by Jo Goodman
"I'm not your father, Rennie."
"I know." She fastened the last button of her nightshirt, closing it at the throat while Jarret covered her. "I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant," he said gruffly. Jarret blew out the lantern and set it outside. He closed and tied the flaps, then rearranged his own bedding. Between them they shared her heavy fur coat and his sheepskin-lined jacket.
They lay facing one another, neither moving, hardly breathing. They could feel each other's stiffness and discomfort, but they didn't know how to alter it. Jarret would have never reached for Rennie without her permission, and Rennie did not know how to ask to be cradled.
"How did you find me?" she asked at last.
"Jolene told me you left." His voice was soothing, a husky whisper that eased the tension between them. "I had to come after you."
"I didn't plan it that way," she said. "I never thought you would follow."
"I know."
She shuddered a little and quite naturally moved closer to Jarret. Her knees bumped his. Self-conscious now, she started to scoot away.
"No," he said. "It's all right. You can stay where you are. You're shivering."
Rennie relaxed slowly, warmed as much by his voice as his nearness. Tears dripped slowly from the corners of her eyes. "I act foolishly sometimes." She spoke so softly it was almost as if she had only mouthed the words. "But I'm not a fool, Mr. Sullivan."
Because she couldn't see him, he smiled. "You called me Jarret before," he said. "And I've never thought you were a fool."
She shook her head, not believing him. "It's kind of you to say so."
"I'm not particularly kind, Rennie, you should know that. I'm not saying it to spare your feelings. You did act recklessly tonight, but I don't confuse that with you being a fool." And, in part, he blamed himself for not appreciating the depth of desperation that was her motivation. If he had understood that, he could have predicted what she would do next. Her experience with Tom Brighton and Clarence Vestry could have been prevented. "I know now what it means for you to find your father, what you'll risk to make that happen. I should have realized it earlier."
For a moment she was hopeful. "Then, you'll help me?"
"I didn't say that," he told her. He felt, rather than saw, her disappointment. "We'll talk about it later. You should sleep now. Are you warm enough?"
"Mostly."
"In this weather that's not good enough. You can come closer if you want."
"I don't—"
"I won't hurt you, Rennie."
"You didn't have to say that." She hastily swiped at her tears and rubbed the salty traces from her cheeks. "You may be the only man I can trust."
He would have liked to ask her about Hollis Banks, but it wasn't the time. She followed her enigmatic statement with turning on her side away from him and fitting the contours of her body warmly to his. She stiffened briefly when his arm curved around her waist, but when he started to remove it, she grasped his wrist and held it there. Her fingers knotted with his. In minutes she was asleep.
* * *
It was the sound of an animal in pain that woke Jarret. Outside the tent the horses pawed the ground restlessly. He fumbled for his gun, found it, and waited for the cry to be repeated. He did not have to think about what he would do. A half-crazed animal might not shy away from the fire. It could attack the horses or the tent. The only sure way to end its suffering was to end its life and Jarret was prepared to do that.
Until he realized the animal was human.
Jarret laid his gun aside as Rennie screamed again. The night terrors had shrunk her body into a tight, guarded ball under the blankets. Her knees were drawn close to her chest, protected further by the arms that clasped them. Her head was bent. The entire length of her neck and spine was a rigid curve.
He did not ask for her permission now. He reached for her, circling with his arms, hauling her against him in an embrace that was more powerful than tender, more securing than security. He held her, rocking, even after his right arm went numb from shoulder to fingertips. The feeling returned intermittently, much as it did for Rennie as she woke and confronted the horror and pain, then retreated into an insular void.
She gasped for air as her body shuddered with great wracking sobs. Tears flooded her eyes and spiked her lashes. Her fingers curled in the material of Jarret's shirt, gripping it as she might a lifeline. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder. Crying came from deep within her, from a broken spirit and wounded soul.
He stroked her hair with fingers that could not always feel it. His chin rested against the crown of her head. He repeated her name, calling her Rennie at first, then Mary Renee as he suspected her family might at such a time. In some manner he reached her. She whimpered, snuffled. He drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and thrust it in her hand. She didn't seem to know what to do with it at first.
"Instead of my shirt," he said.
The words washed over her. It took her a moment to absorb them. She became aware of the way she was huddled against him, curved so tightly to his body that she might well have been part of him. Embarrassed, she began to ease herself away.
"No," he said. "You're fine. Take the handkerchief and wipe your face."
Her fingers unwound stiffly as she released his shirt. Rennie dabbed at her eyes and gently blew her nose.
"Blow," he said. "Like you mean it."
Her eyes filled again. It was his peculiar, rough-edged kindness that undid her. Her unseen smile trembled as she lifted the handkerchief and blew for all she was worth.
His chest heaved once in a silent chuckle as she started to return it. "No, you keep it." Then, because he was not certain that he liked the fact that she could still make him laugh, he said, "There's still a lot of night in front of us. You might need it again."
The thought that the nightmare might be repeated caused Rennie to tense. "I won't sleep, then."
He wished he had said nothing. "You're not disturbing me," he said when she tried to slip off his lap. "Unless you're not comfortable."
She stayed where she was. "No, I'm fine. I thought you must want to get rid of me."
All the time, he thought, but for reasons that were no longer so clear in his mind. "No, I don't mind holding you."
She nodded, comforted. She reached for her coat and draped it around her shoulders so that they both could share the warmth. "I was dreaming about those men," she said.
"I thought it might be that."
"I wish I had killed them."
He said nothing, stroking her hair from her shoulder to the base of her spine, encouraged by the tension seeping out of her.
"I had a gun."
"I know. A Smith and Wesson pocket revolver. I found it."
"I would have used it."
"I know that, too."
She laid her cheek against his shoulder. Her breath was warm on his neck. "Do you regret killing them?"
"There's never any pleasure in killing," he said. "But them... I came close. No, I don't regret it... and I'm glad it wasn't you." Jarret shifted his weight and Rennie's. "Let's lie down. You never know, you might sleep." And he had been getting a little stiff—in all the wrong places. He thought he had managed to move her before she felt the swell of his groin.
Even inside a pair a thick woolen socks, Rennie's toes were cold. She rubbed her feet against Jarret's legs as he stretched out beside her. She was too intent on finding a comfortable position for herself to hear his sharp intake of breath.
"Comfortable?" he asked, gritting his teeth as she settled down. He swore; she purred. It wasn't enough that she used his leg like a scratching post, snuggled against him with feline grace, or watched him with emerald cat eyes. She had to purr, too. "Try to get some sleep."
Minutes passed where neither of them closed their eyes or thought about sleeping.
"Rennie? What's wrong? You're wider awake now than you were a while ago."
She was, but she didn't know how he knew t
hat. She'd been careful not to move, to breathe evenly, to lie relaxed beside him. "I can still feel their hands on me," she whispered.
Jarret didn't know what to say. If he could have absorbed her pain, he would have.
"I washed myself. You know, scrubbed. It doesn't matter. I can still feel the pressure of their fingers, their mouths."
"What can I do?"
"Take it away."
He shook his head. "I can't do that, Rennie. I wouldn't know how."
"Then replace it."
"What?" He could barely breathe.
"Replace it," she said. "Put your hands where theirs were, your mouth where they touched me."
"You don't know what you're saying." Or asking, he thought. If he touched her in the way she suggested, it wouldn't end there. "What about Hollis Banks?" he asked.
"Hollis isn't here," she said bluntly. "You are."
"That's selfish, Rennie. Even for you it's selfish."
His observation stung. The truth of it cut deeper. "I can never seem to do the right thing around you," she said.
"Go to sleep," he told her. "Right now that would be the right thing."
* * *
The scent of her was like that of a heady wine. It tantalized and promised. The fragrance of musk and lavender lingered, mingled. Her lips were soft, pliant and mobile beneath his mouth, returning his kisses and searching pleasure on her own. He traced the ridge of her teeth with his tongue. Her mouth opened. If there were a taste for yearning and hunger, then he tasted them now.
Her hands cradled his head, holding him to her. Her fingers wound in his hair. She explored with her lips, teeth, and tongue, making forays across his jaw, his cheeks, the cord of his neck. What she felt inside herself now was powerful, a desiring that pushed her beyond the boundaries of reason. Having him consumed her; the consummation was everything.
The force of her own emotion woke her. Rennie gasped, trembling in the wake of her dream. Jarret was asleep beside her. One of his hands lay across her breast, cupping it through the material of her nightshirt. Her flesh felt oddly swollen beneath his palm; the nipple was distended. She drew up her knees slowly, uncomfortable with the vague sense of aching between her thighs and the sudden conscious thought of an emptiness there. There was a peculiar, fading tension in her muscles, a prickling, not unpleasant sensation that she felt skittering just below her skin.
What had just happened to her?
"Jarret?"
He didn't stir. "Hmm?"
She turned toward him. His thumb grazed her nipple as his hand slid away. An unfamiliar coil of heat radiated sparks from her breast to her womb. Rennie moved closer and raised one leg across his. She pressed her pelvis against his hip. The ache inside her was numbed for a moment. She exhaled softly, her breathing a sigh. Then the need for something more returned with a vengeance until it was almost a physical pain.
Rennie raised her face toward Jarret's, rubbing against him as she moved. Her lips grazed his mouth. Her thigh grazed his sex.
She had Jarret's complete attention now. His eyes opened wide, then closed again, surrendering as her mouth moved over his. His hands cupped either side of her face and stilled her, drawing her back so that she was only touching him with her breath. His voice was husky, whiskey laid over velvet. "Is this what you really want?"
She didn't know what she wanted, but she understood that he did. She was willing to let him teach her. "It must be," she said. "I ache when I'm not touching you."
His resolve collapsed with her softly spoken admission. "Do it, then," he whispered against her mouth. "Touch me."
Jarret found her kiss familiar in an odd sort of way, as if the taste of her was already on the tip of his tongue and he was reacquainting himself with the texture and tang. Her mouth moved over his, nibbling at his lower lip, sweeping her tongue on the sensitive underside of his upper. He tried to catch her lip in his teeth, but she dodged him, spreading hungry, tormenting kisses across his brow and temples.
The blankets tangled between them but they were a minor nuisance compared to his shirt. He laid his hands over Rennie's fingers as she tugged at the buttons. "I'll do it," he said.
Her lips brushed his knuckles as his hands worked. She helped him pull the tails of his shirt free of his jeans. Her palms learned the shape of his chest, the tension of his flesh, and curve of his rib cage. The tips of her nails skimmed his tautly ridged abdomen. His ragged, indrawn breath caught her by surprise. She touched him again, lightly, and felt his hard belly contract under her fingers in anticipation of her touch.
Jarret's hand closed around her wrist, stopping her as her fingers edged just below his jeans. He hauled her upward so that he could have her mouth again. She gave it to him obligingly, engaging his tongue and lips in sweet battle.
Cupping her buttocks in his palms, Jarret pressed the cradle of her thighs against the hard ridge in his jeans. His intimate kiss mimicked the grinding of her hips on his. He turned Rennie so that she was lying mostly under him. His hands pushed her nightshirt higher. He swallowed her gasp as his hands caressed her breasts.
He buried his face in her neck. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked. He felt, rather than heard, her denial. He traced the line of her neck with his tongue and placed a hard, biting kiss in the arched curve of her throat.
His thumbs worried her tautly swelling breasts and pebble-hard nipples. He abandoned them only long enough to slide his palms along her ribs and the tapering curve of her waist. She moved restlessly under him, imprinting his back with the press of her fingertips. Her thighs parted and when his hand dipped lower, past her flaring hips, and his fingers nested in the soft mound between her thighs, he discovered she was warm and wet and ready for him.
And not ready.
Her entire body stiffened at the questing, sexual caress of his hand. He did not move it away, but his fingers no longer moved. "Rennie? I can still stop."
She could hardly hear her own voice. She willed him to understand. "Do you have to touch me there?"
"No, not now," he said, laying his forehead against hers. Their noses bumped. He kissed her with bruising, carnal frankness, and when it was over his hand rested lightly on her hip. "You tell me where," he said. "Tell me where you want to be touched."
For a moment she couldn't say anything. She could only make out the shadowed profile of his face in the darkness. It was both menacing and erotic. She raised one hand and found his cheek, caressed it, her breath catching when he turned his mouth toward the heart of her palm and nipped the fleshy ball of her thumb with his teeth.
"Like that?" he asked, imagining her siren's smile in the darkness.
She took the hand that was on her hip and drew it to her breast. "And here," she said. It was not only his hand she wanted there, but also his mouth, and he seemed to know what she could not ask for. His breath was hot on her skin, his mouth hotter. She felt the tug of it, the wet and warm suck as his lips closed over her flesh. It was just not in her breast that she felt it, but deeper, deeper than her thrumming heart, or the fiery run of blood in her veins. Sensation ran under her skin along the length of her nerves and made her feel a hot, aching void between her thighs.
She almost asked him to touch her there again, but he had moved his attentions to her other breast. Her mind and her voice could not give rise to a complete thought. Rennie's fingers tangled in his soft hair. She stroked the back of his neck.
Nothing he did to her was like anything that had been done to her before, yet the caress of his hands on her body was tantalizingly familiar. She remembered the dream that had sent her into his arms—the second one—and she wondered if she were merely dreaming again, wondered if his touch was a continuation of something not of substance, but of wanting.
The edge of his tongue tracing a line from the center of her breasts to her belly was pleasantly rough. His exploration of her navel tickled.
"It does?" he asked when she told him. "Prove it."
He thought his heart might outrace him as s
he turned the tables, or that he would melt, or simply come out of his skin. He allowed her to lever him onto his back and raise herself over him. She breathed excitement into his chest with her mouth, flicking his flat nipples with the tip of her tongue, raising them as he had raised hers. She slid over him while his fingers sifted through her silky waterfall of dark red hair. Rennie's mouth worked its way down his flat belly and nipped the skin just around his navel.
"That didn't tickle," he said.
She kissed him there. "I must have done something wrong."
Jarret reached under Rennie's shoulders and drew her up so that she lay flush to his body, her head even with his. Her nightshirt slipped over her breasts. His jeans were rough on her naked legs. "Rennie." He said her name quietly, seriously, his voice edged with suppressed passion. "You know what comes next. If you want me to stop, say it now."
"I don't want you to stop."
"I hope you mean it," he whispered against her mouth. He kissed her, turning her on her back. His hand slipped between their bodies. His knuckles brushed her thighs as he unfastened his fly and drew himself out. She raised her knees slightly when he moved between her legs. She quivered beneath him; her breath rasped at the back of her throat. "Wrap your legs around me," he told her. His fingers curved under her buttocks, raising her.
Rennie wanted him. She did. But at his entry she tried to get away, bucking, and forced a deeper thrust. Jarret stilled, holding himself steady within her. He felt her close around him as she tried to expel his body. The grip of her velvet walls was an agony of pleasure. He lowered himself over her and rested his weight on his forearms. His mouth nudged hers.
"You should have told me you were a virgin," he said.
"I thought you knew." She could feel her body stretching to accommodate him. "Those men... they didn't..."
"Shh," he whispered. Her tentative movement ceased. "I know what happened tonight. I thought in the past nine months that Hollis—" He settled himself more fully against her, driving a little deeper. "That you and Hollis would have..."
She moved again, this time to accept him. "No... we never... I—"
Jarret cut her off, slanting his mouth across hers. His hips rose, fell. He felt the tightening of her legs along his flanks. On the next thrust she rose with him.