She belonged to him, and so did that scar, like it was a part of him. His hands traced the curves of her breasts. Her body relaxed as she seemed to sense his acceptance, and then she tugged his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. He helped by pulling it over his head, but stopped moving before he could drop his arms again. She was looking at his chest, running her hands over the surface as though he were some precious object. Her fingers lightly traced the fine line of hair that ran down the center of his stomach, then unsnapped his jeans.
He didn’t need any more encouragement to get out of those damp jeans, and he dumped both those and his briefs on the floor. Then he slid her white panties over her hips and long legs, kissing the top of her toe, her ankle, and all the way up to her stomach. Her ribs showed through her skin, and he vowed to put some flesh on her bones. He wanted to possess her, take care of her so completely she would want for nothing. It wasn’t Paul’s protectiveness Mitch felt anymore; all the desire and warmth came from him now, only him.
She slid down beneath him, and he covered her with his body. Skin against skin, mouth to mouth, he absorbed her. And she let herself be absorbed, moving closer still, rubbing against him as though she couldn’t get enough. He wanted to give her enough and more. He ran his tongue down her jawline, nibbled at her neck, cradling her rib cage with his hands and watching her arch into his touch. Her fingers curled in his hair as he worked one breast over, then the other. She wrapped her legs around his sides and ran her feet up and down the backs of his thighs.
Her face was flushed, eyes closed when he lifted himself to look at her. She was a precious gift, his to love for this time until reality reared its ugly head. He had to keep those thoughts away, and he dipped down to kiss them right out of his head. Her mouth was hungry against his, turned up into a soft smile.
“You are so beautiful, Jenna,” he said, taking her into his memory. He ran the tip of his finger down that scar, including that in his words.
She sighed. Her hands slid up over his chest and settled on his shoulders. “So are you.”
He closed his eyes, not wanting to think about her saying those words to Paul. He kissed her again, reaching down to stroke her thigh and tease that slick place between her legs until her breathing quickened and she made that sound he’d imagined when he first saw this bed. Her body convulsed, tightened against his. He was about to explode with every touch as his hardness brushed against her belly. And then she reached down and wrapped her fingers around him, making him choke back a sound.
“Oh, Jenna, you don’t want to do that,” he managed to say.
“Then how about this?” she said in a whispery voice, angling him toward her until the tip of him nestled against her wet flesh.
He braced himself over her, looking into her eyes. He didn’t ask, wouldn’t ask, who she was seeing when she looked at him like she loved him.
Her legs tightened around him as he buried his face in her hair and buried himself in her. She let out a yelp, but wouldn’t let him move back to see if she was all right. Instead she held on tight and moved with him like no woman had ever done. She felt like no other woman he’d ever been with, wet and warm and wonderful and so … right. She felt so damned right, and that’s all he wanted to think about just then.
Her breathing came in jagged rasps, and she made an incredible little noise that made him picture her mouth all round like an ‘O’. Her body shuddered as she clung to him.
And then she cried, “Oh … Mitch.”
His name washed over him in a more powerful wave than the orgasm that followed right after. At that moment, she was truly his, body and soul. He held her so tight, he was afraid he’d hurt her. But she held on just as tight. And kept holding on until her heartbeat settled down to a reasonable rate. Her legs relaxed, lying against his.
Finally he couldn’t crush her any longer. He wanted to see her, ready to face the aftermath of what had happened. She would hate him for taking advantage of her grief, just as she’d accused him of doing. And he had. Dammit, he had. She couldn’t hate him more than he already did. He was more than willing to take full responsibility for this whole episode. He rolled over, pulling out of her with the action. All their shared heat seemed to seep out of him.
She seemed to feel the same, because she pulled the sheet up over herself and curled onto her side. Her eyes were closed, but he could see them moving beneath her lids. Her lashes fluttered with the movements. He reached over and settled the tips of his fingers on her forehead, then drew them down over her face. Her eyes opened, and her gaze flickered over the naked length of him before darting back to his face. He was deluding himself, of course, but he saw hunger in those eyes. Then she covered her face, stabbing him in the gut with her action.
He got up and put his jeans back on, then sat back down on the bed. “Don’t shut me out, Jenna.”
Her hands dropped away from her face. Her broad cheekbones were tinted pink, lips red from his kisses. He couldn’t read anything in her eyes, couldn’t feel anything from her. That scared him in a way he’d never been scared before. This woman who was not his hated him, and he deserved every bit of it. She belonged to his brother, and Mitch had just pissed on that sacred vow they’d made to each other. He was lying on his brother’s bed with his brother’s wife.
“I’m sorry, Jenna.”
She sat up, still holding the sheet over her breasts. “Sorry?”
“Sorry that this …” He gestured vaguely at the bed. “is so wrong. Not sorry it happened.”
He wanted to reach over and push away a strand of hair that grazed her cheek. He wanted her to move into his arms and hold onto him the way she had in Paul’s old bedroom. He wanted her again. A dull, thudding sensation moved through his body, deep down in the core of him. But this time he only wanted to hold her. To keep himself from doing any of that, he stretched out on his side.
He’d never made love to a woman before.
Oh, he’d had sex with women, hot, panting, playful sex with women who knew how to take a man to the edge and kick him right over it. He came away from it sated. This … thing that had happened with Jenna hadn’t sated him at all. It left him hungry for more, but it also left him with a knot in his gut. He couldn’t have any more, never again.
Jenna badly needed time to assimilate all the feelings bombarding her, but as usual, Mitch wasn’t going to let her turn away from the truth. She didn’t even know what the truth was. All she knew was that this man lying on his side on her bed wearing only jeans and with tousled hair had rocked her body and soul like she had never known.
She would never forget the way he’d looked at her scar, with utter tenderness. She had searched his eyes for repulsion, sure he couldn’t hide that from her. All she’d seen was total and complete acceptance.
Even if she had not uttered his name, she couldn’t lie about believing him to be Paul. He was not Paul, oh, no. She had never looked at Paul’s naked body and been stirred right down to the center of her being. Even now, knowing how wrong it was to want him, she did. She wanted to wrap herself around him again and just be held by him. Never had she craved Paul’s touch the way she did Mitch’s.
She cleared her throat. “Maybe it’s something we had to get out of our system.”
His gaze dropped down over her sheet-clad body, then pinned hers with sultry frankness. “Did it work?”
“It’s this connection we have, this synchronicity because of our hearts.”
“That may be so, but I can tell you this: I never felt like stripping my twin naked and loving him thoroughly.”
She felt her face flush, ducking down to press her forehead against her knees. She felt naked in more ways than one; she felt naked inside, vulnerable. She was sure if Mitch said one wrong word, she would shatter.
Had Mitch experienced the world shatter into pieces when they’d made love? Her body still felt all warm and mushy inside, her skin still tingled where it had touched his skin. Maybe he had gotten her out of his system and wanted
to see if she had, too. She rocked her head back and forth. Had she ever felt more confused in her life?
And then she realized it: all the anger that had consumed her earlier was gone. Oh, traces of it were still there, but the most powerful, most painful part was no longer engulfing her. That’s why she felt so vulnerable! She needed Mitch’s touch, his comfort.
No, she couldn’t need anyone, especially not him. She couldn’t forget that Mitch was the one who had brought her to this desolate point in her life.
The searing disappointment she felt when Mitch left the bed was proof enough of the mess she’d gotten herself into. She lifted her head to find him standing at the foot of her bed, the rest of his clothes wadded up in his hand.
“What do we do now?” she heard herself ask in a small voice.
He leaned against one of the posts on the bed, a resigned look on his face. “I guess you can go on hating me. And I’ll go on hating me. But this isn’t over.” She felt a strange glimmer of hope until he continued. “We’re going to find the whole truth. If we don’t, we’ll never get past this. Get some sleep, Jenna.”
And then he was gone, and a chasm of emptiness descended upon her. Feeling naked and vulnerable, she retrieved her nightgown and slid it over her head, then got back into bed. Once they got past this, what then? She looked at the rumpled sheets and smelled the scent of their lovemaking. Paul had driven her to this. He’d left her, and then, through Mitch, had taken everything she had left. And now Mitch had taken one more thing he had no right to: her heart.
Damn both of them! She slammed her fist down on the pillow next to her, Paul’s old pillow, and then threw it across the room. Yes, this was much better. The anger rushed through her veins like a narcotic, numbing, soothing. Jenna curled up in a tight ball. Anger was the only thing that would keep her safe.
From a far distance, Jenna heard a pounding noise. It seemed muffled as though through layers of gauze. And then, clearer, Mitch’s voice.
“Jenna. Wake up.”
What was he doing in her bedroom? Oh, right, they’d made love. She snuggled back into the cocoon of sleep, reliving those sensual moments.
“Jenna!”
His hands curled over her shoulders, shaking her out of that wonderful, gauzy state to find herself sitting in the parlor on the wood floor. She jerked around, blinking at the overhead light. Mitch crouched beside her, hair tousled and eyes still holding the misty hue of sleep. Then she became aware of the heavy weight in her hand.
“What’s happening?” she said, dropping the hammer with a loud thud.
Mitch reached over and ran his finger along the cracked edge of the cabinet in front of her. “I heard you pounding away at something down here. You said you walked in your sleep, but I didn’t realize you also wielded potentially dangerous tools. Were you dreaming about bashing my head in?”
He was still wearing only his jeans. “Maybe.” She almost smiled at the worried look that stole over his handsome, sleepy features. She averted her thoughts to safer subjects, like what had she been dreaming about? “I don’t remember. Whenever I’ve walked in my sleep, since Paul’s death, I never remember what I was dreaming about. Like when I made the arrangements to go to Ponee. I woke up on the phone with a travel agency. It was like Paul had orchestrated my movements, even my voice.”
They both looked at the cabinet, and Mitch picked up the hammer. “He wanted you to tear open this cabinet.”
“No, he wouldn’t want that. He made this for me.” She remembered how he’d kept it hidden while he’d constructed it, telling her it was a surprise. She grabbed the hammer from Mitch’s hand and slammed the head into the cabinet. Wood splintered, reminding her of her life these past few days. This is for your lies! This is for your black heart that I got!
“Whoa, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He took the hammer from her. “I know I told you to let out that anger, but I’d rather it not be while you’re holding a weapon.”
The word baby slid through her like that warm butter melting over the kernels of corn. “I’m not your baby.”
He slammed the hammer into the wood even harder than she had. “I know that. Believe me, I know.”
She felt disappointed that he’d given up so easily. What did you want, Jenna, a fight? You know where fighting has gotten you with Mitch. Is that what you want?
No!
“Give me that hammer!” She wrenched it out of his grip. “It’s my dream, my hammer and my cabinet.” She smashed the front edge of the cabinet again, and a piece of wood broke free. There was a compartment between the bottom of the cabinet and the inside. Her throat went dry. “You said it could only get better from here.” She reached in and pulled out a heavy cloth bag. “Can you guarantee that?”
“Nope. All I can guarantee is that whatever it is, we’re going to handle it together.” He held her gaze, punctuating his words. “Open it.”
She pulled her eyes from his and set the bag down. It was a tartan material, innocuous enough. Her hands were steady as she unzipped it and upended the bag. Jewelry spilled out onto the floor, rings, watches, lots of glittering diamonds and emeralds.
She knew before she even said, “It’s their jewelry, isn’t it? Your parents’.”
Mitch’s butt hit the floor, but his gaze hadn’t left the jewelry. He picked up a huge diamond ring, bigger than Jenna had ever seen before. “My mom’s wedding ring. Her watch. Dad’s bracelet. All of the flashy stuff they wore every day. They used to put it all in a dish on the nightstand when they went to bed.” His voice went soft. “They never worried about getting robbed, not in Ponee.”
“He murdered them.”
Mitch reached into the hidden compartment, patting the sides and back. “Where’s the knife?”
“What knife?”
“If he kept all this incriminating evidence, why didn’t he keep the knife?”
“It’s probably hidden under our bed,” she bit out, feeling the comfort of her anger wrap around her like an old coat.
“Is Paul telling you it’s there?”
“No. I don’t feel anything but tired. I hate him.” She looked up at Mitch. “I hate him so much.”
He didn’t move, didn’t blink. In his eyes she saw him wage a battle, but she didn’t know what the stakes were. Then he abruptly stood and walked toward the hallway. When he reached the doorway, he turned back to her. “I came here looking for the truth, and I didn’t care who it hurt. I thought the truth would set me free.” His smile was grim as he shook his head. “I was wrong. But now I want the truth to set you free. Tomorrow we’re heading back to Ponee.”
She stood up, hands pressed to her chest. “What if it doesn’t set me free either?”
“It’ll only possess you if you let it.”
He turned again and headed up the stairs. Why did she feel as though he were talking about him possessing her and not the truth at all?
No, she was imagining things, letting his soft voice play tricks on her mind. He meant to set her free from the spell their hearts and this connection had on them. Who would they be then?
She turned around to find Paul smiling at her from the photo on the mantel. She looked so happy, arms around his shoulders, blissfully ignorant of the truth. “Idiot!” She swiped the picture from its place, then turned to the one hanging on the wall, their wedding picture. “Fool!” In every room of the house she went, plucking any picture with Paul in it. She’d had a damned shrine to the man in here!
In the office, she remembered how Mitch had stacked them up. “Stupid!” she said, picturing herself stacking them back up again, ever the faithful wife. “Well, I’m not faithful anymore.”
She found her wedding ring sitting on the desk where Mitch must have placed it. There was a white band on her ring finger, and she looked at that band for a long minute. Then she opened the shallow middle drawer and set the ring inside.
The pictures across the back of the desk mocked her. She removed each one and set it on the stack she’d
brought in with her. She stared at Paul’s face in the last picture. “There’s something else you deceived me about, Paul Elliot. You never showed me what really, truly being made love to felt like.”
Now she knew. But it was with the wrong man.
Mitch wore a vest and blue jeans, and his duffel bag sat at his feet. His hair was tied back, muscles in his arms flexed. He was leaning in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, staring out the kitchen window. If he’d noticed the absence of Paul’s pictures in the house, he hadn’t commented on it. Or on the fact that the ring wasn’t on the desk nor was it on her finger. Jenna wondered if he was thinking about Paul and the jewelry they’d found. Or their lovemaking. Whatever it was, it put a grim expression on his face, tightened his mouth, and instilled a distant haze in his eyes.
Jenna had taken her pills and packed the bottles in her bag. She packed hopefully — hopefully this wouldn’t take long. “I need to make a call before we leave.” He nodded, and she walked over to the phone and dialed. “Hi, Millie, it’s Jenna. I’m fine. Yes, I burned the candle. Yes, I said the phrase. Three times.” She slid a glance to Mitch. “It worked. Paul’s spirit will no longer be haunting me. Listen, I’m going away for a few days, to visit friends. I didn’t want you to be worried. Thanks, Millie. You take care, too. Bye.” She turned to the door. “Okay, now I’m ready.”
He picked up both their bags and headed to the front door. The foyer was always dark, with rich paneling and only a fan window in the door. That was one of the things she wanted to change. Dim morning light seeped in over Mitch’s hair and shoulders. His fingers were wrapped around the doorknob as he waited for her.
She paused in front of him. “I’m going to sell the house and pay you back the money Paul took out of his inheritance. It doesn’t seem right to keep it, not when he’d intended to pay off his … cohort.”
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