Clear Intent

by Diane Benefiel

  Jack’s head fell back against the pillow, though he caught her hand in his like he needed to keep the physical connection. His chest expanded with deep breaths. “Can’t do what?”

  “Make love with you.”

  “You’ve dated since you and Rodrigo divorced. You’re telling me you’ve been celibate all that time?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He let go her hand. “I get it.” His voice was flat. When she opened her mouth to speak, he shook his head. “You’d better go. Thanks for the TLC.”

  If she was smart, she’d do what he’d suggested and leave. But she couldn’t. She cared about Jack too much to leave him hurting. She wasn’t willing to examine too carefully exactly how much she cared about him, but she had to be honest. “You mean too much.”

  “What? If I didn’t mean anything to you, you wouldn’t have put the brakes on and we’d be getting it on right now?”

  “I’m not sure you’re capable of getting it on, as you say, in your current condition, but whether you believe me or not, I do care about you.”

  “Sweetheart, I could withstand a hell of a lot of pain to make love with you.”

  “That’s it right there, the making love part. That scares me.”

  “Because you don’t want to love me.”

  “Exactly. I think I could love you, and I don’t want to.”

  The look in his eyes turned thoughtful. “I can work with that.”

  “I won’t risk my heart again, Jack.”

  “You know I’d never hurt you like Rod did.”

  “Physically, you’d never hurt me. But it’s the emotional part that’s harder for me to risk.”

  Jack shifted, sucking in a breath before lying back against the pillow with a pained sigh.

  “I have ibuprofen in my purse. I’ll get you some.” She returned a minute later with a glass of water and three tablets. Jack lay with his eyes closed, fatigue making the lines of his face appear deeper.

  She sat beside him on the bed, and when he opened his eyes, she offered him the tablets. After returning the glass to her, he peeled off the witch hazel pads and dumped them in the basin before turning back over to lie face down. “Turn out the light, will you?”

  Well then. Feeling dismissed, she did as he asked and pulled the chain on the lamp, plunging the room into darkness broken only by the glow of the nightlight in the bathroom. She took the basin to the bathroom, threw the trash from the bandages away, tidied up, went to the kitchen and cleaned up there. Then she didn’t know what to do with herself. If she went home, she’d spend the night worrying and wondering if he was okay. She returned to Jack’s room. The sound of deep breathing told her he was asleep.

  She stood next to the bed, watching him in the dim light from the bathroom. He lay on his stomach, arms encircling the pillow. She was losing the battle. Ever since the night of July fourth and the kiss that had rocked her world, she’d been scrambling to shore up her defenses. The feelings Jack pulled from her were stronger than anything she’d ever experienced, certainly stronger than what she’d felt for ex-husband. She’d loved Rodrigo and had fought to make something of their marriage. She didn’t know if she would survive the devastation if she gave her heart to another man and he trampled it as carelessly as Rodrigo had done.

  But for the first time she let herself consider what would happen if she let go, even a little. Being married to Rodrigo had taught her to protect her heart from pain, and while intellectually she understood that not all men would hurt her the way he had, opening herself to loving another man was scary.

  Jack had made her realize that walling herself off from her feelings for him made the future look bleak indeed. What would life be like if she never let herself love again, if she hardened her heart and kept herself closed off? It occurred to her that refusing to love again wasn’t a good example for her son, either. Another concern was that bringing Jack into her life meant a risk for Adrian, as well. If Adrian grew to love him, and then she and Jack broke up, the kind of emotional damage her little boy had already endured would be doubled, or worse.

  Dory yawned, exhaustion creeping up on her. Worry over the fire and the threat from her ex-husband were a constant drain on her energy. She eyed the space on the other side of what she guessed was a Cal king-size bed. After texting that she’d arrived safely at Jack’s, Rosa had informed her that she wouldn’t be concerned if her daughter didn’t make it back that night.

  Dory fisted a hand and rubbed her forehead, weighing the temptation of sliding into bed next to Jack, or maybe finding a blanket and curling up on the couch. That was probably the safer option.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jack woke gradually, aware of the sun peeking through the blinds and the warmth of human contact along his left side. His eyes popped open. He had his hands full of woman. He blinked to make sure he wasn’t dreaming a repeat of his favorite Dory dream. Nope. Isadora Morales lay snuggled up against him. The sheet was down around her waist. She’d shed the hooded top, but still wore the stretchy pants and a tank top that exposed long, slim arms. Her dark head lay on his shoulder, her hair tickling his nose, and she had an arm extended across his belly. That realization made his already burgeoning erection sit up and take note. If her hand moved even a little south, there’d be contact.

  He knew what to do when he woke up with a woman in his arms, and while every instinct urged him to roll into her and let nature take its course, he also knew damn well this situation was far too complicated for that.

  While he was considering his options, he felt her stirring. He didn’t dare move a muscle as the hand on his abdomen shifted. She brushed against him and he growled low in his throat in response. Still wearing his boxers, they weren’t touching skin to skin, but even through cotton, the feel of her against him had needs snapping and snarling and looking for an outlet.

  She lifted her head, dark eyes full of mystery. There was a long moment of hesitation. He’d had nearly a lifetime of watching her and knew when need was warring with caution. Then she brought her lips to his at the same time as she grasped his erection through the cloth. Praise Jesus. He kissed her hard and fast, then said in a strained voice, “Be sure.”

  Her hand tightened and her lips curved in a slow smile. “I’m sure. Very sure.”

  “Thank god.”

  He pulled her over him, ignoring the aches and pains from the previous day’s battles. She loosened her grip. Good thing, because he wanted to make this last. He brushed his lips along the line of her throat, working up to the corner of her mouth until reaching her lips. Strapping down his swelling needs, he forced himself not to rush, to take it slow, to savor. Her mouth opened and his tongue swept against hers in an erotic tangle. He poured everything he’d ever felt for her into the kiss. The hunger, the need. The love. He pulled away to move his lips to the olive skin below her ear. Her hair smelled like something flowery and drove him wild.

  He took a moment to rid himself of his boxers, then, grasping the hem of her tank top, he tugged it up. She lifted her arms so he could draw the garment over her head. Raising herself against him had the double advantage of giving him the full view of her beautiful breasts covered by a silky black bra, as well as pushing her against his full-blown hard-on.

  He lifted his head to nuzzle between her breasts, inhaling deep, then turned to run his tongue under the lace of the bra cup. When he felt her nipple swell against his tongue, he pulled the material aside and latched on, sucking her breast deep into his mouth.

  “Oh, my god.” Her words came out in a breathy pant. “Jack. Jack. Jack.”

  The desperate chant urged him on even as she ground against him, heat to heat. He reached behind her to unhook her bra, barely waiting for her pull off the garment before turning his attention to her other breast. He didn’t let go as she shimmied against him, pulling down the stretchy pants. And then she was there, her warmth against his hardness. He checked and held back the insatiable need to let go of all restraint and poun
d into her, and instead enjoyed the feeling of her body stretched beneath his, warm and welcoming.

  He eased onto his uninjured side, putting enough space between them that he could look at her. She was in bed with him, exactly how he’d always wanted her, and he planned to savor the moment. He stroked under her breasts and along her ribs, long, smooth movements. She matched them with her own stroking as she explored his body. He decided he could spend all of eternity exactly like this. She ran questing fingers along the ridges of muscle on his chest, then dipped her head to follow the same path with her tongue.

  The groan in the back of his throat had her lifting her head, eyebrows raised in inquiry. When she would have dipped her head again, he eased her onto her back. “My turn.”

  He stroked and soothed his palms down her body, and when he got to his goal, used his middle finger to slide between her slick folds, his thumb stroking at the apex of her sex.

  His mouth found her breast, his fingers stroked, and she was so primed that it took her a few short minutes and she was coming apart with a keening cry. The sound of her release filled him with the primal urge to beat his chest in victory. She collapsed against him, panting heavily. Fighting for his own control, he leaned on one elbow to reach for the drawer of his nightstand. With hurried motions, he tore the condom wrapper with his teeth, letting her have it when she reached out a hand.

  She rolled it on him, even that sensation bringing him closer to letting go. With the thin layer of protection in place, she opened her legs and he settled between them. She gripped his buttocks in invitation, and he sank in with a hard, smooth thrust that had them both groaning.

  Holding himself deep inside her, he took a moment to relish what he’d wanted for so long. Reality was so much better than the dream, his need climbing even higher as he held himself still, buried to the hilt, struggling to regain control. With his hands framing her face, his gaze locked on hers, he spoke the words that he found impossible to be left unsaid.

  “I love you, Dory. I’ve loved you all my adult life. This isn’t just sex for me.”

  He moved then, driving deeper, and her breath caught. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes to disappear into her hair, but he couldn’t regret the words. She wrapped her hands around his wrists, her breath shuddering, and her eyes said what her voice didn’t.

  He surged into her, his heart near bursting as it swelled in his chest. All the love he’d kept strapped down for the past decade and a half swamping him.

  Gazes locked, she met him, thrust for thrust, tension building, reaching toward the peak. They teetered together at the crest, until finally he roared his completion, her cry blending with his.

  ***

  Dory stood at the kitchen counter watching coffee drip with agonizing slowness into the carafe. The window over the sink showed the brightening of the eastern sky as the dark of night lightened to pearly gray. With the resort under evacuation orders, and the vacationers who had rented the cabins already gone, there’d be no going in to work on this Monday morning. The business she and Emma ran would take a financial hit, as would many of the shops in Hangman’s Loss that relied on the tourist trade.

  Jack’s deep voice carried from the front of the house as he spoke on his cell phone. From what she could hear of the conversation, she guessed he was talking to Brad. He moved down the hall to his bedroom and the conversation became more muted.

  She was in deep trouble if even the sound of his voice had her feeling all hot and bothered. She wasn’t sure if making love to Jack had been the best sexual experience of her life because he made her feel so exquisitely attuned to him, or because he was that good at getting the job done. She’d never in her life orgasmed more than once, and usually even that one time was hard fought for.

  By the time they’d moved the show to the bathroom where they’d done it against the counter and again in the shower, she’d climaxed a total of four times. FOUR times. She’d always assumed women who bragged about multiple orgasms were engaging in pure hyperbole, but she was now living proof that, with the right partner, indeed it could happen.

  But the best sexual experience of her life had been about more than sex. Closing her eyes didn’t help to block out the memory of acute intensity mixed with tenderness on Jack’s face when he’d uttered those three little words. I love you. Those words, followed by the best orgasm ever, had filled her with so many conflicting feelings she feared she’d burst like a dam, and once the barrier was broken emotions would flood through her with devastating consequences.

  Her own declaration of love had been there in the forefront of her mind, ready to be spoken, but self-preservation had her holding back.

  She wouldn’t confuse great sex with love. And while the emotional intimacy Jack commanded made her feel connected to him, there was the niggling thought in the back of her mind that she should be careful. Loving someone didn’t mean they were good for you, love could be used to control, love didn’t last forever.

  She leaned against the counter, head tilted forward in deep thought. Making love with Jack wasn’t simply a euphemism, and now she risked what she couldn’t bear, and that was hurting him. The kitchen project notebook still rested on the counter as a reminder. Jack was building a home, a place for a family. She knew him well enough to understand the direction he was headed. He’d already kind of proposed at the evacuation center. When he asked her again, and he would, how would she answer him?

  She yearned for the life she could imagine with Jack. There’d likely be more children, sisters or brothers for Adrian. Awesome sex was pretty much a given. Then there was simply being with him, sharing her life with the best man she knew.

  But the disaster of her marriage to Rodrigo cast a dark pall over those wonderful possibilities. She wasn’t afraid of physical abuse, because Jack simply wasn’t capable of that kind of violence against her. What weighed on her was the utter failure on her part to protect herself and her child from far more than the physical pain.

  The emotional injury wrought by Rodrigo had been more devastating, and more difficult to recover from, reaching down to the depths of her soul. Her ex-husband was a monster, but blame rested with her for staying with him. Since their marriage had ended, she’d repaired some of that damage. Built herself up, grown stronger. But loving Jack made her feel vulnerable, and that strength wavered.

  Footsteps approached from the hall and Jack entered the kitchen. The navy-blue shirt stretched over the bulletproof vest, his badge was pinned to his chest, his gun rested at his hip. The package was even sexier now that she’d seen the incredible body beneath the uniform.

  Guys in uniform had never been her thing, but this guy was changing that. He looked impossibly strong, his shoulders wide enough to bear the weight of the world. His eyes were sharp and alert, the scrape on his forehead and the deep purple bruising around his eye proof of battle.

  Her wounded warrior, his battered face holding the evidence of his determination to protect her and their community.

  “Looking good there, Captain Morgan.” She kept her tone deliberately light in contrast with the heavy beating of her heart.

  He moved to stand in front of her. A long finger under her chin brought her head up, and she felt her darkest fears were revealed on her face. “You’re overthinking things.” Trust him not to let her get away with the superficial.

  “How can I not? Telling me that you love me demands overthinking.”

  “Because you think you don’t love me back.”

  She crossed her arms under her breasts in a gesture she knew screamed defensiveness. “You don’t know what I feel.”

  “You’re right, because you won’t tell me. That’s okay for now, Dory. But I’m holding on to the belief that you do love me, but you’re afraid of admitting it.”

  “You’re delusional. I may have feelings for you, but let’s not go overboard here.”

  A brow arched at the flippant tone. “You didn’t seem too put off by me when I was inside you and you
were moaning my name.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re not going to confuse sexual response with love, are you?”

  His eyes chilled, and she knew the zinger had hit home. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, that maybe she did love him a little bit, but she couldn’t form the words. She was a coward, but sometimes a coward was safer that a hero.

  He stepped back from her. “Fine. There’s enough to deal with today without adding more.”

  She struggled to match his neutral tone. “Did Brad have any news about Rodrigo?”

  “No. We both agree that he’s likely holed up in a vacant cabin. He’d find one with food and the water turned on, and he’d have a place to sleep.”

  Dory chewed her bottom lip. “He won’t stay holed up.”

  “No, Brad thinks he might try to leave the area, but he won’t get far without money. He already stole one truck, and if he wants to move around, he’ll have to steal another vehicle. But he’ll need gas and food if he’s on the run.”

  Dory was already shaking her head. “He’ll stay around here. He knows the area, plus he might go to some of his old drinking buddies for help. But mostly he’ll stay around the Loss because I’m here, and Adrian is here. He escaped to get to us.”

  He studied her, considering. “I tend to agree with you, and I told Brad as much.” He opened a cupboard and pulled out two travel mugs. “There are some breakfast sandwiches in the freezer. We can nuke those and eat them on the way.”

  Minutes later, with soggy sandwiches in hand, Dory climbed into Jack’s truck, pissed at herself for being such a coward, and way pissed at him for putting her in the position to feel like one. Yep, a totally mature woman sitting right here.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the safest place I can think of.”

  “I am not going to jail.”

  “I’m not putting you in jail, Dory.” Jack tried to keep his voice from revealing his frustration as he steered the Ford Explorer along the winding road into town. The wind had shifted and, despite the still raging forest fire, the sky overhead was a clear blue. “You can hang out in the break room at the police station. You can read, or if you have your iPad, use that. There’s a TV in there so you can watch the tube if you like. Whatever you want to do. You’ll be safe, because Rod would have to be batshit crazy to even think about going after you there.”