“Jesus, Juliet.”
P.J. grabbed the bath sheet from the edge of the sink, shut off the steady stream of water, bent down, and wrapped Juliet into the towel. Then he carried Juliet into the living room where he sat her down on the couch and piled thick blankets on top of her. P.J. decided to wait on the soup and instead poured a cup full of blackberry brandy, honey and lemon into a pan and let it simmer until it was thick and warm. He brought out a huge box of tissues, sat down next to Juliet and wrapped his arms around her heaving shoulders. Then he fed her small sifts of brandy in between her hiccupping sobs.
P.J. had never seen so many tears in his life. They just kept coming. They spilt over from Juliet’s eyes and flowed down her cheeks like the notes of a sad song. Soft moans escaped through little hiccups. He could feel her shoulders rise and fall as the strength of her anguish ravished through her body. Juliet’s chin quivered against his chest. P.J. was no stranger to crying women. His mother, Claire, was a crier. Happy times, sad times, or sometimes just because. When he had asked his dad about it, Reno had told him that sometimes a woman just needs a good cry.
And now thinking over the last few hours, P.J. figured that if there was any woman in this world who deserved a good cry, it was Juliet Jones.
The rage of the storm railed through the night relentlessly. Rain continued to fall in great sweeping gusts that battered rooftops and beat against windowpanes. The cold Atlantic slammed against the craggy cliffs of Port Harbor with herculean force. Trees fell over, power lines snapped. Streams and rivers flowed over and washed out roads. Basements flooded, cars stalled, boats were tossed about like toys.
But inside, Juliet and P.J. were warm, and dry and safe from the storm.
She had finally fallen asleep. Her head lay tight under his chin while her arms wrapped around him. Even in her slumber, Juliet seemed reluctant to let him go. After what they had just been through together, P.J. couldn’t help but feel the same way. Looking out into the still raging wind and rain, he recounted the horrific events of the past few hours and thought how easily Juliet could have died out there. What if he hadn’t been home…what if the security system had been downed by the storm, what if he had found her too late. What if …what if…what if….
Little fool P.J. admonished her silently even as he placed a small kiss on the top of Juliet’s hair. What had she been doing out in weather like this? It was obvious she had turned around or tried to. But what the hell did that mean? Had she taken a wrong turn in the rain? Or had Juliet been coming to see him and changed her mind? These questions only added to the billion he had about her. Maybe the storm had been a blessing in disguise. Even if Juliet’s car wasn’t blocking the access way, it would take P.J. at least a day to clear the road, and he couldn’t even think about that until the storm wore itself out. Maybe it would give him the time with Juliet that he needed to talk to her.
But for now, P.J. had to stand up and get his blood moving. It had been at least an hour since she had fallen asleep with her arms twisted around him. Every time P.J. tried to disentangle himself from her, Juliet tightened her grip. His shirt was soaked from her tears, he had a raging headache, and his back felt like it was on fire. P.J. needed a couple of shots of his best whiskey, and a hit of the premium weed that he kept on his nightstand. He needed to get undressed, stretch out on his bed, relax, and catch his damn breath. But every time he moved, she locked in.
So P.J. carried Juliet upstairs with him.
Juliet opened her tear swollen eyes to find herself in bed with P.J. McCabe. P.J. was on his back, his arms stretched and pretzeled under his head and his eyes closed. Juliet’s leg rested high on his thigh; her hand sat low on his belly. She was snuggled close under P.J.’s chin. The only sound in the room was the soft, rumble of his breathing. The only movement was the steady rise and fall of P.J.’s massive chest. They were both naked as the day they were born. While Juliet had the idle thought that this should probably alarm her, she was too tired, too warm, and too comfortable to care.
Juliet snuggled deeper into the crook of P.J.’s arm and tried to recount the last few hours out in the storm. Her thoughts were jumbled, some moments crystal clear, others a foggy blur. But Juliet knew one thing, she owed her life to this man. And as her eyes drifted down his body, Juliet found herself wanting to know more, much, much more, about the man lying next to her.
Stealing a glance at his face, she saw that P.J.’s eyes were still closed and except for a subtle change in his breathing, he remained perfectly still. Juliet bent her elbow, rested her head on the palm of her right hand, and studied the magnificent body that was gloriously within her reach. P.J.’s body was muscled and hard, his right nipple pierced through with a thick, sterling silver lightning bolt. The name Prosper was inked in beautifully detailed lettering in the smooth skin right over P.J.’s heart. On impulse, Juliet reached out, and with a light finger traced the ornately scripted letters.
P.J.’s right side was covered with a large Celtic cross. It reached low into his hip and ended in a Rose of Sharon. The skin underneath the bloom was puckered and concave. One of these beauties is covering up a bullet hole he had told her. As her fingers continued to trace the contours of his form, it occurred to Juliet that P.J.’s body told his story. Hard, unyielding, uncompromising, and colored with loss, faith, strength, and perseverance.
It was the body of a warrior.
As Juliet touched the steel, cold, thunderbolt that pierced the tender skin of P.J.’s nipple, she found her fingers crushed under his fist. In one quick athletic move, P.J. twisted Juliet’s body so that she lay prone beneath him. Juliet gasped with the force and weight of him. P.J. posed his arms on either side of Juliet’s head, taking some of his weight off her body and effectively caging her in.
“I thought you were asleep.” She panted out.
“I’m wide awake, Juliet.” P.J. growled low into her ear. Then he kissed Juliet in a way that made her body tingle, and her toes point and arch. P.J. brushed his thumb across the lower curve of Juliet’s breast. His hands left tender prints all over her body, while P.J. strummed Juliet like she was a priceless, finely tuned instrument. With slow, tender, torture he played her every note. Then, in a commanding and sudden move that made Juliet gasp in surprise, P.J. pulled her legs up around his waist. He entered her with one deep possessing thrust. Once he had claimed her, P.J. spent the rest of the night taking his time.
P.J. made love to Juliet for hours.
And hours.
And hours.
The power in her surrender, the sweet smell of her skin, the welcome of her hips, P.J. couldn’t get enough of Juliet. The more she gave, the more he demanded. P.J. couldn’t love her hard enough or deep enough. Each time he released his fury into Juliet’s hot, quivering body, he felt the world shatter into a million bursts of light, spin in whirls of flame, and turn into a kaleidoscope of color.
While the storm outside continued to release its relenting fury, the battle inside had already been won. With the confidence of a man born to be king, P.J. had waged a tender assault against Juliet’s defenses. With practiced hand, and clear purpose, P.J. had conquered her. He had coaxed, claimed, and bent her to his every will.
And in the end Juliet lay spent, sated, and deliciously defeated in his arms.
The moment that Juliet awoke, her senses were sieged under a tender assault. Her body felt deliciously sore and weak, her eyes blinked as the soft light flowed through the gap in the closed curtains, the smell of coffee wafted through the air. Juliet put her arms over her head and stretched her warm body as the low murmur of wakening sounds came dancing down the hallway…the soft bang of cupboards opening and closing, a chair scraping across the floor, the crackle of logs in a fire, the low sound of music. And finally, there was the dull thud of a door closing shut.
As Juliet sat up in bed, the sheet fell down around her waist; her naked body chilled by the cool air around her. She blushed furiously as memories of the night before came flashing through
her mind. She looked across the room to see a man’s large flannel shirt, a pair of heavy woolen socks and a note.
She picked up the piece of paper…
Coffee’s brewing. Went to check out storm damage. Be back soon.
Storm damage.
Juliet glanced up and looked at herself now standing naked in front of the mirror.
Damage might be the right word.
Her hair was tousled from where P.J. had buried his hands in it, her body was red and chafed in places where his light beard had grazed against her soft skin. Juliet’s breasts boasted tiny marks in light lavender hues from where P.J. had held them, squeezed them, loved them. The rosy tips of her nipples flushed to deep pink. Juliet’s eyes were sleepy, her mouth was bruised. When she moved, there was a lovely ache between her thighs.
Juliet emerged from the bedroom to find P.J. coming in from the cold.
“Hey.” She smiled shyly at him.
The sight of Juliet stopped P.J. in his tracks. He knew that he should probably say something, but instead he found himself wanting to do a fist pump in the air. Because the sight of Juliet in the morning after being loved by him all night long?
Wow.
With her tousled hair, sleepy eyes, and the radiant glow from the fire dancing across her skin, Juliet looked like something beautiful and half tamed.
P.J. wasn’t sure when it started; was it the first time she reached for his hand and that damn candy wrapper fell out of her pocket? Or last night when he had kissed the sad scars on her wrists? P.J. only knew that he was falling for Juliet. And he was falling hard. He wanted to sweep her in his arms, take her upstairs and make love to her again and again until the sun set low in the sky. He wanted to whisper in her ear, feel her body rise beneath him, kiss her lips, her breasts… P.J. wanted to hear Juliet scream out his name while he was deep inside of her.
But, because last night had left him with more questions than answers, he pushed all those thoughts aside. Instead P.J. gave Juliet a wry smile and lifted the bag he had in his hand. “I grabbed these from the car. Thought you might need them.”
Juliet remembered the lacy bras and panties that sat on top of the other items that she had purchased. Embarrassed, Juliet grabbed the bag quickly out of P.J.’s hand and offered a quick thanks. Then Juliet peered beyond him towards the window. The wind seemed to have died down considerably, but the rain continued to come down in slow, heavy streams.
P.J. hung his wet jacket up on a hook, then sat down on the bench near the door and began to unlace his wet, muddy boots. “I hope you don’t feel a strong connection to your vehicle, because that mess is totaled.”
“Totaled? I was hoping it was just stuck.” Juliet frowned, her thoughts racing about what a totaled car would mean.
“Oh, it’s stuck alright, babe. Up to its damn hybrid neck. I had to remove a tree from the hood before I could even try to move it. The frame is bent to shit. I think I’m gonna have to have someone tow it out.” At Juliet’s woebegone expression, P.J. approached her. When she didn’t inch away, he wrapped his arms around her and put his chin on top of her head. “It’ll be okay, Juliet. It’s just that the whole insurance thing is a pain in the ass. But this storm left everyone in a mess, so we’ll have to deal with that later.” Then with regret, he pulled away from her. “You want some breakfast?”
“Thanks P.J. for everything.” Juliet said sincerely. “I keep going over and over in my mind how I ended up in such a bad fix.”
“Wondering that myself. How’d you find yourself on the road to my house in the middle of the storm?”
“Layla and I were out doing a girls’ thing. You know, shopping, dinner and then a movie. The storm had picked up when we were in the theater, and stupidly we thought that we could outrun it. I was on my way home and mistook your road for mine.”
“And when you realized you tried to turn around.” P.J. felt a stab of disappointment. Then he gave her a teasing grin. “I was kinda hoping that you were coming to see me.”
Juliet grinned back sheepishly. “Well, if it helps, when I knew I was in trouble, I did try to come to you for help, but that’s when the trouble really started!” Then Juliet looked at P.J. straight in the eye with heartfelt gratitude. “At the risk of sounding dramatic, you saved my life last night, P.J. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Thank me? Well, you in my bed was a good start.” P.J. held Juliet’s gaze for a moment until he saw the blush begin to color her face. Then he casually moved towards the hearth and tossed another log on the fire. P.J. sat on his haunches and poked at the embers with the iron stick. With his back to Juliet, he waited.
“I guess that we should probably talk about last night,” Juliet sighed softly, then she paused as if searching her troubled mind for the right words. “It was incredible. You were incredible.” Juliet smiled a sad apology. “It’s just that…”
A knot of vulnerability made itself known and tied itself tight and deep inside P.J.’s belly. He rose to his full height. P.J. turned to Juliet and asked in a low growl, “It’s just that what? It’s just that it was wrong? Is that the bullshit you’re gonna serve me this morning, Juliet? You gonna tell me that you and me…? You gonna try to convince yourself that sharing my bed was a mistake?”
Juliet’s lips formed a soft O and she looked at P.J. with honest surprise. “A mistake? If I live to be a hundred years old, P.J. McCabe, I will never look back on last night as anything less than perfect. Being with you felt…right. As a matter of fact, it was the rightest thing I think I have ever felt in my whole damn life. So, no…I would not call last night a mistake.” Then, her eyes went wide as if in sudden epiphany. “Unless…you… is that it? P.J. do you think last night was a mis…”
“No! Jesus, Juliet. God, I’m fucking this all up…yeah?” He scrubbed a hard hand through his hair.
“I think that maybe we both are.” Juliet raised her hand and gave a strand of her hair a slight tug. “Maybe…uh…maybe we should just relax and have a cup of coffee?”
“Yeah, let’s do that.” P.J. stoked up the fire again to blazing, then he brought the pot to the coffee table. He poured them each a steaming mug and sat down on the couch next to her. Then he said to Juliet “I should have told you when you walked out of the bedroom, you look beautiful.”
“You do too, P.J.,” Juliet’s eyes softened when she looked at him. In that instant, she felt all those feels… nervous, self-conscious, awed, and finally contented. And because she had been through so much, had fought so many fights, Juliet let herself have this. She allowed this perfect moment of the kind of fleeting happiness that would wrap its arms around a woman and etch the memory into her heart. She stared into the fire wanting to stop time, to hold on to this moment forever.
Then… “You don’t know me, P.J. You might think you know me, but you don’t.”
“And I’m guessing that’s a problem for you, Juliet? Me getting to know you? Us getting to know each other?”
When Juliet didn’t reply, P.J. knew that she was afraid to say more, afraid to open up. Having a conversation with Juliet was like being stuck in a dark and shadowed room, you knew there was a door somewhere, you just couldn’t find it.
“How about I tell you what I think I know about you, and you tell me if I’m right or not?”
“I guess that would be okay.”
“Well, I know that you must be kinda smart because you pretty much had an orgasm when you saw all those books on the shelves at the cabin.” P.J. grinned, then was quick to add. “Layla’s words, not mine.”
“Well, I do enjoy a night with a good book.” Juliet tried and failed to suppress a small smile as she eyed him over her coffee cup.
“Okay. That’s one for the team.” P.J. rubbed his hands together dramatically as if he were a scientist who had just made a profound discovery, or a pitcher getting ready to throw that perfect ball. P.J.’s expression turned thoughtful as he stirred some cream into his coffee, his spoon creating a ripple effect in the milky bl
end. He chose his next words carefully. “There’s this hyper-vigilance thing that you have going on. It’s in the way you move, but it’s different all the time. Sometimes you remind me of a small bird with wings flapping a million miles an hour, waiting to roost. Other times, I look at you and see a caged lioness waiting for a chance to claw her way out. You don’t smile a lot, but when you do it’s a quick and hesitant, like you’re not sure you should be happy. You’re cautious. You think carefully about every move you make before making it and each word you say before saying it. How am I doing so far?”
P.J. paused for a moment and waited for a response, but when Juliet remained silent, her eyes downcast, and her fingers white knuckled around the cup, P.J. went on.
“I know all those things about you Juliet, but mostly I know that you’re scared to shit. And the other thing I know is that you don’t have to be.”
Juliet looked up sharply at him, her expression a frowning question.
P.J. took a deep breath and dove right in. “I won’t let him hurt you. You don’t have to worry about him hurting you. Not ever again. Even if this thing between us doesn’t work out…I know people…”
Juliet pulled back as if she had been struck.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me, Juliet.” P.J. kept his voice steady, his tone calm. Then he nodded as her shaking fingers once again began to twirl the ring that wasn’t there. “I’m guessing that you were married once…maybe still are. And whoever this guy is, he’s still a problem for you. Those scars on the insides of your wrists? That’s one way to escape a bad situation. Running away is another one. Looks to me that you were desperate enough to try both. I know what that kind of desperation feels like.”
“Then maybe you should have slit your wrists, too.” Her tone flippant, her expression miserable. “We could have been roommates.”
“That’s not funny, Juliet.”
“Yeah, see that’s the thing P.J., none of this is funny. And honestly, none of this is your business.” Juliet rose from the table, walked to the window, and stared out into the gloom of the day. The rain had finally slowed to a drizzle, and the storm appeared to be over. But the damage it had caused, that would last for a very long time.
Becoming Juliet Page 12