“Yes,” she sighed. Letting her mind drift, the increasing tingling heat from the medallion began to spread throughout her body and downward, where they melded together. Curling her fingers into his shoulders, she clamped her thighs tightly against his hips.
“Ah, hell,” he growled against her neck, rocking her urgently against him. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”
Neither did she. Basking in his caresses, her body hummed. A delicious pressure blossomed in her belly, electrifying her, causing her to move on J.T. in a shameless rhythm. He watched her, his eyes growing dark with desire, his hands on her strong and sure as they cupped her hips. Softer sensations wove through her, a longing to blend her heart with J.T.’s. Those strange sensations sizzled along her nerves again, and she closed her eyes, trying to grasp an elusive something teasing the edges of her mind.
Then it came. The name filtered through her mind, then slipped naturally from her lips, without thought or conscious provocation. “Johnny,” she murmured softly.
J.T. stiffened, his blood turning to ice in his veins. A bucket of cold water couldn’t have been more effective in dousing his arousal. Caitlan blinked her eyes open, looking just as surprised by the name she’d spoken.
“What did you say?” he said very calmly, wanting to believe he’d only misheard her. But he knew in his gut she’d called him by a name he’d hadn’t heard for sixteen years. Since the night Amanda died.
Her gaze turned wary, snuffing out the desire. “Johnny,” she repeated cautiously, as if she knew she’d said something wrong but wasn’t quite sure what the ramifications were.
A sensation of being suffocated cloaked J.T. He had to get away from Caitlan, who’d suddenly, alarmingly, reminded him too much of Amanda. Those violet eyes of hers seem to lure him in, mesmerizing him, taunting him. A heavy pressure clamped around his chest, anxiety mixing with panic.
He shook his head, trying to keep his composure intact. Damn, between that medallion that always heated up whenever he touched it, and now with Caitlan calling him Johnny when he hadn’t even told her his full name, he was beginning to feel like he was living in the Twilight Zone, lost between the past and the present. Ever since she’d come to the Circle R—hell, ever since she’d saved him—weird, unexplainable things had been happening between them.
Irritated by incidents he didn’t understand, needing to put distance between himself and Caitlan, he lifted her from his lap. As soon as her body left his, a black, chilling emptiness consumed his soul.
She straightened up on shaky legs and smoothed her hand down her skirt, but that one act of modesty did nothing to reform the tousled, thoroughly loved woman who had been in his arms only minutes before. She still looked entirely too tempting, with her breasts still bared, and he kept from reaching for her again by thinking about what she’d called him.
Standing, he hitched up his jeans and zipped his fly, then started on the buttons on his shirt. She turned away from him and began straightening her own clothes. After everything they’d just shared the vulnerability in her movements slammed into him like a fist. Tender, forgiving emotions crept up on him, but he shoved them aside for more pressing matters.
“Why did you call me that?” he asked, his unexpectedly harsh tone shattering the silence.
Caitlan closed her eyes for a moment, trying to chase away the confusion swirling in her mind. And then there was this rejection she wasn’t prepared to deal with, and the ripping pain in her soul it had caused. Opening her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “I don’t know why. It just slipped out.”
He jammed his hands on his hips, his eyes narrowing. “How the hell did you even know my name?”
The question startled her, and she grasped for the most logical answer. “I heard one of the hands call you John.”
He let out a grunt of disbelief. “The hands never call me John, Caitlan. Most of them don’t even know what J.T. stands for. And nobody calls me Johnny,” he said fiercely. “Nobody.”
Nobody but Amanda, Caitlan thought, recalling her visions and the nickname Amanda called J.T. But why had she called him Johnny?
“Here,” he said, bringing her out of her thoughts.
She reached for the panties dangling from the tips of his fingers. Face heating at the remembered intimacy and her uninhibited response to him, she quickly pulled them on.
“Come on. Let’s go on back to the house,” he said coolly.
They walked to the house in silence. Caitlan could practically feel J.T. emotionally withdrawing from her. He was cool and remote, like the man she’d first met at the line shack. Gone was the tender lover and the gentle man she’d discovered over the past few days. She had the uncharacteristic urge to cry out at the loss. So many feelings and sensations clamored within her, all of them directly linked to J.T., and she didn’t have a clue as to why.
And, more importantly, why wasn’t she able to control her emotions with J.T., as she normally could with everyone else? Her heart overflowed with an indescribable feeling, a shattering realization that frightened her, for she knew there would be heavenly repercussions.
She loved J.T.
Chapter Ten
Love. Sitting up in bed two hours later, unable to sleep, Caitlan sketched furiously, hoping to purge her heart and soul of the emotion. The word rested heavily on her heart, burdening her with despair when it should have brought her joy. In a mortal lifetime she’d probably be ecstatic, but as a spiritual being, she’d been told an emotion as intense as passionate love wasn’t possible. Her Superior had been wrong. So very wrong.
She’d done the unpardonable by making love with J.T., her only defense being that with him she experienced a connection so undeniably perfect and powerful in its magnetism, she couldn’t deny the fierce longing to blend hearts and souls so irrevocably they meshed into one entity. She’d done that and more. Much, much more. Her face flamed when she recalled the wicked things he’d done to her, and her sensually uninhibited response to him.
But to have actually fallen in love with J.T., a mortal, to have given him her heart and soul as she had, was a reprehensible act that would no doubt warrant severe punishments. She was already eternally matched, her spirit supposedly secured to her soulmate while she waited as a guardian angel to be joined with him. As hard as she tried, though, she couldn’t recall her soulmate’s face or the warmth of his soul, because the only thing filling her up inside was J.T.’s essence.
The picture she’d drawn reflected her jumbled emotions, swirling patches and broad strokes that created nothing more than confusion. With a moan of hopelessness, she drew her knees up and hugged her sketch pad to her chest. She tried to keep herself together when all she wanted to do was fall apart, or run back into J.T.’s arms, where she’d been so content, so fulfilled.
Heaven help her, what was she going to do about J.T.? When she returned from her mission and her Superior discovered she’d given her heart to another, what plausible excuse could she give? Her actions couldn’t be explained as a moment of weakness, because she’d openly wanted J.T., had felt a link to him from the very beginning of her mission. She’d ached to be a part of him, but she’d never expected to fall in love with the man, the ultimate of mortal emotions.
She couldn’t allow them to make love again, not that she believed J.T. would want to after she’d blurted out the special nickname Amanda had called him. She still couldn’t figure out why she’d called him Johnny, why the name had slipped so naturally from her lips. Another piece of the ever-growing puzzle to tuck away. When she returned from her mission her Superior would have all the answers to the bizarre visions she’d had, to the feelings that made J.T. so much a part of her.
Resting her head on her knees, she drew in a breath to release the awful tightness constricting her chest. What hurt the most, she supposed, was the way J.T. had shut down after she’d accidentally called him Johnny. His cool remoteness had cut her to the soul like a blade. She’d wanted to cry out at the bleakness cr
eeping back into his gaze, the loneliness churning in the depths of his eyes. But she understood his withdrawal. His heart and soul belonged to Amanda, his eternal soulmate.
Sorrow and sadness engulfed her, and she swallowed back uncharacteristic tears. There was no future for them. Ever. Once her mission was complete, she would leave J.T. behind to continue her work as a guardian angel. But the memory of the way their bodies had been joined in complete harmony would always remain a part of her, and she didn’t know if she’d survive the sweet, aching memory of it all.
The sound of someone moving around in the room next to hers penetrated the walls and her thoughts. She guessed J.T. was getting ready to start the day, as she should be doing, but she couldn’t drum up the energy to move. Facing him didn’t hold much appeal, especially after the brusque way he’d escorted her to her bedroom and left her there to enter his.
She sighed heavily, reminding herself that no matter what happened between them, she still had a job to do. In a few minutes she’d get up, she told herself, just as soon as the crushing despair lifted from her heart.
* * *
Staring at his freshly shaven face in the bathroom mirror, J.T. berated himself for the hundredth time for being so thoughtless, so utterly careless while making love to Caitlan.
He hadn’t protected her from conceiving a child. The alarming thought had hit him like a two-ton brick while he’d been taking a shower. Unbidden, memories of the tight, hot feel of Caitlan wrapped around him had taunted his mind. Deep inside she’d been silky soft and snug, exquisitely so, and with nothing separating them he’d given her every bit of himself. He’d burned with need, had forgotten everything but the taste and feel of her.
Nothing separating them. He’d never intended to make love to her when he’d followed her to the barn, but that didn’t excuse his negligence. He knew better than to have unprotected sex.
Shoving away from the sink, he muttered a dark curse and strode into the adjoining bedroom to put on his boots. He jammed a foot into one boot, arranging his jeans over the top, and then the other.
He’d been careless once before, with Stacey, and the result had been less than ideal. Caitlan wasn’t calculating or manipulative, like Stacey had been in her pursuit—quite the opposite, actually—but Caitlan would leave to go back to the city, and he didn’t think she’d be too happy being burdened with a child.
His empty stomach churned with anxiety and twisting deeper was regret. He’d marry Caitlan if she turned up pregnant, but he knew she’d grow to resent him and his way of life, and worse, he’d never be able to give her the love she deserved. He just didn’t have it in him. Hadn’t he learned that with his attempt at marriage with Stacey?
And then there was the strange link between him and Caitlan to consider, the way she extracted need and longing from him, and a yearning for something more. That medallion of hers unnerved him, as if it held some kind of power to connect them. Twice he’d been affected by the damned thing when he’d touched the heated gold, experiencing an out-of-body sensation straight out of some sci-fi movie. And, most hauntingly, she’d called him Johnny, when no one had called him that since Amanda’s death.
The other experiences could be written off as an active imagination, but how had she known his nickname? Standing, he shook off the niggling doubts settling over him. Maybe he didn’t want to know.
Dressed and ready for the day ahead, J.T. left his bedroom, glancing toward Caitlan’s closed door. A streak of light at the bottom of the door told him she was up, and he walked over and knocked lightly, wanting to get this awkward conversation about protection and pregnancy over with.
“Yes?” she answered softly.
“It’s me. I need to talk to you.” He grimaced at the clipped tone of his voice and deliberately softened it. “Can I come in?”
She didn’t reply. Not that he could blame her. He’d been anything but congenial on the walk back to the house from the barn. Guilt weighed down his conscience when he recalled how cold he’d been, and how he’d all but deserted her at her bedroom door without so much as a good night, an apology, a promise, a curse ... nothing.
“Caitlan?”
“Go away, J.T.,” she said wearily. “I’ll be downstairs in a bit.”
Okay, he deserved that. He almost turned away, but a streak of stubbornness held him there. Testing the knob, he found it unlocked and slowly opened the door and looked inside.
She sat on the bed, knees pulled. up under the covers, drawing on that pad of paper she coveted. Her hand stilled and she glanced up, but she didn’t glare at him as he’d expected her to. Like he wished she would, so he wouldn’t feel like such an ass. No, her features were delicately somber, her violet eyes wide and glossy. The bedside lamp haloed her dark tousled hair, and he detected a faint smudge of weariness beneath her bottom lashes. She looked extremely vulnerable, and achingly beautiful.
A sudden emptiness consumed him, leaving him emptier and more desolate than ever. As he held Caitlan’s gaze, something elemental shifted within him, making him too susceptible to this woman who’d intrigued him from the very first. He denied his growing feelings for Caitlan, that he was coming to care for her in a way that he hadn’t cared for anyone in a long time. She made him feel, and he couldn’t afford to. Besides, she’d only get hurt.
Pushing aside the tenderness and warmth crowding their way into his heart, he stepped inside her room without an invitation and shut the door quietly, wanting privacy for their discussion.
She returned her attention back to her drawing, the tip of her pencil scratching across the paper. “What do you want, J.T.?”
You. The word came without provocation, and it was the absolute truth. All he wanted at that moment was to strip off his clothes and hers, push her back on the bed, and sink deep inside her, losing himself in her damp softness and heat. He wanted to see passion and desire flare in her eyes, wanted to experience again those ripples of pleasure that clutched him when she reached that crest.
He’d been right. Once with her wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. God, he hated this weakness he had for her.
Business, Rafferty, he reminded himself. Walking to the side of her bed, he braced his shoulder against the wall, silently vowing he wouldn’t touch her again.
He cleared his throat of the thick need gathering there. “We need to talk about what happened earlier.”
She tensed but didn’t look up at him. Instead, her pencil increased in tempo—quick, short, abrupt strokes slashing across the page. “I’d rather not.”
He leaned forward slightly to get a look at what she was drawing but she held the pad at such an angle that he couldn’t make out the sketch. “I’m not giving you a choice, Caitlan. I didn’t protect you.”
Finally, she glanced at him, confusion darkening her eyes. “Protect me?”
Damn. She couldn’t be that innocent! “Yeah, I didn’t use a condom, so what I want to know is if you’re on some kind of birth control. The last thing I want is for you to end up pregnant. I don’t think you’d want that either.”
She blushed at his bluntness and averted her gaze back to her pad. “Don’t worry about it, J.T.,” she said quietly.
A shaft of white-hot jealousy lanced through him when he thought of her on contraceptives for some other man. He should have let the subject drop, but a possessiveness he had no right to feel provoked him into pressing for more answers. “So you’re on some form of birth control then?”
His tenacity earned him a sharp look from her. Then a raw pain flickered in the depth of her eyes. “No. I can’t get pregnant.”
Shock rippled through J.T. Her confession momentarily stunned him speechless. When he recovered he silently berated himself for being so callous. “I’m sorry, Caitlan. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive. It’s just that ...” He shoved his fingers through his shower-damp hair, now wishing he’d never broached this subject with her. “It’s just that after what happened with Stacey I don’t care to make the same mistake
twice.”
“I understand,” she said softly, flipping her sketch pad closed. “But there’s nothing for you to worry about.”
He should have been relieved by her reassurance, but the sadness lingering in her gaze touched a chord within him. She wanted children, he realized, but for some reason couldn’t have them. The thought made him ache for her.
She opened the nightstand drawer and put her pencil and pad inside. “If you’re done, I’d like you to leave so I can get dressed.”
No, he wasn’t done. He didn’t like being dismissed, and he liked even less the sensation of something still unresolved between them. Unable to get a firm grasp on what that something was, he gave her a curt nod and crossed to the door, then let himself out of her bedroom.
As soon as J.T. left, Caitlan sagged against her pillow and closed her eyes, willing away the dull twinge in her chest. Her hand absently strayed to her flat abdomen. A baby. J.T.’s baby. The thought filled her with such a sweet sorrow she wanted to weep for all the things that could never be. Where had all this longing come from?
The answer eluded her.
* * *
Freshly showered and changed into a pair of jeans and a pink sweatshirt, Caitlan went downstairs to the kitchen, prepared to face J.T. again. Except he wasn’t sitting at his usual spot, eating breakfast and drinking coffee. Dirty breakfast dishes were stacked by the side of the sink, along with a platter of leftover scrambled eggs, sausage, and pancakes. Paula stood by the counter next to the sink tenderizing a roast, engrossed in her task. The clock above the kitchen window read five-thirty in the morning. Where were the men?
Drawing a deep breath for calm, Caitlan pasted on her best smile. “Good morning, Paula.” Stopping at the coffeepot, she reached into the cupboard and brought down a mug, then filled it with the steaming brew. This morning a double shot of caffeine would be just the ticket.
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