“Well, for my part, I like it better when we don’t have to be so serious.” She forced herself to reach over J.J. and use the cloth to wipe his throat down to where his pulse beat strongly. “Here. Let me finish cleaning you up.”
Her actions teased J.J., who tried, as best as a baby could, to grab her hand. The brief game of minitag that followed left them both giggling, until John suddenly uttered, “Do you know I’d give almost anything to have you laugh like that with me?”
Dana’s hand froze in the midst of tickling the baby’s tummy. She had to force herself to meet John’s gaze. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so unhappy, so tortured. “I don’t mean to hurt you. It was never my intention to hurt you.”
“But you do. Just looking at you, and knowing I can’t touch you is like taking a knife in the gut.”
She could see that, and it reminded her again of how much he’d endured to make her relax in his home these past weeks. And she had been comfortable, hadn’t she? Well…at least most of the time. It would be impossible to be around a man as virile and passionate as Big John Paladin and not be a little unsettled at least occasionally.
Realizing a gesture needed to be made, she again directed the still-warm washcloth to his chest. “Why do you waste your time with me? I’ve tried to explain myself to you at least a half-dozen times. I simply don’t plan to have the life other women want.”
“Explain what that is once more.”
“You know, Paladin. Children and all that.”
He nodded, and on the surface she thought he was taking her seriously. “You don’t like children?”
At the same time he made her head spin. “Would I be here if I didn’t?” she asked wearily. “It’s a matter of not wanting to let myself get involved with anyone.”
He shifted his hold on the baby and took hold of her wrist. His grip wasn’t exactly threatening, though. In fact, when he stroked the inside where her pulse had been beating frantically for countless minutes now, she had to hold herself rigid to fight back a soft gasp of yearning.
“Hell, Irish. We were involved from the day we met. All I want is to marry you.”
Chapter Six
S he shouldn’t have been shocked—after all, John had never been the type to beat around the bush—but she was. Maybe it was because she thought she’d disappointed him enough times to discourage him from ever risking those words out loud. Maybe she’d grown over-confident thinking his own guilt over J.J. and Celene would stop him. Whatever the case, she knew it had been a mistake to assume. Anything. John was too intense, too alive, too determined to dismiss that easily.
Dana squeezed her eyes shut, wishing with all her might she could will herself away.
“I could watch your expressions change all day,” he murmured, reaching out to trace the line of her jaw. “So many masks, and yet so many emotions. What’s the real Dana thinking?”
“That you’re driving her crazy. You can’t say something like that. We—we haven’t even really dated.”
“We’ve been together countless times.”
“You’ve shown up at functions I attended. Occasionally I’ve accepted a ride to some town thing because you insisted it was too late at night, that I was on your way, but that’s not a date.”
“Next you’re going to tell me that you weren’t at the ranch every week, either.”
“To do your payroll and balance your bank statements. It was business.”
“Was it? All of it, Irish?”
She envied his calmness about this, his certainty. But she couldn’t allow herself to admit or accept that he’d been courting her. She didn’t want that responsibility for his heart. “One of these days you’re going to wake up and realize I’m way out of your league,” she replied, striving for a modicum of control herself. “I’m a coward. I’ve learned to be afraid of my own shadow.”
“Stop cutting yourself down,” he demanded, though his voice remained gruffly tender. “What you are is cautious, and despite some whopping mistakes, I have been trying my best to respect that side of you. Only sometimes,” he added, reaching out again to touch her hair, “at moments like this, you make it difficult, no, damned near impossible to keep my hands to myself, let alone my mouth shut.”
The room grew silent for a moment. Not even J.J. seemed to breathe.
“Is that such bad news, Irish?”
She couldn’t answer. But she couldn’t walk out, either. Her legs had become lead weights and her feet stayed glued to that one spot on the floor, regardless of the tiny alarm that went off deep down in her subconscious.
“Just touch me once more,” he said, as if sensing her dilemma. With the greatest of care, he took the washcloth from her and dropped it into the sink. “This way, with nothing between us,” he continued, and placed her hand where she could feel his heart pound heavily. “I watch you with my son and I’m ashamed for the envy I feel. Sometimes when I’m so tired I can’t sleep, I lie in bed and imagine you bathing me the way you do him. Then I fantasize that you take some of that cool, soothing lotion and massage it all over me the way you do him. Problem is,” he added with a grim twist of his lips, “my imagination works too well, and my aching muscles end up hurting even more.”
All the while he directed her hand to move up and down, around and around, until she grew intimately familiar with the feel of that crinkly-soft hair tangling with her fingers. Until she knew the shocking heat that burned from deep within him. Until she, too, visualized the scene he’d described to her.
“The thing is I’m much better with babies than I am with big cowboys,” she managed to tell him, although her tongue felt too heavy to get the words out.
“I don’t know. This is pretty wonderful.”
His gentleness undermined her will to resist him. For years she’d been protecting herself against a brasher, more confident John Paladin. Now he was exposing her to a side of himself that was very human and very vulnerable. That enticed her in ways she discovered she couldn’t begin to armor herself against.
“Go ahead,” he whispered gruffly. “Experiment if you want. I’m game.”
Was he taking up mind reading, too, or was the inquisitiveness that evident on her face? “It’s not fair to you,” she replied, reaching for reason, fearful that he might not understand—or that he would expect too much.
“Unfair would be seeing your curiosity and denying you a chance to break down some walls and trash some ghosts, Irish.” He gave J.J. his thumb and smiled down at the baby before looking up at her again. “Especially those about me.”
She hadn’t thought she would ever want to, that she would want to keep those specters as a talisman against ever trusting him or anyone else again. But looking at him, seeing what a powerful and physically amazing man he was, and how he was with his child, she felt years of repressed hormones jerked into wakefulness. If he was able to stay in control, and he wanted her touch, too, what was wrong with experimenting a bit with this strange new desire curling inside her?
Ever so slowly, she let her fingers make their own exploration across the broad expanse of his chest. He was rock hard, and surprisingly smooth. But she was stunned when her fingertips brushed over his nipple. His face contorted as though he’d experienced a spasm of pain.
Immediately Dana jerked her hand away.
“No!” He caught it and lifted it to his mouth for a kiss. “Don’t stop.”
“You looked…”
“Yeah, well, it’s a good pain. Do it again, Irish. Please. Do anything you want.”
She hadn’t had anything alcoholic with dinner, so she had no explanation for the attack of dizziness that left her feeling slightly off. Whatever it was, it gave her an irresistible sense of adventurousness, too.
She gazed up at John. Despite her heels that made her three inches taller, she had to rise on tiptoe to reach him. But slowly, slowly, careful of J.J., she brought her lips close to his. Their eyes remained open. Hers, she knew, had to reflect her inexperience.
In his she saw encouragement. Hunger. When there was only a fraction of space left between them, she felt his breath catch, even as her heart began pounding in her ears.
Then she brushed her lips across his, once, twice, the contact fleeting like the caress of shifting air from a butterfly wing. But there was nothing subtle about its effect. Too hot, she thought. Too dry. She followed her most honest impulse and gave them both relief by touching her tongue to his lips.
“Sweet hell.”
The hoarse whisper sent a strange, tingling sensation through her. Intrigued, she repeated the caress, then repeated it again. Seduced by the intoxicating sensations to the point where her sense of balance vanished, she had to grip his jeans belt loop to keep from teetering and crushing the baby in his arms. John responded by cupping his hand to her nape. But lightly, and without demand.
There was demand in his voice, however, as he whispered, “Again.”
Dana knew there’d been a time when she would have frozen at the order. But fast becoming addicted to his heady taste, and the mysterious power she felt rise out of his desire, she let her eyelids drift closed and allowed herself to lean toward him for another kiss.
No less tentative than before, she brought her parted lips flush against his, trembling slightly as she felt their warm, damp breaths merge. And was it his hand that was shaking? The idea of reducing Big John Paladin to such a condition made her feel feminine, desirable and very alive.
Along with the sound of pleasure she breathed into his mouth, she gave herself the luxury of exploring him further. With the tip of her tongue she traced the curve of his strong teeth, then his lower lip, tilting her head one way and then another, whichever way whimsy led her. And still John restrained himself, like a rock on a beach, stoic against the sea that sent wave after wave against it. Not at all like that day when his temper had gone out of control and his mouth had become an instrument of punishment.
“No, don’t hide on me.”
Dana opened her eyes and saw tension and pain tightening his features. Only then did she realize her memories had made her stiffen. “Sorry,” she murmured, settling back on her heels. Embarrassed, regretful, she focused on stroking J.J.’s hair. “I couldn’t help remembering.”
He uttered a sound that was midway between a groan and a curse. “Okay,” he forced out immediately afterward. “It’s okay.” He caressed her the way she’d soothed the baby and planted a not-quite-steady kiss on her forehead. He even managed a crooked smile. “See? No damage done.”
She didn’t believe him for a moment. She might still be a virgin, but her instincts were normal, and so was her vision; she could tell when a man was—uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean to come off as a tease.”
“Hey.” John’s eyes turned black. “We’ll have none of that. The day you become a tease, I’ll let you know.”
She couldn’t help but blink at him.
“What?”
“You make an unlikely saint.”
He drew a deep breath. “Irish, if I didn’t think it would send you running, I’d show you exactly how far from sainthood I am.”
But the point is, he wasn’t doing that. Smiling at the realization, as well as his droll humor, Dana replied, “No, I think you’re wrong. You have changed. Are changing. The Big John Paladin I used to know would be turning the air blue by now, and punching a few holes in walls from frustration.”
“Believe me, it sounds like a good idea.”
“The truth is that you’re not giving in to the impulse.” And because of that she felt the strongest urge to kiss him again, but repressed it. That wouldn’t be fair, she told herself. She had no right to ask John to make any more sacrifices, unless she was willing to take an equal number of risks.
“What’s going on in that agile mind of yours?” he murmured, his eyes narrowing.
“I’m trying to reconcile my expectations with reality. I didn’t expect to have such a nice time today.”
Approval and gratitude relaxed the muscles around John’s mouth. “You mean your first instinct’s no longer to run?”
“I guess I’ve proved otherwise, haven’t I?”
“Even after what I said earlier about what I wanted from you?”
She could feel a blush creep into her cheeks. Before she could answer, however, J.J. hiccuped loudly.
“Who asked you, pal?” John grumbled, although another soft smile warmed his eyes.
“He seems to be the only one around here who realizes things are moving too fast.” Dana directed father and son to the door. “And he’s soaked. Why don’t you change him while I finish in here?”
Too fast. A week passed, and John continued to ruminate over Dana’s last words to him on Thanksgiving; her last intimate words before the business of babies and houseguests ended those encouraging few moments they’d shared. Since then, he’d been fighting a tendency to feel sorry for himself, and brood. Never mind that getting to touch her, kiss her, had been…incredible. The emotional walls she kept to protect herself now seemed less permeable than ever.
All right, maybe she had a right to remain cautious with him. Technically he remained a married man. They were both Catholic, although his ties to the church had grown weak over the years as a result of his father’s apathy toward any form of rituals outside of ranching. But Dana knew Celene wanted a divorce every bit as much as he did and was signing over full custody of J.J. to him. Didn’t that mean anything?
Instead, on Friday she’d arrived at the ranch and had insisted he was too busy to take time off for J.J.’s doctor’s appointment, that she could do it alone. Later that afternoon, she’d barely relayed the experience to him before making an excuse that she had to meet a client of hers and had to dash off. Things had remained consistently pleasant, but businesslike ever since.
The memory of those kisses didn’t help his increasing gloominess, either. They’d just made him want more. Everything. How long would it be before she let him that close again? Christmas? New Year’s? What if she decided the whole episode had been a mistake?
The flash of blue lights and the grinding sound of his calculator brought his attention back to the present. “Damn it all to hell! I’d like to take this stupid—” Catching himself, he glanced over at the carriage where J.J. lay staring at him with his usual onyx-eyed awe. “Hold your ears, kiddo.”
“I heard that.”
Dana swept into the room, bringing with her the tempting scent of vanilla and flowers. She’d warned him she would be in late today due to some stops she needed to make for her business. As pleased as John was that she’d finally arrived, his disgust with paperwork—which he believed he hated more than changing diapers—kept his mood sour.
“I’d like to bury every bureaucrat in this country in the tons of paper their petty policies have generated. I have better things to do than this crap.”
“In other words you punched too many buttons on your calculator again,” Dana replied, leaning over J.J., who broke into a toothless grin and started kicking his chubby legs and stretching his arms, in anticipation of being picked up. “Hello, pumpkin. How’s my best boy today?”
Hmph. Tells you where you stand, pal.
John glowered at the unreadable tape his machine had produced as Dana finished peeling off her sophisticated-looking black coat to expose a black turtleneck shift that made his insides tie into a knot when she bent to lift his son for a series of teasing, noisy kisses. As J.J. chortled and cooed, he fought a relentless surge of jealousy and need—and lost.
“Guess now that you’re here, I’ll abandon this lost cause and head on out after the boys. At least I can feel like I’m accomplishing something out there.”
She swung around, her gaze clear like the early December day outside. “I told you that your hands are too big for that style calculator. I also told you that I wouldn’t mind helping you with the paperwork again, that it would help me fill my time while J.J.’s napping. So what’s the real problem here?”
“Nothing.
Just tired I guess.”
“Did J.J. keep you up last night?”
“No.”
“Indigestion?”
He couldn’t help looking indignant. “I never get indigestion.”
“Then you’re angry with me.”
It wasn’t a question; nevertheless, he felt obligated. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You are. I can feel it.”
She settled herself on the edge of his desk. Like he needed this added torment? In self-defense John leaned back in his chair although there was no escaping her scent or the picture she made with his boy trying to plant openmouthed kisses all over her face, the memory of her touching him.
“If I’ve done something wrong, John, I’d like to know about it.”
He wanted to yell, “Yes! You’re driving me nuts. I’m tired of you not seeing what’s right before your face. Tired of walking on eggshells. Tired of looking and wanting and sleeping in an empty bed.” But, of course, he couldn’t. This wasn’t just any woman, this was Dana. No rules applied to her hurt, her fear, her pain. But, heaven help him, he wasn’t a robot!
He tossed his pencil onto the ledger and pressed his palms to his eyes. “Forget it. It’s me. I hate paperwork. You know that. I hate it most when I’ve got hundreds of acres of prickly pear, and mesquite and pecan trees that need burning before they take over the whole damned range.”
Although she nodded with understanding, there was a touch of rebuke in her look. “We’re all doing our best to cope, Paladin. To learn. To adjust.”
It was her use of her old tag for him that snapped things for him. “Sure. Only some of us manage it with a bit more gloss than others.” At the sight of her startled, hurt look, he swore silently. “I’m sorry. Maybe I’d better get the heck out of here before I blow it again.”
He hoisted himself to his feet, but as he began to pass her, she reached out and touched his arm. Even through the heavy denim work shirt, he felt the jolt of electricity that always marked any contact with her.
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