—something to do with a broken engagement. I understand she has a reputation for holding men at a distance." Jericho sighed, recalling the times he had put Ashley off about meeting Salem's sister. He had no wish for anything to cause a rift in his friendship with Salem, and attending Rahab McClellan was certain to create one. His work for Washington offered any number of excuses, all of which Ashley accepted graciously, though he could tell she thought he was making a grave mistake. "Anyway, if you begin to care for the children, it will mean she will have no excuse to stay at home. She will not thank us for it."
"Perhaps we should not upset her."
"Perhaps your presence is exactly what she needs."
Resigned, she curled against Jericho's back, snuggling for warmth. "How many children are there?" she asked sleepily, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.
"Two. Courtney is four, I think, and Trenton is not yet one year."
"That's nice." She yawned again and her arms settled about Jericho's waist. "I suppose they are too young for me to corrupt."
"Red," he drawled in warning.
"I was only making light, Jericho."
"G'night, Red." His hands went over hers, securing them.
"Good night."
Just before he shut his eyes he thought he heard her whisper an endearment. He had to make himself believe he had imagined it before he was able to sleep, and even then his rest was troubled.
He woke suddenly, and for a moment recaptured the dream he had been having. It seemed odd to him, for he rarely remembered his dreams and thought he must not have many. But this one was still startlingly clear, and when he closed his eyes he could still make out the rock he had been studying. Though the slab of granite remained a stoic lookout, immovable on the water's edge, it was not entirely immune to nature's relentless forces. Jericho watched season after season pass, and though he was protected by the whim of his dream, the rock altered subtly beneath spring's lashing rains and summer's persistent heat. In autumn decaying leaves littered the stone's obdurate surface, and over time left an impression on its face. A hairline crack was finally etched by the inexorable cold of winter.
Jericho turned restlessly, vaguely bothered by the dream until he recalled having once envied that rock's insensitivity. When he made that connection he came bolt upright, clutching his middle as if he had been poleaxed.
"Jericho?" She said his name softly, placing her hand on his forearm. "Is there something wrong?" She had been on the edge of consciousness when some instinct where Jericho was concerned alerted her to his agitation. Wide awake now, she sat up.
"No. I'm fine." He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and willed himself not to flinch as her hand slipped to his back. He swore he could feel her fingertips indelibly marking his skin. His breath hissed between his teeth. He would not let her have a place in his life. He would not.
Without the appearance of urgency, Jericho stood. "I'm hungry. Did you have anything after dinner?"
"It's the middle of the night," she reminded him unnecessarily. A frown knitted her brows and she strained to see Jericho in the darkness.
"Hunger knows nothin' of the hour." He picked up his jacket to find a match and flint and came across the notice he had torn down. Quickly he lighted the candle and unfolded the poster, smiling a little grimly this time at its absurdities. He handed it to Red. "Here, I forgot about this. Do you want anything to eat?"
"No, nothing," she said absently as she looked at the notice.
Jericho rummaged through the storage bench. "I'll read that to you in a moment. I hope you can see the humor in it." He found the hardtack and broke off a piece, then shut the bench. It was too bad both flasks had been drained of whiskey, he decided; he wanted a drink more than he wanted food. He sat beside her on the bunk, amused by her comical expression as she studied the notice. "Don't strain yourself, Red. Let me read it to you."
She brushed aside his hand as he reached for it. "I am quite capable of reading the thing myself."
Jericho's brows rose skeptically and a trifle uneasily while he chewed thoughtfully on the hardtack. "Then read it to me," he challenged.
Uncertain why Jericho should doubt her, she read the piece carefully. "Murderess! Reward of ten pounds for the apprehension of a buxom colonial wench of low morals and poor judgment..." She paused, shaking her head in disbelief. "Do they mean me, d'you think?"
"Of course, they mean you. Go on."
"...wanted for the willful killing of one of His Majesty's officers on March twenty-eighth, in Wolfe's Tavern." She looked askance at Jericho. "Your part in the affair is mentioned and a description of each of us follows, though it has been shabbily done. Have you heard enough, or must I read more?"
Jericho snatched the poster from her hands and threw it aside. "Where did you learn to read?" His fingers itched to take her by the shoulders and shake the answer from her. Of a sudden so much about Red seemed clear to him, and he cursed himself for being fool enough to have been taken in.
Confused by the leashed violence in him, she inched away to the head of the bed. "How can I know that when I don't recall my own name? Why does it upset you so? Surely you've known women who can read before." She drew a blanket up to her shoulders as if it were a shield.
"Never any aspiring prostitutes," Jericho drawled coldly. "Those other women in Wolfe's couldn't have read more than five words on that notice between them. Doesn't it strike you odd that someone with your obvious book learnin' should decide to entertain the visiting troops on her back?"
Her indrawn breath was sharp. "What a vile thing to say!"
"Who are you, Red?"
"I don't know." Her back was against the wall, and though Jericho had not moved from the side of the bunk, she felt as if he were nearly on top of her.
"Who are you?"
"I don't know," she shouted. "I don't know... I don't know! Why do you persist in questioning me?"
Jericho went on relentlessly. "Did you really kill that British officer?"
"You said that I did."
"Forget what I said. Did you really kill him?"
She buried her face in her hands. "I don't remember. I don't remember anything!"
Jericho moved swiftly, knocking her hands away from her face, and grasped her urgently by the chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Shall I tell you what I think? I think you have been naught but the pretty bait in a British trap!" He thrust her chin aside contemptuously, disgusted with the bewilderment she affected, and took himself off the bed to avoid throttling her.
"What trap?" she implored. "Why are you saying these things?"
"How wel
l you play the role of the artless wench. Guileless. Lacking all deceit." His cerulean eyes lashed her scornfully. "Have you always been a Tory spy, or is this your first assignment? No. Don't answer. It must be your first, else you would not have been a virgin. Did they suggest that you seduce me to keep me near, or was that your own idea? And when do you plan to turn me over to them? That's why you left yesterday, isn't it? You were heading back to the British to give my location."
"But I returned to you."
"Because you couldn't find your way! How that must have stung your pride!"
She looked away from Jericho and drew a long, calming breath, trying to right the world he had set on its head. "Why should the British want you? Who are you?"
"I grow weary of you playing the fool, Red. It is ill-becoming, though I admit you do it better than most female spies. None of the others like to be thought a featherhead, but it doesn't seem to bother you." When she faced him again, eyes still blank, Jericho swore harshly.
She held herself still, refusing to let him see how he hurt her with each accusation. "Are you as Nathan Hale was?" she asked calmly.
Jericho's reply was caustic. "How convenient that you remember him. But then, you know I am like him; you know that General Clinton would love to see me hanging from a gibbet, the same as Nathan. If I am to go that road, it damn well won't be some freckle-faced wench who springs the trap!"
She wished she had not mentioned Hale, for Jericho condemned her all the more for it. She remembered the name of the soldier-spy in much the same way that she recalled how to find worms and prepare catfish. "Jericho... please, you are wrong about me. I am not what you think. I am certain of it. What of the man you said I killed? What of the reward?"
"All a ruse to pull me in. It was a convincing fight, certainly well rehearsed, and it got my attention as you planned it should. It was my bad luck to be in the tavern that night; else you could have had one of my men."
"Even if you are correct—and it's a large if, Jericho—I still remember none of it. I am no threat to YOU. I haven't any notion where I should go to report that you are here."