“You were having a nightmare, Doc.”
She’d figured that out herself—a nightmare that had been going on for days now, with this chapter being so real Rachel couldn’t stop shaking.
“It was only a bad dream,” Joe continued soothingly, as he slowly released her wrists to draw her into his arms. “Take a deep breath. Good. Try another one. You’ll feel better in a minute.”
She already did, in a way. In another way, she knew she would never feel normal or right again. She tightened her arms around his neck. “Don’t let me go.”
“I won’t.”
“Stay with me.”
He made a strange sound deep in his throat that could have been a laugh. “You’re with me, sweetheart.”
Confused, Rachel glanced around and saw she was, indeed, in his room, not hers as she’d first thought. She also noticed, casting a resentful glance toward the window, that it was dark. Late. “What time is it?”
“Almost eleven-thirty.”
She hadn’t believed she would sleep so much, and for so long.
“What?”
He had a frown in his voice, one she knew she couldn’t avoid with an indifferent reply. She tried, anyway. “I didn’t know it was so late.”
They’d napped earlier, and later in the afternoon Rachel had gone down to talk an increasingly recalcitrant Jewel into preparing a tray of potluck for them. Afterward, Joe had tried—not too successfully—to get the news on the TV. The reception couldn’t have been much worse, but they got to hear another report on Gideon Garth’s upcoming announcement. A splashy, overblown version, since the colorful state senator was rivaled by few people for flaunting his uniqueness, which played best in the visual media.
Joe had turned off the set as soon as the story concluded. They’d tried to carry on a conversation; it hadn’t worked any better than the TV did.
Rachel couldn’t remember falling asleep. She would have considered it a blessing if it hadn’t been for the nightmare…and the hour.
“You’re getting tense again.”
“I’ll be all right in a minute.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? It might make you feel better.”
“Trust me. It wouldn’t.”
He seemed taken aback by her bluntness, or more accurately, her rudeness. She understood and sympathized with what he must be feeling, but she couldn’t explain. Not now. And later…later he probably wouldn’t want to listen.
“I’ll be right back.”
As he left the bed, Rachel reached for him. “Where are you going?”
“To get you some water. Do you want me to bring your bag for some aspirin or antacid or something?”
She’d forgotten she’d blamed her previous mood on an upset stomach. “No. Nothing. Not even the water. Don’t worry about me, just stay.”
She barely had hold of his fingertips. Then she won his entire hand, his arm…and finally, he was back down on the bed and looming over her.
“Rachel…” Joe shook his head and brushed her hair away from her forehead. “You’re too used to being independent, do you know that?”
“It’s better that way. You can’t afford to worry about me. And I have no right to ask you to.”
“Since when did you start selling yourself short?”
“Since I decided not to waste the rest of our time together being a liability to you.”
Joe had turned the fan off before he’d turned on the TV, and the only sounds were nocturnal ones from outside. Plus her heartbeat thudding in her ears.
“Do you know you’re the most unusual woman I’ve ever met? No matter what happens—”
“No, don’t talk about it.” She turned her head away in secret anguish. This was the one thing she couldn’t bear.
She thought any other man would have misread that, accepted it and retreated—rather, let her leave, since this was his room, she reminded herself again. But then, she’d known too many people who quit too easily; the world seemed full of them these days. Her mistake was not remembering that Joe Becket wasn’t one of them.
“You’re right,” he said after a studious moment. “Besides, words would hardly be adequate for what I want you to know.”
And then he forced her to turn back toward him and took slow, thorough possession of her mouth in a way that silenced any further need for dialogue. It was a kiss from a man who’d clearly been counting the hours, maybe the minutes, before he could do it again. The kind of kiss that neither asked nor apologized, but simply, honestly, boldly was.
He explored and tasted her as though it was the first time, and then expanded that journey of discovery to her lips, her chin, her throat and her ear. Rachel became a creature of reflex, tilting her head back, to the side, arching her neck. Whatever he wanted, whatever she needed, she gave and took because her heart thrummed a devastating message beneath its excited beat: this was the last time.
The scent of urgency was held captive by the night, and yet what neither of them did was rush. Seconds after abandoning a kiss-sated spot, they explored it anew. By the time Joe had returned to her mouth a third time, Rachel knew her lips would stay tingling and swollen for hours.
As though they’d made some pact, neither of them spoke, but their communication remained constant and acute. Rachel knew the instant Joe wanted more, their bodies unhampered by clothes and free to explore without interruption. She knew exactly how to shift, leaning back and letting him trail kisses down her throat again, while his skillful fingers journeyed over her full, hard breasts to the knot keeping them apart. Then it was undone and he was peeling the cotton off her, sliding his hands under her and lifting her to his mouth.
She wanted—needed—this. It was her last gift to herself, and more—the punishment she deserved for all the tomorrows she would never have. They would never have. Reality hurt, and she wanted to feel every second of it.
He finished undressing her. No one had ever done that to her before. For her. It was exciting. Debilitating, she amended, realizing she’d lost the ability to do the heretofore simple mechanics on her own. He worked like a surgeon, serious and efficient, only to surprise her by suddenly lingering over a curve here or a mole there. Then she was exposed to the night, the heat and him.
Although she saw only glimpses of his face, she could also feel the way he looked at her, and it made her want to cry. She didn’t deserve it, and in that instant knew she would choose death before having to see his regret over having exposed this wonder and adoration.
Aware she was dangerously close to tears, she survived by trying to focus on getting his jeans off. It should have been simple, she thought with a flicker of her old amusement—the man remained an exhibitionist around her. She should have been able to handle three more inches of zipper, but nothing was simple when Joe Becket was aroused. In the end he had to help her, and by the time his jeans were kicked off the bed, the mystical light caught the faint sheen of moisture glowing on both of their bodies.
For a moment they experienced the singular pleasure of lying side by side with only a whisper of contact—breast to chest, thigh to thigh, palm to palm. Man to woman. Then he gently urged her onto her back, slid downward and placed a kiss just below her navel. Her breath caught in her throat and she went completely still.
The sheets whispered with his movements, and the next kiss landed on her right thigh.
She trembled. “Don’t,” she whispered, her heart beginning to pound furiously.
He made no reply except to award a twin caress to her left thigh. And then she felt his thumbs stroke upward from those places.
Rachel reached down to stop him.
“Why?”
“I can’t.”
It wasn’t the response she’d intended to make. She’d planned to say, “Because,” or “Not tonight,” or even “I don’t like that.” She hadn’t expected terror to win a coup over control and make her voice crack. It stole everything from her an
d laid bare the truth. And Joe knew how to deal with truth.
He simply laid his cheek against her thigh and stroked his five o’clock shadow, six hours older and that much more virile, against her already tingling skin and whispered, “I need all of you tonight, Rachel. I need to feel whole and alive. Don’t say no.”
His honesty and vulnerability defeated her. Her desire overpowered her. Like a moonflower unfolding to the mysterious advance of the moon, her body yielded and blossomed.
She felt the caress of his breath first, then his mouth, and always his heat. He sent her quickly to a sharp peak, and even more skillfully to another. She thought she would die from the pleasure and nearly did shatter from the love. And needing to return that wonder in kind, the moment he began to rise over her, she quickly pushed him off balance and rolled him onto his back.
“Rachel…you don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
He trembled at her whispered insistence. It filled her with joy and gratitude and determination. Then the room fell quiet again, as she began bestowing on his body equally sensual caresses.
She’d never done this to anyone, and yet loving Joe was the most natural thing she’d ever known. When at last she touched him as intimately as he’d caressed her, he uttered a hoarse groan and then blindly buried his unsteady hand in her hair.
All-new emotions spawned to life within her. She was gratified to know she could move him so deeply, and yet surprised at discovering how giving regenerated her own excitement, so that when he gripped her arms and dragged her over and beneath him, she was ready.
They came together quickly, smoothly, and the blue-white light of the moon had never been hotter. Rachel folded herself around Joe and watched hunger grow fierce. His face was breathtaking. Even as the power of his possession created an almost devastating strain, she refused to close her eyes. She wanted to see him in his moment of ecstasy, imprint his image on her memory forever. They were so close, so attuned, she could almost swear they shared one heartbeat. She wanted to remember this instant of bliss and prolong it. Perfect it.
As though he could read her mind, Joe linked his hands to hers. Then, sliding them over her head, he intensified their union to that last degree and gave her that perfection. Rachel felt herself stretched and sensitized beyond comprehension, only to surge beyond it as rapture claimed her.
Joe went still, rigid, pulsating inside her, but his gaze held her gaze as powerfully as his hands gripped hers.
“You’re mine, Rachel.”
“I know it.”
“And I’m yours.”
Tears kept her silent, but she knew he could see them shimmering in her eyes.
“It’s timeless, Rachel. Nothing and no one can change what we’ve created. Timeless.”
Then his voice broke, as hers had done before, and under the relentless power their joining had created, they rode their wave of bliss together.
It took a long while for heartbeats to calm. Rachel relished each one, and Joe’s peace.
“You’ll sleep now,” he whispered in her ear, his voice growing thicker from satisfaction and the lure of sleep.
“Yes,” she replied, her eyes wide open.
“God, Rachel…”
“I know.”
“What did I ever…”
“Hmm?”
“…do to deserve you?”
She kissed his strong, square chin, praying he would succumb quickly before her resolve gave out. Finally he did, and her eyes stayed dry because some tears only poured from the heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Rachel listened as Joe’s breathing deepened. When he rolled onto his back, she began the careful, slow maneuvering to ease out of bed.
He seemed at least partially conscious of their broken contact. Barely seconds after he’d settled in the new position, he sighed in his sleep and shifted restlessly.
Rachel froze and waited…until his breathing steadied once again. With an internal sigh of relief, she continued her cautious maneuvering.
By the time she was completely out of the bed, the clock on the nightstand read nearly 1:00 a.m. At the rate she was going, she would be cutting things close, and that left her with very little time for mistakes or unexpected problems.
She dressed focusing on speed and silence, not neatness; there wasn’t much she could do with her shirt at this point, anyway, she thought, tying it back the way she’d been wearing it. Then she tiptoed to the bureau. It was more like step, listen and step. If she sensed even the possibility of a board yielding under her weight, she paused and shifted over an inch or two. She’d spent a good portion of the day trying to learn where the weak boards were in the room, hoping that Joe had only seen a woman tense and pacing from restlessness.
No, don’t think about him. You’ll start making mistakes if you do.
Her years of developing her patience worked to her benefit, because once she got to the bureau, she had to wait for Joe to make a loud enough movement to cover the soft sound of opening a drawer. It took so long that by the time he did mumble in his sleep again and roll over, she had to abandon her plan to shut it, after she’d taken the tape.
The distance from the bureau to the door seemed like the Grand Canyon at first. But she painstakingly championed it, as well, even if her hand was soaked with perspiration by the time she put her fingers around the doorknob.
As she looked over at Joe one more time, her heart pounded painfully against her breast. She yearned to touch him and kiss him one last time, but she knew it was impossible.
I do love you. I only hope that someday you’ll understand how much…and then forgive.
Feeling as though she were leaving a part of herself behind, she cautiously stepped out of the room.
“Rachel…?”
She almost dropped the tape, almost failed to check a startled cry, almost had a heart attack. Grateful for the darkness that hid her attire, she forced herself to poke her head back in the door and whisper, “What?”
“You okay?”
“Yes. Go back to sleep.”
“Where’re you going?”
He sounded mostly asleep, and that gave Rachel back some of her confidence. “Bathroom,” she replied, her own voice hushed, soothing. “I’ll be right back.”
She heard him mumble something and shift to find another comfortable position. After a moment, he drew in a deep, contented breath and drifted under again.
Faint with relief, Rachel touched her head to the doorjamb. That was more than a close call, she thought. That was nearly the end. She decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to turn on the light in the bathroom in case he awoke again and glanced out of the room to check on her. Maybe it would buy her some crucial minutes.
Once she did that and shut the bathroom door, she was set for the stairs. With the boxed video and her sneakers in one hand, she grasped the railing with the other and decided on her first step, her second, her third.
By the time she got to the second floor, the muscles in her calves and thighs were cramping. But she knew she could relax somewhat. Correction, she thought, speed up.
Once she arrived downstairs, she sat down on the landing, relieved to have to take a minute to put on her shoes. Her pulse rate was going at a sprinter’s speed and her body felt as though it had run a marathon. Then she heard something that made her forget aches and pains.
Yes, she thought, lifting her head, there it was again…a creak, like a door opening somewhere in the house. Silence followed and held. Not a closing sound, not any footsteps, just those two instances of brief intrusion on the night’s calm.
Had someone heard her? Who? Because she’d had her head down she’d missed details, and, too, the acoustics in the house had always been bad.
What if it was Joe?
What if it wasn’t Joe?
She thought about all the other sounds she’d been wondering about since moving in…and the roses that had been pulled from the vase…the petals that had stained her fingers with
blood, only to vanish like Joe’s blood had vanished on the bridge.
She couldn’t deal with this. Hastily finishing with the laces on her shoes, Rachel bolted for the door. Once she was outside it would be all right, she assured herself. She had to concentrate on the priority at hand. No matter what, she was going to save Joe.
Except the damn door wouldn’t shut. The dampness, she realized, was finally having an effect on it, the same way it was permeating everything else. Not now, she commanded with an inner groan.
Tucking the tape between her knees, she used both hands to try to tug at the door and yet not slam it—an impossible task, she soon discovered when the wood gave and a thud resounded around her. Horrified, Rachel held her breath and waited.
Joe came awake like a flipped-on light switch. At first he hadn’t a clue as to what woke him; much faster came the realization that Rachel wasn’t beside him.
Where’d she go?
And how long ago had it been?
He vaguely recalled their having a brief dialogue, and guilt rose, bringing with it shame. What if she was feeling badly again? What if she was seriously ill? She’d been subdued, even tense, for most of the day, not that he’d been Joe Cool.
One thing was for certain, he thought, shifting his legs over the side of the bed, he wouldn’t get back to sleep until he had her back in his arms. Considering the mess his life was in, it spoke profoundly of what had happened to him, of how she had changed him to where he could nod off as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
He opened the door and immediately saw the glow of light from beneath the bathroom door. Rather than reassure him, it deepened his concern. Too long, he thought, wandering down the hall. And he didn’t like the quiet.
He hesitated outside and then knocked softly. “Doc? You okay?”
She didn’t answer.
“Rachel?”
A cold dread crept up through the floorboards into the soles of his feet. Before it could reach the back of his neck, Joe had pictured a half-dozen hideous images and was stepping away from the door, bent on racing to retrieve his gun. Then he stopped, for the first time in his life frozen by indecision.
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