by Cherry Adair
Confessing she was a widow was the least of her transgressions. If he discovered her connection to Rydell Case, and why she was on board Stormchaser, he’d never forgive her.
And if she didn’t deliver on her promise to Ry, she’d be betraying him. He was family. He and Peri were all she had.
She couldn’t be loyal to both men.
Staring sightlessly at the dark window she knew, no matter which way she looked at it, she had to tell Jonah that she was widowed. That letting others assume her husband was still alive was a deterrent from people like Brody hitting on her on a long-term salvage. That was certainly the truth. Even if it was only part of it.
She didn’t have to tell him about her connection with Rydell. And at the moment, Rydell didn’t have to be filled in on anything. Her response to Jonah was no one’s business but her own. She’d still do what she was there to do.
“It would just be sex, right?” It was a waste of time talking to herself. She’d tried calling Peri for several days with no luck. Who knew where her friend was off to? Talking to herself was the only game in town.
Sex was sex. No one would get hurt.
A tiny, annoying voice in her head reminded her that of course someone could be hurt.
Actions had consequences. If anyone knew that, it was she.
No pain, no gain.
Mind made up, and every scenario analyzed and turned inside out, Callie tossed off the throw and got to her feet. A quick glance at her watch showed it was well after two. Would Jonah still be awake? She’d knock on his door lightly—see if he answered …
She hoped he didn’t. That she could skulk back to her cabin and have time to make a better decision.
God, she hoped he did, because she wasn’t sure she could go through all this angst for the rest of night.
Should she change from the soft cotton shorts and tank top she wore? She wasn’t going over there to seduce him. She put a bra on under the multi-times-washed pink tank. Better. When she confessed, she didn’t want Jonah to think she expected him to sleep with her. Just the facts. Done. Return and slide into her still neatly made bed.
A quick glance in the mirror to see if she looked as she normally did—hair confined in its usual French braid tucked up tightly on the back of her head, no makeup to make her eyes look more sultry, no lipstick on her pale mouth to tempt him.
Of course, Jonah didn’t need a damn thing but himself, his almost-smiling mouth, his shaggy hair, his constant need for a shave. His abs. His shoulders …
Callie sucked in a bracing breath. Procrastination wasn’t getting the job done.
As her clammy fingers reached for the door handle, she heard a soft knock. Her heart jumped into her throat. “Wh—”
The quick mechanical sound of a keycard, and Jonah filled the doorway. Hair rumpled endearingly, wearing shorts and a brown T-shirt pulled on inside out, his eyes blazing in not a very friendly way.
He didn’t look as if he’d come over to deliver good news. He looked, Callie thought, like a cable at snapping point, and she couldn’t imagine what might have set him off at this time of the night. Jonah wasn’t the kind of man who lay awake brooding about a simple kiss ten hours earlier.
“Good.” He stepped into the cabin, the heavy door closing behind him with a dull thud, making Callie flinch. “You’re awake.”
As much as she wanted to retreat, because he looked very large and threatening standing there in his rumpled clothes and shitty attitude, Callie stood her ground. “What’s wrong?”
“Who said anything’s wrong?” His eyes skimmed her neatly made bed then slewed back to her.
“You just burst into my room unannounced at two in the morning, what’s right?” She could tell from his tight expression that reaming him out for coming into her room without her permission would throw the match on what was clearly a short fuse.
“Your friend Dr. Ebert just called.”
Callie’s shoulders relaxed slightly. He was pissed because he’d been woken up. Reprieve. “Other than inconsiderately waking you, at an ungodly hour, what’s so urgent?”
“He was able to decipher the text you sent. He discovered some pretty mind-boggling information, and thought it important enough to share. Is he your lover?”
“Wha—Of course not!” The question, apropos of nothing, disconcerted her for a moment. Like a monolith standing in the middle of the cabin, Jonah took up a lot of space. The room, spacious five minutes before, was suddenly cramped. “What did he say?”
“What I want to s—” He cut himself off with a deep breath. The kind of inhalation Callie used to ground herself when shit was hitting fans. “He’s intrigued by the few pages you sent.” Jonah’s voice was modulated low and cool as he changed course from what he’d been about to say. What he wanted to say…?
“Wanted more pages right away. Said half a dozen of the pages you sent indicate a secret, magical society—”
“Papyri Graecea Magicae?” Astounding news. Enough to divert her stress about him for a moment.
Stuffing his fists in the front pockets of his black shorts, Jonah shrugged. “Those weren’t the words exactly.”
“But he said magical and society, right? If we have pages from the Greek Magical Papyri—my God. This is amazing! I have to call him back.” This was a million miles and a thousand times better a conversation than she’d anticipated. She felt as though she’d been given a stay of execution, and let out a ragged breath.
“He’s in the field.” Jonah looked around the cabin. “He’ll call you tomorrow when he gets back to camp.”
There wasn’t anything personal to be seen. Her few belonging were stashed away neatly. The only things she had out were the blue-and-white shard and a few unusual mosaic tiles she’d cleaned and cataloged and wanted to keep nearby, in a glass bowl beside the bed.
“Did he say anything else?”
“Like what, Calista? It was all Greek to me.”
“Funny.” But he wasn’t being funny. He looked grim, and annoyed, and apparently relaying the message wasn’t making him less irritable. The news was exciting enough to temporarily allow her to ignore his annoyance.
When Jonah didn’t move from his position in front of the door, she asked, a little desperately, “Did he mention defixionesor binding spells?”
Other than cranky, his expression and demeanor told her not a damn thing as he scrubbed a rough palm over his unshaven jaw and practically snarled, “Know what, Doctor? Why don’t you ask your friend all about it tomorrow?”
Callie narrowed her eyes as her temper spiked. “Damn it, Jonah. I’m sorry Miguel called so late, but it’s not my fault. Why are you so freaking cranky?”
“I could tell you,” he said shortly, reaching back for the door handle without turning away from where he had her pinned by his unwavering gaze. “But then I’ll have to kill you.”
Annoying, annoying man. “Thanks for relaying the message. Feel free to leave now.”
He hesitated, eyes hot. A nerve ticked in his jaw. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Not if Callie saw him first, unless he got a grip between now and then. With that attitude, he was making her decision a lot easier. “Fine, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” Stupid to respond like Pavlov’s dog. Just because he was in a foul mood didn’t mean she had to antagonize him further.
Gasoline, meet fire.
Callie was being childish and she knew it. She let out a breath. Tell him. Now. “Jonah, wait—”
“Tomorrow, Callie. We have a lot to talk about.”
They were together practically 24/7, what could he possibly want to talk about? The kiss at the lava cave? Because if so, she really didn’t want to talk about that. Not until she told him the truth. Part of the truth.
Conflicted enough for two people, she bit her lip as he wrenched the door open hard enough to rip it from its hinges.
“Sure,” she said softly to the space he’d occupied, which seemed to still vibrate from his presence
. “Night.”
The door would’ve slammed loudly, Callie was sure, if it weren’t on hydraulic hinges. Feeling hollow and guilty she stared at it as it closed between them.
She was a coward and a fool.
Before she weighed every nuance for the zillionth time, before she tried to see it from every side, again, Callie wrenched her door open. The corridor was dimly lit and smelled faintly of cleaner. The faint hum of machinery was a throbbing counterpoint to the almost painfully hard thump-thump-thump of her heart.
“I have to talk to you—”
He paused, shoulders tense, gripping the door handle, half in, half out of his own cabin.
“Seriously?” White-knuckled, his fingers tightened, but he didn’t turn. “Not now, Callie.”
When she placed her hand on the small of his back, electric sparks shot from his body to hers. Her breath snagged, then stuck in her throat.
About to jump into a swimming pool from a dizzying height, it was time to find out if there was cool, clear water below, or if she’d just dived headfirst into cement. “I’m a widow, Jonah.”
The stiff planes of his face were in stark relief as he turned his head. With an intensity that only made her fires burn hotter, his cobalt eyes ate the meager light as he stood, unresponsive and grim.
What was he waiting for?
The hot need inside her burned her skin and made her blood course through her body like fountains of pāhoehoe lava. Mouth dry, every nerve and tendon in her body poised on a precipice of need, she waited for his response.
He still didn’t move. His eyes glittering like icy sapphires, and a muscle jumped in his jaw as he reanimated. “What did you say?”
“I’m not married. I’m a widow.”
“You talk about Adam, you talk to Adam twenty times a day.” His voice was low and lethal, his expression hard to read. “You’re wearing a goddamn wedding ring, Callie!”
His fingers were wrapped around her upper arm, but the bruising grip loosened somewhat, although she wasn’t going anywhere unless he allowed it. She hated being restrained, but Callie realized dimly that it wasn’t Jonah holding her in place, it was her own fingers gripping his T-shirt. The hard thud of his heart pounded against her palms, or maybe it was her own erratic heartbeat pulsing in her fingertips.
Biting her lip, she shook her head as she sucked in a breath to steady her jittery nerves, then let it out in a shuddery rush. “Adam died.”
“How?” There was no softness in the question.
“Leukemia,” she said in a small voice, knowing darn well that wasn’t the correct answer.
“Four years ago!”
“I have a good reason. It’s more practical to tell people that I’m married than get into a situation that’s untenable.” Half the truth. “I’m frequently the only woman on a salvage. Wait—What did you say?”
“You’ve been widowed for four fucking years.”
“How did yo—Miguel told you.”
“He casually mentioned flying out for your husband’s funeral. And in case you haven’t gotten the memo, Doctor, I’m not people,” he gritted between clenched teeth. “Do you even comprehend, even a little, just how badly I’ve wanted you, and how controlled I’ve been since you arrived?”
Of course she knew. Was he doused with an aphrodisiac? Why was her physical reaction to this man like being consumed by a tidal wave of lust that she was helpless to resist? “Why didn’t you say something when you barged into my room a minute ago?”
“I wanted to see if you’d confess before I dragged it out of you.”
Fair enough.
Bending his head, he skimmed his mouth on her throat. Goose bumps roughened Callie’s skin as adrenaline surged through her body, making her dizzy and weak-kneed. Grounding herself, her fingers tightened in the fabric over his heart.
His hot breath brushed the corner of her mouth, her lips parted in anticipation. She tasted his breath—hunger, coffee, uniquely Jonah. Hypnotized by his voice, by the scalding heat of his gaze, Callie longed for what she knew she shouldn’t have. But oh, dear Lord, the temptation, the driving heated urge, made her forget reason and logic.
“How seeing you every day in that wet suit, watching you swimming—imagining … this. Goddamn it, Callie, I’ve been in physical pain twenty-four seven since you got here.”
A fission of fear mixed with heady anticipation swept through her. Now was the time to call a halt to this before irreparable damage was done. She shifted in his hold. Needing to break free, but lingering for just one more moment. The smell of him came to her. Musk, male, testosterone. She loved the way he smelled. “I’m sor—”
His mouth crushed down on hers, instantly wild, rough, and unchecked. Abandon hope all ye who enter here—
The time for talking was over. Callie’s response was immediate as he slanted his lips over hers, plunging his tongue into her mouth, where she met it with her own.
She reveled in the taste, the heat of him, giving back as good as she got. Fingers tangled in his hair, she held his head in place, winding one leg around his, returning his passion with every pent-up emotion she’d tried to hold in check since the moment they’d met.
It was amazing kissing him. This afternoon had been little more than an appetizer. Jonah’s tongue dueling with hers gave her a brain melt. He kissed her as if he were drowning and she was his lifeline. His mouth on hers was rough to the point of pain, deep, hurried, ravenous, and so hot Callie was already starting to internally combust.
Moving against him, Callie pressed her aching breasts against his chest. It wasn’t enough. The brush of his large hand skimming up under her shirt made her tremble. Hot. Electrifying sensations exploded inside her. Clever fingers encountered her cotton bra, ignoring the barrier as if it didn’t exist as he slid his fingers beneath the thin cotton to cup her breast. Arching her back with the exquisite pleasure of his touch, Callie moaned low in her throat as his tongue explored her mouth, tasting and teasing, driving her mad with lust as his hand learned the shape and texture of her breast.
Everything inside her pulsed with a need so powerful she wasn’t sure she could wait another moment to feel him inside her.
This was insane. They stood between their cabins. Out in the corridor, where anyone returning to their room would see them. Privacy was just feet away. This was lust. Lust and insanity wrapped together in a tight grip she was incapable of resisting. She’d tried. But she didn’t want to resist this anymore. She no longer cared. About anything, anyone other than the two of them, in this moment in time. Let the bubble break later. But for now …
Breathing harsh, he dragged his teeth down the tendons of her arched throat as he circled her nipple with the rough pad of his thumb.
Breathless, she tried to put some distance—some sense—between them. “Jonah—”
“Three seconds to tell me no,” he whispered raggedly, his face a taut mask. “Then all bets are off.”
Yes. A thousand times yes. “Yes.”
Eyes primal, skin pulled tight over his cheekbones, he grabbed her upper arm in a vise-like grip, yanking her inside his cabin, then kicked the door shut behind them.
Callie got a brief impression of the black-and-white room as her spine hit the hard door with a thump. Then her vision filled with Jonah Cutter. All six foot three, two hundred pounds of unleashed sexuality. Focused on her.
“One hundred percent sure about that?” he murmured dangerously, coffee-scented breath hot on her face as he crowded her against him. His voice, intimate, rich, seductive, and lethal, made the hair on her body stand to attention and her pulse race into overdrive.
Sexual intent burned like blue flames as his eyes locked on her face.
Every part of him was hard, his chest, his thighs, the ridged length of his erection. Callie had never felt more female in her life. Her senses went haywire as she was pressed between the door and his powerful body. Pulse throbbing in places she hadn’t thought about until she met Jonah, she wrapped her arms a
round his neck. “Ye—”
Jonah slid his tongue into her mouth. Not gently, not coaxing, but a full-on assault to her senses. Raw possessive male. The hot devouring kiss was unlike anything in her wildest imagination. Callie fell into it headlong, drunk on the taste and smell of him, intoxicated by his heat and strength and the implacable grip of his hands grasping her hips with steely strength.
Already painfully aroused, she couldn’t take much more foreplay. She wanted Jonah inside her. Now. Swallowing a moan of intense need, she was barely aware of the hard fingers gripping the elastic waistband of her shorts until she heard the loud rip. The fabric resisted for a moment, then tore, taking her underwear with it.
Tilting her head back he deepened the kiss as he cupped her bare butt. Then slid his other callused palm down her thigh to cup the back of her knee. The solid bulge behind his shorts pressed against her pubic bone, throwing a match on a fuse that had been drenched in gasoline. Clenching her fists in his hair, the ache inside her was strong and powerful. Her body shuddered with need.
Her hard, aching nipples pressed against his chest, but that wasn’t enough. She wanted his hands and mouth on her. Every part of her body had its own unmet demands; she wanted it all.
Jonah shifted his hips away for a disappointing second, then he pulled up her knee, opening her damp heat to the cool air in the cabin. Hot–cold ripples chased across her sensitized skin. Breath erratic, pulse pounding, she canted her hips, welcoming him. She felt feverish, jittery, heat suffusing her body in electrifying waves. Her nipples ached and her knees went weak.
Every nerve and tendon in her body was on high alert. Oh, Lord, she was going to come fast, she knew it, and nothing she could do could hold it back as it surged through her in pulsing waves she wasn’t able to control.
He pulled his mouth from hers, then said harshly. “Lose the ring.”
Moaning with dismay, for a moment she had no idea what he was saying; then the words penetrated her sex-hazed brain. Callie wrenched the gold band off her finger, throwing it blindly behind him, then fisted her fingers in his hair. “You’re killing me, J—”