She looked down at her hands and tightened her grip on her crutches until her knuckles turned white. The stabbing pain didn’t help her focus this time. Delahaye would not be controlled either by her size or her temper. She was defenseless against him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Maybe you should. Maybe it will help.”
Fear made her temper flame hotter. “And maybe it’s none of your damn business.”
“I’m trying to be your friend, Jenna.”
“You tried to rescue me, too, and see where that got me?”
“Are you this hard on everyone, or is it just me? Don’t you ever let anyone close?”
“Not if I can help it. Not anymore, anyway.”
His eyes sparked with interest. She immediately realized her mistake. Couldn’t she simply shut up around this man?
“Jenna—”
“I think our energy is better spent on finding a way out of here,” she said abruptly, and not for the first time. Not waiting for a response, she turned and began to make her way slowly downstream, taking the same route as the baby—who was no longer in sight.
“Can I ask where you’re going?”
His dry sarcasm was something of a relief. He was going to stop his probing. Thank God, she thought fervently. Her old defenses didn’t work against him, and he wasn’t giving her the chance to develop new ones. She needed time. And distance.
She didn’t turn around but continued her careful progress, whistling on a pained breath each time she leaned her weight into the crutches. “After the llama,” she ground out. “Maybe the ranch he came from isn’t too far from here. If it hasn’t burned to the ground, there might be help. We might at least find shelter or food.”
“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?”
Maybe the llama can save us. Heat warmed her cheeks, but she pressed on. She was getting used to the taste of her own foot in her mouth, but she was through apologizing to him. “Don’t worry, I won’t abandon you. If I don’t see anything soon, I’ll come back and we’ll figure out something else for tonight.” She resolutely refused to think about the fact that the only source of heat that would be available to them was body heat.
The memory of waking up in his big warm embrace flooded her mind anyway. Time and what had passed between them since that moment hadn’t diminished in the least the wondrous sensation of being cared for. She ruthlessly shoved it away.
“You can’t take any hills, up or down, on that ankle, even with those crutches.”
She wasn’t all too sure she could handle another ten feet of relatively flat ground, but she’d die before she admitted it. She pressed on. “Bob isn’t going to wait around, so I have to try.”
She covered another ten or so yards before she allowed herself to believe he would let her escape in peace. As much as it stung her pride, she knew damn well her pursuit of Bob was not entirely motivated by their need for help. She also knew there was little doubt that T.J. understood this too.
A loud grunt followed by a string of curse words that even her fellow jumpers would have been impressed with shattered her final illusion. There would never be peace in her life as long as T. J. Delahaye was around.
She looked back to see him slowly climbing to a stand. He was relying heavily on his crutches. It hurt to watch him.
“What in the blazes do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, though she knew the answer with dreaded certainty.
“Coming with you.”
“But … but … you can’t!” She was sputtering and quickly worked at smoothing her tone. “You’ll slow me down,” she said sharply.
“Yeah, you’re cruising along at warp speed here.”
“My point exactly,” she said. “I’m already hobbling. Unless Bob is sampling creek grass along the way, I probably won’t catch up as it is. I can’t wait around for you.”
“I don’t recall asking you to,” he said, the subtle chide effective despite the strain in his voice. “But I’m not waiting for you to come back either.”
She turned to face him. The pain in her ankle pulsed stronger and hotter as her blood pressure—and fear—soared. “What, because I don’t want to open a vein and bleed my personal life history all over you, you think I’d leave you out here?”
For a huge man with one knee in a makeshift brace, he was disgustingly graceful—and surprisingly swift. He closed the remaining distance between them, his face set in a mask of implacable determination. She wanted to back away but didn’t. Couldn’t.
Even hunched on his crutches as he was, she had to look up to hold his gaze. A host of new sensations rushed through her. He made her feel small, vulnerable. Feminine.
When he spoke again his voice was a dark, pain-laced murmur. “No, Jenna King, I don’t think you’d ever abandon a responsibility, no matter how much you resent being saddled with it.”
His perceptiveness on top of his raw sensuality shook her badly. She was both overwhelmed by and woefully unprepared for the feelings he was arousing in her. His voice, deep and strained, still stroked her like black velvet. And if his voice hadn’t trapped her, the steel in his eyes would have. They were as hard as his voice was soft, forbidding her to look away, forcing her to hear his words and deal with them … forcing her to deal with him.
She was helpless against this, having no idea how to combat the force of nature that was T.J. Delahaye. Why combat it? her little voice asked. Why not give in, explore it? Explore what he makes you feel?
She shook her head, as if the action would negate the thoughts. “If you trust me to help you,” she said, forcing the words out on a less than steady breath, “then why are you following me?”
A wicked grin slowly transformed his serious expression into one that could only be described as … predatory. What little hope she had left of regaining control of the situation fled in a rush of pure primal panic.
He leaned in a little closer. “Maybe I don’t want to be a loner anymore.”
EIGHT
T.J. watched, mesmerized by the way black pupils absorbed rich brown irises, heating up her eyes. Tendrils of dark blond hair clung to her forehead and cheekbones. Desire pulsed, fierce and deep within him. She looked wild, untamed. He felt … primitive.
He had to taste her or go crazy. He lowered his mouth, knowing he had long since passed that point, then delighted in the discovery that he had to do little more than dip his head to reach her lips.
Her lips. Were they as soft as they were sassy? A groan built in his throat as his body tightened further. Pain from his various injuries took a backseat to a more immediate, demanding ache.
He heard the soft intake of breath as her lips parted, but answered to the pull of her gaze, feeling the intensity even as he lifted his eyes to hers. They were wide with fear, of what he wasn’t exactly sure. But they were also dark with want and need. He didn’t stop.
“What do you taste like, Jenna King?” Her eyes widened further at his rough whisper. He dropped his gaze to her mouth, felt another hard punch of desire, then let his eyes drift shut as he claimed her.
Sweet with a little spice. Exactly how she should taste, he thought, sinking deeper into the kiss even as he worked to keep his response under control. Their only contact was their lips; not being able to touch her with his hands was both frustrating and erotic.
“Open for me,” he said against her lips. There were other avenues he could explore.
“T.J.” His name had never sounded so wonderful.
He wanted to take her fast and hard, but hearing her speak was almost as tantalizing, so he forced himself to pull back. He teased her with small kisses to the corner of her mouth, gently tugging at the fullness of her lower lip as he worked his way to the other side.
She hadn’t moved away or in any way tried to end their singular connection, but she hadn’t joined in as an active participant either. He wanted badly to change that. “Kiss me, Jenna.”
She withdrew, only slightly, but he cursed silently. He shoul
d have known better, he should have taken her with him for the ride. But while that would have been mutually enjoyable, it wouldn’t have been entirely satisfying. For either of them.
Her breathing was rapid and a bit shallow. “T.J., I …” She averted her gaze and tucked her chin.
His lips brushed against her forehead. “It’s just a kiss.” He would have given anything to be able to touch her at that moment, to stroke her cheek, lift her chin, bring her gaze back to his. He was leaning too heavily on his makeshift crutches to chance it. It was costing him to stay upright. They’d likely end up in a heap in the muck. “Jenna, look at me.”
He waited patiently, doubting she’d allow herself to hide for long. She waited long enough to make him wonder, but finally lifted her head. Her eyes were still dark with desire but also troubled. Not with fear exactly, he thought, tumbling headlong into their depths, but certainly they were filled with doubts. He wasn’t sure how to allay those doubts, or why it was so important that he do so. He pushed on, working on instinct. He’d analyze his mistakes later.
“What are you afraid of?” The instant the words were out he wanted to kick himself. Way to go, Delahaye. What instincts are you working with anyway? Suicidal ones?
He opened his mouth to retract the question—he should have gone ahead and kissed her—but she surprised him and spoke.
“I’m afraid that …” She trailed off, shifting her gaze somewhere past his shoulder, but he schooled himself to patience. No more pushing. Not yet anyway. She must have sensed his unspoken decision. He watched, his smile one of affection, as she gathered her control. It was nothing obvious, a slight stiffening of her spine, a straighter line across her shoulders, a hint of a lift to her chin when she looked back at him. He released a short breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. Desire, concern, doubts, they were all still there in her eyes. Only now they were tempered with determination. On some deeper level he knew that had been no small accomplishment for her. He wanted to cheer.
He wanted to kiss her.
“I’m afraid that …” she began again, her voice steadier but still nerve-revvingly raspy. He loved her deep throaty voice. It made him think of dark whispers shared between damp cotton sheets, the air all humid with the heat generated from two sweat-slicked bodies sliding over and into each other. Her back stiffened further, and she held his gaze more directly, the familiar bluff of arrogance returning. He wondered what she might have seen in his eyes. He’d been too busy spinning fantasies to worry about concealing his thoughts.
“I’m afraid that, as obnoxious and inept as you may be, that I’ll … that I might like it.” Her lips twitched, but the fine tremor in her jaw told him it was nerves, not suppressed laughter.
The idea that she might—might!—like his kisses terrified her!
Erotic fantasies fled. T.J. was stunned. He may have committed himself to a job requiring a solitary lifestyle, but he’d had his share of relationships. Brief though they may have been, he’d encountered fear of commitment, fear of lack of commitment, fear of pain, either emotional or physical, but fear of pleasure? He had no idea how to deal with her.
He adopted a cocky grin, though this time he felt anything but. “If you don’t enjoy it, then I’m not doing something right.” Her expression didn’t change. He grew serious. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He watched her carefully for signs he was headed in the right direction. Later he’d question why it was so critical that he not make a misstep with her. “But someone else already has, right?”
“Several somebodies.” There was no tentativeness in her voice now. Her words were as cold and hard as steel, as if she were daring him to make something of it.
Her frankness touched him. And surprised him. She may be full of bold bluster and overt confidence, but he knew that was her way of shielding the truth—the truth that she was as vulnerable and insecure as the next person, perhaps more so. That she’d trusted him with that revelation, no matter how belligerently confided, was almost as good as a kiss. Almost.
His grin returned to play at the corners of his mouth. “Well, with someone as obnoxious and inept as me, what have you really got to lose?”
Her lips twitched again, this time with humor. “It’s already cost you an arm and a leg. Do you really want to risk more?”
His mind automatically inserted “my heart.” It had taken a surprising measure of control not to speak it out loud. His heart? It wasn’t his to give. At least that’s what he’d always told himself. He’d long ago dedicated his heart to serving his team, to serving his country. He’d never even questioned it before. It was simply his life. A subject not up for discussion.
Until now. All the questions he’d tried so hard not to ask since coming to Paradise Canyon bubbled and churned inside him again. Questions about his life, his future, his past. Why had coming back to Oregon felt so much like coming home? His family was long gone.
He focused on Jenna, whose faded smile told him his smile had disappeared too. Was that the source of this attraction? Was he testing himself? Was he exploring what he felt with Jenna as a way to prove to himself that he really belonged on that plane, winging his way back to Scottie and the rest of his Dirty Dozen teammates?
Or was he looking for a reason to get out?
Team members couldn’t form outside attachments. If he had someone he cared for, loved, he was rendered too vulnerable for the team and thereby ineffective. Was that what he was doing here? Forming an attachment as a way out of the team?
The possibility left him feeling slightly queasy and more than a little out of control. Not even as a child, when his parents had died and his world had spun into a new orbit, had he felt so helpless.
“T.J.?”
Was he using her? He didn’t think so. A person couldn’t fake this kind of gut reaction. But could his inner turmoil manifest itself this way? Jenna was obviously dealing with some serious issues of her own. Did he dare continue to explore his feelings if it might hurt her?
Did he dare not?
He forced his mouth to curve as he looked deeply into her eyes. The resulting jump of desire he saw there chose his path for him, the unconscious way she wet her lips shoved him forward. “You know, kissing doesn’t have to be serious business, Jenna.” He shifted a bit closer, liking the warm feel of her breath on his lips. “It can be for fun.” A little closer. “When was the last time you let yourself have fun?” His lips barely brushed hers. “Come on, Jenna. Come play with me.”
Playing, that’s all this was. Liar. T.J. ignored the inner voice and kissed her, keeping the pressure light and gentle, but still coaxing her, urging her to respond. And then he felt it. The subtle pliancy in her lips, the slight tilt of her mouth as she pressed back. His desire for her had been a slow-burning fire. Her sweet response instantly fueled it into a raging inferno, robbing him of oxygen, smothering his control. He wanted to tilt his head back and howl in primal triumph. He wanted to pull her down to the ground and make hot, hungry love to her.
He opened his eyes as she deepened her kiss, and felt his heart squeeze as he saw the soft brush of her eyelashes against her cheek. He schooled himself to patience, slow and steady. Though his body demanded otherwise, this wasn’t a race. As badly as he wanted her, he wanted her to enjoy it more.
Then she parted her lips. At the first tentative touch of her tongue, he groaned and lost what control he’d had. He couldn’t pull her into his arms, couldn’t ease the insistent ache of his body by grinding it tightly into hers, so he took what he could with what he had. He slanted his mouth across hers, kissing her more fully, demanding a response, becoming even more aroused with the knowledge that the only thing holding her to him was his mouth—and her own need.
She was strong and sexy and oh, so unbearably sweet, it was all he could do not to devour her. He’d never felt such an aching emptiness, a yawning chasm of need that threatened to swallow him up if he didn’t fill it.
His doubts about his motivation were shoved ruthlessly to
the background as her tongue ran along the surface of his lips. His humming response quickly turned to a growl as he opened his mouth and welcomed her inside. Any fears that she might withdraw vanished as she followed him willingly, tasting him, taking him, dueling with his tongue as if the intimate dance between them had been choreographed long ago.
He had to touch her, had to feel her skin under his palms, had to hold her, mold her strength and perfect length to his, and he had to do it now or go stark raving mad. Hell, he was already there. Never had he felt such desires—to take and protect, to consume and be consumed—licking at his control, teasing his mind, taunting his heart.
Without conscious thought he had begun to shift his weight to his good leg when a loud whining bleat cut through the air, surprising them apart.
“Bob,” they said simultaneously on unsteady breaths.
“He’s hurt himself,” Jenna said, worry and disgust in her voice.
T.J. would have been amused by that oh-so-Jenna combination if he hadn’t been so disgusted … and disappointed himself. “He better be dangling from a cliff by his two-toed feet, or I’m having llamaburgers for dinner.”
Jenna’s eyes widened with offense, but her mouth curved in a dry smile. “Yeah, he’d better be in pain, or he’s llama meat. That makes perfect sense, Delahaye.”
T.J. grumbled, but his lips were twitching. “I didn’t want to be interrupted. If I have to be in pain, then, well …” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Sue me.”
“Your leg. T.J., I told you to lie down, instead of … of …”
“Oh, I was more than willing to lie down, Jenna.” He dropped his voice and leaned in close, his breath mingling with hers when he spoke. “And Bob-burgers or no, we’re not done yet. Not by a long shot.”
Jenna stared at him. Her gaze dropped to his mouth then darted back to his eyes. Suddenly she was all business. “I’d better go find out where he is this time.” She hopped back on her crutches, putting a foot or so of space between them. “It doesn’t sound like he’s gone far.”
Light My Fire: A Loveswept Classic Romance Page 9