Pieces of Sky

by Warner, Kaki

  He let his foot drop. “Ben’s in there?”

  “Where else would he be?” She tilted her head back to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want him watching us.”

  “He’s asleep.”

  “What if he wakes up?”

  “He’s a baby.”

  “Still.”

  “You dolt. He’s in the corner behind a screen.”

  “That’s different.” But he was careful not to make too much noise. Luckily she’d left a lamp burning. After he lowered her onto the bed, he gave her a quick kiss then straightened. “I just hope you don’t wake him with all your carrying on.” He unbuttoned his shirt.

  “I do not carry on,” she said, staring—not unhappily, he thought—at his chest.

  “You will.” As he tossed the shirt aside, he noticed she hadn’t started on her robe. “Need help with those buttons?” he asked, loosening his belt buckle.

  “Um, no.”

  Reminding himself that in all the ways that mattered Jessica was still an innocent, he turned his back as he finished stripping. Behind him he heard furtive rustlings and muttering, and by the time he slid under the sheet, her robe hung over the foot rail and she had the sheet, blanket, and counterpane pulled to her chin.

  Rolling onto his side, he propped his head on the heel of his hand, careful to keep some distance between them, but still close enough to see her clearly in the dim light. She had never looked more beautiful to him, her face pale and anxious, but her eyes full of trust and her chestnut hair spilling across the pillows like liquid fire.

  “Aren’t you going to put out the lamp?” she asked in a tinny voice.

  He shook his head, almost overwhelmed by the feelings she roused in him. It would be difficult to hold himself back, but he knew this would go better if he let her set the pace. “I want to see you,” he said, smoothing a curl across the pillow with his fingertip. “I want you to see me and know it’s me and not him.”

  “Oh.” She gave him a martyr’s brave smile.

  He almost laughed aloud. She had no idea how grand this was going to be. “I won’t force you to do anything, Jessica.” As he spoke, he wound the silky curl around his index finger. It was so fine it caught on the roughness of his skin. “But I need you to tell me what you like and what you don’t. Will you do that?”

  She nodded, as solemn as a pallbearer at her own funeral.

  “Good.” Careful to keep his body from touching hers, he leaned over, brushed a kiss across the tight seam of her mouth, then worked his way down her jaw to the hollow of her throat. He could feel the little puffs of her quickened breathing against his hair and sensed that, beneath the fear, she was a passionate woman. In fact, he planned on it.

  “You can thrash around all you want.” He pressed his lips against that butterfly pulsebeat in her throat then lifted his head and grinned. “But keep the ‘hallelujahs’ to a minimum so we don’t wake Ben. I’ll do the same.”

  “You’re making a joke, right?”

  He just smiled and slid his hand under the covers.

  Moving slowly, gentling her as he might a frightened colt, he ran his open hand from her throat, over her breast, and down to her hip. He felt a slight dampness on his fingertips and realized it was milk leaking from her breasts. It felt alien and mysterious and so profoundly feminine, it aroused within him an almost desperate need to shelter and protect this fragile woman. His woman.

  Smiling down at her, he stroked her again. By the third pass, she quivered beneath his touch. “Do you like that?” he asked softly, watching her reactions play across her expressive face.

  “Ah-no-yes.”

  “And this?”

  “Oh.” Her eyes closed.

  He could feel her heart pounding beneath his palm and wondered if it was from fear or desire. “Think about me, not him.” He kept his movements gentle and slow. “Think about this. And what’s happening now . . . in this room . . . just you and me.” She arched against his hand like a cat.

  “Say my name.”

  “B-Brady.”

  He ran his tongue over the seam of her lips. “Again.”

  “Brady.” With a sigh, Jessica surrendered to sensation, her body coming alive under his touch, her mind soothed by his voice. It was remarkable and frightening and wonderful. For such a powerful man, he had the gentlest hands she’d ever known.

  Time slowed. Fear receded. When he finally pulled the covers away, cool air danced across her heated flesh, making her shiver. She watched his eyes move over her body and shivered again. But not from the cold.

  “Freckles. I knew it.” He kissed a path from her breast up her neck and across her jaw, stopping when he reached her ear. “You know how to ride a horse?” he whispered.

  Somehow she managed to nod.

  His lips tugged on her earlobe. “Astride?”

  “No.”

  “Time to learn.”

  He rolled onto his back, taking her with him until she lay on top of his body. Startled, she stiffened her arms against his shoulders, trying to put some space between them. But he gently pulled her down until her breasts flattened against his chest and her cheek rested above his heart. He covered them with the sheet then just held her, his hands moving in lazy circles on her back.

  The feel of flesh against flesh—especially there—was shocking—as was the fact that his chin rested against her temple yet her toes scarcely reached to his ankles. If something went wrong, she would be powerless against him. A wiser woman would stop now.

  Instead, she let herself relax, enjoying the tickle of masculine hair against her breasts and legs, and the solid feel of his strong body against hers without the weight of it pressing her down. Lulled by his warmth and the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear, she let her mind drift.

  This isn’t so bad. I can do this.

  “Touch me,” he whispered against her hair.

  Tentatively she stroked a hand across his chest, heard his sharp intake of breath as muscles jerked beneath her palm. She watched her fingers thread through crisp dark hair and marveled at the textures, the scents, the strength of the body so different from her own.

  His hands stroked down her back and over her bottom, slipping lower to clasp the back of her thighs. “Sit up,” he said, pulling her knees forward on either side of his hips.

  She did, bracing her palms on his chest, and the sheet slid down her back, leaving her open and exposed. Heat rushed up her neck. But she made no move to cover herself.

  Watching her through heavy-lidded eyes, he moved against her in a most shocking and intimate way. “Do you like that?”

  She let her head drop forward and closed her eyes, unable to speak, trapped between desire and fear, yet unwilling to tell him to stop.

  “Then you’re really going to like this.” His hand skimmed up her thigh.

  Coaxing her to open to him, he taught her the power and passion within her own body, arousing her to a need that left no room for fear. He made her mind soar, her body burn. And when he finally slipped inside her, he wouldn’t let her hide beneath the fall of her hair, but reached up to cup her face in both his hands. “Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes.

  “Say my name.”

  “Brady.”

  Brady. I love you.

  Locking his gaze on hers, he began to move within her, awakening her body to an ancient rhythm that matched his own. “Say it again.”

  She did. Over and over. Imprinting him on her mind as well as her body, until the past faded away and fear became a distant memory and there was nothing left between them but the joy they brought each other.

  It was like dying and being reborn.

  THEY LAY SIDE BY SIDE STARING UP AT THE CEILING, SHOULDERS touching, fingers entwined between their sweating bodies. The sounds of their breathing filled the silent room.

  “That’s unbelievable,” she said in a fluttery voice.

  Brady agreed. He hadn’t felt this way since
. . . well . . . forever. Loving Jessica was magical, better than he ever dreamed. His heart still pounded like something was trying to kick its way out of his chest. “I’m gratified you think so.” He tried to sound modest, but it was difficult. She had set a daunting task before him, but he’d managed pretty damn well, even if he said so himself.

  “No. I mean it’s unbelievable that we’re not covered in spider bites. Look at those cobwebs up there.”

  Cobwebs? She’s thinking about cobwebs? He turned his head to remonstrate with her and found her grinning at him. “Sassy woman.” Rolling onto his side, he tickled her until her heels drummed the mattress and her stifled laughter gave way to pleas to stop. He kissed her soundly, then rolled onto his back again, knowing if he didn’t take his hands off her, he’d be at her again like a randy adolescent. Maybe later. “Now you’ll marry me.”

  When she didn’t answer, he turned his head to look at her.

  She was stretched on her side, studying him. Her cheek rested on her clasped hands in the pose of a child at sleep. But she wasn’t asleep. Nor was she smiling. And even though she was so close he could feel the soft exhalations of her breath on his shoulder, the look in her eyes told him she had drifted beyond his reach.

  He frowned. What happened? What had changed? Like smoke rising from the last ember in a dying fire, doubt unfurled in his chest. She couldn’t refuse him. After what they’d just shared, he’d hogtie her before he’d ever let her get away. “You will marry me.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Perhaps? What the hell did that mean? Doubt became confusion and then, because uncertainty was intolerable to him, it flared into a spike of anger. This was a test. Now that she had him where she wanted him, she’d whip out a list of conditions before she sealed the deal.

  A part of him almost crowed with laughter that she would try to manipulate him. Another more vulnerable part shriveled in trepidation. He couldn’t go through another rejection like the one at the creek. It would kill him. But to let her go without even trying to convince her to stay, would kill him even more. “I suppose you want me to quit cussing.”

  “Well . . . a true gentleman never uses foul language in front of a lady.” The smile tugging at her lips gave him hope.

  “Even when she tries to geld him with an umbrella?”

  “Even then.”

  “What else?” he asked, matching her teasing tone.

  She pursed those slightly swollen, lightly chaffed lips in thought. “A gentleman always eats with his mouth closed.”

  “Then how does he get the food in?”

  “With a fork and in very small bites.” She patted his chest. “It’s not that difficult. We’ll practice together.”

  “Ah. So you don’t know how to do it either.”

  Smiling, she idly plucked at the hair on his chest. He wondered if she was even aware of doing it. He sure as hell was.

  “And a gentleman always rises when a lady enters or departs the room.”

  “I do rise when you enter the room. That’s why I don’t stand up.”

  “Wicked.” She gave him a playful slap on his sternum. “Let’s see . . . after a gentleman has his way with a lady, he should always express his gratitude and admiration.”

  “If she’s just let him have his way with her, would she still be a lady?”

  A shadow moved behind her eyes. “One would hope.”

  Ah. There it was. The reason behind her hesitation and what he should have realized from the first. This wasn’t about him or what he lacked. It was about what she needed that he hadn’t yet given her. He almost laughed in his relief. Women. Hell. They complicated the simplest things.

  Rolling over, he took her face in his hands and gave her a long, hot, thorough kiss that should have been all the reassurance she needed. But when he finally lifted his head to take a breath, he saw that it wasn’t. “Jesus, woman. You’re killing me.” Unable to bear seeing his own doubt and uncertainty mirrored in those whiskey eyes, he tipped his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I asked you to marry me, Jessica. What more do you need?”

  The words. Jessica felt like weeping. Say you love me, even if it’s a lie. She knew RosaRoja would always come first with him, but she had to know she was at least important to him before she gave her heart into his keeping. “Do you love me, Brady?”

  He lifted his head to stare at her. “Hell, yes. Christ, yes. You need to ask?”

  “I need the words.” And never more than at this moment from this man.

  A sad look crossed his face. “You still doubt me? Haven’t my actions shown you how I feel?”

  How could she answer that? In the broadest terms the actions were the same—whether it was the magic she had just felt with Brady or the horror of John Crawford’s attack—intercourse was intercourse. It was love that made it magical, and without that connection, it was simply another kind of betrayal. A woman didn’t need to be raped to feel used.

  “No one has been more steadfast than you, Brady. No one has protected me so well. I have no doubt you care about me, but I need to know where I fit into your life.”

  Stunned, Brady leaned up on one elbow so he could see her face clearly in the lamplight. It was as if another door into her mind had opened to him, revealing why she had kept that distance between them. She had been let down so many times by men she should have been able to trust, she didn’t believe it wouldn’t happen with him as well. Somehow he had to break through that barrier. Now, more than any other time in his life, he had to find the words—the right words—to tell her how he felt and how much he needed her in his life.

  His woman. His son. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow it to be any other way.

  “Then know this, Jessica,” he said, hoping, despite his fumbling words, she would see the truth in his eyes and hear it in his voice. “You’re here.” He spread his palm over his heart. “Inside me. Part of me forever. If I raise my hand against you, I hurt myself. If I disrespect you, I bring shame on myself. Whether you stay with me or not, that will never change. But if you stay . . .”

  The idea of her not staying made his throat seize, and for a moment he couldn’t go on. He inhaled, exhaled, and tried again. “But if you stay, Jessica, I’ll never abandon you. Or lie to you. Or put anyone above you. And no matter what, I’ll never stop loving you. Every day, all day, for all the days I have left. That’s how you fit into my life.”

  He watched tears well up and slide down her cheeks into the hair at her temples. It made his own eyes sting. “But if you cry, I’ll drop you like a bad habit.”

  “Will you?”

  “I will.” He kissed one cheek, then the other, gently licking the salt of her tears from her skin. “I swear it.”

  “Oh, Brady.” Leaning up, she pressed her lips to his, then moved her mouth along his jaw. “I love you, too,” she whispered into his ear.

  BRADY AWOKE WITH A START. HE COULDN’T HAVE SLEPT LONG because the lamp still burned and the wick wasn’t smoking. Jessica lay tucked against his side, her breath warm against his neck, one hand on his chest, one long leg draped across his thighs.

  An indescribable feeling came over him, a mix of so many emotions he couldn’t separate one from the other—and they all centered on this woman beside him.

  He lifted his head to study her, letting his gaze drift over high cheekbones, her freckled nose, that perfect little ear. As always, her beauty stunned him—like at dinner when he glanced up and saw her smiling from the other end of the table, or when he watched her move across the yard, or when he saw the look on her face when she held Ben. Sometimes just the sight of her made him abandon reason.

  The unwelcome thought arose that this must have been what his father had felt about Maria. If so, it was no wonder Jacob had collapsed in hopeless despair when he realized he couldn’t have her. Jessica had that same power over him. Like a blind foal on a short lead, Brady knew he would stumble along wherever he was led—as long as she was on the other end of the rope.

/>   A terrifying thought. Pitiful.

  Jack would pop a button laughing at him.

  Even so, pitiful had never felt so good. Smiling, unable to keep his hands off her, he lifted a stray curl from her cheek and brought it to his face. It smelled of roses and lemons, and in the lamplight it was the exact color of his mother’s honey and apricot jam. The thought of it made his stomach rumble.

  Her eyes opened. She gave him a sleepy smile and stretched like a well-fed cat.

  Watching her, Brady realized he would do anything, risk anything, to wake up to this sight every day of his life. “You’re so beautiful.” Her hair was as soft as the belly of a new foal, her skin like warm satin under his palm. “So fine and delicate.”

  She finished stretching and settled back against his side. “I was never delicate.”

  “When I first saw you, you reminded me of one of those china music box dancers.”

  “Indeed? Was that before or after I tried to geld you?”

  He gave her a scolding look. “I’m trying to be romantic here.”

  “Are you?” She batted burnished copper lashes. “Then pray continue.”

  “I judged you easy on the eyes, hard on the cojones, and much too beautiful to touch.”

  She smiled wickedly. “Apparently you’ve gotten over it. The touching part anyway.”

  “You shouldn’t mock a fellow when he’s courting.”

  “This is courting?”

  “It is.” A man could lose himself in those wide whiskey eyes. Forget everything—give anything—for a single touch. It was a need, a compulsion, he was powerless against.

  Like father, like son. Right then, he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing, or not. Nor did he care. Especially with her rubbing against him like that. “Where were we? Oh, yeah. I was giving you a riding lesson.”

  Where the first time had been slow and sweet, this time was a romp of twisted sheets and hushed laughter and sweaty bodies twining together—and even better because she was as eager for it as he was, and came to him without holding anything back. The woman was a wonderment and a delight, and Brady thanked God for putting her in his path.