by Diana Miller
“Finally they asked me to help with a delivery. That was it, the last piece. Once I knew their delivery system, I’d be able to get the hell out of there forever. I was supposed to go to a house by the river and wait inside for the courier.”
He shivered again, seeing the river like black ice in the moonless night and the dilapidated bungalow, a colony of rats scattering when he’d stepped inside. Smelling the nauseating combination of urine, filth, and blood.
Jillian pressed closer to him, moved her hands harder over his back. She felt so good, so warm. So different from the horror playing in his mind.
“When I showed up, I had a feeling something was wrong, but I was so anxious to finish, I ignored my gut. I went inside anyway. Someone jumped me.”
He shuddered violently, tightening his arms. His spine froze, just like it had when he’d sensed someone behind him. Then searing pain. He squeezed Jillian so hard he felt her bones, but she kept stroking his back. “He sliced my shoulder then shot me in the stomach.” The pain in his shoulder and gut were as excruciating as they’d been that first time, his body reliving the agony. His arms tightened more. He must be hurting her, but she didn’t complain, and he couldn’t make himself loosen his grip.
“I went down. Another man came inside, one I’d worked with. We thought he was one of ours, but they’d bought him. He’d betrayed me.”
Bile burned his throat and mouth. He swallowed it, coughed, swallowed again. “I was still conscious enough to realize he was hitting me with a steel bat, crushing both my kneecaps. Then he shot my thigh. He laughed, said he’d meant to hit higher. He was about to shoot again when the other guy said to leave it, that I was already dead.”
“My God.” Jillian’s hand faltered before she resumed stroking.
Paul focused on her scent, on the feel of her body and hands. She was the only thing keeping the memories and pain from consuming him.
“After they left, I was in agony. I knew I was dying. My only chance was to find help. I dragged myself out of the house and to the river. I was bleeding, losing strength. The pain kept getting worse and worse…”
He remembered it all. Inching along the dirt like a worm, his body a frozen carcass despite the evening’s heat, rocks, branches, and dirt grinding into the wounds in his gut and thigh. A bird’s plaintive cry, like a death knell cutting through the silence. The smell and taste of his blood, choking him, stealing his breath.
“Finally I couldn’t go any farther. I decided to die.” Even then, the pain hadn’t left. Even when he’d closed his eyes and passed into the time he didn’t remember, the excruciating pain continued.
“What happened?” Jillian’s voice was quiet, her fingers kneading his shoulders again.
“I woke up in a hospital. A friend had learned I’d been made. Too late to warn me, but he found the house and followed my blood until he stumbled over me. Just in time, the doctors said. If he’d been much later, I’d have died. I nearly did anyway.” Paul let out a long, shaky breath. “Whenever I dream about it, even think about it, I feel it all again. The pain, that horrible pain…”
But the pain had faded. All he felt now was Jillian, the warmth of her body, the sensation of her hands sliding over his bare skin.
She moved out of his arms. “Do you think you can sleep now?”
He stared at her. His heart and breathing had accelerated again, although every trace of a chill was gone. Now his body felt hot. All of it.
Her brow wrinkled, and she touched his arm. “Paul? Do you need something?”
If she’d been sitting on his lap, she’d have known what he needed, but it wasn’t anything he could ask for. He shook his head.
Her cheeks were wet. She’d been crying for him, for his pain.
He touched her tears with his fingertips. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“You already said that. Don’t be. I’m a light sleeper, but I also fall right back to sleep.”
“Good.” He couldn’t stop himself from running his fingers through her hair. It flowed like spring water over his burning skin. He did it again, slower this time.
“I should go.” Jillian mouthed the words, but didn’t move, just sat there staring into his eyes.
He lifted her chin then lowered his head. Her breath caught as his lips touched hers.
The last remnants of memory washed away at the feel of her lips, so warm against his. He deepened the kiss, still keeping it gentle, slipping his tongue to taste her, to explore the recesses of her mouth. Her tongue met his, and her arms circled his neck.
Her feel and taste flooded his senses. He pushed her back onto the bed. He rained kisses over her face and neck. He slid his hands up the backs of her thighs and cupped her bare buttocks.
Her hands moved over his back again, but her strokes now were harder, faster, as if she needed the feel of him as much as he needed her. Her response fed his own passion until he couldn’t think of anything but her, how she smelled, slightly different from before, yet the same. To remember how it had been to touch her everywhere, feel her silky skin and soft curves and wet fire, to have her touch him, to be inside her—
He reached under her T-shirt with both hands and massaged her breasts. She arched into his hands, her nipples hard against his palms. He yanked the T-shirt off. She was so damn beautiful. How could he ever have enjoyed breasts too large to cover with his palms, hair that didn’t sparkle in the lamplight? He skimmed his hands over her breasts and stomach, down to her thighs. Her eyes had darkened from their normal ice blue to that color they got when she was lost in passion, more gorgeous than the Pacific at its best.
He sucked her nipple, and she moaned. He needed this, to lose himself in her until they both exploded, to feel that combination of exhilaration, contentment, and peace that came after he’d loved her.
He moved his mouth to her other nipple, sucking harder as he stroked her stomach then lower. She was so hot, so wet. He eased a finger into her, felt her body clutch around it, inserted another. She was moaning louder, straining against his hand. His thumb circled. She cried out, her body spasming and flowing on his fingers.
God, she was so responsive to him. He loved to watch her, loved to see her face and body when he made her climax over and over.
He flicked his thumb again but she pushed his hand away then pulled his gym shorts just low enough to free him. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life. He nearly lost it as she fondled him. He wouldn’t make it inside her if she kept playing with him like that. He grabbed both her wrists with one hand and pinned them over her head, stripping off his shorts with his free hand. He positioned his body over hers. He needed this so damn much. After all that had happened, he needed—
He needed to remember what he was supposed to be doing.
He needed to get away from her while he still could, to remember the consequences if he didn’t. He gritted his teeth as he released her and rolled away. He pulled on his gym shorts then took a couple deep breaths, staring blindly across the room as he struggled to regain his control. “Please leave.”
“What?” Jillian’s voice was breathy.
Paul steeled himself then forced himself to face her. “Leave. Now.”
She still didn’t move.
For her own good, she had to get the hell out of here. He twisted his mouth into a sneer. “Next time you need stress relief, try the exercise room.”
He heard her quick intake of breath and the creak of the bed as she stood, felt the sting of her palm on his cheek. Then she grabbed her T-shirt and raced out of the room.
He rubbed his burning cheek. He deserved worse after what he’d said. But it had been the right thing to do. If his method had been a little harsh, it had still been the best way to rescue him from a situation that could have been dangerous, even deadly, for both of them.
The right thing. He sat on the bed, staring at the door she’d slammed on her way out. He still felt like a heel, a bastard, an ass, every deroga
tory word in the book. Not to mention frustrated as hell.
He lay down, adjusted the pillow under his head, and pulled up the sheet.
It was going to be one long night.
Chapter 16
Paul sipped his fifth cup of coffee of the morning then set the cup on a Carrera marble coaster on the antique Spanish coffee table and massaged his temples. When he’d woken up this morning he’d felt even shittier than he had last night about how he’d treated Jillian. Especially after she’d helped him through that nightmare.
For her safety, he couldn’t let himself get near her. But he’d long-jumped way over the line. He needed to take full responsibility for their encounter and apologize for brutally rejecting her, blame it on disorientation or a flashback or something. He might want her to dislike him, but he didn’t want her thinking he didn’t respect her.
“Is Jillian still asleep?” Tony strode across the cream and gold Persian carpet then sat on one of the low Spanish brown leather stools beside the coffee table.
“She’s been moving around her room for the past hour. Would you ask her to come here?” The sooner Paul got his apology over with, the better. “I’d do it, but I think she’s mad at me.”
“Considering the way she ran from your room last night, I think you are probably right.”
Paul fingers tightened around the porcelain cup handle.
“Perhaps you should disable the security camera in the hallway,” Tony continued.
The fragile cup handle snapped. Paul had disabled the cameras in both his and Jillian’s bedrooms, but he’d forgotten about that damn one in the hall. Tony had been watching the monitors when Jillian had run out of Paul’s room—nude—and no doubt assumed the worst.
Paul dropped the handle onto the coffee table. “Jillian and I were involved in Keystone, before the shooting. I didn’t tell the bureau everything because it’s none of their damn business.”
Tony watched Paul with his patented inscrutable expression.
“She came into my room because I had a nightmare, and we got a little carried away. Until I remembered it can’t happen now because I’m protecting her. She misinterpreted my rejection.” Paul forced himself to meet Tony’s intense gaze. “I want to explain and apologize. And to assure her it won’t happen again.”
Tony studied him for a long moment. Paul shifted uncomfortably, fighting the urge to say more.
Then Tony nodded. “She’s a very nice lady. I’ll get her.”
Paul relaxed against the plush gold sofa. Tony had clearly decided to forgive him, despite the protective instincts Jillian appeared to have raised. Thank God. He wasn’t up to having both Jillian and Tony pissed at him. “She’d probably appreciate a cup of coffee.”
* * * *
Jillian stared at the foggy glass, so lost in the thoughts that had consumed her all night that she scarcely noticed the needles of hot water pummeling her rigid back and shoulders. How could she have acted like that? She’d honestly gone to Paul’s room to comfort him. After he’d kissed her, though, his comfort had been the furthest thing from her mind. Every bit of shameless behavior had been for her own benefit. And her behavior had been shameless. Paul didn’t want her here now and had never wanted her any way but physically, was still mourning his wife, for heaven’s sake. She’d nonetheless let him use her and, God help her, enjoyed every second of it, until his disgust with her had obliterated every smidgen of lust.
How was she going to face him?
Jillian got out of the shower and dried off then put on the underwear she’d washed out last night, followed by her jeans, the Springsteen T-shirt, and her socks and running shoes. She pulled her wet hair into a ponytail, applied the lipstick she’d found in her jacket pocket to both her lips and pale cheeks, and was ready to face the day.
Except she didn’t want to face the day, not when she’d also have to face the humiliation of seeing Paul. She walked over to the window and opened the sapphire silk drapes to a beautiful morning, the bright sunlight streaming through the glass.
Her brain cleared.
What the heck was she doing blaming herself for last night? She’d gone to Paul to help him. She was a doctor, and he’d been in pain. She’d been about to leave when he’d kissed her.
He’d kissed her.
She’d somehow lost sight of that part in her guilt-induced self-recriminations. Paul had initiated that kiss. All she’d done was respond with the same passion he had, until he’d stopped, and it hadn’t been out of disgust.
She plopped down on the bed, her lips compressing into a thin line. Paul had realized he had the perfect opportunity to manipulate her with sex, just like in the Rockies. His current goal was undoubtedly to turn her into such an emotional basket case that she’d obey him unquestioningly. She’d responded according to the government agent handbook.
Well, no more. She’d never been the emotional-basket-case type. She might not be able to control much around here, but she was not turning into a pathetic wimp who’d follow Paul Devlin’s script.
She wasn’t even sympathetic anymore. Paul Devlin was a first-class ass. No matter how she’d complicated his job of protecting her, no matter what had happened to his wife, no matter how messed up his psyche, he shouldn’t have treated her the way he had since she’d been hauled from Denver. She was the one who’d had her life disrupted, her best friend killed, and been nearly killed herself, almost certainly because he’d pursued her in Keystone. Afterwards she hadn’t wanted his protection, but he’d forced it on her. The least he could do was treat her like a decent human being.
Her blood bubbled through her veins like boiling seltzer. Time to set things straight. She marched to the door.
“Jillian? Are you awake?”
Tony’s knock and question came as she was reaching for the handle. She opened the door and he bowed slightly. “I trust you slept well.”
Her dark circles made a polite lie out of the question. “I’m having a few problems with jet lag.”
Tony held out a cup of coffee. “Paul thought you might like this.”
“Thanks.” He undoubtedly had an ulterior motive for sending it.
“He also asked that you come to the living room now.”
The ulterior motive. She’d been on her way, but she’d be damned if she’d come running to his summons. “Tell him I’ll be there when I’m ready.”
Tony’s lips twitched, but he suppressed it so quickly Jillian thought maybe she’d imagined it. He gave her another half bow, then left.
Paul probably expected her to come crawling in, humiliated and ready to do whatever he wanted. She sat down on the bed, sipping her coffee. By the time she was through with him, he’d be the one crawling.
* * * *
Jillian refilled her cup in the kitchen then marched into the living room.
Paul was on the sofa, drinking coffee. He looked up. “I want—”
“Before you begin, I’d like to say something.” Jillian met his eyes. “Last night when I heard you cry out, I went into your room. I stayed to comfort you. Partly because of my ER doctor mentality and partly because you’d helped me after the house exploded.”
“Yes—”
“You took advantage of the situation. I’d like your promise it won’t happen again.”
His jaw dropped. “I didn’t notice you fighting me off.”
She gave him the most incredulous look she could manage. “What did you expect? I’m dependent on you for my survival.”
From the way Paul slammed his cup down on the coffee table, she must have been convincing. “You’re saying you responded the way you did because you were afraid not to?”
“Yes, and I’m saying it had better not happen again.”
He picked up his cup, his features set. “Don’t worry, it won’t. I don’t need intimidation to get women.” He paused with his cup halfway to his lips. “As you proved in the past.”
Jillian sat on a tufted gol
d chair perpendicular to the sofa. “I agree I was willing in Keystone. But I didn’t really know you then, did I? I only knew Mark Jefferson, who doesn’t even exist.”
“I’m—”
“As you’ve forced me to admit, I hadn’t dated anyone since Andy. Kristen…” Her voice cracked. She took a deep breath, focused. “Kristen knew Andy wanted to get back together with me. We were both concerned if I hadn’t been with a man before I talked to him, I might confuse lust with love and decide to take him back for the wrong reasons.”
“You’re saying you used me?” Paul looked furious, which under the circumstances was ludicrous.
“At least I didn’t have any killers after me.”
“That night didn’t mean a thing to you.”
“The sex was decent, and it helped me think more clearly about Andy.” Jillian shrugged one shoulder. “Other than being angry that you ran out and worried you were married, I didn’t give you another thought until strange things started happening.” She looked pointedly at his fingers, clamped around the handle of his cup. “You’re going to break that off if you aren’t careful.”
Paul set the cup down.
“I certainly have no desire to have sex with you again,” she continued. “But as I said, I’m dependent on you. I’d appreciate your assurance you won’t take advantage of me again.”
Paul rubbed his face. “I don’t believe this.”
“If you won’t give me that assurance, I’ll be forced to contact your superiors.”
“Contact my superiors? You don’t have to worry. I will never—” Paul dropped his hands “—take advantage of you again.”
Without another word, he got to his feet and stormed out of the house.
* * * *
Avoiding Jillian for twenty-four hours hadn’t done much to cool his temper, Paul acknowledged the next morning as he stomped from the office to the house to talk to her. Sure, maybe some part of her acquiescence the night before last had been due to isolation and stress. But how the hell could she have claimed she was afraid not to do what he wanted? She’d responded out of passion, not fear, damn it, and would have happily gone much further than they had if he hadn’t stopped.