“Then don’t you think you should be working on it instead of trying to boss me around? That’s a waste of time anyway, and you know it.”
Glaring at him, Tate slammed his much-abused hat on his head, shot him an obscene gesture, and then took the stairs at a lope. “Be where I can reach you tonight, Jazz. We got more to talk about.”
Chapter Eight
Anne-Marie arched back, so utterly weary. She hadn’t been this tired even back during her internship. Talk about emotional stress…
Shifting her shoulders, she tried to find a more comfortable position in the hospital chair from hell. On the bed, Desmond slept on, healing slowly, but surely. Four days out of surgery and he was doing well. They took him off the ventilator two days ago and he was breathing on his own.
In a few more days, they would transfer him out of CCU and onto a regular floor.
She didn’t like his color, though. Gray and thin, he was finally starting to show his years. His head was shaved along the right side of his scalp, the four-inch long tear covered by a bandage and iodine. The rest of his hair was limp, filthy. As soon as he woke up, she was going to get him a bath.
Of course, knowing him, she’d do better to have a few pretty young candy stripers do it. With a sad smile, she decided if he would only wake up, he could have those candy stripers by his side doing a striptease, even if she had to get one from a strip joint in Lexington.
Since those first few times he had opened his eyes to acknowledge her, he had done nothing more than sleep. Granted, he was sleeping a healing sleep, one he needed desperately.
When the door opened, she turned her head and met Jazz’s eyes. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I hate to have to do this, but you are under arrest,” he told her, slowly pulling her body up out of the chair.
Rolling her head back against his shoulder, she smiled up at him. “I am? What for?”
“Failure to take proper care of yourself. You’ve been sentenced to spend the night at the hotel down the street to get some rest, a decent meal.”
“I don’t want to leave—”
“I know that. But that is what you are doing. Because the doc would want you to take care of yourself. It’s not going to help him any if he wakes up and finds out you’re in the bed next to him.”
“But—”
“No buts, Dr. Kincaid. You’re getting a good night’s sleep in a real bed.” Pivoting her in his arms, he cupped her face and raised it to his. Brushing her lips with a gentle kiss, he whispered, “You do the crime, you do the time. And your time is a real meal, followed by some decent sleep.”
“You’re not a cop, or a sheriff. Isn’t it illegal to impersonate one?” she asked, tipping her head back as he trailed a line of kisses down her jaw line.
“I’ve got a badge right here in my pocket. You wanna see?” he teased, nudging his hips against her middle.
“Mmmm. Okay. I’d hate to have resisting arrest on my record.”
Jazz felt her sigh brush against his mouth as she relaxed. She watched him from under her lashes as she said, “You know, speaking of taking care of yourself, you don’t have to live at the bedside with me. You’ve got that pretty, little girl to take care of.”
“Heading back tomorrow. Which is why I intend to see that you rest tonight,” he responded. “I’ll be back in a day or two and if I know you, you’ll still be sitting right here. So tonight—you rest.”
Linking her arms around his waist, she said, “Then you had better keep a close eye on me. I’m sneaky. If I’m left alone, I’ll make a break for it.”
“I was going to keep an eye on your dad.”
“No need. The nurses will call if anything changes. And he’s going to be fine,” she said, her voice somewhat shaky. “I know that. He’s too strong not to be.”
“You know that, huh? Then why is it you have spent the past four nights in this hospital, why is it you use the shower in the doctor’s lounge and wear OR scrubs?”
With a quick smile, she replied honestly, “Because I don’t like hotel rooms. And I didn’t want to be alone in one.” Rising on her toes, she bit his lower lip and said, “If you come with me, that won’t be a problem.”
With that single action, the blood drained from his head and pooled in his groin. Catching her hips in his hands, he pulled her flush against him. “I think you’re trying to bribe your way out of your jail time.”
Smiling against his lips, she murmured, “Can’t blame a girl for trying, can you?” Anne-Marie yawned and grinned up at him. “Okay. I’ll do the time. A bed is starting to sound mighty tempting, Jazz.”
“Am I still invited?” he asked, grasping one hand and lifting it to his lips.
“Whenever you like,” she offered, reaching up with her free hand and brushing his cheek with her fingertips.
As she turned away to gather up her things, Jazz smiled sadly. Just how long was that offer good for? He couldn’t imagine a time ever coming that he wouldn’t want her. Hell, why would there be one in his future when there hadn’t been one in his past?
“Jazz?”
Jerking his head up, he snapped out of his morose reverie. He looked up to see her standing a few feet away, watching him with curious eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I just hate having to leave you alone here,” he told her, moving closer. He gave in to the urge to touch her again and ran his hand down her hair.
“I’ll be fine, Jazz. Daddy’s going to be fine. Besides, your little girl needs you. And you need her. You’ve been with me since Daddy was shot. It’s been four days since you went home.”
He knew. That ache in his heart was the only reason he was willing to leave Anne-Marie’s side for even a minute. “I’ll come back up in a few days—”
“No. Once Dad’s stable, we’re transferring him to County Hospital until he is ready to go home. I can’t stay away from the practice for the time it’s going to take him to recover. In a week or less, I’ll be home.”
She moved to Desmond’s side, stroking his cheek. His eyes fluttered a bit as she leaned down and whispered, “I’m going to get some sleep, Daddy. I’ll be back in the morning.”
Straightening, she smoothed one hand down her limp ponytail and said, “I just need to let the nurses know he needs a bath. And then I need one.”
“Don’t bother with a nurse for yours. I’ll help,” he told her, offering her his arm. Tucking her hands in the crook of his elbow, they left the room. Behind them, Desmond lay on the bed, a small smile hovering at his lips.
Face turned up to the forceful spray of water, Anne-Marie hummed in pleasure as several days of grime sluiced off her body. Filling her palm up with the shampoo she had insisted Jazz stop and get, she lathered up the length of her thick, black hair, breathing in the scent of vanilla and spice. Twice more, she lathered up her hair before rinsing and reaching for the conditioner.
As she turned her back to the spray, she sighed in satisfaction. Her eyes drifted open, then opened wide and she yelped. Jazz had entered the room, pulled the curtain back a bit and was watching her with a strained smile. “Baby, you know, just looking at you right now is a turn on,” he told her, lifting one leg and bracing the flat of his foot against the wall behind him.
“You scared the life out of me,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her naked breast, waiting for her heart to return to normal.
Jazz didn’t respond as his eyes drifted down from her slicked-back hair to her smoothly rounded shoulders. Trickles of water ran down her torso, clung to the neat patch of hair between her thighs, running down her long, curved legs. With the heat of the shower making the air thick and dense, she looked like a water goddess come to life. Need ripped through him with vicious intensity.
How long, he wondered again. How long would she want him?
It would never be long enough. So he had to make what time he had count.
He reached for the buttons on his shirt, pushing off the wall
.
Cocking a brow at him, she asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m feeling pretty rough myself. I thought a shower would help me, too,” he told her, shrugging out of the shirt. He shucked his work boots in seconds, unzipped his jeans and shoved them down his legs along with his boxers.
“Hmmmm.” Anne-Marie said, “I suppose that would be okay. We should conserve water, you know.”
“In the name of conservation, then,” he agreed, stepping into the wide shower stall and adjusting one of the showerheads to his height. Using his body to protect Anne-Marie from the spray, he wetted his hair down. Then he moved the showerhead back and stepped closer to her.
Conversationally, she said, “This is really a wonderful suite. I love the bathroom.” Her voice shook slightly as his hands closed over her hips and their bodies aligned. “Nice and…big.”
Chuckling, Jazz replied, “Yeah. I kinda like it, too.” Backing her into the wall, he lowered his head and took a pointed nipple in his mouth. Her breath caught in her throat as he applied a delicate suction. Droplets of water pelting her, the heat of his mouth on her, Anne-Marie thought she was caught in a wild summer storm.
Raising his head, Jazz caught the nape of her neck in his hand, arching her head up to meet his. He took her mouth desperately, almost violently. Her hands closed over his shoulders, kneading the smooth muscle there as his hands cupped her hips and lifted her. “I can’t wait,” he muttered, nudging against her.
Locking her legs around his waist, arching up against him, Anne-Marie responded, “I don’t want you to.” A gasp fell from her lips as he imbedded his length within her, withdrew and slammed into her again. Reaching up, she laced her fingers in the wet silk of his hair, holding him against her.
Jazz reached behind, unlocking her ankles and hooking his arms under her legs, opening her body wide before driving deep inside her. As her muscles started to contract around him, Jazz slowed, nuzzling at her ear. “This isn’t gonna last,” he murmured in her ear.
Water pounding her from the sides, the cool tile against her back, and Jazz thrusting against her, Anne fell even deeper into the storm. A soft low moan escaped her lips only to be swallowed by his as he covered her mouth. Diving deep, he stroked the inside of her mouth, withdrew to nip at her lower lip.
Soft, wet silk—sinking inside of her was like sinking his dick into soft, wet silk. Her sheath rippled around him, squeezing little convulsions that would drain him dry. Jazz shuddered at the pleasure that came with each and every move she made. As she gasped out his name, he buried his face in the curve of her neck so he could breathe in her scent. He bit her lightly on the neck and she responded with a ragged, hoarse moan.
“Jazz…” She whimpered, trying to get closer. Held as she was, unable to move, completely vulnerable… who would have known that could be such a turn on? A helpless thrill shot through her when she tried a second time to move and couldn’t.
Her eyes fluttered closed, a long moan escaped her lips.
“You look at me,” he whispered. “Open your eyes, Annie. And look at me.” As her dark green eyes opened, eyes the color of the forest at dusk, he asked softly, “Who do you see?”
Jazz couldn’t control the storm raging inside him any longer. Thunder pulsed in his head, his gut, in his cock. Water pounded him from the outside, waves of longing and love from the inside.
It was her. It had always been her. The need to mark her, to bind her to him gnawed at him. And the hopelessness of knowing it would never happen. But he had now. Now she was his. He asked her again, “Who do you see?”
She stared at his face, a face she had tried to picture time and again over the years. A face she would see in her mind every day for the rest of her life. “You,” she told him raggedly. “Just you. Just you, Jazz.”
Releasing her legs, he moved closer, until not even a breath of air could come between them. Her hands slid up and locked around his neck. Staring up at him through slitted eyes, she said, “Kiss me, Jazz. Like you did that first time.”
Covering her mouth, he let the storm inside him take them both.
Dawn was breaking when Anne-Marie woke alone in the bed. The sheets beside her were still warm. Reaching out, she ran her hand over them, before fisting her hand and pressing it to her mouth.
“Did I wake you?” a low, husky voice asked.
Turning her head, she saw Jazz sitting in the chair by the bed, chin propped on his fisted hand. “No. What are you doing up so early?”
“Watching you.”
Self-conscious, she tugged the sheet up as she sat in the bed. Looping her arms around her legs, she asked, “Why?”
“Because you’re here. Because you’re beautiful. Because I want to,” he answered, smiling slightly, as if laughing at some inner joke. “Sleep well?”
Shrugging, she fussed with the sheet, with her tangled hair, her hands, as she waited for the blush staining her cheeks to fade. “Better than I have been. Not as good as I will when I can sleep in my own bed.” Then boldly, she raised her head, met his eyes and added, “Or yours.”
His eyes widened before crinkling at the corners as he grinned. “Feel free to invite yourself any time you wish, Doc Kincaid. Any time at all.”
Smoothing the wrinkled sheet over her lap, she smiled primly and said, “I believe I just did, Mr. McNeil.” And then her face sobered and she sighed. “It will be some time though, before I can do that.” Resting her head on her bent legs, she stared at Jazz. “What’s going on, Jazz? Why would somebody want to kill my father?”
Tears welled in her eyes, but only one spilled over. It trickled down her cheek and she brushed it away absently. “Everybody likes him,” she said quietly. “He’s a good man, a good father. He doesn’t drink, doesn’t steal, and doesn’t cheat.” She laughed a little. “Of course, there’s this widow in New Haven he goes to visit. He thinks I don’t know. Daddy’s been alone a long time. I can’t expect him to stay alone always just because I can’t picture him with anyone but Mama.
“She’s been to see him quite a bit. Always after I’ve left the room,” she told him, the corner of her mouth curving up in a small smile. “I leave the room more often now that I know she is out there.”
“Why?”
“Because Daddy, for some reason, didn’t want me to know. I think it started out as something casual, each one comforting the other, maybe. But I think she loves him. Maybe he loves her. He squeezed her hand, once. I came in that first time, not knowing she was there. And she was sitting talking to him. She’s a bit hard of hearing, I think. Anyway, she didn’t hear me come in and she was standing up, telling him goodbye. And I saw his hand tighten around hers.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“If it makes him happy, then I’m happy for him. Mama has been gone a long time, Jazz. It would be selfish of me to want him to stay alone simply because she was no longer here.”
Leaning forward, Jazz traced his fingers down the curve of her cheek. “There’s not a selfish bone in your body.”
“Yes, there is. And it has your name on it,” she told him, taking his hand and holding tight. Lacing her fingers with his, she turned her eyes away, not seeing the intense look in his eyes. “Why did this happen, Jazz? Who would want to hurt my dad?”
Shaking his head, he answered, “I don’t know, Anne. But we’re going to find out.”
Turning her head, she met his eyes once more. “Are we?” she asked, her voice calm, casual.
His was anything but when he tightened his grip on her hand as he rose and settled down on the mattress next to her, “Yes. We are.”
Tate had a secret passion. For fairy tales, of all things. Books of folklore, myths and legends lined the walls of his office at home. He loved to draw and had since he was a kid. That was part of the reason he was bullied so much when he was little, not just because he’d been so overweight and clumsy. Hidden in the drawer of his desk was a leather-bound journal, stuffed full of drawings of
leprechauns, elves and faeries.
Maybe that was why he had always felt drawn to Marlie Jo Muldoon.
She looked like a faerie, tiny, delicate, pale. She barely stood at five feet in her stocking feet and had yards of pale, silvery-blonde hair that she wore in a neat braid down her back. Quiet, shy, she always seemed to hover at the edges, watching all that went on around her, but never really reaching out and joining.
How she came from something like Jackson Muldoon was something nobody could fathom. Though she looked as insubstantial as a mist, Tate had a hunch that there was more to her than most thought. From time to time, something lively and passionate would dance across her face before being subdued.
Wide, blue eyes, eyes the color of the eastern sky at sunset, deep, dark indigo, dominated her small, pale face. Right now, they were full of nerves and barely restrained temper.
“Tate, what are you talking about?” Marlie asked. Her voice was just as soft as the rest of her, whisper quiet.
Tate had to lean forward and concentrate to hear her. “Marlie, I need to know where you were on May fourteenth, Friday night.”
“I was at home with Mama.” A sad smile curved her mouth and she spread her hands wide. “That’s where I am every night, Tate.”
“Can your mother can verify that?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
Her mouth firmed and her eyes darkened. “Mama has a hard time verifying her own name, Tate. Much less what I was doing last week.” Leaning back in the kitchen chair, she asked, “What is this about, Tate? I think I have a right to know.”
A slight grin tugged at his mouth. Yep, I was right. There is some of that sass I knew existed. He lowered his eyes back to his notepad, adding faerie wings to his sketch of Marlie. That was what she ought to be doing, he thought with disgust. Flitting through a field of wildflowers or dancing on the limbs of a dogwood. Living in a castle somewhere.
Not sitting here in this ratty, dark, depressing house while he questioned her about an attempted murder.
For the Love of Jazz Page 12