While Dillon was so calm, Jessica wanted to scream. Were the children writhing in agony upstairs, while they talked to a madman with a gun? Her fingers found the neck of the guitar, circled, and gripped hard.
“There is only one way to handle it, Dillon,” Paul said just as calmly. “I’m not about to be locked up for the rest of my life. I couldn’t stand being interviewed behind bars while the band makes it to the top again.”
Jessica knew. She always knew before things happened, even though she had doubted herself. There in the darkness with the rain coming down, she knew the precise moment Paul shifted the gun. She knew he was finished talking and that his finger was squeezing the trigger. Without hesitation, Jessica stepped solidly in front of Dillon and swung the guitar toward Paul with every ounce of strength she possessed.
She heard the bark of the gun, the simultaneous crack of the guitar as she hit Paul hard, and Dillon’s husky cry of denial even as something knocked her legs out from under her. Jessica hit her head hard on the floor. She lay still, staring up at the figure in the hooded cloak. He was bent over, twisted. She blinked to clear her vision. Everything seemed hazy, a weird phosphorescent light was seeping into the room, a mist of colors and cold. The draft was icy, so that she could see the air as a foggy vapor. It seemed to slide between Paul and the other occupants of the room.
Paul screamed, a hoarse dark cry of rage and fear. For one moment the colors shifted and moved, formed the shimmering, translucent image of a woman in a flowing gown reaching out a long thin arm beckoning toward Paul. Dillon moved then, covering Jessica’s body with his own, blocking her view of the strange apparition, so that she only heard the gun as it went off a second time.
“Vivian, don’t leave me again!” Brenda’s cry was anguished and she stumbled forward, her arms outstretched. Dillon caught her, dragging her down to the safety of the floor.
Jessica heard the body fall with a soft thud to the floor, and she found herself staring into Paul’s wide-open eyes. She knew he was dead, with the life already drained from his body before he hit the floor. In the end, he had been determined to take Dillon with him, and she had been just as determined he would not.
Brenda’s weeping was soft and brokenhearted. “Did you see her, Jessica? I told you I wasn’t crazy. Did you see her?”
Dillon kicked the gun away from Paul’s hand. “Call the doctor, Brenda, right now!” His voice was pure authority, snapping Brenda out of her sorrow. “Check on Tara and Trevor—make certain they’re all right. And then call the police.” His hands were running over Jessica’s legs, searching for a wound, searching for the bullet hole that had knocked her to the floor.
There was no blood, no gaping wound, only a huge dark bruise already forming on her left thigh. The area was tender, painful, but neither Dillon nor Jessica knew who had struck her hard enough to knock her legs out from under her. Brenda had stood frozen, unable to move. They both stared at the strange mark, two circles, one inside the other, the center circle much darker. A circle of protection.
“I have to see to Paul,” he said and she heard the heartbreak in his voice.
“He’s beyond help, Dillon. Don’t touch anything,” Jessica cautioned gently. Now that it was over she began to shake almost uncontrollably. Her need to get to the children was paramount. Her need to comfort Dillon was just as great. More than anything else she was afraid for him. This time the truth had to be plain. “Wait for the police.”
chapter
14
THE WHITE BIRD WINGEDits way across the wet sky. Far below, waves crashed against rock, foamed and sprayed, reaching toward the heavens, toward the small white dove as it flew with a glittering object in its beak.
“Jessie, get out of bed,” Tara insisted, jarring Jessica right out of her happy dream. “It’s Christmas Eve, you can’t just stay in bed!”
Jessica turned over with a small groan and pulled the blanket firmly over her head. “Go away, I’m never getting up again.”
She wasn’t going to face Christmas Eve. She didn’t want to see the disappointment on the faces of the twins. She didn’t want to face Dillon. She had seen him when the police took Paul’s body away, when he told the truth about what had happened. Dillon looked like a man lost, with his heart and soul torn out. Reporters had been brutal, swarming to the hospital, nearly rioting at the police station. So many pictures, so many microphones thrust at him. It had to have been a nightmare for him. It had been for her. The police had the recording Jessica had made as well as Brenda’s and Jessica’s statements to back up Dillon’s. The crime scene people had come and gone. Paul was dead by his own hand. They all said so. By mutual consent, they kept their knowledge of the apparition to themselves. There was no need to complicate the story to the police or the newspapers. And who would ever believe them?
“Jessie, really, get up.” Tara dragged at the covers.
“I’ll get her up,” Dillon told his daughter gently. “You go play hostess, Tara. Tell everyone your Christmas story. They all need a feel-good story tonight. And Brian’s made a special Christmas Eve feast. I believe he made pancakes.”
Tara giggled as her father walked her to the door. “Not his famous pancakes! What a shocker.” She leaned over to kiss his forehead as she went out.
Jessica heard the door close firmly and the lock turn. There was a mysterious rustle and then the room was flooded with music. Soft, beautiful strains of music. The swelling passion of the song she and Dillon had worked on so hard. She blinked back tears and sat up as he crossed the room to sit on the edge of her bed. The light was off and the room was dark, only the sliver of moon providing them with a streak of a silvery glow.
Jessica drew up her knees, rested her chin on them. “So what now, Dillon?” She asked it quietly, facing the worst, prepared for his rejection. He hadn’t talked with her, hadn’t come near her in days. He’d spent most of the time on the mainland.
Dillon reached out to her, his palm cupping her chin, skin to skin. She realized then, that he wasn’t wearing his gloves. “It’s Christmas Eve, we wait for our miracle,” he told her gently. “Don’t tell me after believing all this time, you’ve suddenly had a crisis of faith.” His thumb brushed along her chin, a slow sensual movement that made her shiver with awareness of him.
Jessica swept a trembling hand through her hair as it tumbled around her face. “I don’t know what I think anymore, Dillon. I feel numb right now.” It wasn’t altogether true. When she looked at him, every part of her came alive. Heat coursed through her body, while her heart did a somersault and a multitude of butterfly wings brushed at the pit of her stomach. “I thought, with all that has happened, that…” she trailed off miserably. No matter what she said, it would be hurtful to him. How could she admit she thought he would retreat from her, from Trevor and Tara?
Dillon’s smile was incredibly tender. “You didn’t really think I would be so incredibly stupid as to send you and the children away again, did you? I wouldn’t deserve you, Jess, if I’d been thinking of doing something that thick-skulled. I don’t know that I deserve you now, but you offered and I’m holding on tight with both hands.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking vulnerable. “I thought about things, sitting up in my room, about treachery and betrayal and about letting life pass me by. I thought about courage and what it means. Courage was Don coming to me when he didn’t have to and telling me how idiotic he had been. Courage was him willing to be kicked out of the band or even prosecuted. Courage is Brenda and Robert learning how to be an aunt and uncle to two children they are secretly terrified of. Courage is Brian standing in that kitchen and telling me his beliefs.”
His hands framed her face. “Courage is a woman stepping between a man and death. You fought for me, Jess, even when I wouldn’t do it myself. I’m not walking away from that. I’ll never play the guitar again like I did, but I still have my voice and I still can write and produce songs. I have two children you gave back to me and God willing, I hope we have
more. Tell me I still have you.”
She melted into him, a long slow kiss that stole her breath and took her heart, that told him everything he wanted to know.
“Everyone’s waiting for you,” he whispered against her mouth.
Jessica hugged him hard, leapt out of bed, rushed for the bathroom. “Ten minutes,” she called over her shoulder, “I have to shower.” She peeled off her pajama top and flung it toward a chair.
Dillon’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw her drawstring pants slide over the tempting curve of her bottom just as she disappeared into the other room. He stood up, a slow smile softening the edge of his mouth as he tossed his own shirt aside. He padded on bare feet to the bathroom door to watch her as she stepped under the cascade of hot water. She turned her head toward him just as he slowly pushed his jeans away from his hardened body. At once her gaze was on his heavy erection. Knowing she was looking hardened him more so that the ache grew and his need was instant and urgent.
“You missed me,” she greeted, her smile pure invitation. The moment he stepped into the large compartment, she wrapped her hand around his thickness, warm and tight. “I missed you.”
His hands moved over every inch of her he could touch, marveling that she could want him the way she did. Dillon caught the nape of her neck and turned up her head to fasten his mouth to hers. He wasn’t gentle. He didn’t feel gentle. He wanted to devour her. He fed there, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples.
She was driving him crazy with her bold caresses, stroking him even as her mouth was mating with his. Hot silken kisses; the earth spinning madly. The water running over their bodies and the steam rising around them. She was soft and pliant, as her body moved against his. One leg slid up to the curve of his hip, she pressed close, as wild as he was.
Dillon bent his head to the terrible bruise on her shoulder where Paul’s elbow had cracked her hard enough to send her flying toward the edge of a cliff. His tongue eased the throbbing ache, and traveled lower to trace the outline of her breast. He felt her tremble in reaction. His mouth closed over her hard nipple, his teeth teasing gently before he suckled strongly. She gasped in reaction, arcing more fully into him. His hand shaped her every curve, slid lower to push into her body. She was wet and pulsing with her own need and he wanted all the time in the world to love her. To just lie beside her and bring her so much pleasure so she would know what she meant to him.
Jessica leaned forward to catch a little drop of water that ran from his shoulder to the muscles of his chest. She wasn’t fast enough. Her tongue followed the little bead of moisture as it traveled across the ridges over his heart. She couldn’t quite catch up and her arms slipped around his waist as she ducked her head to lap at the droplet, racing it over his flat belly. Her hand was still wrapped proprietarily around his heavy erection. She felt him swell more, thick, and hard, as she breathed warm air over him, as her tongue lapped at the droplets on his most sensitive tip.
Dillon went rigid, his body shuddering with pleasure as she took him into the heat of her mouth. The water cascaded down, sensitizing his skin. The roar started in his brain, the fire burned in his gut, a sweet ecstasy that shook him. Strains of their music penetrated into the shower, and fired his blood even more with the driving, impassioned beat. Her hips moved against his hand, her muscles were tight and clenching around his fingers.
“Jess.” He said her name. Called to her. A pleading. A promise. “I need you now, this minute.” Because there was nowhere else he would rather be than in her, with her, a part of her.
Her green gaze slid over him as she straightened. Took in every inch of him, the perfection of his face, the scars on his body, his heavy, thick evidence of his need for her. And she smiled in welcome. In happiness. Deliberately she turned and placed her hands carefully on the small half bench in the corner, presenting her rounded bottom and the smooth line of her back.
His hands went to her hips as he pulsed against her. She was more than ready for him, slick and hot and as eager as he was. Even as he pushed into her tight sheath, she pushed back, so that he filled her with a single surge. Molten lava raced through her, through him. He groaned, began to move hard and fast, thrusting deeply, wildly, a frenzy of white-hot pleasure for both of them. She was meeting every stroke, demanding more, her body gripping his, clenching and building a fiery friction that shook him all the way to his soul. And then she was rippling around him, milking him of his seed, so that his own orgasm ripped through him with such intensity her name was torn from his throat.
She always managed to surprise him. His Jessica, so unafraid of life, of passion, of showing her true feelings. She cried out with her release, her body spiraling out of control and she gave herself up to the pleasure, embraced it the way she did everything. It seemed to last forever. It seemed over far too fast. They collapsed together, holding each other, kissing each other, their hands greedy for the feel of each other’s body.
Dillon caught her hair in his hand. “I can’t get enough of kissing you.” His mouth devoured her ravenously. “More, I need more.”
“I thought you said everyone was waiting for us. It’s been a lot longer than ten minutes,” Jessica pointed out. “They’ll send the twins.”
“Promise me when you marry me, which will be very, very soon, I can spend a couple of weeks in bed with you. Just touching you. I love the way you feel.” He reached past her to turn off the water.
Jessica stilled, stared up at him with the water running off her lashes. “You never mentioned marriage.”
Dillon blinked down at her, managed to look boyishly vulnerable. “I’m old-fashioned, I thought you knew I meant for life.” He looked around, saw his jeans carelessly discarded on the floor. “I have a ring.” He said it like a bribe.
“Dillon!” Flustered, Jessica wrapped her hair in a towel, staring at him wide-eyed. “You have a ring?”
She looked so beautiful with the confusion on her face, with the water beading on her petal soft skin and her large eyes bright with happiness, Dillon wanted to start all over again. He found the ring in his pocket and caught her hand. “I want us to be forever, Jess, forever.”
The diamond sparkled at her as she smiled down at it. Then he was catching her up, throwing her on the bed in a tangle of sheets and arms and legs, his tongue lapping at every bead of water on her skin.
It was considerably longer than either of them expected before they were dressed and ready to join the others. Jessica’s face was slightly red from the shadow on Dillon’s jaw and the insides of her thighs held matching abrasions. She went with him willingly, confidently. Together they could manage to bring off Christmas.
She stopped in the doorway of the large room where the tree had been set up. Hundreds of tiny lights were woven in and out of the branches, highlighting the ornaments they had all made.
“So this is what you’ve been doing all this time,” Jessica whispered, joy coursing through her as she looked at the lights on the Christmas tree, at the mound of brightly wrapped presents beneath the branches. “You’ve been playing Santa Claus.”
He grinned at her, with his boyish, mischievous grin. “I’m into the miracle business in a big way these days. I couldn’t let Tara and Trevor be disappointed. They wanted their father back, didn’t they?”
Jessica wrapped her arms around his neck and claimed his oh-so-beautiful mouth. Happiness blossomed inside of her. She had thought Paul’s betrayal would have been the last straw, that it would have broken Dillon’s spirit totally. Instead he had emerged to the other side, whole once more.
His kiss was gentle, relaxed, tasting of passion and hunger. Behind them Trevor groaned. “Are you two going to be doing that all night, because there are other rooms where you can be alone, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Don’t tell them that.” Brian slapped Trevor on the back. “We’ll never have Christmas if you give them any ideas.”
Dillon took his time, kissing Jessica. It mattered,
kissing did, and he made a thorough job of it while the twins tapped their feet and the band members nudged one another. He lifted his head slowly, and smiled down into her upturned face. “I love you, Jessica, more than I can ever express, I love you.”
She touched his mouth with a trembling fingertip. “Surprise! I love you right back.” She would count that as her Christmas miracle. Dillon. Her other half.
“Dad!” Tara squeaked impatiently. “We all know what’s going on here, so don’t keep us in suspense. Are you or aren’t you?”
Dillon and Jessica turned to look at the expectant faces gathered around them. “What are you talking about?” He put his arm around Jessica’s shoulders, drawing her into the shelter of his body.
Trevor threw his hands up in the air. “So much for being suave. Jeeze, Dad, get a clue here. A little action on your part, you know?”
Don shook his head. “You disappoint me, Wentworth.”
“Boyo.” Brian slumped against the wall, a hand to his head. “You’ve destroyed my faith in true love.”
Brenda stepped forward, caught Jessica’s wrist and yanked her left hand up to their faces. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you are the most unobservant group on the face of the earth!” The ring glittered beneath the light.
“Holy cow, Dad.” Trevor grinned from ear to ear. “You’re amazing. I apologize. Profusely.”
Jessica was kissed and hugged until Dillon rescued her, pulling her to him and waving the others off with a good-natured scowl. He turned off the overhead lights so that only the twinkling Christmas lights shone. A multitude of colors sparkled and glowed. “It’s midnight. We should sing Christmas in,” he announced, leaning down to steal another kiss.
Brenda settled close to Robert, resting her head on his chest. Brian sat across from the couple, on the floor, stretching out his long legs toward the tree. Don followed suit, dropping to the floor, his back against the couch, sprawling out, leaning back to look at the lights.
The Wicked and the Wondrous Page 41