by Pat Warren
“I wanted to go slowly,” Jack confessed, his voice thick and ragged, “but with you, I can’t seem to.”
“Then don’t,” she whispered huskily.
Lifting her again, he leaned her against the wall and lazily brushed his lips against hers, back and forth, over and around, until Rachel lost all patience. Shifting, she took hold of him and guided him inside her.
His hands cradled her, shifting her weight until they were deeply joined. With her arms draped over his shoulders, he began to move. The time for slow loving was past. The rhythm was wild, both of them impatient and needy.
Jolted by the depth of his craving for this woman, Jack watched her beautiful face as she strained with him. Finally he felt rather than heard her astonished cry join his own as they trembled on the precipice for a long, brilliant moment, then went over together.
Struggling to keep them both upright, he adjusted their positions and leaned against the tile wall, holding Rachel close in his arms. Burying his face in her wet hair, he let the sweet waves of pleasure roll over him.
Long minutes passed before Rachel felt able to move. Finally, she found her footing and shoved her wet hair off her face with both hands. She felt a shade awkward and somewhat embarrassed at how anxious she’d been, how willing and eager. She was dying to know what he was thinking as she looked into those fathomless green eyes. Be cool, she told herself. “I—I hope I didn’t hurt you,” she said, her lips twitching.
He smiled then and his eyes warmed. “Just a little, but I heal fast.”
She’d never been good at pillow talk, never knew what to say. Here, in the shower, she couldn’t exactly pretend fatigue, roll over and try to sleep. She decided to let instinct guide her and prayed she wouldn’t get hurt by leading with her feelings.
She lowered her gaze to his chest where her fingers swirled the dark hairs there. Searching for the right words, she shivered and felt Jack reach over to turn off the water that had begun to cool. Finally, she looked up into green eyes watching her intently. “I—I honestly didn’t know it could be like this,” she said, her voice scarcely a whisper.
Touched by what she said, her sincerity, he answered in kind. “I have a feeling that what happened between us just now doesn’t happen all that often. With just anyone, I mean.” Careful, he warned himself. Don’t get in too deep.
“I suppose not.” It certainly hadn’t for her, not that she was vastly experienced. Had it been because she’d been so needy? Was he just being polite because he didn’t want to upset her?
There was a lot going on in that beautiful head of hers, Jack thought, but this time he couldn’t read her expression all that well. So he pulled back the shower curtain, stepped out and grabbed a towel. Wrapping it around his body, he anchored it at his waist, then grabbed another and held out his hand to her.
Rachel got out of the tub and let him envelop her in a big, fluffy towel. As she stood with her back to him, he gently patted her dry while she closed her eyes and let him. What she hadn’t been prepared for was when he picked her up and carried her out of the bathroom.
Alongside the bed, holding her comfortably in his arms, he studied her lovely face. “What are you thinking?”
“That no man has ever held me like this before.” The blue of her eyes deepened. “I like it.” He made her feel small, feminine, fragile.
“I’d like to give you a lot of firsts.”
“You already have.” But she didn’t want to enumerate them right now, sure he would think her very small-town.
“There’s more.” He laid her on the bed and followed her down.
“We have all night.” He was here, in her bed, where she’d pictured him every night since meeting him. She felt her heart pick up its beat as her hand trailed along the edge of the towel knotted at his waist.
“No, not this time,” he said, stopping her hand. “This time we go slowly.” He would hold back and savor, for her. He would make love to her as she deserved to be loved, with reverence, with feeling. In the shower, they’d been wild and hungry, hands and mouths seeking, impatient, their need huge. His hunger was no less now, reawakened already, but he wanted to cherish her, to let her know how lovely she was, to convince her with his lovemaking what he couldn’t put into words.
“It isn’t necessary,” Rachel whispered. As long as he wanted her, that was all that mattered.
“Yes, it is.” Jack leaned down to her, one elbow braced on the bed, his hand stroking her hair, his eyes filled with wonder, as if it were the first time he was seeing her. “So beautiful. Even when we’re not together, I see you. At night, I close my eyes and you’re there.”
She was having trouble believing him. “You never said a word…”
“I know. I’m not good with words.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “You’re doing just fine.”
Easing back, he opened the towel he’d wrapped her in and let his eyes feast on her. With one fingertip, he traced the fullness of her breasts, slowly, gently. He saw color move into her face as her body reacted. His fingers glided as if over something precious, something priceless.
When he put his mouth to her, Rachel arched and shut her eyes as vivid colors exploded behind her closed lids. “I’ve never wanted like this. Never.” She had to tell him, to let him know. Perhaps it wasn’t smart, but she couldn’t keep her feelings locked inside. “Only with you.”
Jack could give her no answer except to frame her lovely face with both hands and capture her willing mouth. Slowly, making her ache with the waiting, he eased his hands into her hair, thrusting through the damp strands and massaging her sensitive scalp with long, lingering strokes, much as he’d done to her shoulders earlier. “You make me crazy, Rachel. You take away my concentration. Why is that, you suppose?” His voice was hoarse to his own ears.
Steeped in him, in the way his hands and lips moved over her, she had no breath left to answer as his mouth closed over the peak of one aroused breast. Unable to lie still, she shifted, shoving her hands into his hair, as he pleasured her until she was arching and straining.
Rachel felt delirium closing in on her. No one had ever made love to her with such infinite care, with such tenderness, each touch whisper-soft, as if her needs were all that mattered. She sighed his name as she reached for him.
“Not just yet,” Jack said. Kneeling over her, he sent his hands on a lazy journey, acquainting himself with her lovely limbs. His open palms caressed every inch of her sleek arms, her flat, quivering stomach, her incredibly long legs.
Eyes on her face, he skimmed his hands down one leg, then the other, along her rib cage slowly, then picking up speed. Over and over until he had her squirming, thrashing. He knew the moment she stopped feeling vulnerable and gave herself willingly over to him, letting him take her where he would. At last he trailed his fingers up the inside of her thigh and closed over her. He watched her arch as he sent her soaring, felt her heat pour into his hand and wanted to cry out at the passionate way she responded with wholehearted abandon.
Not giving her time to recover, he put his mouth to her, into the fire. In seconds, a sound very much like a sob escaped from between her parted lips. Finally, she shuddered and curled into his arms.
He’d begun this for her pleasure, Jack reminded himself, but he was the real winner. He’d wanted to reach her as no man ever had before, and instead, he’d found a craving, a longing such as he’d never known before. The seducer had become seduced, he thought with no small amount of surprise.
Naked and damp, Rachel lay with muscles quivering, trying to catch her breath. Surrender was a new word to her vocabulary, one she’d thought she’d never apply to herself. But surrender she had, to his way, to his lead, to her own unleashed desire. She was shaken to the core, to the point of no longer being able to hide it or care if it showed.
Jack stood and removed the towel from his waist.
He was a gorgeous specimen wearing only candlelight, Rachel thought. Long and lean and tan, hard and
strong, as close to male perfection as she’d ever seen. Incredibly, she wanted more and reached for him. His eyes darkened as he slipped into her as naturally as if they’d been lovers for years. She kept her gaze locked with his as he filled her, as the heat built and built inside her. She knew he’d held off as long as he possibly could, that slow loving was what he’d intended, but his control was shattering. She took pleasure in knowing she was the one who’d brought him to the brink.
Rachel saw his need take over as he drove himself into her mindlessly, glorying in seeing him this way, his dark desire and his hunger a living thing, pushing him on. Her hands bunched on his back as she rode with him, as the heat engulfed them both.
At last, she arched upward, straining to hold in the pleasure just a little longer. But she lost the battle and let go of the room, of reality.
Blood rushed like a thundering waterfall through Jack’s system, hot and dark and insistent as he neared the summit. His vision blurred, his heart all but bursting free as he finally emptied himself into her.
“I’m crushing you,” Jack said some moments later, too comfortable to want to move, but aware that his weight was heavy on her.
“No, it’s all right. I think you’ve killed me so it really doesn’t matter if you get up or not.” Rachel let out a long, contented sigh. With a great deal of effort, she overcame the marvelous lethargy and raised a hand to her hair, which must look a sight after being soaked by the shower, followed by the ravishing.
Ravishing, she thought, smiling. What a wonderful word.
“You don’t look dead,” Jack said, placing a kiss on her ear and rolling over. “You look wonderful.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
He reached to take her hand as she tried to finger-comb her hair. “It’s the truth. A woman is at her most beautiful after being thoroughly and completely loved.”
And that she had been, no question. Her smile widened as she looked at him. “You don’t look half bad yourself. Does that apply to men, too?”
“You bet.” He smiled, then stifled a yawn. “I should get going, eh?”
She hesitated, hoping she was doing the right thing. “You don’t have to. I’d like you to stay the night. That is, if you want to.” She tried not to sound desperate or coaxing, but casual and inviting.
He moved back to nuzzle her. “I’d like to stay, but I don’t know when your dad will be back.”
“Probably not early. Besides, I’m not a teenager.” Although she’d felt a few qualms about taking a man into her childhood bedroom. She was positive Dad wouldn’t approve, most especially since the man in question was the P.I. he didn’t want around. However, if he came home and found them together, so be it. She was a big girl now and if he gave her a hard time, she’d move out until Christina’s investigation was over.
“Then maybe we should get more comfortable.” Jack got up and they both rearranged the bedcovers, then crawled under.
Rachel turned onto her side and he curled against her back, spoon style. Breathing a sigh of contentment, she wondered when if ever she’d felt this wonderful.
“I just need a little rest before we start Round Three,” Jack said, his voice half teasing, half serious.
“Round Three?”
“Yeah, you think you can keep up?”
“I’ll give it my best shot,” she said, smiling. “Oh, damn, I forgot the candles.” Yet she hesitated, unwilling to dash around in front of him without her clothes, despite what had just happened.
“I’ll put them out.” Jack crawled out and went to the dresser. He’d no sooner blown out that candle when they both heard the doorbell, two long blasts. Surprised, he looked at Rachel, then the nightstand clock.
It was nearly midnight.
Six
“Who on earth could that be at this hour?” Rachel asked, shoving back the covers.
Jack heard a sound and went to the front window to look out. “Looks like whoever it was changed their minds. A car just drove off.”
Rachel finished tying the belt of her robe. Not the ratty chenille but a soft pale blue terry she’d brought from home. Quickly she ran her brush through her hair on fleeting thought that it might be Ellis home early, being dropped off by a friend because he’d had too much to drink and couldn’t find his key. If he saw her like this, her lips swollen from Jack’s kisses, her face with the unmistakable glow of being well loved, he’d likely throw them both out. He’d have to be truly drunk to miss the signs.
“I think I’d better go see,” she told Jack, bracing herself for a scene. “I’ll be right back.”
Grabbing his pants, Jack shoved a leg in. “I’m not letting you go down there alone this late at night.”
“Don’t be silly,” Rachel said, unlocking the bedroom door. “This is Whitehorn not L.A. or Chicago.”
Zipping up, he slipped his bare feet into his shoes. “Need I remind you that your sister was killed here in Whitehorn?”
That sobered Rachel. She hadn’t been thinking along those lines. “I didn’t think killers bothered to ring the doorbell,” she commented dryly.
Rachel hurried downstairs, Jack close behind her. She slipped back the dead bolt on the front door and reached for the knob, but Jack stopped her.
“Let me,” he said, his voice firm.
There was no point in being foolishly brave, Rachel thought, and stepped back, praying her father wasn’t out there. However, Jack was the one with experience, the former cop. Better to be safe than sorry.
When he first opened the door, Jack didn’t see anything or anyone. Then he glanced down and saw a brown basket on the porch near the door, a thick blanket inside. There were footprints in the snow, one set leading from the curb to the basket another back.
“What is it?” Rachel asked from inside the doorway.
Jack bent and picked up the basket, turning back inside with it. “Just this,” he said, holding it by its curved handle.
“You couldn’t see anyone?” Rachel wanted to know.
Suddenly the blanket began to shift in fluttery little movements. Jack’s suspicious mind leaped ahead and he wondered if he was right as he shoved the door closed and carried the basket into the living room where the lamp was still burning and the remnants of the fire still glowing. He set the basket down on the hearth and opened the blanket.
“Oh!” Rachel said, shocked. “It’s a baby!”
His guess had been right, Jack thought.
Elbowing him aside, Rachel moved closer, noticing that the child was wearing a long drawstring nightie, a sweater that looked hand-knit and a matching little pink cap. From the edges of the cap, tendrils of straight black hair escaped and clung to the child’s round face. As Rachel reached to stroke the soft cheek, the baby opened eyes as bright a blue as a cloudless Montana sky.
Rachel gasped out loud. “I’d recognize those eyes anywhere. This is Christina’s baby.” Carefully she lifted the child from the basket and walked over to the couch where she sat to take a better look.
“Are you sure?” Jack asked, bracing a hip on the coffee table where their forgotten brandy glasses rested. His suspicions well-founded, still he needed some proof. “There’s no mistaking this baby has Native American blood.” The straight dark hair and features were a giveaway.
Slipping off a tiny hand-knit bootie, Rachel gazed at the sole of the baby’s right foot, then smiled. “There it is, the same birthmark Christina had, a reddish crescent moon just above the arch. We all have the same one. Max, too.”
The child didn’t seem to mind that two strangers were staring and poking around while her solemn blue eyes studied them. The baby didn’t make a sound as Rachel took off the cap and checked the diaper.
“A girl.” Rachel felt a rush of emotion flood her. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Jack was busily checking the contents of the deep basket. “We have half a dozen cloth diapers, three bottles of milk, two little nighties the same as she’s wearing.” He studied the garments closely. “These are
n’t from a store. They’re handmade, hand-embroidered.”
“Who made you those lovely little things?” Rachel asked the baby and was rewarded with a spontaneous smile. “Oh, look, she smiled.”
But Jack was looking at something else. “There’s a note in here with your name on it.” He handed it over.
Rachel read it out loud. “’Rachel, please take care of my baby, Alyssa. I’ll be back for her as soon as I’m able. I’m her father and I love her very much.’” She checked both sides of the single sheet of paper. “No signature.”
“I’m going to check outside. Maybe he stuck around to make sure you heard the doorbell and took her in.” He went to pull on his jacket. “After all, it’s cold and snowing.”
The deaf could have heard that doorbell, Rachel thought as she rewrapped the baby in the blanket. He’d apparently seen the car out front, the car in the drive, the lights on, and figured someone was home.
“Alyssa. What a pretty name you have.” Adjusting the child in her arms, she rose and walked around the living room, humming softly. The baby wasn’t wet and she didn’t appear hungry. Hopefully, she’d go to sleep so Rachel could make plans.
Calculating, she decided Alyssa had to be about three months old. Babies that age slept through the night, didn’t they?
In a gust of swirling snow, Jack came back in and locked the door. He rubbed his cold hands together. “No one around, and the footprints only lead to the curb.” Large footprints, probably made by a boot. A big man’s boot. “Damn, I wish I’d gone to the window sooner and gotten a better look at that car.”
But Rachel didn’t really care who’d dropped off the child as she cuddled her close and saw those lovely blue eyes grow heavy.
Jack stood watching Rachel with the baby, an unmistakable maternal glow on her face. She looked like Gina did whenever his sister talked about the child she would have. What was it about babies that instantly changed a woman into a mother, even when they hadn’t given birth to the one they’re holding? Not every woman, of course. His own mother was far from motherly, a helpless female who liked being taken care of rather than being the one to give the care.
