by Rachel Lee
Her blush in response to his compliment made him smile, and he was tempted to let the whole damn case go to hell while he spent a little more time telling her things that would deepen her blush. That, however, would be foolhardy. Besotted he might be, but foolhardy he had never been, and he wasn’t about to start.
“Jess…”
There was a sober note in his voice that she couldn’t ignore. The FBI agent was back, serious and grave and very businesslike.
“Give it to me straight,” she said. “I can take it.”
One corner of his mouth lifted, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I want you to be very careful for a while.”
The unease that hadn’t once left her since the bugs in her phones had been discovered now clenched her stomach in a death grip. “How careful?” she managed to ask steadily.
He’d been right, Arlen thought. She wasn’t going to be easily led…or misled. “Very careful,” he repeated. “I’m sure I’m being overly cautious, but…some things just aren’t adding up right. That makes me nervous, so I get…overly cautious.”
Jessica’s brown eyes never wavered behind her glasses. “Cut to the chase. How cautious? Am I supposed to act as if there might be a contract out on me? You want me to make sure there isn’t a car within half a mile when I cross the street? Or just something more reasonable, such as never going anywhere alone? Come on, Arlen. Lay it out for me.”
Admiration stirred in him, and he reached across the table, capturing both her hands in his. “You’re really something else, Jessie Kilmer.”
She licked her lips nervously. “What I am is scared, and you’re scaring me more by not answering my question.”
Her gaze was almost beseeching, and he yearned to erase the fears that were plaguing her, but there was no way he could. Not now.
“Look,” she said. “I’ve known since you found the bugs in my phones yesterday that this is no longer something I’m volunteering for. Like it or not, I’m in it up to my neck, and there’s no way out. Whatever is going on, I’ll do what you tell me, because that’s the smartest thing I can do now. Just tell me and get it over with. And while we’re on the subject, maybe you can let me in on what’s really going on. I don’t like being in the dark.”
“I can’t tell you what’s really going on, Jessie. Partly because I don’t know much, and partly because what I do know is official information. Need to know only.” That was something Lucy had never understood about his work. She had always resented the secrecy it forced on him. Now he found himself tensing in anticipation of a similar reaction from Jessica.
It never came. She looked disappointed, and for an instant her lips parted, as if she wanted to ask a question, but then she nodded her acceptance. “I guess I can understand that. What is it you want me to do?”
He squeezed her hands one last time and then released them so the waiter could serve their dinners. When they were alone again, he plunged in.
“You pretty much got it right when you asked if you ought to behave as if someone has a contract out on you.”
Jessica, who had just lifted her fork, immediately set it down. “I don’t suppose you’re exaggerating?” she asked hopefully.
He smiled wryly. “Slightly. I want you to be cautious, honey. I want you to avoid being alone, and I want you to avoid going anywhere with only one other person, myself being the only exception to that rule. To be perfectly frank, I don’t have any concrete reason to believe you stand in any physical danger, but some things have happened that make me feel it would be wise to act as if you might be.”
“An ounce of prevention.”
“That’s one way of looking at it. Honestly, I don’t want to alarm you unduly, but I’ll feel a whole lot easier if I know you’re being careful. On the other hand, I don’t think you’re in so much danger that I need to get you a bodyguard. Okay?”
He hated to do this to her. There was something unspeakably hurtful about depriving someone of the basic sense of personal safety that ought to be a human birthright. Unfortunately, Arlen could see no way around it. Without knowing why Barron had been killed, it was impossible to evaluate the risk that Jessica faced. Nor could he protect her without her full cooperation. It wouldn’t matter how many agents he surrounded her with if she wouldn’t exercise her own common sense for her own protection.
“Okay.” Her expression never faltered, but there was a small catch in her voice as she answered.
He watched her pick up her fork again, and he ached for her, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He was stunned by the burst of savage possessiveness he suddenly felt for her, and he battled an urge to simply sweep her up from the table and carry her away. He wasn’t used to feeling such caveman impulses—could not, in fact, remember the last time he had had such an urge. Unsettled, he stared at his food as if it had grown mildew.
Arlen looked tired, Jessica thought. Every hair on his head was still neatly in place, his tie was still carefully knotted, even the front of his white shirt was still crisp and fresh-looking, but there was something about him that nonetheless said it had been a long, hard day. Now here it was dinnertime, and he was still working.
“Is that it?” she asked.
He looked at her, arching a single dark eyebrow. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Absolutely.” She summoned a bright smile. “So now the workday is over and we can relax?”
For an instant he looked startled, as if he didn’t know what to make of her reaction to all this, but then, gradually, his expression gentled, and the tension seeped almost visibly out of him. “Sure,” he said. “Now we can relax. It’s been a hell of a day.”
“I thought so,” Jessica said gravely. “I suppose you’re used to working all the time, but I’m not. My evenings are sacred for relaxation, and I mean to keep them that way. Maybe you ought to try it.”
He gave a short laugh. “Sure, next time I have time.”
“You have time right now.”
Again his expression gentled. “You’re right. I do.”
After dinner, instead of going directly to her house as she expected, he drove them out of town to a secluded hilltop overlooking the lake. Moonlight turned the water to molten silver, and silvery clouds raced across the star-studded sky. A study in chiaroscuro, the night was breathtaking.
“‘Deep in the heart of Texas,’” Arlen murmured. Turning, he studied Jessica’s profile. “When was the last time you made out in a car, Jessie?”
“Never.” She turned her head to look at him. “My education has been deficient in some respects. I’m sure you noticed.”
“Nothing I’d call a deficiency.” His voice was soft, husky, as he reached out and pulled a single pin from her hair. A heavy lock tumbled down her shoulder and across her breast.
Her heart began a slow, heavy beating, and she was suddenly aware that she was breathing through her mouth, as if she could no longer get enough air. He looked so serious in the shadows, so intent as he reached out yet again and loosened another lock of hair to tumble downward. She took another mental snapshot and tried to block out all her fears and worries. Each moment with Arlen was precious, because they were numbered. Because there was an inevitable end, she didn’t want to miss a single instant.
“Arlen?” She spoke his name on an indrawn breath, a soft, hesitant sound.
“Shh,” he answered quietly, and slid toward her. “Shh…”
He captured her head gently between his hands, sifting his fingers into her hair, turning her mouth up to his. His lips caressed hers, brushing lightly back and forth in a movement so gentle and enticing that she felt her own mouth open in silent demand.
“Shh…” he murmured again, as if she had said something, and with his tongue he traced her lips, moistening them, teasing them.
“Arlen…” She sighed his name and turned her body toward him, raising her arms to lay her palms on his chest, to stroke them upward to his broad shoulders. Just to feel his strength, his warmth, his
hardness, his reality. Never had she dreamed how important, how reassuring, how comforting, such things as a person’s scent could be. The way he smelled, the way he felt beneath her hands, these things had become familiar already, familiar and incredibly good. Being close to him like this filled her with purely emotional warmth and well-being that had nothing to do with desire.
“Sweet Jessie,” he whispered just before his tongue plunged into her mouth. It could have been a demanding kiss, but somehow it wasn’t. It was warm, enticing, arousing and tender, an invitation to play rather than a seduction. When his mouth left hers to trail toward her ear, Jessica snuggled closer and reciprocated, nipping at his earlobe.
A low, husky laugh rumbled up from his chest. Releasing her head, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close. “Nope,” he said. “No deficiency at all.”
He settled himself more comfortably against the seat and tucked Jessica’s head onto his shoulder. “There was a time when I would have taken things a lot further, but, frankly, I’m too damn old now to get that turned on in a car. I guess that’s one gap I’ll have to leave in your education, Jessie.”
Jessica found a shirt button with her fingers and, taking care not to let him know what she was doing, eased it from the buttonhole. “You’ve got a real self-image problem,” she scolded him. “You talk like you’re ninety.” Her fingers found another button.
“I guess I’ve been feeling old,” he admitted. “Damn it, Jess, I’m going to be a grandfather.”
“So?” She eased the second button free. “Does that mean you automatically graduate to a walker and a cane?”
Again that laugh rumbled up from his chest. “Are you trying to make me feel dumb?”
“No. I’m just trying to point out that by today’s standards you’re still a young man. Younger than most grandfathers, I’ll bet, and very likely to be around to be a great-grandfather.” She slipped her hand inside his shirt, resting her palm against warm, smooth skin. “I like your skin,” she whispered, suddenly breathless. Her heart slipped into high gear, partly at her temerity in touching him like this, and partly from excitement at his nearness.
“Sneaky lady,” he murmured, his voice deepening. “What are you up to?”
“I like to touch you,” she admitted on a whisper.
“I like you to touch me.” His lips found her forehead, and she didn’t know which stirred her more, the sound of his kiss or the warm feel of it on her skin. “Go ahead, Jessie. Whatever you like.”
“I thought you were too old to get turned on in a car?” she teased ruthlessly as her hand slid farther into his shirt, approaching but not quite touching the nub of a very sensitive nipple.
“So I was drowning in self-pity,” he muttered, turning a little toward her. “Lying, even. Right now I feel like eighteen.”
“Good,” she said with a sigh, drawing the word out. “Good….”
Such warm, smooth skin, Jessica thought as she ran her palm over his ribs and chest. She knew what he wanted—one of the nice things about him was that he made no secret of his likes and dislikes—but, for the moment she withheld it.
“Vixen,” he muttered on a truncated laugh. Catching her chin, he tilted her face up and bent to plunder her mouth. They were both still dressed for the office, but a few extra layers proved to be scant impediment. When Jessica next caught her breath, her beige blouse lay open, revealing the beige teddy beneath.
Arlen smoothed his palm over her satin-covered breast and felt her nipple bead in response. “Ah, Jessie,” he said unsteadily, “you commit all your sins in lingerie shops.”
“Not anymore.”
He laughed again, a rough, low, intimate sound that sent dancing tingles along her spine. “Not anymore,” he agreed, then planted a soft, hot kiss at the base of her throat. “It feels so damn good to hold you and touch you and taste you….”
She knew exactly what he meant. She was curling into him, melting into him, yearning for closer, deeper touches. The confinement of the car annoyed her; the seat was suddenly uncomfortable. She wanted him on her, in her, with a fierceness that beggared simple passion. She needed the emotion of being his woman, even if only for a short time. She needed to feel possessed and claimed. And she needed to give him all the comfort and all the pleasure she might be capable of giving. She felt expansive, all woman, all womanly.
“Damn!” Arlen muttered the word explosively and caught her tight against his chest, stilling her. “Let’s go home,” he said thickly.
A small, muffled sound of disappointment escaped her.
“I know,” he murmured. “But we could get arrested for this, never mind what I’m thinking about doing.” It was easy to imagine the headline: FBI Agent Arrested For Public Lewdness. “The director wouldn’t like the publicity.”
“I guess not.” Jessica released her tension in a long, shaky sigh, then relaxed against him. “I guess I wouldn’t much like it myself.”
He kissed her temple and fumbled at the buttons of her blouse, fastening them. “You’re dynamite, lady,” he told her gruffly.
“So are you.”
He gave her a quick, hard kiss, then started the car and headed back toward town. A few minutes later he reached over and took her hand, bringing her palm to rest on his thigh.
It was hard now for her to believe that only a couple of short days ago she had sat in this same car and wondered what it would be like to be able to rest her head on his shoulder as she was doing now. Nor had her imaginings even begun to approach the reality.
Of course, a couple of days ago she hadn’t been in love.
The realization settled over her gently, like dandelion puffs or goose down. And, like a goose-down comforter, it felt warm and cuddly. Right. Inevitable. Predestined.
It was going to hurt eventually, and eventually she would feel like a fool, but right now she wrapped herself in the glow and settled down to enjoy it. She had always believed that feelings were something that happened, that they couldn’t be controlled or changed by argument. If she loved Arlen, she loved him, and there was nothing she could do about it except accept it. And be careful not to let him know.
The house looked very dark and very empty when Arlen pulled into the driveway and parked in the rear beside her car. He turned off the ignition, and the silence was almost deafening, punctuated only by the ticking of the cooling engine.
Suddenly she didn’t want to go in there. She still wanted to be with Arlen, still wanted to curl up in a private, dark place with him, but her house suddenly wasn’t it. In there lurked threats of an amorphous kind. In there, people listened. In there, she was watched.
“I’m suddenly feeling very paranoid,” she told him.
“I can imagine.” That was the other thing that should be a human birthright, but, unfortunately, too often wasn’t: the inviolability of privacy, the sanctity of the home. He, too, stared up at her house and understood that her dream had been destroyed.
“We could go to my place, Jessie,” he suggested, even though he didn’t think it would be wise to break her routine. Startling a nervous opposition could be dangerous. He was only human, however, and he hated what he was doing to Jessica.
“No,” she answered flatly. His place was worse. Hers might be bugged, but his was haunted.
He bit back promises that he suddenly longed to make, promises about solving this case, promises about how things would feel normal again, about how the memory of the violation would fade. They were promises he didn’t have the power to keep or enforce, so he silenced them, and in the silence he ached.
Arlen Coulter’s soul had been meant for a knight-errant. He had once cherished dreams of fighting for truth and justice, of righting wrongs and defending the defenseless. Life had shown him the vanity of such aspirations and taught him the dimensions of his own limitations. It had not, however, reshaped his soul to fit reality. Once again he came up hard against his inability to live up to his own standards. Once again he faced his human inadequacies. He cou
ld not protect Jessica in the ways she most needed to be protected.
She sighed and reached for the door latch. “No point in sitting out here in the dark,” she said firmly.
Arlen followed her into the dark kitchen, catching her hand before she could flip on the light.
“No,” he murmured and carried her hand to his lips. No lights, no harsh, glaring reality. There was more than enough of that to go around. Unable to change reality for her, he would banish it for a while.
There was just enough light seeping through the fan window above the front door to light their way up the stairs. In Jessica’s room the shades hadn’t been drawn, and moonlight poured through the sheers to puddle on the floor. Arlen lighted the scented candle she kept on her dressing table and then drew the blinds, sealing them into a dimly lit cocoon. Yesterday he had brought a large portable tape player from his apartment and set it on the bedside table. Tonight he chose Mozart to drown out any listeners.
“Now,” he murmured in her ear, drawing her into the pool of light and turning her to face the mirror. “Now we’re going to try something.”
Jessica’s breath caught, and she thought she would never breathe again as she realized what he was doing. “Arlen…”
“Shh,” he whispered soothingly. “Shh…”
With a gentle sweep of his hands he slipped the suit jacket from her shoulders and tossed it onto a chair in the corner. Her glasses were on, and he knew she could see clearly. He wanted her to see clearly. He somehow felt that if she could see how he enjoyed touching her, how much he enjoyed looking at her, perhaps she would come to believe in her own beauty.
Her blouse slipped away like a wisp of gossamer, and her skirt followed just as easily, gone almost before she noticed. He had swept her hair all to one side, to fall over her shoulder, and he pressed soft, wet kisses on the nape of her neck. In the mirror, in the candlelight, she could see how absorbed he was in each touch, each gesture. He was weaving a fantasy around them, she realized with a blossoming ache of longing. He was, with his hands and lips, wresting perfection out of jagged reality. And with each touch of his hands and lips she sank deeper into the silky web of beauty he wove around her, into the feelings that drove away thought.