“It’s late,” he said quietly. With a heavy sigh, he set his boots against the wall, lowered himself to the edge of the bed, and peeled off his stockings. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
No answer. No sound at all except his own movements.
“Jessie? Are you all right?”
Again no answer. Anxious now, he reached the concealing screen in two strides—and drew up short. His heart slid back into place, then started a heavy pounding. As he’d assumed before entering the room, she was asleep. In the bathtub.
The copper tub was another wedding present, this one from Serena and Matt.
Moisture beaded Jessie’s white shoulders and slender throat. A thick strand of pale hair had slipped from the pins holding it up and now curled down and lay atop the water. The way she was slumped, with her head resting against the rim at an awkward angle, the water reached the middle of the upper slope of her pale, gleaming breasts. Blake’s breath hitched in his throat.
The tub wasn’t long enough for her to stretch out. Her knees rose from the water and leaned against the side. Beneath the water, her graceful hands cradled the bulge of his child. Their child.
A tender ache blossomed in Blake’s chest. God, but she was beautiful, so beautiful. He shook at the thought that she was his. His woman, his wife. Slowly, he knelt beside the tub. “Jessie?”
She didn’t stir, except for the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed softly. The movement sent small ripples across the water, making the lamp light flash and flicker over the surface.
“Jessie?” He gently lifted the errant curl from the water, then stroked her petal soft cheek with the back of one finger.
Her lips formed a soft smile. A sweet breath sighed from between them, and although her eyes did not open, she murmured his name.
“Wake up, honey.”
Slowly her eyes fluttered open, soft and dreamy and big enough to drown in.
“You were asleep.”
She blinked slowly, her eyes still glazed with sleep.
“In your bath,” he added, his tongue feeling thick and slow, his blood pounding hot and fast.
The smudge of dirt on her cheek told him she hadn’t gotten around to washing before she’d fallen asleep. He spied the washrag draped over the opposite edge of the tub, and the pink soap in a dainty, blue-flowered dish near his knee. He wet the cloth in her warm bath water. Then he soaped it and, with the sweet scent of roses wafting from it, gently brought it to her face. “Close your eyes, honey.”
Her eyes drifted shut, and he washed her face. The ache in his chest grew. God, what would he ever do if he lost her? He loved her so much. That’s what this feeling inside him meant. This sensation of fullness, of a heart that might burst with emotion any moment every time he looked at her, or thought of her, or heard her voice. This fierce yearning for her touch, the constant hunger for the taste of her, this blazing heat that singed him from the inside out could only come from love. It was more than lust, so damn much more.
After he finished rinsing the soap from her face, she fought to open her eyes.
“It’s all right. You’re exhausted. Go back to sleep. I’ll take care of you, Jessie girl.”
Her eyes, in obedience to his whispered urging, drifted closed. He washed her neck and shoulders, then her arms and hands. As he soaped the cloth yet again to wash her legs, a fine trembling settled in his hands. He lifted one foot from the water and started at the dainty arch, sliding the rag upward.
Jessie’s head rolled to that awkward, painful looking angle again against the rim of the tub, but her sigh had to be one of contentment.
He didn’t stop where the water covered her leg, but continued up the shapely limb slowly, slowly, afraid of waking her, of startling her. When he reached the juncture of her thighs, she moaned and shifted her hips in the water, filling his hand with that hot, secret center of her he’d been hungering for for months. Fire licked at his loins. The hardness came so fast it locked the breath in his chest.
Bastard, he thought, jerking his hand away. She was exhausted, vulnerable. For Christ’s sake, she was asleep. And here he was, playing the horny devil, fondling his unconscious, pregnant, wife. Bastard.
Yet he could have sworn that her second moan, when he withdrew his hand, sounded like one of protest.
He washed her belly, waiting to feel their child move, but the babe must have settled down for the night. He washed her breasts, sucking in his breath sharply when the nipples tightened and beaded into hard points beneath the wet, soapy cloth.
Swearing at his own foolishness—why the hell hadn’t he just awakened her and let her bathe herself?—he held her with her chest braced against his arm and leaned her forward so he could wash her back.
Getting her out of the tub would be no problem, but he didn’t want to put her to bed when she was wet. He was going to have to wake her.
He took off his shirt, wiped himself down with the sweet smelling wash cloth, then reached beneath her and lifted her from the water. “Come on, honey, you’re going to have to stand up for a minute while I dry you off.”
“Blake?” came her soft voice.
“Unless you’d rather me be someone else,” he teased. She was so groggy, the humor was probably lost on her.
He released her legs and tried to get her to stand. She sagged against him. When her breasts pressed against his bare chest, he squeezed his eyes shut. Ah, God, it had been so damn long since he’d felt her flesh against his.
“No,” she said finally, “I’d rather you be Blake.”
With his arms around her, he smiled and wiped the moisture from her back and shoulders with the soft towel from the stool next to the tub. “Are you awake?”
She sighed. “Of course,” came her groggy reply.
“Then stand up, Jess. I’ll dry you off and you can get into bed and go back to sleep. Here.” He lifted her hands and put them on his shoulders. “Hold on to me and stand up.”
He leaned away slowly. She swayed once, then caught herself. Her eyes were still closed. There was a small, private smile on her lips.
Blake started at her shoulders and blotted away the moisture there, then moved down her chest. Her breasts, when he reached them, were larger, heavier than he remembered. The baby would cause that, he thought. He slowed, cupping them in both hands, fighting the urge to toss the cloth aside and lean down and taste the buds hardening beneath his touch. Ah, Jessie, I want you.
He forced himself to move on. Making sure she had a firm hold in his shoulders, he kneeled and dried one foot, then the other. Slowly, so he could keep touching her. Then he worked his way up one firmly muscled calf, over a perfect knee, and along her well-formed thigh, slowly, slowly, one creamy, precious inch at a time, until one hand fit snugly between her legs, tight against the searing heat of her guarded by pale curls.
Suddenly Jessie stiffened. “Oh,” she cried, jerking the cloth from his hands and holding it against her chest like a shield. “Oh, don’t! Don’t touch me like that. Don’t look at me.”
The expression on her face tore at him. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips folded in on each other until they formed a tight thin line. Her brow was furrowed with lines of an emotion he wasn’t sure he understood.
“Jessie? What’s wrong?”
She opened her eyes and he sucked in his breath. Abject misery poured, along with a single tear, from a sea of gray. “I didn’t want…you to see me this way.”
With his thumb he reached up and wiped the tear from her smooth, soft cheek. It burned his skin. Another tear took its place. “See you what way?”
She hugged her arms and the towel across her stomach. “I’m so fat,” she choked, “and ugly.”
“No, Jessie, no.”
She closed her eyes and turned her head away. “Yes, I am.”
Blake smoothed his hand over the mound of her belly. “You mean this? Ah, Jessie girl.” Still kneeling before her, he pressed his cheek and both hands against her. “This i
sn’t ugly. It can’t possibly be ugly.”
She sniffed. “I look like I’ve swallowed a watermelon seed and it took root. The fruit is getting bigger every day. I don’t know how you can stand to look at me.”
“Stand to look at you? I can’t stand you being out of my sight.” With gentle force, he pulled the towel from her white-knuckled grip. He pressed his lips against her abdomen and looked up at her. “That’s no watermelon seed in there, Jess. It’s my seed. We planted it there, you and I. It’s a miracle, is what it is, and it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
She turned her eyes on him, and they were big and dark and haunted. “Then why don’t you want me anymore?”
“Not want you?” He rose before her and took her hand in his. Pressing it against the tight bulge behind the buttons of his denims, he said, “Feel that. Feel how much I want you. I’ve been hard for months wanting you. Even after loving you all night long last fall, when I left your room at dawn I was hard with wanting you. I’ve never stopped. Ah, Jess.”
Keeping her hand pressed against him, he reached down and slid his finger through the thatch of curls between her legs. Her eyes darkened. Her breath labored. Farther stroked his fingers, down, down, until he was cupping her in his palm, feeling her heat. Feeling dampness that hadn’t come from her bath. “You want me, too, Jess.”
Her eyes slid shut. From her throat came a tiny whimper that sounded like defeat.
“Let me show you how beautiful you really are, Jessie.”
With his eyes, he followed the movement of her throat as she swallowed, then lowered his gaze to the hollow beneath. With each flex of his fingers against her slick, hot flesh, her pulse fluttered faster and faster. Another whimper worked loose from her throat. Her fingers dug like claws into his shoulders.
“Blake. Oh, Blake.”
“What? Tell me what you want, Jess.”
She swayed against his hand. “You,” came her tortured answer. “I want you.”
The words were scarcely out of her mouth before he lifted her in his arms.
Jessie felt the room spin. With a cry, she hung on to Blake’s shoulders as hard as she could. He’d taken his hand from between her legs, and she thought she might die from the loss. Then she felt cool linens against her back. Bed. He was taking her to bed.
He followed her down and wrapped her in his arms. Heaven. His embrace was heaven. With her heart pounding and her blood soaring, she forgot all about fearing these overwhelming feelings. Instead, she welcomed them, welcomed him.
“Oh, yes. Love me, Blake, love me.”
He whispered her name as she fumbled to unfasten the buttons on his pants. His long fingers tangled with hers until his hot, hard arousal sprang free into her hand. His breath hissed sharply.
Jessie thrilled to know she could affect him this way. She stroked him, but was too impatient to go lightly. She gripped him tight and felt a shudder rip through him.
Then it was she who shuddered and cried out when his hand, with those devilish, talented fingers, found the center of her again. And his mouth, that hot, maddening mouth settled over the tip of her breast.
It had been so long since they’d shared this. So eternally long. Night after night since he’d come for her, she had lain in bed and waited, waited for him to do more than put his arms around her. Waited for him to want her again. Waited for her own stupid fears to abate. Now he was here, wanting her, stirring the embers deep inside her into a blazing inferno of need, and she revelled in his every touch.
She whispered his name, desperate for more, for him to bury his flesh inside her.
Her name came harsh from his lips. “Jess. Oh, God, Jess. I need…I need…”
“Yes,” she cried. “Now. Now, Blake, please.”
In a red haze of hunger and need, Blake answered her plea. Bracing his weight on both hands so as not to crush her and the baby, he settled between her legs.
Jessie gasped. The tip of him, just the very tip, touched where she most craved. But she wanted more. She wanted all of him. With a boldness she would have denied at any other time, she reached down and brought him home.
He pushed in one glorious inch at a time until she thought she might scream with the sheer pleasure of his flesh filling her. She flexed her hips, taking him deeper, deeper, until she held all of him. Only then did she feel whole, even knowing it wouldn’t last. Soon she would fly apart into a million pieces. And he would be there with her. With her. Always with her.
And she did. And he was.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was another two full days before the family ran out of excuses to stay. Much as she loved them all, Jessie had to admit as she wiped the counter one last time that she would be glad to see them go tomorrow.
The last two nights with Blake had been…heaven. And to think—she used to be afraid of all those hot, impatient feelings he roused in her. Jessie, you fool. How could she have feared them, or him?
And how could she have waited until now, this very minute, to realize her fear was gone? At least…her fear of losing herself, of losing control was gone. It had disappeared, been burned away like fog by the sun, with Blake’s touch.
But there was still that other fear—the fear that her own heart would let her and Blake down. She loved him, she knew she did. Had loved him from the start. Why hadn’t she loved him enough? Why, why hadn’t she trusted him that night they’d rescued Pace?
God above, even her mother and Rena had trusted him, and they weren’t in love with him. They didn’t have their hearts all tangled up. They weren’t terrified of losing him…
Was that it? Good God, was that it? Had she been so afraid of losing him that she had thrust him away at the first chance, using his orders about Pace as an excuse, just so he couldn’t hurt her first?
But…No buts, Jessie. You love him.
Yes. She loved him. She loved him so much that she’d never thought to question his innocence during his court martial. The realization shocked her. Tears stung the backs of her eyes.
God help her, she’d wasted so much time, so very much time. If she had only trusted her own feelings, and his, they could have spent these last months together and happy, instead of apart and miserable. They could have been spending all their nights as they had these past two.
Her cheeks heated at the mere memory of their lovemaking. He’d been so tender and gentle with her, worried that he might cause harm to her or the baby.
A wicked grin curved her lips. She’d made him forget about gentle a time or two, she had.
“What’s that grin mean?”
At the sound of Blake’s voice from the doorway, Jessie whirled. She started to scold him for scaring the breath out of her, but the look in his eyes said he knew exactly what her grin had meant.
He crossed the room and took the damp rag from her hand. “Come here, you.” His arms encircled her and pulled her flush against him. Or as flush as she could get these days.
As if reading her thoughts, he frowned fiercely. “You did not swallow a watermelon seed.” Then he chuckled, rather devilishly, she thought. His lips quirked. “Like I said, it was my seed. And if you’d swallowed it instead of—”
“Blake!” The mental picture his words produced had her covering her stinging cheeks with both hands.
He laughed harder.
But the pictures wouldn’t go away. In fact, they intrigued her. She eyed him warily. “Is that…possible?”
His laugh ended abruptly as his eyes heated and his nostrils flared on a sharp intake of breath.
Jessie’s eyes widened. Her breath came faster, harder. The thoughts she was thinking were…oh, my.
Blake saw the idea take root behind her eyes. Good God, he could almost feel those soft lips and that clever tongue of hers caressing him. “Sweet Jesus, Jessie. You keep looking at me like that and I’ll show you just how possible it is.”
She teased him with another wicked, wicked smile. “Is that a promise?”
Before he coul
d gather breath enough to answer, a shout from outside broke the tension. “Riders coming in!”
Blake hauled in a deep breath and let his eyes drift shut. He kissed her, hard and fast. “We’ll take this up later, woman.”
Blake recognized both riders when they were still a half-mile out. He bit the inside of his jaw to keep from swearing out loud.
“Friends of yours?” Pace asked.
Blake snorted with disgust. “Not hardly. Family.”
He noticed the question in Pace’s eyes. “Not all families are like yours, compadre.”
Jessie came to stand at Blake’s side. She touched his arm and looked at him questioningly.
He shook his head. “I would have spared you this…unpleasantness. You’re about to meet my father.”
Lucien Renard and Wade Sinclair rode in on a rude cloud of dust and dismounted. They stood before Blake, Wade with a smirk, Lucien with a glare.
“Lucien?” Travis Colton came forward. “My God, it is you! After all these years.” He stuck his hand out.
With a haunted look in his eyes—the first real emotion Blake had ever seen there other than disgust and hatred—Lucien shook Travis’s hand. “Colton.” But his gaze came straight back to Blake.
Blake met the hostile gaze and read the contempt there. With his hands on his hips, he turned half away, shook his head, and swore.
Lucien spat. “So, it’s true, you yellow-livered coward.”
Blake turned to Jessie and gave her a mocking nod. “I’m forgetting my manners. Allow me to introduce my cousin, Wade Sinclair, and my…and his uncle, Lucien Renard. Wade, Lucien, my wife, Jessica.”
Jessie eyed the two men warily. Both had black hair, brown eyes, and dark, olive skin. There the similarities ended. Lucien Renard was of average height, which put him at least a half a head shorter than the men around him. She’d heard her parents talking and knew he was younger than her father, but his wrinkled, puffy face, bloodshot eyes, and bulbous red nose, all signs of years of heavy drinking, left him looking far older.
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