by Beverly Bird
She didn’t touch the doorknob this time. She laid her palm flush upon the door and gently eased it open.
How could he know she was there? That amazed her, frightened her. Because somehow he knew. Though the door hadn’t made a sound, she heard the rattle of the little rings at the top of the shower curtain, and it parted. She thought wildly that every one of her senses, every sound, now seemed so magnified and intense. The steam from the shower wafted out to her, clinging to her hair, dewing on her skin.
She took a few hesitant steps into the bathroom, then she stood rooted.
His face went through a thousand transformations in the space of a heartbeat. There was surprise, concern and something that looked almost like panic. Then his eyes heated, and she melted at his look.
“Come on in.”
“I...” It was useless. Her voice was gone, trapped somewhere beneath her heart. And her heart was filling her throat now, beating wildly. Her hands fumbled clumsily for the hem of her T-shirt
What if she couldn’t? What if she was awful? What if—
She gasped and jumped when his hand flashed out and caught hers. “Leave it,” he said hoarsely.
“But—”
“Come on in,” he repeated, then he pulled on her hand.
Angela stumbled the remaining distance to the shower enclosure. And then he smiled. It was a grin that made his dimples come out—the dimples that should have made him look angelic, but now he had the devil’s own glow in his eyes. Her pulse went wild.
When she didn’t step into the shower, he reached out with both arms and lifted her. She cried out again and expected him to freeze when she did, wishing desperately that she could somehow choke the sound back again. But he didn’t freeze. Somehow, incredibly, he recognized the sound as one of pure surprise this time, nothing more troubling than that.
The water pelted down on them. It made it almost impossible for her to remain tense. The heat of it melted her. It drenched her shorts, her T-shirt, made them cling to her skin as she stared up into his face.
“If I can’t—” she began.
His hands left her waist and tunneled into her hair on either side of her head. He held her, watching her eyes. She was acutely, agonizingly aware of his nakedness. Her pulse slammed, but she was afraid to look down.
“Then just tell me,” he said quietly. “We’ll stop.” It would probably kill him, he figured, but he would. Somehow he would.
“You asked...about before,” she croaked. “I’ve tried. Something always dies inside.”
“We’ll find out.”
He lowered his mouth very slowly to hers, keeping his eyes open, watching her. And it was the way it had been in the parking lot, but his lips were wet and warm. And somehow she relaxed even more, her spine easing back to meet the tiles. Her arms went around him briefly, her hands sliding over his back, skittishly, experimentally. Then she brought a palm back to rest it flush against his chest. Not to push him away, to stay there, just in case.
She could push him away if she wanted to. She knew that, and so did he, and it made her feel safe. But she didn’t want to, because she didn’t want to hurt him. And that made everything tangle up inside her all over again.
His mouth was doing incredible things to hers. His tongue coaxed and teased. She thought she felt him tremble beneath her hand. With restraint.
What was she doing to him? This was just as bad as asking him to stay the night. It was worse. He could have any woman he wanted, one who was warm, giving, practiced and generous. And she had so little to give.
She needed to stop this after all, but it was so hard to think. His tongue caught hers. It touched, slid away, found her teeth, came back again. She gave a little cry and moved her arms around his neck, holding on.
His mouth left hers. It slid over her cheek, to her temple, and she looked at him, surprised that he had stopped kissing her. His eyes were closed again. His teeth found her earlobe. She gasped again and she felt as light as air. His touch was easy, almost a whisper, but forceful enough to be a promise.
She held on to him, feeling something incredible in the pit of her stomach beginning to coil. But no doors. Nothing screamed, slamming closed, barring her heart and soul.
One of his hands left the side of her face to gather her hair together from behind. “There’s something I want to do,” he murmured. “I want to see you tilt your head back. I want your throat to arch. I want to see you yield.”
A tremor rocked through her. Pure terror. And flash of fire.
“Do you remember what I told you earlier?”
She nodded convulsively. I want to touch you everywhere he did. The same places, the same skin. I want to somehow erase it for you...the pain, the evil, and lay down different memories in each place instead.
“That’s the only reason,” he said softly. “The only one at all.”
He tugged gently on her hair. She let him. His mouth came back to hers, and this time his kiss was harder, hungrier, more demanding. His tongue swept rather than slid. She met it, feeling desperate, and then he groaned.
His mouth left hers again and moved to her exposed throat. And she tilted her head back even more, of her own accord this time, making it easy for him. Heat arced through her from the point of contact, from the easy slide of his lips over her skin.
He caught her around the waist again, holding her with both hands so she wouldn’t slide into the tub. And his mouth moved lower, to her collarbone. He found the hem of her sodden T-shirt and pulled down on it, stretching it. Her pulse scrambled where the base of her throat was revealed. He kissed that spot, as well.
“Did he touch you there?”
She moaned something inarticulate. He hadn’t. No one had ever touched her like this.
“One down,” he murmured. “More to go.”
He let go of the hem and slid his hands up beneath her shirt this time, over her skin, peeling the fabric slowly away where it clung to her. He moved his fingers over every rib in turn, tracing one, then another, until she shuddered.
“There, too?” he asked.
“Yes.” she breathed.
“And here?”
His palm slid up to the side of her breast, barely grazing it. She couldn’t answer. He felt her tremble. It was answer enough.
Cover me. Touch all of me. Please. What if she had driven him so far away that he didn’t dare? She kept her eyes closed and willed his hand to move, to touch her fully, because she couldn’t find the words to ask him aloud.
His palm kept sliding until her breast filled it. Then he waited, just cupping her, letting her feel it, get used to it, revel in it.
“And here?” he crooned. His thumb brushed gently across her nipple. It sprang up to greet him, then her knees buckled.
She drove her fingers into his hair, holding on. She was beyond thought, beyond caring. He moved, catching her weight, bending his head to touch his mouth to her breast. He did it through the clinging cotton of her shirt, his hand still underneath, and it wasn’t enough. She wanted his tongue on her sensitive flesh, wanted nothing between her skin and his mouth.
“Please,” she groaned. He seemed to understand. The pressure of his mouth changed, drawing her in, cotton and all, then he finally pushed her shirt up and away. “Oh, don’t stop,” she whispered.
His mouth trailed to her other breast. She gave herself up to sensation. His hands stroked, soothed, made everything inside her hum. She lost track of time, of everything but his mouth and the delicious, almost-rough texture of his tongue. He demanded nothing in return. And some part of her felt that that was wrong, but she was beyond doing anything about it.
His mouth left her breasts and roamed lower. The water began to cool, but inside she was heated. She moaned and dug her fingers into his shoulders.
His tongue dipped into her navel. Again, and again. She felt his fingers at her waist, sliding over her skin beneath her shorts. He pulled at the drawstring. His mouth moved along the loosened fabric. And that was the only time she really t
hought of Charlie, because nothing inside her had shut down and she knew then that it wasn’t going to.
She needed to touch Jesse, as well, but it was impossible now. All she could do was grope for him. He reached up and caught her wrists, holding her hands still when she tried. His mouth closed over her through her shorts, through her panties, and she cried out again, her back arching through no conscious will of her own. Her head hit the shower wall. She didn’t feel it. Her knees bent.
“And here?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she pleaded. “More.”
The request almost killed him. He let her wrist go to find her shorts again, easing them down.
She would have fallen if his weight hadn’t been bracing her. He moved cotton and lace, but slowly, so slowly that it was both agony and hope. And because she could still stop him, she didn’t want to.
“Okay?” she heard him ask.
“O...kay,” she thought she answered.
And then his mouth was back with no clothing barring its touch, and incredibly it was almost a comfort at first, just pressure and warmth. The intense intimacy of it was more sweet than thunderous and needy until his hands slid up her thighs, parting them, touching her, and then everything changed inside her.
She had thought she was melting, but she was burning, on fire. She was not the candle, but the flame. Something inside her was becoming almost violent. It swirled and tightened, and when she felt his tongue again, a voice that she couldn’t even recognize as her own burst from her throat.
It was his name, and Jesse realized that that was really all he needed.
Everything ached inside her, but it was a new pain, a delicious one of wanting. She didn’t know what she was doing or where she was. There was only this amazing sensation growing stronger and bigger inside her until she did not think she could stand it and would die if it stopped. His tongue left and she felt his fingers slide inside her, stroking, drawing the heat inside down toward them. Then it erupted, rocking through her.
This time he didn’t hold her up. He caught her as her back slid down the shower wall, easing his weight on top of her as her legs folded. His mouth caught hers again, cleaving there, his tongue sweeping deep as the last of the tremors spasmed through her.
“I really wanted to hate you,” she confessed shakily. “But you turned out to be so perfect.”
Jesse grinned over her shoulder where she couldn’t see it. “Hey, I’m a Hadley.”
What he didn’t tell her was that for a while there, he’d been even more terrified than she was.
Chapter 17
A pounding on the hall door finally roused them.
Angela was startled and she slipped and slid as she tried to get to her feet again too fast. Jesse slid an arm around her waist to help her. He reached to turn the shower off.
It took her a long moment to realize that although he seemed outwardly calm, he wasn’t. His movements were tense. As he helped her from the tub, she brought her hand to his chest, and his flesh was as hard and solid as rock beneath her touch.
Her head cleared “It’s Melanie! We locked her out all night!”
“No,” he said tensely, “it’s not Melanie. She doesn’t have a fist like a jackhammer.”
He grabbed a thick terry robe from a hanger on the back of the bathroom door. There was no time to appreciate his body now, either. Much too late, she remembered his nakedness, and her pulse skittered and her breath caught all over again, but then he shrugged into the robe.
“Stay here,” he said shortly.
Angela tugged her sodden clothing back into place and raced after him. She reached the living room just as he wrenched open the door.
Gunner. Angela gave a glad cry and ran to him.
Jesse moved aside. Something unseen and unexpected grabbed his throat. In a moment, he felt supplanted. Unwanted, unneeded. The invisible fingers at his throat grew hot. It took him another heartbeat, another breath, to realize that what he was feeling was jealousy.
It was another emotion he had never experienced before in his life. He had never lacked for anything. He had never been unable to achieve anything—female or otherwise—that he had set his sights upon having. But now Angela had her arms wrapped tightly enough around John Gunner’s neck to cut off his breath. There was not a sign of her reluctance to be touched, of the trembling fear and awe he had felt in her just moments ago. The man—his brother-in-law, for God’s sake!—actually lifted her off her feet in a bear hug. And Jesse had the most incredible, unbelievable urge to plant his fist in Gunner’s jaw, for both his own sake and his sister’s.
Tessa came in behind Gunner. Her face showed no appreciable change when she saw their embrace. Jesse felt as though the whole world had suddenly gone mad.
“What the hell are you two doing here?” Jesse growled.
Gunner looked at him over Angela’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, too,” he said dryly. And then, by degrees, his jaw fell slowly open.
He set Angela carefully away from him. He really looked at her. He took in her dripping hair, her sodden clothing, and his gaze went back to Jesse. Who was wearing a bathrobe. He gave a disbelieving, unintelligible sound of rage.
Tessa’s expression still hadn’t changed, but she took a hasty step backward. “John,” she said a little breathlessly, “perhaps we should go back downstairs for a cup of coffee.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Gunner snarled.
Tessa’s voice took on a little more spunk. “John, let’s go.”
“Perhaps we should go downstairs for a cup of coffee,” Angela echoed. She looked at Gunner and his new wife, then she looked at Jesse. And suddenly, with all the stress of the past several days, it was just too much. She laughed. Hard. She went back to the sofa and flopped down. “When the rest of us were getting flash cards with our ABCs, were you two being flashed with awkward situations?” She hooted. “Now, Jesse, what would a Hadley do if...” She was laughing too much to continue.
Jesse managed a faint smile. Tessa actually grinned. “Oh, it was worse than that,” she said.
Only Gunner wasn’t smiling. “You’re getting the sofa wet.”
Angela laughed harder. She couldn’t get her breath.
“You’re hysterical,” Gunner accused. “What’s happened to you? You’re out of your mind.”
Trying for control, Angela shook her head. “No. Yesterday I was hysterical—or on the verge of hysteria anyway. Today I am very, very fine.”
Jesse acted suddenly, with no conscious deliberation whatsoever. He went to the sofa and sat beside her. He slung an arm over the cushions at her back, not quite touching her, ready to do so if the situation warranted it.
Staking his claim.
Only after he was sitting did he stop to consider that male animals the world over probably did the same thing day in and day out. Marking their territory, keeping their female in and the other guy out. It made him feel foolish, especially given that the other guy was supposed to be newly married to his sister, but he didn’t stand again. He glared at Gunner, steady and coldly.
“Let’s start with the obvious,” he said challengingly. “You’re not in Australia.”
Tessa moved to the phone. “It was a killer flight. I really do want coffee. How about if we order some up here?”
Angela’s laughter had subsided to hiccups. She looked at Jesse, then back at Gunner, and tried to understand the tension she suddenly felt in the room. Gunner’s reaction, at least, made some sense. He was no doubt stunned to find her like this. She looked down at herself. It was definitely a precedent.
“I...uh, I’ll go change.”
“Great idea,” Gunner snapped. But Angela felt Jesse’s hand touch her shoulder briefly, as though to hold her. Then it fell away reluctantly.
“We came back early,” Gunner said, after she’d left the room.
“Obviously,” Jesse said with mild aggression. “What I’m having a problem with is the fact that you’re in this particular room. Ho
w did you know where to find us?”
“Four cups?” Tessa asked brightly from the phone. “No, no, we’ll need more than that.”
“Roger called us,” Gunner answered.
Anger tightened Jesse’s stomach. In retrospect, he realized that Kennery had acquiesced too easily yesterday.
“This was supposed to be kept under wraps,” he retorted.
“It is. Except six people know now instead of four.”
“Between Homicide and my investigators, we have everything under control.”
Gunner gave a sound of disgust. “With all due respect, your investigators couldn’t find a gift under a Christmas tree if their names were on it.”
Jesse shot to his feet again. “They’re working on it,” he snapped. “They’re leaning on Carper to try to find out who paid him to write that slanted piece about the rape. And they’ve turned copies of everything they’ve got over to Homicide—”
“Oh, now, there’s progress,” Gunner interrupted harshly.
Tessa hung up and moved quickly between them. “Come on, both of you. Jesse, you know he’s right. Your investigators are out of their depth on something like this. Lisette was killed. We owe it to her to find her killer in the most expeditious way possible.”
Gunner went on angrily as though she hadn’t spoken. “Homicide does the dirty work! Your guys fill in the cracks. That’s all they’re trained to do! They’re lawyers, for God’s sake. They’re not cops!”
“Hey, watch yourself there,” Angela said mildly.
Gunner blinked and looked around as though coming out of a bad dream. She had returned to stand in the bedroom doorway. “I guess I put my foot in my mouth, huh?”
“You might say that,” his wife agreed. She, too, had gone to law school.
“Well, at least you have the good sense to realize it.” But Angela’s voice was strained now. Reality was crashing back in. The tension in the room was beginning to get to her, to erase her lingering euphoria.
There was another knock at the door. Angela jumped, but Tessa went to collect the coffee. Jesse took a cup from his sister and raked his free hand through his wet, disheveled hair.