“I stopped being scared a long, long time ago, Kendi.”
Something raw and open in his voice made her turn to look at him. “Why?”
He carefully put the fork on the plate and let himself relax back into the pillows, his eyes closing as if to shut her and her probing out of his world. And finally, when she thought he wasn’t going to answer, he murmured, “Because when you lose everything, you never have to be afraid again. Ever.”
Kendi came back around to the bedside, setting the carafe and cup on the nightstand. She was wary of asking another question, but she wanted to know, so badly, what had made him into the man he was. What had hurt him that deeply?
Before she could say anything, he went on. “As for the torture, yeah, that was...tough. But I wasn’t afraid of dying, Kendi. I was almost glad to know...it would be over.”
“The torture, you mean?”
When he opened his eyes, the bleak emptiness in his expression made her heart clench, as though she’d been sucker punched in the chest.
“No, sweetheart. The living.”
Chapter Six
Kendi nodded and took the last step toward the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. “I get the feeling you have a lot more to tell me.”
That brought a sardonic smile to Jack’s lips. “Sometime.”
“So, you don’t trust me? After all this?”
He reached for the blanket. Kendi immediately pulled it up across him, letting it settle gently over his bruised and bandaged flesh. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Kendi,” he said. “I will tell you. Just give me some time.”
Though he tried to hide it from her, there was no doubt the fever was spiking again. The chills were returning, and he tried to turn onto his side to get deeper under the blanket.
At the concern in her expression, he knew she realized what was happening. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’ve been a lot of trouble for you, Kendi.”
“No. Don’t say it. I’m just glad I was there.” She didn’t need to say more. “There” to see him be “murdered;” “there” to resurrect him, to bring him the long trek through the woods to the house to safety; and “there,” now meaning “here.”
There was no doubt in his mind she meant it, and that went a long way toward easing him. Though, as she leaned over him, pressing her hand to his forehead with a quick grimace at realizing what she’d feared was true, gratitude was not on his mind.
He was suddenly aware of the gentle care in her fingertips, the genuine worry in her expression, the way her voice caught when she spoke about “there.” And of the way she was reacting to him, as well.
The uncertainty was disappearing. The familiarity she was showing in so many little ways had a definite appeal to him. He’d missed it. Ever since Amy—
He pushed those thoughts away as the chills wracked him again.
“Here.”
He opened his eyes to see Kendi holding out two pills.
“What is it?”
“Just ibuprofen—for the fever.”
He took the medicine from her and carefully reached for the glass of water she offered.
“Is there anything else I could get you?” There was sympathy in her voice, and again, Jack felt as if he were on unfamiliar ground.
“No—just...”
“Just what?”
“Just—so cold.” He shuddered again. “Fuckin’ freezin’ in here.”
Kendi glanced at the blazing fire. “Would you like me to lie down with you? They say body heat’s the best.”
Jack nodded, gritting his teeth against the chills. “Yeah. That’d be good.” He felt the irony of the situation keenly, even as he spoke the words. A beautiful woman was offering him body heat and all he could say was, “That’d be good…” Almost like agreeing to an order of fries with his burger.
He felt the darkness closing in on him and a drifting sensation. He willed himself to stay awake. He was not going to go to sleep with an offer like that hanging over him. He wanted to open his eyes, but it was just too much effort.
In the next moment, the bed gave beside him as Kendi pulled the covers back and climbed in. He felt her hesitate, then move closer to him. He figured she was wondering if he’d gone to sleep after all.
“Jack?”
Her voice was a soft whisper, and in answer, he reached out under the covers and drew her close to him, the ache in his right hand returning with the movement. But he ignored it, pulling her to him gently. She came all the way into his careful embrace with no more hesitancy.
His arm went around her shoulders, and only then did he open his eyes, surprised. She had little to nothing on, and his hand was gliding across bare skin everywhere he touched. He met her eyes just as his fingers encountered a thin strap over her shoulder.
“What? Did you think I was—” Laughter lit her green gaze at his expression, and a giggle escaped her. In the next instant, she leaned forward and impulsively kissed his cheek as naturally as if she did it every day.
It was like striking a match in a dry hayfield. As she drew back, the smile slowly left her lips as she recognized the smoldering hunger in Jack’s dark stare.
“I was...hoping,” he murmured. In the next moment, his lips slanted across hers possessively, and she reached up to lay her hand at the back of his neck, her fingers touching a length of his hair.
He groaned low in his throat, rolling forward to pinion her beneath him as he lay on his side, his leg across her hips. His demanding mouth melded with hers and he took what she so sweetly offered. He understood she yielded to him, to take what he would, because of his injuries. A part of him knew he would not be the aggressor to the end; those same injuries would not allow it. Already, he felt his strength ebbing, and in the next moment, knew Kendi felt it, too, as she gently pushed on his shoulder, moving with him as he turned to lie on his back very carefully. His hand came up to spear through her long hair, his fingers slowly tightening to pull her to him as if he would never let her go.
She let him hold her, promising him silently she wouldn’t leave him. That she’d be there as long as he wanted her. This kiss was the transformation, somehow, they’d both needed.
Finally, Kendi lifted her mouth from his and licked her lips, then touched his lips with her tongue.
“Kendi—” he breathed hoarsely. “I need—” He broke off, unable to say it. His eyes held hers, telling her what he couldn’t bring himself to put into words.
Kendi nodded. “I know. I need you, too.” She moved away to remove the camisole and silky panties, then laid back down beside him, skin to skin, satin and sand together.
****
She lay still, hardly daring to breathe, questioning herself.
“What’re you waiting for, lady?”
She reached to kiss his chest, then his neck. “I don’t want to hurt you.” And I don’t want to get hurt, either.
“Mmmm,” he muttered as she nipped at his ear lobe. “Guess we’ll have to take it slow and easy this first time, then. ’Til you learn your way around my...uh, injuries.”
She moved to bite his nipple and he inhaled sharply, turning toward her seeking mouth to give her better access.
“Slow as you want, Mr. Taylor, but there’s not gonna be anything ‘easy’ about it.” Her tongue traced the outline of first one dark circle, then the other.
“Kendi...I wish I could...do this right...” All the emotion he must have felt at being a burden on her, at giving her the scare of a lifetime, at wanting to make everything perfect for them and failing, were unmasked in his tone, and Kendi’s heart almost stopped.
Kendi tried to keep it light, in her own efforts to ease the awkward moment. “Do it right?” She reached for him, wrapping her hand around his hot length. “You think I can’t ‘do it right,’ Jackson?”
“God...” He took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m sure you can,” he said dryly. “I just—”
“Shh.” She put her mouth to his as she pumped him. “You can show me your
version of ‘doing it right’ next time. This is mine.”
He bucked upward in silent offering as her hand stroked him.
Kendi moved again to his nipple, sucking it hard as her hands roved over his skin.
“Jesus, Kendi—” He reached for her, his fingers locking in her fiery hair, holding her close with suppressed urgency.
“What happened to ‘slow’?” Her voice was a husky tease.
“Out the window,” he gritted. “I’m not going to last at this rate.”
“Be plain, Jackson.” There was a hint of laughter in her voice. “Say what you want.”
****
He opened his eyes, looking directly into hers. It had been forever since he’d teased, or laughed, or enjoyed being with someone. Forever, since sex had been fun rather than a necessary means of relief. Forever, since he’d looked into the eyes of love, as he was doing now.
She pumped him, hard, again, as he closed his eyes.
“Inside you, Kendi,” he muttered roughly. “That’s what I want. Me...inside...you.”
“Oooh, that’s plain enough,” she whispered.
He felt her mouth traveling down his side slowly, around the bandaging, across his bare, fever-heated flesh. He wanted her so badly he felt like he was on fire. Had he ever needed a woman this badly before? If he had, he couldn’t remember it. Hell, he couldn’t remember anything right now, not with Kendi’s mouth and hands—and love—all over him.
He felt her nip at his hip and reached for her, unsure as to what she had in mind, knowing he wanted to save that particular pleasure for the next time. If she put her mouth on him, there would be no more waiting. He was ready to go over the edge right now. “Maybe I wasn’t ‘plain’ enough?”
She gave a throaty giggle. “Oh, you were. But slow is slow. Taking its time ‘going out the window,’ as you said.”
But even as she said it, he could feel her moving across him, straddling him, smooth skin on his, her heated valley above his hot, straining shaft. Her fingers caressed him, positioned him, and he watched her in the dim gray daylight as she sank down carefully, enfolding his hard length in the wet warmth of her core.
He bit back a groan of pure pleasure, feeling no pain, no reluctance, and no doubt. This was right. Looking into Kendi’s eyes, he knew she felt it, too. She leaned over him, careful not to lay flat against him for fear of hurting him somehow.
Jack pulled her to him for a scorching kiss. “Kendi...next time, it’ll be better—”
She kissed him again, stopping his words. “Not better, Jack. How could it be better than this? Just different.”
He felt a lump in his throat at the way she was putting everything right between them time and again. “Yeah, baby. Just...different. You’re right—it couldn’t get any better than perfect.” He moved upward as she ground down against him. She moaned softly, letting her head tilt back for a moment.
He smiled at the gesture, feeling her muscles tighten around him. A rush of tenderness engulfed him, and he laid a hand on the smooth skin of her thigh. He could feel very little, with the thick gauze wrapped around his palm and fingers as it was. He just wanted her to know he was “there” with her, where she was, right now.
She rode him faster as her climax built, but he knew she was taking care, even then. As he felt himself getting close, he tried to throttle it back, to hold off a few seconds longer for her sake. She moaned and bucked against him, and as she cried out his name, he caught her to him, his mouth over hers, and let himself come hard and deep inside her.
There was nothing he could compare to it. The pleasure arced through him, replacing all else with an intensity that erased all memory of the pain and torture he’d endured so recently. But more important than the physical fulfillment was the knowledge he had unwittingly found what he’d been missing the last twelve years since he’d lost the only peace he’d ever known. He wasn’t afraid of grabbing the brass ring, as tenuous as it seemed, with Kendi; he was afraid of losing it completely. He wasn’t going to allow that to happen.
But he needed time to let it settle. Happiness was an emotion he barely remembered. He liked how it felt. But he also had to come to grips with the fact it seemed to have an accompanying guest in the passenger seat.
Love. Could he be falling in love with Kendi Morgan?
As her lips moved tenderly over his, he knew he was already “there.”
Chapter Seven
The feeling of disquiet wrapped around Benito Sanchez and squeezed. Something wasn’t right. He had a hunch about Clint Rivers, and it seemed each day brought him new reason to go with his gut feeling. Rivers was odd.
Maybe that was what nagged at him. Rivers had a conscience. Deadly, in this business. Couldn’t afford that—not for himself, or any of his men. Had Rivers killed Jackson Taylor, a.k.a. John Thomas? Sanchez’s source had divulged the fact there were at least two DEA agents working undercover in his operation. He didn’t fault himself—these things happened sometimes. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last. He dealt with them all, one and the same—by killing them—after torturing them for whatever information they chose to provide. For some, it took longer than others to loosen their tongue, to glean their secrets. He scowled. Jackson Taylor was the only one—so far—who’d never broken.
Pity. A man that strong would have been a useful asset. But he was too strong, too determined, toward the opposite direction to ever be changed. Sanchez shook his head. There was no point in trying, with someone as stubborn as Jackson Taylor. The only safe measure was to kill him, which he’d done. Bull had been there and had seen Rivers shoot him.
He’d just spent the last three hours driving on glassy roads to get to the scene of Jackson Taylor’s death...but there had not been a body. It didn’t seem to bother Bull. Dumbshit. He should’ve sent Mario to take care of it. But he’d wanted to test Rivers...and he’d still not learned what he needed to know.
His temper was short, anyhow. When he and Bull had tried to make this trip three days ago, the roads had been impassable. They’d been turned back by the Texas Highway Patrol, and Sanchez had had to bide his time until they could get to the scene of Taylor’s execution. Three long days.
Now, he took his phone out and punched in Rivers’s number. After three rings, he picked up. Sanchez frowned.
“Rivers.”
“Where the hell are you?” Sanchez asked petulantly.
“Sanchez,” Rivers acknowledged.
“I asked where you are.”
Rivers countered with a question of his own. “Problems?”
“You might say that.”
“What?”
“No corpse where there should be.”
Sanchez’s temper was on the verge of exploding at Rivers’s calm responses. “Where are you, anyway, Rivers?”
“Junior’s Barbecue. I needed a bite of lunch.”
“Funny. Sounds like you’re outside.”
“I...stepped out to take your call.”
He had an answer for everything. Rivers was going to have to be looked at. Very closely.
“We need to talk.” Sanchez hung up abruptly.
He’d have bet money Rivers would turn out to be the other agent—but so far, DEA hadn’t gone quite so far as to let their agents off one another. He didn’t think that was likely to change. Duty only went so far. Rivers had killed Taylor, and he knew Taylor was DEA.
What did that make Rivers? Just a man with a conscience, or a very dedicated DEA agent who would stop at nothing to get the information he needed? And where was Clint Rivers right now?
More importantly, where is Jackson Taylor?
“Bull, was there any kind of house or shelter close to where you left Taylor?”
The other man shook his head. “Not that I saw. Course, it was dark, and we was just wantin’ to get the job done.”
Sanchez eyed him caustically across the seat of the truck. “Of course.”
Bull’s mind wasn’t on Jackson Taylor, Sanchez could s
ee. He stared moodily out the window, and Sanchez figured his thoughts were more likely with the woman he had at home, waiting, and how he could have spent the last three hours rather than accompanying him on these glassy roads. Where is Taylor’s body?
He cupped his chin in his hand, reflecting on their conversation. Junior’s Barbecue. Somehow, Sanchez doubted Rivers. He thought he might have an idea where Rivers was, and he knew if Rivers’d returned to the murder scene, it would be for a different reason than Bull and he had gone for earlier. Rivers bore watching. He didn’t trust him.
“Hey—uh, Boss, where’re we headed?”
Sanchez had not turned toward the office building, but was continuing on toward the freeway. He smiled. “I’m hungry. Let’s see who’s at Junior’s Barbecue. Then…we’re heading right back where we came from…to the scene of the execution. I intend to find that body or learn exactly what happened to it.”
****
Jack turned fitfully, groaning in his sleep. Kendi was awake immediately, forcing herself to release him where her arm gently crossed his waist. She let him turn away from her, his breath hissing inward sharply.
“Jack—”
He muttered something low and guttural, almost as if he were pleading with someone. But that was a ludicrous thought. Jackson Taylor would never ask for anything...would never expect it.
“He’s just a kid...”
Kendi leaned closer to him, careful not to hurt him. “Wake up, Jack—”
“Just a kid—” He kicked at the blankets, and Kendi put her hands at his wrists gently, but he shook her off. “Damn you!”
There was a rising note of desperation in his voice that made Kendi ache; the remembrance of something too painful for him to talk about in the daylight was preying on him as he slept.
“Jack—”
“No!” His breathing was uneven as he struggled against invisible bonds, unseen chains that held him fast. “No,” he said once more in a low, taut voice. “Don’t...hurt him...don’t—”
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