From the Heart

by Nora Roberts

  There was a muffled sneeze and a rustle of leaves. Instantly Slade sprang out toward the sound, hitting the ground and rolling when he caught a quick glimpse of the man and the rifle. Prone, he fired three times.

  Jessica lay numbed by a fear icier than the wind off the Sound. That was all she could hear—the wind and the water. Once she had loved the sound of it, the howling wind, the passionate crash of water against rock. Staring up at the sky, she watched the clouds boil. With one hand she clutched Slade’s discarded jacket. The leather was smooth and cold, but she could just smell him. She concentrated on that. If she could smell him, he was alive. If she willed it hard enough for long enough, he’d stay alive.

  Too long! her mind shouted. It’s been too long! Her fingers tightened on the leather. He’d said he’d be back. She was going to believe that. With her fingertips, she touched her lips and found them cold. The warmth he’d left there had long since faded.

  I should have told him I love him, she thought desperately. I should have told him before he left. What if . . . No, she wouldn’t let herself think it. He was coming back. Painfully, she shifted enough so that she could watch the beach steps.

  She heard the three rapid shots and froze. The pain in her chest snapped her out of it. Her lungs were screaming for air. Dimly, Jessica ordered herself to breathe before she scrambled up and ran. Fear made her clumsy. Twice she stumbled on her way up the steps, only to haul herself up and force more speed into her legs. She broke into the grove, skidding on cracked leaves and branches.

  Slade sprang around the moment he heard her. He was quick, but not quick enough to prevent her from seeing what he’d been determined she wouldn’t see. Jessica stopped her headlong rush into his arms, relief turning to shock and shock to trembling.

  Cursing, he stepped in front of her, blocking her view. “Don’t you ever listen?” he demanded, then pulled her into his arms.

  “Is he . . . did you . . .” Unable to finish, she shut her eyes. She wouldn’t be sick, she ordered herself. She wouldn’t faint. One of his shirt buttons ground into her cheek and she concentrated on the pain. “You’re not hurt?”

  “No,” he said shortly. This aspect of his life should never have touched her, he berated himself. He should have seen to it. “Why didn’t you stay on the beach?”

  “I heard the shots. I thought he’d killed you.”

  “Then you’d have done us both a lot of good rushing in here.” He pulled her away, took one look at her face, and yanked her back into his arms. “It’s all right now.”

  For the first time his tone was gentle, loving. It broke her down as his shouting and anger would never have done. She began to weep in raw, harsh sobs, the fingers of one hand digging into his shirt, the fingers of the other still holding his jacket.

  Without a word he led her to the edge of the grove. He sat on the grass, then drew her down into his lap and let her cry it out. Not knowing what else to do, he rocked, stroked, and murmured.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed, still weeping. “I can’t stop.”

  “Get it all out, Jess.” His lips brushed her hot temple. “You don’t have to be strong this time.”

  Burying her face against his chest, she let the tears come until she was empty. Even when she quieted, he stroked the hair from her damp face, rocking her with a gentle rhythm. The need to protect had long since stopped being professional. If he could have found the way, Slade would have blocked the morning from her mind—taken her away somewhere, someplace where no ugliness could touch her.

  “I couldn’t stay on the beach when I heard the shots.”

  “No.” He kissed her hair. “I suppose not.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “Ssh.” He took her lips this time with a tenderness neither of them had known he possessed. “You should have more faith in the good guys.”

  She wanted to smile for him but threw her arms around his neck instead. The contact was another reassurance that he was whole and safe. “Oh, Slade. I’m not sure I could live through something like that again. Why? Why would anyone want to kill me? It just doesn’t make sense.”

  He drew her away so that their eyes met. Hers were red and swollen from weeping, his cool and direct. “Maybe you know something and don’t even realize it. The pressure’s on, and whoever’s in charge of this business is smart enough to know it. You’ve become a liability.”

  “But I don’t know anything!” she insisted, pressing the heels of her hands to her temples. “Someone wants to kill me and I don’t even know who it is or why. You said that . . . that man was a professional. Someone paid him to kill me.”

  “Let’s go inside.” He pulled her to her feet, but she jerked away. The helpless weeping was over and the strength was back, though it had the dangerous edge of hysteria.

  “How much was I worth?” she demanded.

  “That’s enough, Jess.” He took her by the shoulders for one quick shake. “Enough. You’re going to go in and pack a bag. I’ll take you to New York.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “The hell you aren’t,” he muttered as he started to pull her toward the house.

  Jessica yanked out of his grip for the second time. “You listen to me. It’s my life, my shop, my friends. I’m staying right here until it’s over. I’ll do what you tell me to a point, Slade, but I won’t run.”

  He measured her slowly. “I’ve got to call this business in. You’re to go straight to your room and wait for me.”

  She nodded, not trusting his easy acceptance. “All right.” He nodded, not trusting hers.

  The moment she stepped into her room, Jessica began to peel off her clothes. It was suddenly of paramount importance that she scrub off every grain of sand, every lingering trace of the time she had spent on the beach. She turned the hot water in the tub on full until the room was misted with steam. Plunging in, she gasped at the shock of the heat against her chilled skin, but took the soap and lathered again and again until she could no longer smell the scent of salt water—the scent of her own fear.

  It had been a nightmare, she told herself. This was normalcy. The cool green tile on the walls, the leafy fern at the window, the ivory towels with the pale green border she had chosen herself only the month before.

  A month ago, she thought, when her life had been simple. There’d been no man then coolly attempting to kill her for a fee. David had still been the brother she’d never had. Michael had been her friend, her partner. She hadn’t even heard of a man named James Sladerman.

  She closed her eyes, and pressed hot, damp fingers to them. No, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. She had lain curled behind a pile of rocks while a man she barely knew—and loved—had risked his life to protect hers. It was horribly, horribly real. And she had to face it. The time was over when she could try to pass off what Slade had told her as a mistake. While she had been blindly trusting, someone she loved had deceived her, involved her. Used her.

  Which one? she asked herself. Which one could she believe it of? Would either David or Michael have stood passively by while someone arranged to have her killed? Lowering her hands, Jessica forced herself to be calm. No, whatever else she would believe, she wouldn’t believe that.

  Slade thought she might know something without being aware of it. If that was true, she was no closer to the solution than she had been before. Jessica slid her body down in the tub and closed her eyes again. There was nothing for her to do but wait.

  Anything but satisfied with his conversation with his contact, Slade put a call through directly to the commissioner.

  “Sergeant, what have you got for me?”

  “Someone tried to kill Jessica this morning,” he answered curtly.

  For a moment there was dead silence on the wire. “Give me the details,” Dodson demanded.

  Briefly, emotionlessly, Slade reported while his knuckles turned white on the receiver. “She won’t leave voluntarily,” he finished. “I want her out, today. Now. I ne
ed you to officially give me the right to put her in protective custody. I can have her in New York in less than two hours.”

  “I take it you’ve already checked in with this.”

  “Your friends in the Bureau want her to stay.” This time he didn’t attempt to disguise the bitterness in his voice. “They don’t want anything to interfere with the investigation at this delicate state,” he quoted, jamming a cigarette between his lips. “As long as she’s willing to cooperate, they won’t move her.”

  “And Jessica’s willing to cooperate.”

  “She’s a stubborn, thick-headed fool who’s too busy thinking about Adams and Ryce and that precious shop of hers.”

  “You’ve gotten to know her, I see,” the commissioner commented. “Does she trust you?”

  Slade expelled a stream of smoke. “She trusts me.”

  “Keep her in the house, Slade. In her room if you think it’s necessary. The servants can think she’s ill.”

  “I want—”

  “What you want isn’t the issue,” Dodson cut him off curtly. “Or what I want,” he added more calmly. “If it’s gone far enough that a pro was hired, she’ll be safer there, with you, than anyplace else. We’ve got to nail this down fast, with luck, before it’s known that the contract on her is no longer operable.”

  “She’s nothing more than bait,” Slade said bitterly.

  “Just make sure she isn’t swallowed,” Dodson retorted. “You’ve got your orders.”

  “Yeah. I’ve got them.” Disgusted, Slade slammed down the receiver. Looking down at his hands, he realized, frustrated, that they were as good as tied. He was up against a solid wall of refusal from Jessica right on down. The investigation, the justice of it, didn’t matter to him any longer. She was all that mattered. That in itself destroyed his objectivity, and by doing so, made her vulnerable. He cared too much to think logically.

  His hands curled into fists. No, cared wasn’t the right word, he admitted slowly. He was in love with her. When or how, he didn’t have the faintest idea. Maybe it had started that first day she had come tearing down the steps toward him. And it was stupid.

  He scraped his hands roughly over his face. Even without the mess they were in, it was stupid. They’d been born on opposite sides of the fence, had lived their entire lives on opposite sides of the fence. He didn’t have any right to love her, even less to want her to love him. She needed him now, professionally as well as emotionally. That would change when it was over.

  Right now he couldn’t afford to think of how he would deal with his feelings once Jessica was safe again. First he had to make certain she would be. With slow, deliberate force he crushed out his cigarette, then went upstairs to her.

  They came into the bedroom together, Jessica from the bath, Slade from the hall. She was wrapped in one of the ivory towels with the pale green border. Her hair fell wet around her shoulders while the clean, sharp scent of soap surrounded her. Her skin was flushed and glowing from the heat of her bath.

  For a moment they stood still, watching each other. She could feel the frustration, the anger in him, as he turned to close the door behind him.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She sighed a little because it was nearly the truth. “I’m better. Don’t be angry with me, Slade.”

  “Don’t ask for the impossible.”

  “All right.” Needing something to do, she went to the dresser and picked up her brush. “What do we do now?”

  “We wait.” Straining against impotence, he jammed his fists in his pockets. “You’re to stay in the house, let the servants think you’re ill or tired or just plain lazy. You’re not to answer the door, or the phone, or see anyone unless I’m with you.”

  She slammed the brush back down, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. “I won’t be jailed in my own home.”

  “Either that or a cell,” he improvised, adding a shrug. “Either way you want it.”

  “You can’t put me in a cell.”

  “Don’t bet on it.” Leaning back against the door, he ordered his muscles to relax. “You’re going to play this my way, Jess. Starting now.”

  Her automatic rebellion was instantly quelled as she remembered those agonizing minutes on the beach. She wasn’t only risking her own life, she realized, but his as well. “You’re right,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.” Abruptly she whirled around. “I hate this! I hate all of it.”

  “I told Betsy you didn’t want to be disturbed,” he answered calmly. “She’s got it into her head that you’ve caught a touch of David’s flu. We’ll let her go on thinking it. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

  “Don’t go,” she said quickly as he reached for the doorknob.

  “I’ll just be down in the library. You need to rest, Jess, you’re worn out.”

  “I need you,” she corrected and walked to him. “Make love to me, Slade . . . as if we were just a man and a woman who wanted to be together.” Lifting her arms, she circled his neck. “Can’t we believe that it’s true for just a few hours? Let’s give each other the rest of the morning.”

  He lifted the back of his hand to her cheek in a gesture they both found uncharacteristic. Slade wondered if she knew that his need was as great as hers—to touch, to lose himself in lovemaking. So close, he thought as he ran his knuckles over the line of her cheekbone. He’d come so close to losing her.

  “Your eyes are shadowed.” His voice was rough with emotion. “You should rest.” But his lips were already lowering to seek hers.

  The brush of mouth on mouth—gentle, caring, comforting. Jessica melted against him, overpowered by the tenderness she’d drawn out of him. His hand was still on her face, gliding over her features as if to memorize them. On a sigh, her lips parted, softening under his until he thought he would sink into them.

  They had stood there only the night before, locked in an embrace that had been turbulent with passion, almost brutal with desire. The soothing quality of his kiss was no less arousing.

  The pulse at the base of her throat beat thickly as Slade’s fingertip slid down to it. She needed, he needed. Thinking only of this, he brought his hand to the loose knot of the towel to draw the material from her before he carried her to bed.

  Jessica saw his eyes, dark and intense, sweep over her as she began to unbutton his shirt. Then her fingers were trapped between their bodies, his mouth fixed on hers again. The night before, he’d made her soar; now he made her float. Soft kisses, soft words, both unexpected, rained over her. His fingers combed through her damp hair, spreading it out on the pillow, lingering in its silk as if he would touch each individual strand.

  Her hands were free again and, trembling, they dealt with the last buttons on his shirt. She felt a quiver race after her exploring hands, heard his incoherent murmur as she worked the rest of his clothes from him. Flesh to heated flesh, they began the journey. Rain began to patter against the windows.

  He’d never been a gentle lover—intense, yes, passionate, yes, but never gentle. She unlocked something in him, something giving and tender. No less desperately than the night before, he wanted her, but with the hunger came the sweet calming breath of love. The peaceful emotion guided them both to meet the unspoken needs of the other. Touch me here. Let me taste. Look at me. There was no need for words when hearts and minds were attuned.

  He wandered over the body he already knew so well. In the gray, gloomy light he worshiped her with hands, lips, and eyes. Naked, heavy eyed, skin flushed with desire, Jessica lay quietly as he took his gaze over her with the slow intensity she recognized. She was a willing prisoner in the thick, humming world conceived by pleasure and sensation. The rain grew loud, the room dimmer.

  Lifting a hand to either side of his face, she drew him back to her. With her tongue, she slowly traced the shape of his mouth, then probed inside to drink up all the tastes of him. Flavors musky and sharp seeped into her, deep into her, until she hungered for more. Desire rose to the next plane.

  Not
so gentle now, nor so calmly, they sought each other. Kisses became possessive, caresses urgent. Under the sound of the rain she heard his breath shudder. Under the pressure of her hands, she felt his muscles tighten. The liquefying pleasure that had ruled her became a hot, torrid need, catapulting her beyond the gray, insular room into a place of white light and golden fire.

  Searing, searching, seducing, his mouth veered down her, over her, until her skin was molten. With a strength only recently discovered, she rolled on top of him to complete a crazed journey of her own. They tangled and untangled in a wildly choreographed dance of passion. The light wasn’t white now, but red; the fire flamed blue.

  She heard her name rip from his lips before they crushed down on hers. Whatever madness he spoke was muffled against her in his urgency. Desire spun into delirium as they came together. There was speed and strength and desperation. Faster and faster they climbed while his mouth clung to hers, swallowing her gasps, mixing them with his own.

  Spent, she lay beneath him. His mouth was pressed to her throat, his hands tangled in her hair. The rain drummed against the windows now, hurled by the wind. His body was warm and damp and heavy on hers. A feeling of security drifted over her, followed by a weariness that reached her bones. Slade lifted his head to see her eyes glazed over with fatigue.

  “You’ll sleep now.” It wasn’t a question. He tempered the command with a kiss.

  “You’ll stay?” The words were thick as she fought off sleep long enough to hear his answer.

  “I’ll start the fire.” Rising, Slade walked to the white brick hearth and added paper to the kindling. The long match hissed as he struck it. Crouched, he watched the flames lick, then catch.