"Pay attention," he said as though he knew that her attention had wandered.
"I'm trying." She was—to him. Aware of the length of him against her back, his arms sheltering her close to his body. She loved everything about this, and at the same time she felt completely unlike herself. She was used to being in charge, being in control. Neither one was true here. And to her great surprise, she didn't want a thing to change.
In no time they were finished, and he carried the platter of peppers, zucchini, onions and mushrooms outside where he lined them neatly on the grill. "Fifteen minutes," he said, "and it will be time to put on the steak." He glanced around the patio. "Now … what to do with fifteen minutes?"
"I can't imagine," she murmured.
He led her to the cushioned, loveseat-size swing.
"Ever neck right here?" he asked.
"I—no."
"Have you always lived here alone?"
She nodded, remembering how good it had felt to be in a house where she didn't have any memories of either of her exes.
"That explains it, then." He pulled her down next to him. "Another first, then. We're going to have to start counting." His mouth came closer, but his eyes were still open, still watching her. "Gotta promise me something, Dr. Jensen."
"What?" She wanted that kiss more than anything.
"Keep your hands above the waist or we'll burn dinner."
Chuckling, she pulled his head down and kissed him. The next fifteen minutes were the sweetest she had ever spent. He held her hands and kissed her, sometimes with such longing that she wanted to cry, sometimes so chastely she felt brand-new at this and on the brink of some fabulous discovery.
When he got up and retrieved the steak from the kitchen, she stayed on the swing and watched. Again whistling under his breath—the theme song from Rocky, she was pretty sure—she experienced an intense longing for it to always be like this. God, he was good-looking. Smart. Self-assured. Easy to be around. And temporary. Don't forget that.
And by this time next week, if things went as planned, gone. She'd probably never see him again. Inevitable as it was, she hated the thought.
"Hey, you over on the swing, lazing around while I cook," he called to her.
"Moi?"
He ginned. "You. Up and at 'em. Time to set the table."
He brought the steak and vegetables to the table just as she finished setting it. She'd had parties in the backyard before, but this was the first time she had ever had dinner. Another first.
As the sun settled toward the western horizon, the temperature dropped, and Jack used her alleged goose bumps as an excuse to share the picnic bench with her, his arm draped companionably around her shoulder when he wasn't offering her bites from his fork and eating more food than she could consume in days.
While they ate he asked a thousand questions about her Victorian-era house. How old it was, when she had bought it, what she liked best about it. He liked the cannonball posts, he told her, and the scroll-saw carpentry around the eaves and the cut shingles on the second-floor facade. It was apparent to her that the man may have left school to become a soldier, but his interest in architecture was still very much a part of him.
Through the meal and the conversation he continued to touch her. Rubbing a finger up and down her arm. Tracing a vein across the back of her hand. Stroking an earlobe. And she wondered how she had managed to live the past twenty-eight years of her life without him touching her.
Even better, he listened as she told him about her work, her goals, what she liked to do on lazy days and her favorite movies.
She was crazy, she decided. She never acted like this—telling a guy more about herself than she ever had before. Her marriage with Brandon had, unfortunately, been rooted in lust. She had been so young and so determined to have a marriage like Lily's, that she had ignored all the painfully obvious signs indicating she and Brandon had nothing in common. When Richard came along, he showered her with the affection she craved so desperately. In return he was self-absorbed, talking about himself and his plans and his dreams—that all came with the grandiose illusions of a drug-hazed mind.
That Jack listened to her was a powerful aphrodisiac.
When they did the dishes together, his touches became more leisurely, more intimate. Stroking her back and pulling her T-shirt loose from the waistband of her slacks so he had access to her bare skin.
"I'm going to give you a bath," he said against her ear as she put the last plate away.
"You are not." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "That's too—"
"Intimate? Naughty?"
Her breath hitched. "Yes."
His grin was wicked. "All the more reason." Taking her by the hand, he led her through the house, pausing just long enough to reset the alarm system—the warrior was not all gone, after all—and up the stairs.
"The bathtub isn't big enough for both of us," she pointed out. The truth was her protests were even less than halfhearted. The idea of him washing her, having his hands on her, not to mention announcing his intention—it all made her burn.
"This isn't for me." Inside the bathroom, he began opening cupboards. "Where do you keep the bubble bath?"
"I'm not sure I have any."
He raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Every woman I know owns bubble bath."
"I'm not like most women."
He gave her a frankly assessing look, then agreed, "No, you're not." He searched through the cabinet under the sink and after a second's rummaging, came up with a small bottle. "I knew it. Ocean Tranquility," he read. "That'll do."
He turned on the water and set the plug in the bottom of the claw-foot tub, then dumped in the entire bottle of Ocean Tranquility. Bubbles began to grow, and a crisp scent filled the air.
Jack turned to Dahlia. "Now then, you're a little overdressed for a bath."
"You can't expect me to just strip in front of you."
"I don't," he agreed, pulling off his own shirt and sliding off his jeans. Clad only in boxers, he caught her gaze. "I expect to undress you—I've wanted to see you naked since the first instant I laid eyes on you. Then, I'm going to wash you and prove to you that I'm a self-disciplined man."
"You are?" She laughed. "Why is that so important?"
His brilliant eyes darkened. "Because, if I followed my instincts, I would have thrown you over my shoulder the second we got in the house and brought you upstairs for wild sex right then."
That had been exactly what she had anticipated. Instead he had spent the last couple of hours seducing her as she never had been seduced.
He pulled the shirt over her head.
"Want to know why I want to see you naked?"
Her breasts. Remembering the year she had grown from a tall, skinny girl into her current shape, she had imagined what the ugly duckling grown into a swan must have felt. She felt like a stranger in her own body.
And, in her most secret heart of hearts, she loved it even though she hated that she was first judged as a mindless bimbo simply because of how she looked. Guys who had never before paid her the slightest attention were suddenly all over her. She wondered if the ugly duckling, like herself, had ever longed to be seen for her true self rather than for the package.
He dropped another of his addicting kisses on her mouth as he unfastened her bra. "Because I want to know what the most intelligent woman I've ever known looks like without her clothes."
His simple words brought tears to her eyes.
"None of that," he whispered, kissing one cheek, then the other, his lips absorbing the tears before they fell.
He held her gaze as he dropped the bra to the floor with her shirt. Not looking away from her eyes, his hands came to her waist, and she felt him undo the button at the waistband, then slide the zipper down, his hands so warm, so good against her bare skin.
He smiled. "I am going to look, you know."
"I know."
"I like how a woman is made," he said. "And, I know I'm going to love how you
're made."
He knelt then, pushing her jeans and panties down her legs and pulling off her shoes. She braced her hands against his bare shoulders, her gaze focused on his dark head, his breath hot against her belly.
He kissed her tummy, then blew a raspberry against her belly button.
She giggled, and he laughed.
"Gotcha," he said, then stood. And indeed he looked. Holding her lightly at the waist, his gaze heated her skin as it traveled up her body from her feet, at last resting on her breasts. The expression in his eyes was … approval, appreciation, she thought with a touch of wonder. He simply looked, without touching them at all.
Jack wished he knew what to say to her that she surely hadn't heard before. She was the most magnificent woman he had ever laid eyes on. As he watched, a blush crept from her breasts, staining her cheeks a deep pink. Her embarrassment over his frank assessment pleased him in ways he couldn't even begin to name, starting with the knowledge that she wasn't used to being looked at. So much for the dozens of lovers that she had supposedly had.
The memory of how she'd felt this afternoon when he first entered her swamped him. She had been as frantic for that joining as he'd been, and then she was so tight … as though she hadn't done this in a long time.
"How worried do we need to be about our unprotected sex this afternoon?" he asked, ducking slightly so she had to meet his gaze.
Her color became even pinker. "We should be, um, fine. My period is due in a couple of more days."
He touched her cheek with a finger, making sure she looked at him. "Getting pregnant … I promise, that's all you have to worry about from me, too."
He took her hand and urged her toward the tub. She settled into the warm water, right up to her neck, the bubbles clinging to her skin the way he wanted.
"Nobody's ever given you a bath before," he said huskily.
"Not if you don't count my mother."
Chuckling, he knelt next to the tub and turned off the water. "You're right. She doesn't count." Pressing a kiss against her temple, he added, "Another first."
"Yes."
Her reply sounded strangled, and he leaned back so he could look at her.
"Am I making you that uncomfortable?"
Her eyes were dark and much too serious when she looked at him. "The truth?"
"Always."
"I can't remember a time when I've been more nervous."
"I won't hurt you. I promise." He reached for a washcloth hanging on the rack next to a fluffy blue towel.
"That's not what I'm worried about."
Instead of answering her, he dipped the cloth in the water, then ran it from her collarbone to her wrist, then spread her fingers, washing carefully between each one.
"Not being—" She shivered as he repeated the task with her other arm. "Not being in control—"
"Scares the hell out of you," he finished softly.
Without meeting his glance, she nodded.
"Want to stop?" He had the discipline to walk away if that was what she really wanted. He wouldn't like it. But he could, he would walk out of here right now if—
"No."
He began breathing again and lifted one of her feet out of the water. After a second's hesitation, she rested her head on the lip of the tub.
Her legs were long, slender, her ankle bones sharply defined and looking much too delicate to support her. He was charmed with the discovery that she painted her toenails a vibrant sexy crimson that he was sure she had never worn on her fingernails.
"Do you…"
As before her voice trailed off, and he had the realization that the supremely confident Dr. Jensen was anything but, about this aspect of herself.
"Have you given lots of women baths?"
He met her gaze, then leaned down to kiss her. "No." He kissed her again. "This is a first for me, too."
"Really?"
"Really." At her disbelieving expression, he grinned. "I'm just like all the other guys you've known." His hand slipped beneath the water and brushed against the curls at the apex of her legs. "In a big hurry to end up right here." His finger lightly traced around one nipple then the other. "And genetically programmed to worship a woman's breasts." He returned to the task of washing her other leg. "And forgetting there's a lot more to a woman than those two body parts."
"Ah, a liberated male," she said, her teasing a more familiar tone to him.
He shook his head. "Not even a little. I promised myself I was going to do this right, that's all. Didn't you know … anticipation is the biggest turn-on of all."
Her breath hitched. "Yes."
"Yeah." He returned to her mouth, her kisses more familiar with each one, and so, so sweet. Kissing her, just kissing, was more arousing by far than the entire act of sex had recently been.
She wrapped her arms around him, and when she wasn't able to pull him into the tub, drew lazy circles around his own nipples. When her hands wandered lower, he took them within his.
He broke off the kiss and smiled at her. "Later. Right now, I get to play with you."
Her returning smile was pure seduction, and she arched against him. "Go ahead. Be disciplined. I can stand it."
His gaze raked down her body, and his own hardened even more. "Can you?"
He brought the washcloth back up to her neck and worked his way across her chest above her breasts, letting the cloth graze her ever-more-erect nipples. Her pupils darkened to nearly black.
"Turnabout is going to be fair play, Jack."
"Promise?"
"You can count on it."
He abandoned the washcloth and soaped his hands, then touched her breasts as he had longed to do since that very first day. Satiny skin, smooth, firm, and her nipples so hard she trembled every time he touched them. He watched her eyes, finding her approval at its highest when his hands skimmed over her skin in a featherlight caress.
He lingered at the plane of her belly, and when he discovered that her belly button was ticklish, so much so that she giggled, he couldn't resist returning to it again and again. He liked this … loved it … playing with her body, making her laugh, discovering what touches she liked the best.
Every time he got closer to her enticing mound, her legs shifted restlessly. With soapy hands he caressed one leg, then the other, smoothing the flat of his palm along the inside of her thigh, then the other, each time growing a little more bold with his touch when he encountered the soft curls protecting the part of her he most wanted to touch. Teasing her, but never quite giving her the more intimate touch he knew she craved.
The water cooled, and he lifted her out of the bath, wrapping the towel around her. "A little lotion for those long legs, and some powder to go between your breasts—"
"Forget that," she told him, letting the towel drop to the floor and leading him to her bedroom.
With an efficient toss, she pulled the comforter and sheet to the bottom of the bed, sank down on it and reached for his shorts.
"You've proven it, Jack." She pushed the boxers down his legs, and he sprang free. "You're a very disciplined man." Scooting back on the bed, she held her arms out, her color once again very high. "I've had about all the discipline I can stand for one night."
He grinned, liking this aspect of her as much as he liked the shy woman who let him bathe her.
"You told me this afternoon you wanted me naked … right here."
"That I did." He came down beside her and pulled her into his arms. She fit him perfectly, her long, slender feet braced against his, her pelvis nestled against his, her beautiful breasts pressed against his chest. His arms were completely filled, and he knew that he'd never again be satisfied having a small woman in his embrace. Holding this woman … he had the fleeting thought he could do this for the rest of his life and never grow tired of it.
He rolled her onto her back and stared down at her, imprinting everything about this moment into his memory.
"Are you okay?" she whispered.
The instant befo
re, he could have said that he was. Just now, he knew that he wasn't, that he might never be again.
She was made for him … this woman. The way she filled his arms. The way she stood up to him. The way she laughed and walked and indulged her dog. This went way beyond simple sex. Since that was all they had agreed to, he wasn't at all sure how to continue and walk away from her intact.
Since his divorce, he'd made damn sure he didn't involve his heart or risk the possibility of babies. With this woman he had done both.
"Kiss me, Jack," she commanded.
He did, and in the next heartbeat decided it didn't matter. If now was all they had, then he'd take it and pay the devil his due later.
Long stroking touches down the back became intimate ones on the inside of the thigh … and higher. He loved the feel of her hands on him, testing his resolve to take things as slowly as they both could stand. Within his arms she burned, and her breathing became ragged, no less than his own, he knew. He worshiped her body with his hands, then his mouth. And at the moment she whispered that she was dying from the wanting, he entered her … and it was like flying.
Through it, she held on to his hands as though they were her lifeline. When the climax overtook them, he kissed her, absorbing her cries into his very being, where he would carry them always.
They slept, hanging on to each other, then making love again, the deep wanting no less than it was the time before, the climax just as intense.
Jack dozed off with her folded into his body, her fragrant soft hair against his cheek, and he imagined having her there forever.
Some infinitesimal sound brought him wide awake. He lay there with Dahlia in his arms, every sense alert. In her dog bed, Boo was still sound asleep.
Gently unwrapping Dahlia's arms from around him, he slipped out of the bed and put on his shorts. Silent as a shadow, be moved across the room. At the open doorway he stood to one side and listened. For long moments there was nothing. With the patience that had served him so well as a sniper, he waited.
Then he heard it. The creak of someone's weight carefully pressing down on the third stair tread from the bottom.
FRIEND, LOVER, PROTECTOR Page 14