by Jodi Henley
Fallon leaned against the pine-veneered nightstand, his expression hard to read. A mosquito drifted into the light and floated up and down, dazed by the cold. Keegan swatted at it and it spiraled away to land on his sister.
Fallon brushed it off. “Mosquito,” he said, like that single word explained everything.
Keegan rubbed a hand down over his chin and sighed. “Four hours?”
“Yeah,” said Fallon, already half-asleep. He shrugged out of his jacket, took a blanket from the nightstand and dropped, flat out on the bed. “Wake me.”
Keegan stepped back into the tiny hallway, pulling the door closed behind him.
A single forty watt bulb cast a dim glow over the rest of the cabin. There was a couch squeezed beneath the largest window and a breakfast bar with four mismatched stools. The loft up in the rafters held a foosball game.
So far he hadn’t done anything but react. Time was running out. He needed to hang the Aina out to dry, and do it fast. How well connected were they? Layers on layers. If Jen’s father didn’t know for sure, he had to suspect. With Art's own security compromised it made sense to create a firewall unconnected to anyone within his corporate structure.
If Jen thought she’d walked away from her family’s internal politics, she was wrong. Keegan dug his fingers into his neck, trying to ease the tension that knotted his shoulders. Deacon said the Aina had gone dormant, which meant something had triggered their abrupt resurgence.
He paused, staring down at the chipped Formica with unseeing eyes. The tinny sound of the kitchen clock expanded to fill the silence. Something that traumatic would leave tracks. He needed to get back to the Project. And the only way in was with Jen. Without someone to interpret what he saw, it wouldn’t mean squat.
Something moved behind him. Keegan whirled, gun out. Jen stood in the door, one end of a long paisley sheet thrown over her shoulder. Her arm was bare. Jesus, she was naked. He retreated behind the breakfast bar and she followed him, rubbing at her eyes like the dim bulb bothered her.
He slipped his gun down in the holster behind his hip and grabbed the edge of the counter. “Go back to bed.” Please? He wasn’t just obvious; he was open for business.
Keegan glared down into the darkness between his thighs and the table, then back up at her. She gave him a drowsy smile and sat on one of the stools, breasts pushing against the damned sheet. Goddamnit.
She gestured at a small bottle of non-alcoholic champagne half-hidden by a basket of fruit and a welcome card. “Can I have some of that?”
Keegan twisted the champagne open and pushed it over. It was barely more than a pint.
“Don’t you want some?” she asked.
He glanced at her. “After you.”
Jen lifted it to her lips and drank exactly half. “Fizzy grape juice? There’s a winery around here that makes honey wine.” She passed the bottle back to him. “Have you ever had mead? It’s hard to describe.”
She leaned her elbow on the counter and put her chin in her palm. Keegan looked at the bottle and back at her lips.
Just fuck me already. Please? Her hand touched his and he almost jumped out of his skin, breathing hard and fast, eyes narrowed on her so-innocent fingers.
“Are you all right?” she asked, holding on to him.
“No, I’m not okay,” he said, jerking his hand out from under hers. “I thought you didn’t like to be touched.”
She blinked in surprise. “I don’t.”
“Then don’t touch me,” he gritted through clenched teeth. He felt crazy and out of control. Was this what Fallon felt? How could he stand it?
She frowned. “I didn’t mean to. It just happened. I feel...comfortable with you.”
He wanted to spread her out on the table, pour grape juice on her and have a Jen-tini. And she felt comfortable with him? “I don’t scare you?”
She rubbed at a drop of grape juice on the counter, a frown twitched down between her brows. “You’re okay for a bodyguard,” she said.
“Just neuter me already.” Keegan touched his gun to make sure it was still there. The grip nudged his palm.
Jen dropped to her feet and glared at Keegan. “I don’t like where this conversation is going.”
“If you don’t like it, stop talking.”
“Isn’t that just like a man,” she snapped. “I’m not saying the right thing, so shut up already?”
“You keep touching me and talking to me, princess, you won’t like what you’re going to get.”
She growled at him. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to huddle in a speechless ball.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“It sure sounded like it. If you give me a plain English translation, maybe I can follow along.”
“You want blunt?” Keegan unclipped his holster, put it down, and stalked around the table to where she sat.
She inched backwards until her shoulders hit the breakfast bar and stopped, looking everywhere but into his eyes, holding her hands out like she could hold him from her.
“Touch me,” he said, walking right up against her, chest pressed to her palms.
Her fingers curled into the supple material of his shirt. The thin cotton clung to her fingers, still damp from where he’d rinsed out the blood. He pulled the t-shirt up, over his head. If he’d been aware of her in the car this was worse, because the way he was standing put him right up against her.
“Go on,” he said. “See what you do to me.”
“I do?” she whispered.
She looked into his eyes and he looked right back, letting her see the heat behind his cool gray gaze.
“What’s wrong with you?” she cried. “Can’t you see I’m fat?”
Keegan pulled at the sheet. “Somebody did a head-job on you, honey. But it wasn’t me.”
“There is nothing wrong with my self-image,” she said, jerking the fabric back over her shoulders. “I know what I look like.”
“Then drop the sheet.”
“Why? I’m ugly. It’s a fact. I’m overweight and out of proportion because my top parts are bigger than my bottom parts.”
His mouth quirked.
Jen eyed him suspiciously. “Are you laughing at me?”
“It’s just the way you put it. Your top parts.”
“Laughing,” she said, hugging her sheet tight.
“Dying,” said Keegan.
He pulled her sheet-wrapped body into the circle of his arms and touched his mouth to hers. The sheet drifted down around her feet. They were skin on skin and mouth to mouth. The thin satin of her panties caught on his zipper and tore.
“Take it off,” whispered Keegan.
“I am not getting naked with you.”
“You won’t be naked with me. I’ll have my pants on.”
“Not for much longer.”
“No,” he said. “Not for much longer.”
“I’m confused.” The last and only man she had ever been with hadn’t enjoyed the sight of her body, and had forced himself to continue even when it wasn’t something he’d wanted to do. It’d been creepy and disgusting, and he’d slobbered over her breasts even while he’d hurt her, using her body like an object instead of a real person. Her stomach squeezed. “It’s not going to hurt, is it?”
Keegan froze. “Someone hurt you? Tell me who it was.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine.” He lowered her to the couch. “We won’t.”
His arm stayed around her, and his face remained buried in her hair. There was nothing between them but his pants and her underwear. Her breasts were right there between them, and he wasn’t grossed out or freaked that they were so big.
She could see down the length of their bodies to where his hand rested against her belly. His hand slid down under the elastic of her panties to touch her, slow and easy, letting her have plenty of time to get used to him. The side of his hand brushed between her legs and settled into her crevice, rubbing gently. She sucked in a sharp bre
ath.
“Easy,” said Keegan. “Tell me if I do anything to make you uncomfortable.”
He opened the top button on his pants and put her hand against him, leaving the zipper closed. It was up to her to make the first move. She explored him curiously, fingers sliding over his hard length and finally looked up into his eyes, holding the zipper pull.
“Your choice,” he whispered.
Jen wiggled the pull and eased the zipper down. Keegan made a strangled sound and threw his head back. She tentatively pressed a kiss to the hard line of his jaw, and the muscles of his chest contracted and almost jumped from under his skin. Initial panic gave way to pleasure as he kissed her for the first time, nipping at the closed line of her lips.
She groaned deep in her throat and he took the sound for his own, pressing her for entrance. She’d been kissed, but never like this. Keegan took her uncertain fumbling in stride, coaxing her to meet him thrust for thrust, tongue sliding and touching as he tried to eat her alive.
His hand slipped over her ribcage and circled the taut rise of her nipple. Jen froze, eyes wide open. His mouth followed. It was hot, wet and totally unreal. The sharp drag and slide of his tongue had her drumming her heels against the stool.
She knotted her fingers in his hair. “Again,” she breathed.
He caught her nipple between his teeth and her instinctive wince vanished in a mind blowing rush of sheer pleasure.
“Yes,” she gritted out, arching up against him. She wanted to shove herself into his mouth, not just the little bit he had between his teeth but the rest of her too.
He touched her again, a quick pressure that left her wanting more and returned to stroke her, deeper this time. “You’re tight,” he said.
She gathered the rags of her dignity, hard to do with Keegan’s finger buried in her and wriggling around. “I don’t do this often.”
“You’re doing great,” he breathed.
Jen slipped her hands down the smooth muscles of his back, and hooked her fingers in his waistband. She wanted to touch him the same way he was touching her. “Off!” she demanded.
He grinned when she whispered into his ear, and smiled when he slipped her underwear off and sent it flying across the room. Then his pants were off and he was hot, smooth and heavy in her hands. He had absolutely no problem with being naked. He was right out there for anyone to see, naked. Talk about scared. Just the thought of someone happening by to see her in all her naked glory was enough to make her want to run and hide.
Keegan shook his head. “No you don’t,” he said. “I can see what you’re thinking and honey—you can’t run where I can’t find you.” He kissed her again, the growl rumbling up from the depths of his throat feral.
Jen held on to him as he began to shake. He was shaking and shaking, and she was shaking, but she didn’t know why and when he leaned his forehead against hers and looked into her eyes, she still didn’t know what was wrong, only that it was bad.
“I don’t have a condom,” he said. “God, this is so wrong.”
He turned away; fists planted down on the breakfast bar and closed his eyes, shoulders up tight around his ears.
“I thought,” she said finally, after a long buzzing silence. “You know....God, you are such a bastard. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation naked.”
She trailed off, horribly aware of her lack of clothes. Jen stood and dragged the sheet up over her shoulders, knotting it in front of her, this time with a double knot. It was obvious he didn’t want anything more to do with her.
Keegan turned and spun Jen to face him, pushing his face right down in hers, looking in her eyes, pinning her against the table with his hard on. She was sweet poison and a one way ticket to Hell, but nothing about their attraction was logical. He wanted to lift her up, get rid of the sheet and slam himself home.
“Can’t you see what you do to me?” he asked, the longing tucked down so deep he could feel it clawing at the base of his spine.
Her eyes were dark, her mouth tight, and he willed her to understand with everything in him, willed her to look—really look—into his eyes and see what he couldn’t put into words.
“I don’t carry condoms with me. And I don’t think you do either.” But maybe he was wrong? “Do you?” Lots of women did. He could be wrong. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel if he was wrong.
“No,” she said.
And Keegan knew he was screwed, because they couldn’t get it on and he was freaking happy? What was wrong with this picture?
“I don’t carry condoms,” she said, hands opening to touch him.
“I’m, uh...glad.” He managed to look away, every cell in his body screaming to life at her first, tentative caress.
“Can we get one later?” she asked, still touching him.
“Yeah,” he growled. He held his arms down at his sides, wanting to touch her in return, but knowing if he did he wouldn’t stop there.
“Can we—”
“No,” he said, very firmly, because the note in her voice was just a little too husky. She leaned against him, between his thighs, against him, against that part of him that wanted her so damned much it wasn’t ever going to go down, even though he was slamming more will at it than a tri-athlete at the wall.
She gave him a little laugh, cheek turned against his chest, hair spilling down to his hips. “My legs are shaking,” she whispered.
Welcome to the club. “I have marshmallows.”
“Uh, that’s nice?” she asked, looking at him uncertainly.
“Very nice. I’ll start a fire and we can roast marshmallows…and talk, ok?”
Chapter Ten
Jen rotated her stick, one hand tucked into her scratchy polyester blanket. The marshmallow was stale and hard. She hadn’t really thought Keegan’s team flew around with marshmallows in their luggage. He said he’d found a bag in the supplies. After a few minutes, they softened up nicely.
“I don’t know why yours turn out so well,” he said.
Keegan sat next to her on the small picnic bench, the press of his thigh against hers almost as much of a distraction as the way he kept dropping marshmallows into the fire and having to scoop them out again before they turned into explosions of charred fluff.
“I’m a volcanologist,” she said. “I can handle the heat.”
She worked the hard golden crust off over the still liquid core and eyed it critically.
Keegan swore. “These things never stay put. They get soft and drop.”
“It’s because you’re holding your stick angled the wrong way, you need to hold it straight out, here.” She showed him. “Just move your hand.”
The marshmallow oozed around Keegan’s stick and fell into the fire. Keegan pushed it over to the side and flipped it out into the night where it sputtered and disappeared.
Jen frowned. “It didn’t even sizzle.”
“I’m getting faster,” he said. He fished in the bag for another.
Jen held hers out. “You can have mine. All that ash isn’t good for you.”
He caught her hand and looked into her eyes. “Thank you,” he said, biting off exactly half.
Her heart skipped a beat. “You’re welcome.”
He licked his lips, and she followed, leaning in without realizing she’d moved until their lips touched.
His hand cupped the back of her neck. “I like marshmallows.”
“Sweet,” she managed.
His smile lit his eyes. “Yeah, very sweet.”
Except for the distant whisper of the Project and a ripple of guitar music from farther down the road, the campsite was quiet. Wind sighed through the eucalyptus trees and carried the promise of rain. His arm circled her, tucking her in close to his side.
“You suspect anyone in particular?” he asked, bringing her attention back to the real reason he was here.
Jen stared into the fire. “Not Makena,” she said slowly. “I know you don’t get along, but he’d never hurt me.”
“He’s the one who took you from StallingCo.”
She nodded.
“Are you in love with him?”
There was nothing in his voice to give away what he’d just said as important, but she stared at him anyway, letting the words, not his tone of voice trickle into her conscious.
“I just tongued your tonsils. And you think I’m sleeping with my cousin?” She shoved him off the bench and stood, the blanket gathered in her knotted fists. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or pissed off, but I’m leaning toward pissed—Makena isn't just my cousin, he's my friend!”
Keegan pushed to his feet. “Don’t you think I know that?”
She caught his arm. “Then why did you ask?”
His nod came slow and hard, and his voice sounded wrong, so rough and hoarse it was like he was ripping the words out of a place way down deep inside him. “I am so fucking jealous.” He met her eyes. “I care, all right? I fucking care about you. I care whether you live and I’ll blow ‘em away if you die.”
“I had a boyfriend, once” she said, stunned. Panic ground away the flow of words. She felt like she was sliding back into a past where he couldn’t reach her.
The anger in his eyes turned to knowledge. “Was he the guy who hurt you?”
“It wasn't rape,” she said all too quickly. “It was consensual. I wanted it.” The wind whispered over her ears and down her nape where her hair had fallen forward hiding her face. She couldn't breathe. Her hands covered her eyes, blocking out the sight of Keegan looming over her. She wished she could block out the memories. “Oh, God—why am I talking about this?”
“He raped you,” Keegan said flatly. “I'll fucking kill him.”
Jen took a deep breath and couldn't stop, hyperventilating and dizzy. Keegan pulled her into his arms and held her tight, one hand cupped at her nape. The rapid rise and fall of his chest made her want to cry.
“Don't feel s-sorry for me, damn it!” Her eyes were hot and strange—scratchy like there was something in them. “I did it to myself. I wanted someone so bad—I built up a fantasy. I didn't love him, I didn't even like him. I just,” she tucked her face into the soft fabric over Keegan's chest, “…wanted someone to care.” Her voice went very small. “Mac offered to kill him.”