She felt like crying as she wound her arms around his neck. Easing back, she kissed him tentatively, inhaling his breath and masculine scent. He’d just echoed what lay in her heart.
“Don’t talk, Jeremy. Just love me,” she whispered, repeating the entreaty she’d uttered the last time they’d made love.
Jeremy’s hands moved up and down her back, his fingertips trailing over her skin until she shuddered and moaned softly. He loathed the temporary disability that would not let him move and become an active participant; he wanted to use every inch of the large bed, trail his tongue along the length of Tricia’s spine and he wanted to bury his face between her scented thighs and sample her feminine nectar. But more than anything he wanted to sheath his flesh inside her, feel her moist heat, the orgasmic convulsions that never failed to bring him to a free fall that would make him forget everything except Tricia.
Tricia took her time reacquainting herself with her ex-lover’s body. She kissed his ear before tracing its shape with her tongue. She placed light kisses over the curve of his arching eyebrows, pressed her lips to the pulse in his throat, ran the tip of her tongue around the circle of his nipples until he moaned deep in his chest.
What had begun as slow, seductive foreplay turned into a sensual dance of desire. She lost track of time and place as her blood raced through her veins. As Jeremy became more aroused she felt herself losing control. Shifting, she fitted her hips over his.
A slight gasp escaped Tricia as Jeremy raised his hips off the mattress and he stared at the shocked expression on her face. She was as tight as she had been as a virgin, and he wondered how long it had been since she’d slept with a man.
He cradled her bottom. “Do it slow. That’s it,” he urged as she lowered herself, inch by inch over his aroused flesh. It was his turn to gasp as her tight, hot walls closed around him. They moaned in unison once he was buried inside her.
Bracing her hands on his shoulders, Tricia stared at Jeremy staring up at her. She moved slowly at first, then quickened her motions when he cupped her breasts, squeezing them gently. There had been a time when Jeremy’s hands could easily cover her breasts, but that time had passed. Pregnancy and breast-feeding had sensitized her nipples and increased her bust size from a 34B to a 38D.
Hypnotized by his touch, she trembled under his fingertips and closed her eyes as her body vibrated with a fire that threatened to ignite her into a million pieces where she would never be whole again.
Jeremy let go of Tricia’s breasts and curved his arms around her waist until she lay flush on him. Her soft moans of pleasure against his ear became his undoing. He arched his hips, meeting her as she rose and fell over his rigid flesh, the flames of passion burning hot—hotter than it had ever been for them.
This truce, their reconciliation had become a raw act of possession as he sought to leave his brand not only on her body but also in her heart. Silently, wordlessly he implored her to stay.
He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as Tricia’s flesh convulsed around him, she moaning softly as liquid heat flowed from her. Seconds later he abandoned himself to the rush of pleasure that left him weak and light-headed.
Jeremy emitted a low, guttural moan as Tricia’s still-pulsing flesh milked the remnants of his release. He tightened the hold on her waist, not wanting to move or let her go.
He felt like a hypocrite. He’d sworn an oath to bring to justice those who sold drugs. Meanwhile, he had become addicted not to illegal substances but to a woman. Tricia had become his drug of choice.
“Jeremy?”
Her husky voice broke into his musing. “Yes, baby?”
“Did I hurt you?”
Turning his head, he dropped a kiss on her damp curly hair. “No, darling.
Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Tricia had told him no even though she knew she would probably experience some discomfort in a few hours. Muscles she hadn’t used in years were certain to be tender.
He kissed her forehead. “How long has it been?”
She knew he wanted to know how long it had been since she’d shared her body with another man. She waited a full minute, then said, “Ten years.”
Staring up at the ceiling, he cursed mutely, cursed the time they’d been apart and cursed his own pigheadedness.
The rain stopped an hour before dawn, and it was late morning when Tricia finally maneuvered into the driveway leading to Jeremy’s house. The storm had downed tree limbs and scattered debris for miles. She came to a complete stop as a tall figure rose from a chair on the porch. Sheldon had been waiting for them.
She glanced at Jeremy’s stoic expression. “I’m going over to see my grandfather and get a change of clothes.” Not waiting for a reply, she got out, retrieved the crutches resting behind the rear seats and handed them to Jeremy, who anchored them against his ribs.
Lowering his head, he brushed a kiss over her mouth. “I’ll see you later.” He stood motionless, watching as she got back into the car and drove away, then turned and stared up at his father. Sheldon leaned against a porch column, arms crossed over his chest.
“What’s up, Pop?”
Sheldon’s expression was a mask of stone. “Nothing.”
Jeremy slowly made his way up the porch steps and sat down on the chaise. “I told you last night Tricia and I were okay.”
Pushing off the column, Sheldon pulled over a rocker to face his son. He sat down and clasped his large hands together. “I wanted to see for myself that you were all right.”
“You used to say that when I was fifteen. Have you forgotten how old I am?”
Sheldon’s expression was one of pained tolerance. “I know how old you are, Jeremy,” he snapped.
“What’s this all about, Pop?”
“It’s about me being a father, Jeremy.” He frowned, his steely eyes shooting off angry sparks. “It’s about me worrying about my son, and if I live to be ninety and you’re seventy I still have the right to worry. It comes with the territory. But that’s something you wouldn’t understand because of your selfishness. You left here at eighteen, and over the past fourteen years you’ve become a drifter. You’re here for a day or two, then you’re gone.
“Half the time I don’t know where you are or whether you’re dead or alive. Every night I say a prayer of thanksgiving because someone from the Justice Department did not show up with an announcement that my son died in the line of duty.”
A shadow of annoyance tightened Jeremy’s features. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty about my career choice, then forget it.”
“It’s not about guilt, Jeremy. It’s about being responsible. I’ve worked my ass off for the past thirty years to make this horse farm a success, because I wanted to give you and Ryan things I didn’t have. I’m retiring next year whether you stay on or not. And if Ryan isn’t able to hold everything together, then I’m going to sell the farm.”
Jeremy stared at Sheldon, complete surprise on his face. “You can’t sell it.”
Sheldon angled his head and lifted his eyebrows. “You think not?”
“But you promised my mother on her deathbed that you’d never sell the farm.” It was with Julia’s inheritance and her urging that prompted Sheldon to purchase his first Thoroughbred.
“Your mother’s gone and I’m here,” Sheldon countered as he rose to his feet.
Shock quickly turned to fury as Jeremy glared at his father’s retreating back. He resented Sheldon’s attempt to pressure him to give up his law enforcement career with the DEA.
He sat on the chaise recalling his passionate encounter with Tricia, temporarily forgetting Sheldon’s threat to sell Blackstone Farms.
Three weeks.
The two words nagged at Jeremy because, after recapturing the passion that had eluded him for years, he had to ask himself if he was prepared to lose Tricia a second time.
Chapter Seven
Tricia walked into Gus’s house with a determined stride. It had been years since she’
d asked her grandfather about her parents, and his answer had always been “Let sleeping dogs lie.”
Well, she was ready to wake up the dogs and didn’t care whether they barked, snarled or bit. She was thirty-two years old—old enough to accept the truth no matter how shocking or painful.
“Grandpa,” she called out as she walked through the living room. Bright sunlight coming through the windows revealed a light layer of dust on the coffee table. She made a mental note to come by later to dust and vacuum. It had been her grandmother who had kept the house immaculate.
Gus wasn’t there even though his truck was parked in its usual spot. Shrugging a shoulder, Tricia showered and dressed. Jeremy was scheduled to see a psychiatrist later in the afternoon. She lingered long enough to tape a note on the refrigerator for Gus to call her at Jeremy’s house. They had to arrange a time to sit down and talk.
Tricia sat in the doctor’s waiting room, flipping through magazines as she waited for Jeremy. She glanced surreptitiously over the magazine at a woman who had tried unsuccessfully to calm her young son. He talked incessantly while fidgeting. The boy ignored his mother, sliding off his chair and onto the floor. His motions mimicked making a snow angel. There was no doubt the child was there to be evaluated for ADHD: attention deficit hyper-activity disorder. She smiled at the boy as he got up and approached her. His dark eyes gleamed and he returned Tricia’s smile.
She was surprised when he sat down next to her, and she surmised he was either four or five. Reaching for one of the books stacked on a nearby table, he handed it to her.
“Read,” he ordered in a manner that said he was used to being obeyed.
The book was Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs and Ham. She opened to the first page and began reading. The little boy sat quietly, listening to her soft voice as she read the entire book. She closed it, glanced up and saw Jeremy leaning on his crutches. He stared at her with a strange expression on his face.
Handing the book back to the child, she smiled. “I have to go now.”
The boy pointed at Jeremy. “Is he your father?”
Tricia laughed. Jeremy certainly did not look old enough to be her father. “No, he isn’t.”
“What is he?”
She took a quick glance at Jeremy, who’d raised his eyebrows in a questioning gesture. “He’s my—”
“I’m her boyfriend,” Jeremy said. Taking in her annoyed expression, he smiled for the first time since he’d entered the medical building. Tricia seemed so at ease with the child. There was no doubt she was a wonderful pediatric nurse and probably would have been an excellent pediatrician.
His smile faded. His session with the psychiatrist had not gone well. The doctor had asked him questions he could not and did not want to answer. Jeremy was certain that a copy of the doctor’s evaluation of his condition would be faxed to Special Operations in Washington, D.C., and placed in his personnel file.
Tricia stood up and walked over to him. “Are you ready?”
He did not move. “Am I, Tricia?” he asked softly.
“Are you what?”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Definitely not. You’re my patient,” she answered.
Jeremy stiffened as if Tricia had struck him, and a shadow of annoyance crossed his face seconds before he walked to the door. He paused as she held the door open for him, then he made his way down a ramp to where she had parked her car.
Waiting until she was seated behind the wheel, he turned and glared at her. “What am I to you, Tricia?”
Taken aback by the question, she stared at him with wide eyes. “Let it go, Jeremy.”
“I don’t want to let it go,” he countered, his voice rising slightly.
“If you’re looking to argue with me, then you’re out of luck today.”
Jeremy refused to relent. He had to know where he stood with her. “I don’t intend to argue, Tricia. Just answer the question.”
There was one thing she knew and remembered about Jeremy and that was his stubborn streak. Once he believed in something, no one could get him to change his mind. He’d believed Russell Smith’s lie about them sleeping together and in the end it had cost them a future together.
“You’re someone I grew up with and slept with, someone to whom I gave my heart and innocence, someone I fell in love with, someone who did not trust me enough to believe I’d be faithful. And I am someone who on August fifteenth will get into my car and drive back to Baltimore and the life I’ve made for myself.” She took a deep breath. “Does that answer your question, Jeremy?”
A lethal calmness shimmered in the dark-gray eyes that held her gaze. “Yes, Tricia, it does.”
The ride back to the farm was accomplished in complete silence. Tricia hadn’t turned on the radio and with each passing mile the silence swelled until it was deafening.
She didn’t know what Jeremy wanted from her. He’d asked her to forgive him, and she had. They’d reconciled, made love and chances were they would continue to sleep together up until the time her vacation ended. Jeremy said he wouldn’t pressure her to stay, but he also hadn’t offered her anything that would give her a reason to stay.
She drove through the electronic gate and maneuvered onto the road where several Thoroughbreds grazed behind a fence. Slowing, she came to a complete stop. Her gaze was glued to a small figure sitting astride a magnificent black horse racing around the winding, muddy track. Three men stood outside the fence screaming at the top of their lungs, while a fourth sat on the top rail, holding a stopwatch. Tricia’s breath caught in her throat.
“Oh—” Jeremy swallowed an expletive as he watched jockey and horse become one as they appeared to fly over the track. His heart was pounding in his chest by the time horse and rider crossed the finish line. A loud roar rent the air. The jockey jumped off and pumped a gloved fist in the air.
Tricia stared numbly as the jockey took off his headgear and a tumble of dark hair floated around his shoulders. It wasn’t until he turned that she realized he was a she.
She turned and stared at Jeremy, the pulse in her throat fluttering wildly. This is what she’d missed about Blackstone Farms: the excitement of prerace activity.
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Cheryl Carney, also known as Blackstone Farms’s secret weapon. She’s Kevin Manning’s niece. Pop claims she’s a horse whisperer and that she and Shah Jahan can communicate telepathically.” Kevin Manning had taken over as head trainer after Russell Smith’s father moved his family to the West Coast.
“Has Jahan raced competitively yet?” Tricia asked when she recalled the celebration following the ebony colt’s birth.
“Not yet. Pop wants to wait until he’s two. He’s still too skittish to compete because whenever he’s on the track with another horse he has to wear blinkers.”
“There’s no doubt he’s destined for greatness.”
Jeremy nodded. “Ryan predicts that if he stays healthy, then he’ll become the farm’s first potential Triple Crown winner.”
Tricia raised her eyebrows. “He’s that good?”
“With Cheryl riding him there’s no doubt he’ll become a winner.” You and I were that good, he added silently.
Tricia shifted into gear and drove past the stables. She never realized how much she missed the horse farm until she returned. The smell of horseflesh, hay and fields of heather and lavender growing in the undeveloped north end of the property were like an aphrodisiac. She visited on average twice a year: summer and winter. This was the first time she had decided to spend an entire month.
She drove past the schoolhouse made up of four connecting buildings. She thought about Jeremy’s offer to become a school nurse and quickly dismissed it. It wasn’t that being a school nurse would be unrewarding. It was just that she enjoyed working with the four pediatricians who had set up one of the largest practices in downtown Baltimore.
“Do you miss the farm, Tricia?”
Jeremy had read her mind. “Yes, I do,” she answered
truthfully.
“What do you miss most?”
She gave him a quick glance. “The people. They’re like my extended family. I may have been an only child, but I fought and argued with the other kids as if we were brothers and sisters.”
Jeremy nodded, smiling. He had become known as the Blackstone brawler. At that time it was not in his psychological makeup to walk away from a fight, and the number of encounters escalated after his mother’s death. He’d been filled with rage because Julia had chosen to hide her illness from everyone until it was too late for her to seek medical treatment.
Resting his left arm over the back of Tricia’s seat, his fingers feathered through the soft curls on the nape of her neck.
“Could you please drop me off at Ryan’s?”
She made a right turn and less than a minute later she maneuvered into the driveway to Ryan and Kelly’s home. Tricia parked, got out of the car and handed Jeremy his crutches.
“Aren’t you coming in?” he asked as she turned to get back into the vehicle.
She shook her head. “No.”
Jeremy studied her thoughtfully. “Don’t you want to see the baby?”
Tricia forced a smile she did not feel. “I’ll see her another time.” Interacting with newborns was something she did often, but it would be different with Vivienne. She was a Blackstone, Sheldon’s granddaughter, just like Juliet, and the image of Juliet’s tiny lifeless body was still imprinted on her mind. Even after so many years, that image was still painful for Tricia to bear.
She wondered if she would be able to cradle Vivienne and successfully hold back tears and not relive the joy of becoming a mother and the pain of burying a part of herself. And she knew the answer before she had formed the question—no, not yet.
“I have to talk to my grandfather about something.” Tricia glanced at her watch. “I’ll come back at six to pick you up for dinner.”
“Where would you like to eat tonight?”
“The dining hall,” she said quickly.
Jeremy’s dark eyebrows slanted in a frown. He did not want to eat at the farm. He wanted a repeat of what he and Tricia had had the night before.
The Blackstone Legacy Page 19