She glanced up at him, her hand full of napkins. “Everyone did that. Even you.”
Yes, he had. And he knew for a fact that he’d believed most of what he’d said. Maybe that’s why it bothered him so much when she did it.
“Let’s get you home.”
“I’ll pay for whatever it costs to clean your seats.”
He shook his head. “They’re leather. I’ll just wipe them down with a damp rag. They’ll be fine. You, however, might need to be hosed off.” He said it with a grin to show he was joking.
“Thanks for being so understanding,” she said, as he gathered up the rest of the trash and got out of the car once more to throw it all away.
Understanding? Hell, he was barely holding it together. He put the car in Drive and followed her directions to her house. “Come on in while I change. We can talk about Chelsea over coffee, if that’s okay?”
“Sounds good.”
No, it didn’t. It sounded idiotic. Impulsive. And he should leave. Now. But something drove him to open his car door and follow her up the steps to her house.
It’s just coffee. She hasn’t propositioned you. You’re her daughter’s doctor, for God’s sake.
He was the one who’d called to arrange this meeting in the first place.
Which meant he should have asked her to come to his office, not a fast-food joint.
But surely Jessi had patients who were acquaintances or the children of acquaintances during her years of working in the ER. And it would make sense that she might meet them in the hospital cafeteria or a coffee joint to catch up later. It was kind of hard to work in a town where you grew up—no matter how large—and never expect to run into anyone you knew.
Only Jessi was more than an acquaintance.
And what they’d had was more than a quick hello and goodbye.
That was years ago. They’d spent a little over an hour down by a creek, hopped up on hormones and the thrill of graduating from high school. And she’d been distraught by her father’s unbending rules.
It was in the past. All of it.
And that kiss beside his car at her mother’s house a week ago?
Fueled by memories of that shared past. It wouldn’t happen again. Not if he could help it.
She unlocked the door, glancing behind her as if to make sure he was still coming. “I’ll get you that rag if you want to wipe the seat down while I change. I’ll leave the front door open.”
“Sounds good.” And if he were smart, he’d leave the rag just outside the door afterwards and take off in his car before she could come back out of her bedroom.
And that would be just as unprofessional as kissing her had been.
At least that was his mental excuse, because after wiping up the few drops of milk shake from his seat he found himself back inside her house, calling up the stairs to her and asking her what she wanted him to do with the rag.
“Just put it in the sink and have a seat in the living room. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Instead of doing as she asked, he rinsed out the rag and hung it over a towel bar he found in her utility room. Then he spotted the coffee machine on one of the counters and a huge glass jar filled with those single-serving coffee filters that seemed to be all the rage nowadays. He had one of the machines at home himself. The least he could do was make the coffee while he waited. He’d just found the mugs when Jessi came traipsing back into the kitchen, this time dressed in a white floral sundress similar to the one she’d worn during dinner at her mom’s, her feet bare, hair damp as if she’d showered.
He tensed, before forcing himself to relax again.
Of course she’d had to rinse off. She’d had a sticky drink spilled in her lap. It meant nothing.
“Sorry, Clint. I didn’t intend you to get the coffee ready, too.”
“No problem. I just thought I’d save you a step.” He realized something. “Where’s Cooper?”
“At Mom’s. He’s a communal pet, remember? I get him tomorrow.”
“Ah, right.”
She reached in a cabinet. “What do you take in your coffee?”
“Just sugar.”
She set a crystal bowl down and then went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a container of milk. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
They worked in silence until the coffee was done and they’d moved into Jessi’s living room, which was furnished with a huge sectional and a center ottoman. Pictures lined the fireplace mantel and as he took a sip of his coffee he wandered over to them. There were several snapshots of Chelsea doing various activities and one of a more formal military pose. She was soft and natural in every photo except the last one, since official portraits were supposed to be done sans smile. But even in that one there was a spark of humor lighting her eyes that the woman back at the VA hospital lacked.
There was one picture of Jessi and Larry in their wedding attire. Both of them looked so young. Larry would be forever ageless, never having had a chance to really grow up and become a man.
He might still be alive if someone hadn’t …
Her earlier words came back to mind. If he were still alive, Clint would probably not be standing here in her living room right now.
He probably shouldn’t be, regardless.
And the sight of the two of them smiling up at each other sent something kicking at his innards. A slight jabbing sensation that could have been jealousy but that made no sense. He’d been the one who’d left. What had he expected Jessi to do? Dump Larry and wait for him to come back for her?
He hadn’t. He’d never set foot in Virginia again until now. And if he’d known who Chelsea was before he’d agreed to come, he doubted very seriously he would be standing here now.
“Clint?”
Her voice reminded him that he was still staring at the picture. “Sorry. Just seeing how Chelsea was before she deployed.” He turned and sat on the shorter leg of the sofa perpendicular to her. “She smiled a lot.”
“Yes. She was happy. Always. Which is why it’s so hard to see her like this and not know how to help her.”
“I’m sure it is.” He took another sip of his coffee, wishing he hadn’t added quite so much sugar.
“Did she talk at all today?” Jessi tucked her legs up under her, smoothing her hemline to cover her bare knees.
“She shared a little about what her days in captivity had been like. What she did to pass the time.”
“You said on the phone there weren’t any breakthroughs. You don’t consider that one?”
That was a tricky question to answer. Because while it was technically more than Chelsea had told him in the past, she’d spoken without emotion, as if she were using the information itself as one more blockade against questions that might venture too close to painful subjects. Like that macabre tissue paper baby she kept in her nightstand.
“It does help to know a little about what went on. But she’s not talking about her captors or about her rescue. Just about what she did. Reciting her ABCs and having conversations inside her head.”
Jessi slumped. “It’s been almost two and a half months.”
He didn’t mention that sometimes the effects of PTSD lasted a lifetime. His dad, instead of getting better, had slowly sunk into a pit filled with alcohol, drawing away from those he’d known and loved. And when he or his mom had tried to force the issue … Yeah, that was something he didn’t want to talk to Jessi about.
“I know it seems like forever. But she was held for four months. It takes time. Sometimes lots of it.”
She stared down at her cup for several long seconds before glancing up with eyes that held a wealth of pain. “It sounds so terrible for me to say this out loud, but I’m afraid to have her home again. Afraid the next time she tries something I won’t get there in time to stop her.” Clint set his coffee cup down on a tray that was perched on an ottoman between the two seating areas. He went over to sit beside her, setting her coffee aside as he draped his arm a
round her shoulder and drew her close. “Jess, you’re dealing with some aftereffects yourself. Maybe you should talk to someone.”
She lifted her head. “I’m talking to you.”
“I mean someone objective.” The second the words came out of his mouth he wished he could haul them back and swallow them whole. He tried to clarify his meaning. “It would be a conflict of interest for me to treat you both.”
He realized that explanation wasn’t any better when she tried to pull away from him. He squeezed slightly, keeping her where she was. “I’m not explaining myself very well.” Hell, some psychiatrist he was. He couldn’t even have a coherent conversation with this woman.
“No, it’s okay.” She relaxed, and her arm snaked around his waist with a sigh. “I’m being overly sensitive.”
No, she wasn’t. And Clint was drawing closer and closer to a line he’d sworn he wasn’t going to cross with her. But with her head against his chest and her hand curled around his side, her scent surrounded him. She surrounded him.
Her fingers went to his left hand and her head lifted slightly, staring at something. Then she touched his damaged finger. She bent a little closer. “What happened?”
Damn. He tried to laugh it off. “An old war wound.”
“You never mentioned going to war.”
He hadn’t. That particular war had been fought here on American soil. Not even his father had known what he’d done to his son with that hard, angry squeeze.
“I was making a joke. A bad one.” He shrugged. “It’s not important.”
Her head went back to his chest, but her finger continued to stroke his crooked pinkie, the sensation strangely intimate and disturbing on a level that was primal.
He needed to get up and move before either of them did something they would regret.
Then she lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed his finger, the delicate touch ramming through his chest and driving the air from his lungs.
Her tongue trailed across the skin, and his hand tightened slightly on her shoulder. He wasn’t sure whether or not it was in warning. And if it was, was he warning her not to stop? Or not to continue? His body responded to the former, rejecting the latter. Because he did want her to continue. To keep on kissing him with those featherlight brushes. And not just there. Everywhere.
“Jess,” he murmured. “I think I should move back to the other seat.”
She stopped, still holding his hand. “Does that mean you’re going to?” Her whispered words were as much a caress as her touch had been.
Heat swirled through him.
“Not if you keep talking to me in that tone of voice.”
She let go of his hand and moved hers a little bit higher, smoothing over his biceps until her palm rested on his shoulder. And when she looked up at him, he was lost.
Decision made.
He was going to kiss her. Just like she’d kissed him. Softly. Gently. And with just enough contact to drive her wild.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS AS if the past twenty-two years had rewound themselves.
The second his lips touched hers, Jessi was back by the creek, her only worries her father’s strict rules and getting to school on time. And it felt so good. So carefree.
If only she’d known how free she’d been back then.
But she could experience it again. With the same man. Just for a little while.
She’d always thought Clint had been invincible all those years ago. But her mom’s comment about his father and discovering that crooked little finger showed her he wasn’t. He was just as human as she was. Back then … and maybe even now.
Jessi threaded her fingers through his hair, hearing Clint’s low groan as he moved to deepen the kiss, shifting her until she lay half across his lap, one of his hands beneath her shoulders, his other splayed flat on her stomach. It was that hand that made her go all liquid inside. It wasn’t doing anything special but it was between two very sensitive areas of her body, both of which were doing their damnedest to coax his fingers to slide their way.
A gentle touch of his tongue was enough to get her full attention.
Yes!
Surely he wouldn’t stop this time. It had been ages since she’d been with someone. So long that the slightest movement of his body had her eagerly lapping up the sensations like a person deprived of food and water, and desperate for any sign of relief.
She was ready for that kind of relief. For him.
Clint.
And here he was, in her house. And there was absolutely no one around. Not her mom. Not Chelsea.
Just the two of them.
So she pressed closer to him, deepening their kiss, his soft lips making her feel dizzy with need.
And finally … finally, the hand at her waist woke up, his thumb drawing little circles on her belly that had her moaning with anticipation, arching up into it with a mental plea that he evidently heard. Because with a single movement it slid up and over her right breast, that circling thumb finding her nipple without hesitation. Her sundress had a built-in bra, but it was thin, just a shelf of netting with a piece of elastic beneath it, so his touch was heady and intimate, arcing straight down to her toes and then back up again.
When his fingers moved away, she whimpered in protest. His mouth slid from hers, depriving her of another point of contact.
“Clint …”
His hand moved to the back of her head, supporting it as the scrape of his chin along her cheek put him at her ear. “I don’t want to stop.”
The moment of truth. She sensed he was giving her time to compose herself, to give her a chance to put an end to things even while telling her he didn’t want to.
She made a dangerous decision.
“Then don’t.”
His fingers tightened on the back of her head. Then his other hand went to the thin strap on her sundress and tugged it down her arm, leaving one shoulder bare.
There was a slight hesitation, then that wicked thumb went to work, brushing the joint where her shoulder met her arm. “Is this what you want?”
“More.” The word came out as a shaky whisper. She hardly dared to believe she was goading him to continue. But this was exactly what she needed. To have someone just sweep aside her normal code of conduct and make her … feel again.
“How about this?” His fingertips moved higher, trailing from beneath her jaw down the side of her neck and along her collarbone. Light ticklish touches that made her ache and squirm.
She wanted him everywhere at once, kissing her mouth, cupping her breast, filling her with his heat where it counted the most. So she took his hand and placed it on her breast, where she wanted it.
“You read my mind, Jess.” The words came out in a half growl that made her shiver.
He ducked beneath the edge of her sundress and found her bare skin. He paused then curved his palm over her, the light friction on her nipple sending a low sound up her throat.
“Hell, woman. You need to warn a man before you go braless.”
Encouraged by the rough words, she bit her way up his jaw and then smiled against his mouth. “My dress has a bra. You just missed it.”
“Could have fooled me.” His thumb and forefinger captured the tight bead and gave a gentle squeeze that made her squirm again. “But in that case …”
He removed his hand and urged her off the couch and onto her feet, while he sat, legs splayed.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“I want to see you—all of you—but at the rate I’m going, I’m not going to make it that far.” A quick flash of teeth accompanied the words.
She smiled back at him, his meaning giving her a shot of courage and daring her to tease him back. “I think I can help with that. What would you like to see first?” Balling the skirt portion of her dress, she slid the hem part way up her thighs, keeping her attention focused on his face.
A muscle worked in his jaw, and he placed his hands flat on his thighs. “Let’s start from the top. A
nd work our way down. Just like we did in school.”
The reminder of how his hands had trailed from her face to her breasts and finally down to that last forbidden place made hot need spurt through her. And the way his knuckles turned white as his long fingers dug into his thighs told her that need wasn’t one-sided.
“Okay, let’s do that.” She let go of her skirt and trailed the back of her right hand down her neck, like he’d done moments earlier, only she didn’t stop at her collarbone. Instead, she dragged her fingers along the edge of her bodice—one strap still draped over her arm. The second strap flipped down.
“Next?” she asked, waiting for direction.
“Peel it down. Slowly.” The low words weren’t abrupt and bossy, rather they coaxed her to do his bidding. Dared her to cross a threshold to a room she’d never entered before. Her times with Larry had been good, but they’d been to the point. Vanilla sex that had been a sharing of hearts and minds, even if it hadn’t been superimaginative. Then again, they’d had such a short amount of time together, there hadn’t been a chance to venture much further than that.
And that wasn’t something she was going to think about.
Not when Clint was right here, holding the door open and asking her to step through it.
This was what she wanted—what she expected from Clint. Wild and raw and real … echoes of the rebellious boy he’d once been. The one who had whispered to a matching defiance within her, drawing it out and fulfilling her in ways she never would have imagined.
So she crossed her arms and took a strap in each hand and pulled with slow, steady pressure that made the fabric of her dress roll back on itself, revealing the upper swell of her breasts. She kept going until she got to the most crucial part, then hesitated.
“Jess.” The whispered word shifted her eyes back to his. But he wasn’t looking at her face. He was staring at the half-exposed portion of her body, the heat in his expression taking away the last of her inhibitions. She tugged, and he swallowed.
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