Eve’s Wedding Knight

by Kathleen Creighton

  Her hands found his belt buckle, the waistband of his trousers. And as if it was the signal he’d been waiting for, his found hers, as well. She felt the scrape of fabric on sensitized nerve endings, the cool kiss of air, and then the warm embrace of his hands…and pleasure so intense, she wept. With his head cradled against her breasts, she buried her hands and her face in the thicket of his hair, and the sobs rippled through her like seismic waves.

  He whispered something she couldn’t quite hear, and his arms came around her, encircling her in comforting warmth and reassuring strength. She pressed her face into the hollow of his neck and shoulder, reveling in the rasp of his beard on her cheeks, tasting the saltiness of his skin, drinking in the familiar spicy smell of him-oh yes, she remembered that smell. Had she known even then, somewhere deep inside, what it would come to mean to her? Now it seemed as if she had always known, as if she’d been born with his scent programmed into her genes.

  Dimly she felt him drag her legs across his lap and shuck away her jeans and panties. She gave him no help. She was far beyond that. And then he laid her down, oh, so gently, and moments later followed her, having sloughed away his clothing like an old skin. She opened her arms to him with a welcoming chuckle and felt his body slide over hers…smooth and warm and silky hard. Ecstasy settled over her like a gossamer blanket woven of star bursts and sunbeams.

  Nowhere in her consciousness was there even a glimmer of doubt, or the faintest echo of suggestion that there might be things she should attend to, reasons why she ought not to be doing this-here, at least, and now. Her world, her existence was Jake. His arms were her foundation, his body her fortress, his face her sun, moon and stars. He was the air she breathed; his heartbeat was her heartbeat; his mouth was her nourishment. When she closed her eyes she felt as if she’d ceased to exist as a separate entity entirely; she existed only as part of him.

  So when he pulled away from her and, kneeling between her parted legs, began to blaze a new trail of kisses and love bites over her body, she cried out and clutched at him in panic, writhing and whimpering in inarticulate protest.

  And with a low growl of understanding-as incapable of words as she-he straightened, and stroking and gentling her with his hands, reached under her thighs and drew them even farther apart…positioned himself and then at last, with excruciating care and quivering self-restraint, drove himself home.

  Breath rushed from her lungs in a gasp of shock, relief and pleasure. She arched her back and opened to him in delighted welcome, half lifting her body to meet him. He scooped his arms under her and raised her to him so that she found herself again more upright than reclining, sitting astride his thighs and clinging to him in joyous abandon. The strength in his body both awed and exhilarated her, she felt the trembling of self-control deep within his muscles and from somewhere found the words, and the sanity, to whisper, “It’s okay…it’s okay.”

  Then it was he who gasped, and with one hand supporting her head and the other pressing her lower body hard against him, took her mouth and plunged his tongue deep, while at the same time he surged into her with all power and passion unleashed.

  She lost all sense of time and space. She knew only wave after wave of unimaginable pleasure alternating with mindless panic…tension that seemed to build and build, higher and higher until she wanted to scream with it. And finally… the deliciously terrifying, heart-stopping plunge from the highest point of the roller coaster, a cry torn from the depths of her soul, the absolute certainty that she could not survive this…

  And then the trembling, pulsating quiet. The wondering joy at finding herself alive. The overwhelming sense of awe, humility, and…love? Oh, yes! That’s surely what it was. Love…

  She was laughing, shaking with laughter while tears ran down from the corners of her eyes and into her hair. And Jake was kissing her mouth, her wet cheeks, her eyes, framing her face with his hands and rubbing the tears away with his thumbs. She could feel his body shaking. Staring up into his face, she blinked away the tear shimmer…and suddenly her heart was swelling, bursting inside her. She lifted her hands and touched his face, holding it as if it were something rare and wondrous-as indeed it was.

  “Well,” she said in a voice soft with laughter and awe, “I guess I know now what it takes to make you laugh…”

  Chapter 13

  Unable to find the words, Jake gave up and kissed her.

  Eve whispered, “I guess we’ll have to do this more often,” as she traced the curve of his mouth with a fingertip.

  He heard her words, and his heart leapt beneath his ribs-a primitive cognizance of danger. What had they done?

  He lay back with a careful exhalation, bringing her with him, wrapped in his arms. Even now, with the return of full awareness and, he hoped, a measure of sanity, he still couldn’t bear to separate from her. But, oh, what had he done?

  He couldn’t imagine what had possessed him to do such a thing. It was against all his training, his professional ethics, not to mention common sense. And yet…and yet. The tousled head tucked under his chin felt so good there. Her body, thinner than he remembered, seemed to fit the planes and hollows of his own as if it were meant to be a part of it-like the yin to his yang, or the missing piece of a puzzle he’d been looking for all his life. Had he ever felt like this before? If he had, he’d surely have remembered it. What did it mean?

  That question he had no answer to.

  One thing he did know: the thought of sending this woman back to Cisneros made him sick to his stomach.

  “Jake?” Eve raised herself on one elbow to look down at him. Her eyes had a misty, worried look, and he remembered belatedly the postcoital vulnerability of women. “You’re already regretting this, aren’t you?”

  He reached up to touch her face with what he hoped was reassurance. “Yes…and no.” He looked at her for a long time, thinking how complicated it was, wondering if he’d ever be able to explain so she’d understand. He was filled with regrets, he ached with regrets…about all the years he’d spent without knowing her, what his life might have been like if he’d met her twenty years ago, the fact that he couldn’t wrap her up and take her home with him and keep her safe, make love with her every night and wake to her laughter every morning. How lonely that apartment of his was going to seem, how empty his bed, after this.

  He sighed and closed his eyes, and wrapping his arms around her, pulled her down onto his chest. “I’m still having trouble believing I actually let it happen.”

  She tensed in protest. “What do you mean, you let it happen? I kissed you first.”

  “I met you halfway.” He let several beats go by before he said quietly, “We took no precautions.”

  He felt the quick intake of her breath, the shivery tickle of her fingers stirring in the hair on his torso, then the warm flow of an exhalation. “I know. But I thought…since you’re in the FBI you probably have to be tested regularly, and I just had blood tests for the marriage license…” Her voice trailed off.

  Jake lifted his head and pulled in his chin so he could look at her. “You thought of all that, did you?”

  Her eyes danced up to meet his. “Well, no… It was maybe more like… instinct.”

  “Instinct…” He lay back, jerking with silent laughter. A few more seconds ticked by, and then he said, “You know, that’s not the only consideration. I did tell you it was my wife who couldn’t have children.” He paused, surprised by the rasp of emotion in his voice, then added wryly, “I’ve been thoroughly tested, believe me, so I know. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  For a long moment she said nothing. Then she cleared her throat and murmured, “It’s okay, I’m on the Pill.”

  She pulled away from him and sat up, keeping her back turned toward him as she searched awkwardly for her clothes. He could see only the curve of a flushed cheek, the sweep of lowered lashes, the childlike nape of her neck, but something about her seemed fragile, suddenly, and off-limits to him, as if she’d put away an esse
ntial part of herself behind glass walls.

  “I have to get back,” she said huskily, hurrying. “They must be wondering where in the world I am.”

  “Eve…” He reached out his hand and unable to resist touching her one more time, brushed his fingers lightly downward over the delicate bumps of her spine, the twin indentations just above the place where her buttocks began. He felt her breathing catch, and a shiver ripple through her body. Felt her hesitate… Then she stabbed her arms through the straps of her bra and pulled it around her and into position. The tiny click of the front catch was like a punctuation mark. A period. A closing.

  Jake sat up and reached for his pants. He was suddenly thinking what he wouldn’t give for a shower, some cologne, a wet washcloth-at the very least, some of those little moist towelettes they give you at fried chicken places. As it was, he was going to have to crawl back into that damn van with Birdie Poole and Agent Franco, reeking of sex. And Eve…my God. He was sending her back to a houseful of people and a murderous fiancé, with his scent and the scarlet burn of his beard on her skin!

  As if she’d heard his thoughts, she pressed her hands to her cheeks. “My face feels so hot,” she murmured, turning to him. “I have a whisker burn, don’t I?”

  He took her by the shoulders, touched her chin and turned her face to the light. “Yeah,” he said gruffly., “you sure do. How are you going to explain it?”

  Her eyes clung to his, jewel bright. “I went for a walk. A long one. I was trying to work off the calories. I got flushed…sunburned…poison ivy. I’ll explain it, okay? Don’t worry about me.” Breathless, she picked up her collar and thrust it at him. “Help me with this, will you? Please?”

  He took it from her and held it for a moment in his hands while he gazed at her. Then he lifted it slowly and settled the two halves into place, one in front, one in back, once again entombing her neck-that lovely neck, with its vulnerable nape and elegant throat, vibrant pulses and petal-soft skin-in cushioned plastic. He felt as if he were strapping her in irons, or the guillotine.

  “I don’t want you to go back,” he heard himself say. It was his voice, but not his voice. When had his voice scored his throat like shards of ground-up glass?

  She was wriggling into her panties-not a dignified moment-but she froze and stared at him in confusion. “What are you talking about? Of course I have to go back. Considering what happened the last time I disappeared, they’d probably call the cops. Maybe have already.”

  “No.” And his voice was firmer now-more his normal, confident, federal agent’s tone. “I mean, I don’t want you going back with Cisneros. It’s too dangerous. I’m pulling you out. Bringing you in. Whatever you want to call it. You’re no longer working for the Bureau-undercover or otherwise.”

  At his first words her jaw dropped and her mouth opened. Unable to break in with her protest, she held it until he’d finished, then let go an outraged “Sez you!”

  It wasn’t easy to look and sound authoritative with his pants unzipped and his undershirt caught in a stubborn roll around his pecs, but Jake did his best. “Now look,” he began, “I don’t think you-”

  “No-you look. I don’t think you understand.” She was breathing rapidly, groping for her socks and shoes. Thinking what a funny thing it was to be doing in the middle of an argument, Jake found them and handed them to her. She muttered a breathless “Thank you” then rushed on, her words coming in jerks and gasps as she struggled into her footwear. “It’s like…I told you before. I want…my life back. The only way I’m going to get it back…is if Sonny is put away-for good. Capish?”

  An incongruous bubble of laughter bumped against Jake’s sternum. “He will be,” he growled. “It might take a little longer, but we will get him. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Time…” She finished tying her shoe and lowered that foot over the side of the bed before she lifted her head and leveled a look at him-a strange, dark look full of messages he couldn’t read, challenges he didn’t understand. “How much time?” she said quietly. “Weeks…months…years? A lifetime? I don’t have that kind of time, Jake.” She reached for the other shoe.

  “What’s time got to do with it?” He waved one hand in impatience and frustration; the other was caught in the sleeve of his henley. “You go in there, break it off with him-tell him you’ve changed your mind-hell, women do that all the time, don’t they? Tell him you don’t want to marry him. Then you leave, and let us take care of the rest. What’s so difficult about that? You get your life back-”

  “Do you really think so, Jake?” She skewered him with a look. “Do you really think I, or anyone in my family, will ever be safe as long as Sonny’s out there? As long as he thinks we have information that could destroy him? ‘A ticking time bomb’-that’s what he called it. He knows it’s there, just waiting to be found. Do you think he’s going to just hang around and wait for that to happen? And we don’t know if he really bought it that I didn’t hear anything that day in the rectory-what if he’s just pretending to go along with this charade?” She tapped the collar angrily. “I have to go back. I have to see this through. You know that. We’ve been over this. What’s changed?”

  He stared at her in furious silence. What’s changed? He wanted to shout, What’s changed is the way I feel about you. That changes everything. Perspective…priorities… everything.

  For what seemed like minutes her eyes searched his face. Then she lifted her hand and laid it along his jaw, and her fingers were a warm and gentle reminder of the heat and passion with which they’d touched only a short time ago…like a breath of a soft, sweet wind when summer is long over. “Nothing’s changed,” she whispered.

  She drew back the sleeper’s partitioning curtain a few inches and looked out, then opened it wide and stood stiffly upright between the seats. Turning to gather up her jacket, she paused. “You can’t stop me from going back, Jake. You can pull your surveillance and all that if you want to-that’s up to you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped.

  Unable to shrug, she smiled crookedly. “I am going back. And I’m staying until the end-whatever that may be. Capish?” Her eyes seemed to brighten and shimmer, and then she quickly turned away.

  “Hey,” Jake said in the raw and scratchy voice he was coming to know well as she slipped between the front seats, “don’t you want to take the plate back?”

  She gave a little wave of her hand without turning. “How on earth would I explain it?” Her voice sounded breathless… almost panicky. “You can take the pie and stuff to your partner…what’s his name? Agent Poole? I have to go. So, I guess I’ll see you…” The passenger door opened and she was gone, as completely as if she’d tumbled off the edge of a precipice.

  Left alone in the sleeper, Jake sat and stared at the plate in his hands. Capish? Hell no, he didn’t capish. He didn’t understand anything. Somehow, without his noticing it or being able to do a thing to stop it, his world had turned upside down.

  Mirabella and Summer were the only ones left in the kitchen when they heard the bang of the screen door and footsteps coming across the back porch. Summer, who had just that second finished wiping and putting away the last piece of silverware, laughed and said, “That’s Eve-right on time.”

  Mirabella, who was suffering from indigestion and less inclined to be forgiving, fixed the delinquent with a fishy stare as she came through the door. “Where’ve you been?”

  Eve closed the door carefully behind her, and her eyes darted to each of her sisters with a quick, guilty look. But before she could answer, Mirabella felt a nudge in her ribs, and Summer said, “Evie? What’s wrong?” That was when Mirabella noticed Eve’s scarlet cheeks and too-bright eyes.

  “What have you-?” she began, but stopped when Summer gave her arm a warning squeeze.

  “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.” Eve was brightly smiling, but the smile looked as brittle and ephemeral as the leaves that scuttled across the lawn outside, as if it would crumble at a tou
ch. “I went for a walk-farther than I meant to. I’m pooped. Where are the guys? Sacked out in the den? God, I hope so-I’m all sweaty-is it okay if I take a shower?”

  “Uh…yeah, sure, go ahead,” said Mirabella with a questioning look at Summer, who returned it with an almost undetectable shrug. “Use ours-leave the other one free. Extra towels are in-”

  “Thanks-you’re a doll.” She slipped past them and danced sideways through the door-not a joyful dance, but urgent-and a moment later they heard the thump of footsteps on the stairs.

  “Not one word of apology for skipping out on the dishes!” Mirabella exclaimed on a gusty breath of sheer exasperation.

  Summer threw her a troubled look. “Didn’t you hear how fragile her voice was? She sounded like she was going to cry any minute. And her face-Bella, she really looked upset. If I didn’t know better…” She pressed her fingertips against her lips as a pleat of worry formed between her eyebrows.

  “Something is definitely wrong.” Mirabella gave the countertop a slap. “I knew it. Didn’t I tell you? There’s something fishy about that guy. She’s not happy with him.”

  “But-” Summer cast a look over her shoulder in the direction of the living room and dropped her voice to a husky whisper “-how could this have anything to do with him? He’s been in there all afternoon. Wherever she’s been, whoever’s upset her, it couldn’t have been Sonny.”

  Mirabella sucked in air and put a hand over her mouth.

  “What?”

  “Oh no-it’s too impossible. Even for Evie. She wouldn’t…”

  “For God’s sake, what?”

  Mirabella’s voice was hushed and horrified. “You don’t think… she’s cheating on Sonny?”

  Summer let out a gusty breath. “What? Cheating-no!” Then she gave it up and closed her eyes. “Oh God…”

  Now it was Mirabella’s turn to say, “What?”

  As Summer hesitated, a distraught hand pressed to her forehead, a muted roar went up from the other room. The football game had just ended; in another moment the kitchen was going to be full of menfolk foraging for pie and leftovers, coffee and beer, it having been all of two hours since they’d finished stuffing themselves beyond all good sense.