Convincing Jamey

by Pappano, Marilyn

  She wanted to feel alive. She wanted to feel powerful. Desirable. Special. She wanted to be a part of him, one with him. She wanted. Needed. Craved.

  She gestured toward the lone board that remained leaning against the wall. “Are you finished?”

  He nodded.

  “Then let’s go inside.”

  He followed her in, hooking the screen door when it closed, locking the dead bolt when he closed the wood door. The first floor was brightly lit, with lights reflecting off the piles of glass in both parlors, illuminating the hall and all the way back to the kitchen. While Jamey waited at the foot of the stairs, she shut them off one at a time, then circled around him and led the way upstairs.

  It was hotter up there—one reason why she spent part of her nights outside. Though she hadn’t admitted it to herself, she suspected the man behind her was another. She was always looking for a glimpse of him, like a schoolgirl with a crush. But tonight she didn’t feel like a schoolgirl. After that kiss—that one single, breath-stealing, exquisite kiss—she felt like a woman, with a woman’s fantasies, a woman’s needs and, in Jamey, a woman’s dream.

  She wasted no time on coy behavior but turned down the hall and straight into her bedroom. A single lamp was burning on the night table—pale pink frosted glass, with glass bead trim around the edge of the round globe. Offering very little softly diffused light, it served as her night-light, so that she never awakened unexpectedly to a dark room. It was perfect for what they were about to do.

  She stopped in front of the dresser and removed her jewelry—simple earrings, an inexpensive silver ring and her watch—while watching Jamey in the mirror. He glanced around the room at the open windows and the sheer pink curtains that fluttered every time the fan turned their way, at the pale pink coverlet and the lace-edged pillows, at the deep rose-hued walls, the lace doilies and the ruffled slipcovers on the overstuffed easy chair. It was all so utterly feminine, but he wasn’t uncomfortable. He didn’t look out of place.

  He approached her, not stopping until he was close behind her. When she started to turn, he held her in place with his hands on her shoulders. When she started to protest, he lifted her hair and silenced her with a kiss just below her ear. She gave a little sigh, or meant to. The sound somehow got lost inside her, trapped by all the feelings his simplest touch aroused.

  She tilted her head to one side, giving him better access to her neck, and let her eyes close. There was so much heat in the room, nearly unbearable, heavy in the night air, radiating from Jamey’s body, from her own. Her skin was damp, her blood hot. Every brief, shallow breath scorched, and every place his mouth touched seemed to steam.

  When he ended the kisses, it took a moment to gather the strength to open her eyes. He was gazing at her in the mirror, just looking. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver through her and stirred a longing as potent as any she’d ever felt. It was sharp-edged and raw, starting deep in her belly and spreading its unsettled, restless energy through her entire body. She took a step back, closing the distance between them, pressing against his chest, his hips, his thighs.

  Murmuring her name, he touched her then, not just his hands resting on her shoulders but undeniably sexual, sensual touches, down her arms, across her stomach, to her breasts. His hands were big, his fingers long and oddly graceful, a creamy deep gold against the pale blue of her shirt. They curved over her breasts in a gentle caress before sliding to the buttons, unfastening each one, pushing the fabric away to cup her bare breasts. Such contrasts, she marveled. He was dark. She was pale. His palms were rough. Her skin was sensitive. His caresses were soft, making her nipples hard.

  He pulled her shirt away, turned her to face him and bent to kiss her, taking her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep inside. His hunger fed her own, making her press closer, wriggling and writhing as if she could become a very part of him. She tugged at his clothing, pulling his shirt halfway up his chest, unbuttoning his jeans, sliding the zipper down, sliding her palm inside.

  Muttering a curse, Jamey withdrew her hand, slid her arms around him and positioned her hands in a clasp at the small of his back, then held her tightly, resting his cheek against her hair. “Not too fast,” he whispered, his voice thick and husky. “We have all night.”

  Rubbing her entire body against his, she insisted, “Fast this time. We have all night for slow.”

  He wrapped his hands in her hair and used the hold to tug her head back so that she was gazing up at him. His face was damp, his skin glowing a warm, rosy gold where the lamplight touched it. “You feel so fragile.”

  “I’m not going to break.”

  His smile was slow and sexy. “I know. I’ve never known anyone so strong....” Releasing her hair, he slid his hands down to her bottom, lifting her hard against his hips, against his arousal, and kissed her once more, hotter, hungrier, more demanding than ever. They covered the distance to the bed, removed their clothing, shoved aside pillows and sank down onto the mattress, coming together quickly. He moved between her legs, seeking, finding, sliding deep inside, filling her, and he took her the way she wanted, fast, needy, damn near desperate, bringing her to completion with a helpless cry, making every muscle in her body go rigid, making her entire body tremble as release washed over her. Only a heartbeat later, he came, too, emptying inside her, sending new little tremors through her.

  Just as she’d wanted, he didn’t stop. He continued to kiss her, caress her, move inside her. Only the wildest, neediest edge of their arousal had been sated. Now they could take it slower. Now she could stroke him, and she did, gliding her hands over his slick skin, exploring taut muscles, feeling quivering nerves, learning new lessons. Though he was lean and powerful, he was as sensitive to gentle caresses as she was. The brush of her fingers over his nipples made him shudder. The rough scrape of her tongue made him swear, and the tender nip of her teeth turned curses into tortured groans. There was a place on his belly where her lightest touch set his skin rippling, and when she glided her hand between their bodies to where they were joined and lower in an intimate caress, he lost his tightly held control. His thrusts came harder, faster, driving her, driving him, beyond thought, beyond reason to pure sensation, pure sweet pain and finally pure sweet pleasure. Pure, sweet satisfaction.

  Oh, yes, she thought as her heart finally slowed its thudding, as her lungs admitted a breath or two of air, as her muscles settled into a lazy quaveriness. The purest, sweetest satisfaction.

  Chapter 7

  Jamey lay on his back, catching his breath. With Karen beside him, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his stomach, he watched the ceiling fan overhead as it and the oscillating fan-across the room did their best to cool the air. Maybe if it were just August heat and humidity, the fans could do a decent job, but the heat in this room had been generated by something far more potent than a Louisiana summer night, something so potent that he didn’t care to examine it too closely. Calling on the first distraction that presented itself, he broke the quiet to bluntly—and belatedly—ask, “Should I have used a condom?”

  The instant the words were out, the instant he felt the tension that streaked through her, he wished he could call them back, wished he could rephrase the question so that his meaning was clear. She had told him several times that she was infertile, and he knew without being told what a sorrow that was. He wasn’t insensitive enough to remind her of it now, not deliberately.

  But before he could say anything else, she blew out her breath in a deep exhalation, then laughed unsteadily. “You’re a little late in asking, aren’t you? Is this how Reid came to be? You waited until it was over to suggest some form of birth control?”

  “There are other reasons for using condoms,” he said with a scowl before giving her hair a playful tug. “For your information, darlin’, we were using birth control. Meghan was on the pill, and I always used condoms. Reid came to be anyway.”

  “Double protection,” she teased. “Were you just cautious, or didn’t you trust her?”
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  He took a moment to consider it. He wished he could choose only one answer—caution—but it wouldn’t be true. He had known Meghan all his life, had dated her, seduced her, married her and had a child with her, but he had never fully trusted her. He had never fully trusted anyone. Life on Serenity Street wasn’t conducive to building trust, to having faith or believing in others...but Karen was determined to change that. For the first time he was beginning to think that she might succeed—at least, with him. “A little of both, I guess.”

  She sobered and scooted back just enough to allow a breath of air between them and so she could see him better. “You know, that means Reid was meant to be here. Only you and Meghan could have created that particular child, and since you weren’t cooperating, fate took over.”

  “Meant to be here,” he repeated, his tone more than a little scornful. “For what? To become what he is?”

  Raising herself on one arm, she fixed her most serious, social-worker gaze on him. “What he is, Jamey, is a young man who has never had anyone to love him, to teach him right from wrong, to encourage, support and protect him. Did you see the way he looked at you tonight when you blamed him for not stopping Ryan? He wants your approval. He wants you to look at him the way a father looks at a son, not with loathing and derision, not with regret for his very existence. He wants you to give him the benefit of the doubt once in a while, to not automatically assume the worst. I have no doubt that he did try to talk Ryan out of coming here tonight, but you just assumed that he was lying about it.”

  He felt uncomfortably guilty—because she was right, damn it—but stubbornly he clung to his hostility. “I saw him standing there watching, doing nothing.”

  “Come on, Jamey,” she chided gently. “You know those guys. You know the mood they were in. If Reid had tried out there on the street to stop them, what would they have done?”

  Unwillingly he recalled that moment before the bastards had left, when Ryan had confronted Reid on the sidewalk, when he had shoved him against the wall, no doubt for his refusal to participate. If he had not only refused but had tried to stop them... He scowled hard at her, hating the answer he was about to give because it made him look—and feel—so damned detestable. “They would have turned on him.”

  “He talked to them before they came, he stood back and didn’t take part, and after they left, he came back to make sure everything was all right. He did all he could, Jamey.” She settled in beside him again. “Reid’s in a tough place right now. I don’t believe he’s like Ryan Morgan and the others, and I don’t think he wants to be like them, but they’re all he’s got. He can’t get away from them until he finds someone to take their place in his life, but he can’t find someone to do that—to accept him, to support him and be a friend to him—until he gets away from them. He’s facing some really difficult choices, some crucial choices. It would probably make a world of difference to him to know that his father would be there to help him with the right one.”

  He wished he could believe that she was right. If she could prove to him that Reid wasn’t like the others, that he was worth saving, if she could show that he was open to some sort of father-son relationship... But she couldn’t provide proof. All she had were her instincts, and they were too optimistic by a mile—didn’t her very presence on Serenity prove that? Her instincts hadn’t lived with eleven years of Reid’s contempt, his defiance and insolence. Her instincts didn’t fully comprehend all the failures between them. “He’s spent his entire life hating me,” he said flatly. “That’s not going to change.”

  “I don’t believe he hates you.”

  He believed it. Their entire relationship consisted of nothing but antagonism, bitterness and resentment, suspicion, distrust and disdain. Meghan had fed Reid hatred for his father along with strained carrots and baby formula. She had taught him little beyond the fact that Jamey was responsible for the misery of their lives, that Jamey had never wanted him, that Jamey was happy to be rid of him.

  To some extent she had taught him the truth. Jamey could have been a better husband. He should have been a better father. It was no wonder Reid had learned to hate him. It was no more than he deserved—no more, he’d thought for a long time, than he’d wanted. He had never wanted a son, had never wanted the obligations, the burdens, the responsibilities of another life. He’d been satisfied with the hostile non-relationship between them...until lately. Lately he worried. He wondered. He had doubts.

  He had Karen to blame for that...or maybe to thank for it. He wasn’t sure which.

  After retrieving a pillow from the floor, he turned on his side to face her. She was a lovely woman, all pale skin and fiery red hair—and the color was her own, he now knew. The first time he’d seen her, he had been foolish enough to dismiss her as not his type, but at the moment he couldn’t remember why. What was so great about legs a mile long, short dark hair and large breasts? Who wanted athletic and hard-muscled when he could have deceptively delicate? Who needed other women when he could have this woman?

  At least for a time. Until Serenity defeated her. Until the Morgans and the Marinos and the Falcones and the Donovans—and yes, the O’Sheas—succeeded in driving her away. Until she left for some other place that wasn’t so hard on the spirit, that didn’t take such a toll on the soul. Until she left him alone.

  That just might be one more loss than his spirit and soul were willing to bear.

  Raising one hand to his face, she brushed her fingers lightly across his jaw. “In answer to your earlier question, birth control isn’t an issue for me, as you already know. As for those other reasons for using condoms, they’re not an issue, either. My only other sexual relationship was monogamous. There was never anyone but Evan, and I believe he was faithful to me.”

  Of course he was, Jamey thought with more than a little jealousy. Evan had been perfect, and what kind of perfect hero husband would be unfaithful to his wife?

  “All of my relationships have been monogamous,” he said, keeping his voice carefully empty of envy. “I always took precautions, and there hasn’t been anyone in a long time.”

  “who?”

  “I was waiting for you.”

  She smiled swiftly at his flippant answer, then repeated her question. “Seriously, why hasn’t there been anyone?”

  He slid his hand over her hip to her waist, then to her breast, watching as his fingertips closed around her nipple, watching as the soft rosy flesh immediately began to harden. “When you live on Serenity Street, you lose a lot of people. After a while, the losing can be worse than the having. It becomes easier to be alone.”

  “No,” she softly disagreed. “I’ve been alone for six years, and there’s nothing easy about it.”

  Which helped explain why she was here with him. He dealt with his losses by staying alone. She dealt with hers by settling for less.

  He’d known all his life that in the ways that counted, he was less than men like Evan Montez, Smith Kendricks and virtually everyone else she knew, and it had never bothered him. He’d never had much ambition, had never cared much about respectability or money or success. He had never wanted things he couldn’t have.

  Until now.

  Reaching behind him, he found the brass key that turned off the lamp, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s late,” he said quietly. “Get some sleep.”

  She pulled away long enough to find her own pillow, then kissed his cheek and snuggled in close. “Good night, Jamey.”

  Though she fell asleep almost immediately, he lay awake a long time, listening to her even breathing, to the settling of the old house and the street. There was no party in the park tonight. Maybe trashing Karen’s place had fulfilled Morgan’s need for destruction. Maybe, with his girlfriend angry with him and being angry himself with Reid, he hadn’t been in the mood for the usual gathering. Maybe, if the world was lucky, God had struck him dead somewhere.

  Restless and edgy, after a time he gently pulled away from Karen and left the bed. He t
ugged on his jeans, then wandered through the dark house to the living room across the hall, to the big bay window that overlooked the street. Music came from somewhere, not too loud, distant and lonely. The blues. Perfect for his mood.

  He never should have made love with Karen, never should have kissed her, never should have befriended her. He never even should have looked at her long enough to decide whether he might lust after her. She didn’t belong with him any more than she belonged on Serenity.

  He had once boasted that he’d never had a regret he couldn’t live with, but that was no longer true. Reid was a major regret. Karen threatened to be the biggest regret of his life.

  A glint of moonlight drew his attention to the opposite side of the street, to the old house that stood next to the bar. It had been empty for twenty years and was as ramshackle a structure as any he’d ever seen. Even the kids stayed away from it, well aware of the danger represented by its precarious state. With every storm that swept down Serenity, the residents expected to look out and find that the place had collapsed, but so far it had surprised everyone.

  But it wasn’t the house that interested him tonight. It was Reid, sitting on the steps, his head down, his shoulders bowed, as if his burdens were just too great to bear. Maybe he’d just needed a quiet place to think. Maybe after the scuffle with Morgan, he hadn’t wanted to go home or felt he couldn’t go home. Maybe he had no place else to go.

  Reid had some crucial decisions to make, Karen had said, and she was probably right about that, but not the rest. Jamey couldn’t help him make them. His only influence on Reid had always been negative. Hell, he didn’t even know how to talk to the kid without making things worse. He didn’t know how to treat him, how to react to him.

  He didn’t know how to get past his own guilt.

  He stood there a long time before, eyes gritty, bone tired and soul weary, he returned to the bedroom. Being careful not to disturb Karen, he shucked his jeans, then slid into bed beside her, moving to lie close behind her. It shouldn’t take him long to go to sleep this time, because he felt every single one of his years.