"I came because I couldn't stay away," he said against her mouth. "When I saw you there, dancing with him, I wanted…"
She searched his face in the darkness. The clash of will and need met there in the deep furrow between his brows and in the masculine hollows of his cheeks.
"I wanted to drag you away from him and dance with you there as if nobody cared who we were, and we belonged together."
"I wanted it, too," she told him. "Dance with me now, Jack. Hold me," she said, even though he already was. She laid her cheek against his shoulder, molding her body to the hollows and contours of his. Designed to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, they clung to each other, moving in slow, carnal revolutions around the darkened room.
"Do you mind terribly if I just call you Jack?" she asked softly. "I can't get used to Ian. And by the time I do—"
"Jack's good," he said against her hair, cutting off what she'd been about to say.
The scent of him – fresh air and his own brand of musky maleness – played havoc with her senses, while the feel of his hands sliding languorously across her spine – as if the movement of their hips wasn't enough – made her pulse grow thick and heavy.
How could she have ever thought him wrong for her? she wondered, when every atom of her being remembered this closeness with a sense of déjà vu that bordered on eerie. This man who had stumbled into her life with all the grace of a wrecking ball had reawakened her from the kind of deadness she'd sought refuge in for so long. She knew he was meant for her. He was a gift she wasn't prepared to give back. And she would fight to keep him.
But even as she vowed it, she forgot to think as Jack's hands strayed to the curve of her buttocks and pulled her closer against the hard ridge of his desire. His mouth dropped against her ear and he breathed a handful of words about where he wanted to touch her even as his fingers slid beneath the soft cashmere of her sweater.
Tess inhaled sharply at the possessive pressure of his palm against the hardening nub at the tip of her breast. An involuntary shudder raced through her as his tongue teased the inside of her ear, then abruptly moved down to take the place of his palm. He licked her nipple in small, maddening circles until she squirmed against him, craving nearness. Then, with a sound of pleasure, he took it into his mouth and sucked until her breast felt heavy and full as the rest of her.
"Did I tell you how beautiful you are?" he whispered against her damp skin. "I've dreamed about you," he said, sliding his hand across her belly and down her thigh. His voice was shaky. Barely leashed. "Hot, erotic dreams, but even they didn't compare to this. To how you feel. To how you look right now."
Tess's hands wandered along his back, across the muscled contours of his shoulders and the twin ridges along his spine. "Jack – oh, Jack–"
"This is crazy."
"Yes," she murmured, placing moist kisses across his brow and down his cheek. "That's how you make me feel."
"I shouldn't…" he began, sliding his mouth against her neck in a helpless contradiction of need and common sense.
"Oh, you should. You absolutely should," she breathed. "Don't bring logic into this. There isn't any to what's happened with us. This is just—"
He silenced whatever she'd been about to say with his mouth, grinding a kiss there that left them both breathless and frantic for more. Then half carrying, half dragging her, he moved her backward until they collided against the 108 wall, his mouth still locked with hers. Control was slipping away and in its place was raw need.
His fingers shook as he tugged her sweater up over her head and sent the silken slip of fabric covering her breasts to the floor after it.
With both hands, he cupped her breasts, testing their weight. Admiring the perfection of her. She took his breath away. He'd imagined her naked, but hadn't reckoned on the creamy paleness of her skin or the dusky perfection of the nipple reaching up to him like a flower toward the sun.
There was a buzzing in his ears as he slid his hands downward to her waist, taking in the lean curve of her belly. He ground his hips against hers as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. He was afraid to let her touch him. Afraid that once she did he would lose control. It had been too long since he'd been with a woman. Any woman. He wanted this to be right, as wrong as it was. He wanted … oh, damn, he needed—
Her hands slid past his opened shirt and followed the planes of his chest, carefully avoiding his unbandaged, healing wound. Her eyes met his in silent concern and he kissed away her fears. The ache in his shoulder couldn't compare to the one in his loins.
A shudder tumbled through him as her thumbs found the flat disks of his nipples, and she caressed them the way he had hers. Then, before she could move farther down and risk pushing him beyond control, he took her by the wrists and brought her hands up to his mouth, pressing a lingering kiss in each before he drew her fully against him and wrapped her in his arms again. The friction of his chest against the softness of her breasts was almost more than he could bear.
"I want to touch you everywhere," he murmured, bending down to ease his lips against her belly and the soft underside of her breast. "Here." His teeth skimmed the slight indentation at her waist, nipping and tasting her. "And here."
Her fingers curled against the back of his head as he dipped lower, pressing kisses through the fabric of her skirt until he was on his knees before her and his hand was under her skirt, dragging the silk fabric of her panties down her long legs. He slid his hands up the sides of her hips, pulling her toward him.
Tess gasped as his fingers moved between her legs, and she threw her arms out against the wall to keep from falling. What he was doing to her stole the rigidness from her bones, and she swayed against his touch. All the while he watched her face, enjoying the expression of dazed pleasure there. And when he'd finished torturing her, he pulled her down to him there on the floor, shoving aside the basket of magazines and scattering them across the floor.
Tess felt drugged and dizzy with need as Jack stripped off his clothes and tossed them aside. She'd seen him before, of course. All of him. But not this way. Not with the raw hunger and the full, masculine essence burning in those eyes of his that made her want to melt into him. Crawl inside him and let him know her.
And then he was inside her, filling her, and they moved with the graceless poetry of lovers, a slick, groping reunion of souls and sweet discovering. Every stroke, every sigh, every moaning endearment dragged her upward to the precipice they sought together. Climbing, climbing, she opened her eyes and found him watching her, his jaw clenched with a fierceness of will, his focus entirely on the rising swell between them.
A warrior, she thought. Her warrior. And then there was no more thinking.
She felt herself lifting off, tethered to earth only by his touch and the sweet, urgent tension strung between them like a bowstring ready to snap. Lifting, lifting … her body shifted, changed, transmuted into something else as she heard herself cry out his name, begging him to defy the laws of gravity with her. Then the ground fell from under her and she tumbled over the edge the way a bird tumbled out of a nest for the first time, only to be transported by the current of air beneath its wings. Weightless and free.
Jack followed close behind, spilling into her the weight of his need. And they forgot where they were and what they'd been and only remembered this moment between them. This incredible rushing tug of feeling that transported them above it all. And she heard his gasping prayer as he tucked himself around her, sweat slicked and sated and part of her.
She held him and he held her back, locked together by what they'd become. Their breathing slowed, but for long minutes they didn't – couldn't – speak, afraid to break the fragileness.
Tess felt tears running out of the corners of her eyes and spilling into her ears. He lifted his head from her shoulder. "Are you crying, cupcake?" She shook her head. "Yes, you are," he said, dragging his index finger along her cheek with a frown. "Geez, did I hurt you?"
"No. God, no. I'm not
crying. Okay, maybe I am. But only because…" She closed her eyes squeezing more tears from them. "It's never been like that for me before, Jack."
The intensity of his stare didn't change. "Me either. Never." He dropped a small kiss on her lips.
She gave a teary laugh. "I choose to believe that, even though it comes from a man who's only just remembered his own name."
His mouth curved into a smile. "Some things a man never forgets."
She smoothed the damp hair off his forehead. "Will tonight be one of those things?" she asked, even though she wanted to swallow the question as soon as it was out.
He kissed her again in reply, this time with a lingering heat that only moments ago had spun them both out of control. "I'll always remember tonight." He dragged a finger down the side of her face, the seriousness edging back to his own. "Even though I never meant for it to go this far."
"And I never meant to find you on that road. But I don't regret it."
"This is different," he said, pressing his lips to her shoulder, then rolling off her. His sudden withdrawal left her feeling bereft. "Maybe you will this. I mean, damn, I ravished you right here on the floor. I couldn't even wait to get you into a proper bed."
"Um-hmm," she murmured lazily, rolling over toward him there on the soft rug. She drew little circles in the hair on his chest with her fingertip. "There was nothing proper about what just happened, Jack. And as far as the bed goes, well, beds are fine for sleeping, but when it comes to ravishing, I'd take the floor anytime."
He dragged her across his chest and regarded her with a subtle lift of his brows. "You would?"
"Absolutely."
"I can think of a few alternatives. Just off the top of my head."
"Can you?"
"Umm-hmm." He brushed the curtain of hair from her eyes.
"For instance?"
A slow, heated smile lifted one corner of his mouth.
Minutes later, as they stood together under the steamy onslaught of the shower, Tess came to understand more fully the definition of "ravishment" as Jack took full advantage of the situation and her. And while the hot, soapy water sluiced down their bodies, and she succumbed to an erotic sensuality she'd only dreamed of, she redefined the word for him as well.
And for Jack, who had to remind himself to keep one foot in this world, the journey was only made more bittersweet with the knowledge that Tess, like so many other things in his life, was a temporary gift, and that sooner rather than later, he would have to give her up, too. But just for tonight, he would pretend that she belonged to him.
* * *
Chapter 14
«^»
The room was dark when Tess woke. She had no idea what time it was except that it was hours yet till morning. She wasn't quite sure what had awakened her except the sense that Jack was no longer beside her in the bed. Blinking in the darkness, she found him standing near the window, silhouetted by moonlight.
He took her breath away, even in the dark. The perfection of him startled her. Lost in thought, he didn't hear her slide out of bed. He jumped a little as she slipped her arms around his waist, then he covered her hands with his. His skin was warm, despite the chill in the air, as if he was impervious to the cold.
"Penny for your thoughts," she whispered, hugging him. He didn't answer right away and she prayed it wasn't her he was contemplating. Because his silence felt foreboding.
"You should be sleeping."
"So should you," she replied, though there were always other possibilities.
His hands tightened around hers and she felt his chest expand with a sigh. "I've slept more in the last week than I probably have in ten years."
"Why don't you sleep?"
He shrugged. "Training, I suppose. Becomes a habit, even when you're not on duty. You learn to sleep with one eye open. Or you die."
What she still didn't know about him frightened her. "Are your memories getting clearer? Is that what you were thinking about just now?"
"Yes." He took her by the shoulders and led her back to the bed. "It's cold. Get under the covers."
"Only if you do."
He obliged, but she sensed he had other things on his mind now. Tess tucked her head against his shoulder and wrapped herself around him, listening to the steady thud of his heart
"We're leaving today."
Something inside her went cold. Not today. Not yet.
"I've made arrangements for you," he said.
"Arrangements?" she echoed stiffly.
"I told you. I'd make sure you were safe before I—"
"Safe? How marvelous. Do I get five-star accommodations? Two padlocks for the door? Oh, I hope you didn't forget the flowers, Jack. You know I require a large bouquet of—"
"Tess—"
"—roses with every accommodation and everything just…" The lump in her throat effectively silenced the rest. She rolled off him and slumped against her pillow.
"Tess, listen…" His hand hesitated above her shoulder for a moment before he thought better of touching her. "I haven't told you everything."
Obviously. She knew better, but she felt idiotic. As if she'd blindly believed that this night could change anything. But that had never been her purpose. No, she'd known this moment was coming, but now that it was here, she couldn't help feeling like a fool.
His voice behind her was soft and apologetic. "It's the only way, cupcake."
"Don't call me that. Don't use that name on me when you're leaving."
He slid downward, abandoning his decision not to touch her, and spooning himself around her. "All right. I won't. But we both knew this was going to happen."
"Yes. We both knew." She sighed heavily, loving the feeling of his hands on her but making no move to enfold them. "That doesn't make it any easier."
"Nothing about us has been easy. Why should this?"
She would have laughed if she didn't want so badly to cry. "What haven't you told me?"
"I finally remembered why I came to L.A. I came to find out who murdered my brother."
Tess squeezed her eyes shut. Her fingers closed over his and she half rolled toward him. "Oh, Jack. I'm – sorry."
For a long minute he was silent, holding her. Finally, he spoke. "I missed his funeral. I was out of the country when the call came and didn't find out until it was too late. His wife phoned me. They called it suicide, but we both knew they were lying through their damned teeth. The sons of bitches murdered him and then tried to destroy his good name."
"Who murdered him?"
"L.A.'s finest. His brothers in blue." Sarcasm twisted Jack's mouth. "They said he was a dirty cop. But anyone who knew him knew otherwise. Joe would've climbed into hell for the men under him in the Navy. He won a citation for bravery under fire saving two of his co-workers in a botched shakedown last year. Joe was expecting his first child this Christmas, Tess. He never would have done what they claimed, and I had proof. That's what took me up to that canyon the night you found me. I was trying to clear his name."
Tess felt as if some great weight had been lifted off her. Relief so acute tumbled through her – relief that he wasn't what Gil had thought – that she almost yelled, "I knew it!" Not a drug deal gone sour, not a hit of some ruthless trafficker, but vindication. She pulled him against her.
He tightened his arms around her and didn't say a word. They held each other like that for a full minute before she lifted her hand to his face. "What kind of proof did you have, Jack?"
Jack rolled onto his back, taking her with him and tucking her against his shoulder. "To tell you that, I have to start where it began, two weeks ago. I'd been out of the country on training ops. We'd been out of touch with communications for three days when I finally got word of Joe's death. They helicoptered me out to a ship anchored fifty miles from our position, but by the time I got home, Joe was already in the ground. I was scheduled to fly out here to see his wife the next day. But then I opened my mail. In it, I found a package from Joe."
Tess prop
ped her cheek on the heel of her hand, listening.
"Inside was a floppy disk, complete with audio and video tracks, physical evidence he'd gathered against the sons of bitches who killed him. But he hadn't uncovered the top dog yet. He knew they might try to kill him if they learned he was on to them. In case that happened, he sent me the floppy and asked me to protect Jule, his wife. She didn't need any disk to tell her Joe had been murdered. She knew."
"How?"
"First of all, she knew him. Knew how impossible it was that he would do that. He had a kid on the way, Tess. Jule's due in December. He would never have missed that. But the other clues were more tangible. The note he left – he addressed it to 'Julia.' Other people called her that, but he never did. He always called her Jule. It was like a touchstone for them. He used to joke about how on a cop's salary she was the only jewel he could afford, but he told me once that even though he couldn't buy her the things he knew she deserved, every time he called her that, she'd know how he felt about her." He stared at the moonlight spilling through the window.
"What else?" she asked gently.
"His handwriting looked wrong, as if he'd intentionally tried to change it to signal that he'd done it under duress. And he'd signed it 'Joey.' If nothing else should have alerted us, this would have. He hated that name from the time we were kids. He was always Joe. Just Joe. And the house – Jule thought it had been gone through professionally. Even though everything looked neat, some things were out of order, as if someone had searched the place."
"But didn't Jule tell the police that? Didn't they investigate?"
"Of course. It's departmental procedure. What they turned up only painted a blacker picture of him. Unaccounted-for deposits in his bank accounts, calls that came in at all hours of the night that ended in wild-goose chases, but conveniently placed him without an alibi for that sliver of time. There were witnesses in the department who claimed he'd been distracted – which the internal shrinks read as 'despondent.' And the argument against the note's authenticity, considering all the other evidence stacked against him, was that he wasn't thinking clearly. 'Obviously,' they said, 'he wouldn't have killed himself otherwise.'" Jack gave a humorless laugh. "Kind of a lose-lose situation, wouldn't you say?"
I'LL REMEMBER YOU Page 17