Serious Risks

by Rachel Lee

  And all kinds of thoughts that Arlen would have been sure must shock a lady came racing to the forefront of his mind as he realized that Jessie was a passionate woman. He told himself to resist, not to offend her or shock her, but somehow he moved her to the couch beside him anyway. Somehow he was raised on an elbow over her, and somehow they were both struggling to remove her suit jacket. And somehow his hand was touching the top button of her black blouse. No, not touching. Unfastening.

  Jessica drew a sharp breath and held it as her heart stopped. Hearing the sound, Arlen looked up at her, his arm resting between her breasts, his fingers frozen on the second button.

  Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes bright, very bright. “Arlen?” Her voice sounded far away, as if it came from someplace out among the stars that were beckoning to him. Her entire universe, however, had focused on the hand that hovered over that next button, on the ache in the breasts his arm lay between. Clothes constricted, suddenly a travesty of nature. Nerve endings sizzled with exquisite awareness. She felt as if she needed to turn inside out in order to satisfy her wild longings.

  He meant to stop, to say something nice and hold her until they came back to earth and safety. He meant to stop before she had anything to remember that might embarrass her. He opened his mouth to say the nice, gallant thing, but what emerged was a man’s hoarse plea.

  “Let me, Jess,” he said thickly. “Please let me.”

  Chapter 5

  He was giving her a chance to draw a line, but Jessica didn’t want to. Time hung suspended, and for an endless moment she honestly believed she would die if he didn’t proceed. She had never imagined how overwhelming, how single-minded, such desire could be, but she was fully in its grip now.

  A breath escaped her in a shuddery sigh, and her eyes fluttered closed. Thus encouraged, Arlen’s fingers released the second button and then the third. Time continued to stand still for Jessica. A languorous expectancy filled her as her attention grew narrower and narrower. No one had undressed her since childhood, yet the anticipated shyness and embarrassment failed to materialize, held at bay by the profound, pulsing need that filled her.

  The last button yielded, and this time it was Arlen who sucked in a deep breath. Drawing Jessica’s head onto the arm on which he was propped, he bent and kissed her deeply, stoking the fires even as his free hand began to gently separate the silky black material.

  And then his fingertips brushed against the bare skin of her midriff. Jessica stiffened and gasped, her mouth breaking from his, and Arlen raised his head.

  “Easy, honey. Easy.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek, then one on her chin and another on her throat, on the pulse that throbbed frantically there. Her arms lifted, her fingers clutched at him, helplessly beseeching. A pleading murmur escaped her.

  “Yes, Jessie. Yes.” His voice was a throaty whisper as he looked down at her and discovered she wore not the plain white nylon or cotton undergarment he expected, but instead wore shimmering black lace. It was a garment meant to entice, and it told Arlen a great deal about her. He hesitated only a moment before his own need drove him to reach for the front clasp. This and no more, he promised himself.

  Her eyes flew open as he released the clasp and her breasts spilled free of their confinement. She saw him looking at her, but instead of embarrassment she felt a clenching thrill. “Arlen?”

  The faint, ragged whisper drew his eyes to hers. “You’re beautiful, Jessie,” he said huskily.

  The truth was plain in his eyes, and Jessica felt a smile of sheer pleasure tug the corners of her mouth upward.

  “I want to touch you. Kiss you,” he said roughly.

  Oh, God, she thought she would die if he didn’t! She’d never imagined her breasts could ache, actually ache, to be touched. “Please,” she whispered, unable to find her voice. “Arlen, please.”

  Hardly daring to believe she meant it, he cupped one pale, pink-tipped mound in his large hand. A soft moan escaped her, and she turned into his touch, seeking more, much more.

  “Like that?” he asked softly, wanting to make her feel what she was making him feel. She was so responsive, so eager, and he wanted to give her only good feelings, wonderful feelings, dizzying, marvelous, passionate feelings.

  “Mmm.” This time it was nearly a groan as she pressed herself harder against his hand. She didn’t know how to ask for more, or for what she really wanted—if she was even sure what that was. All she knew was that the warmth of his callused palm cradling her breast was like a taste, a mere hint, of what she needed. “Arlen!”

  The soft cry conveyed both her pleasure and her frustration. Hearing it, Arlen dared more. Boldly now, he rubbed her swelling nipple with his thumb, watching it engorge further, feeling Jessica’s restless movements as her hunger grew. Her hand clutched at his shoulder, tugging, and he understood with a sense of wonder that this lady wanted what he wanted to give her. All thought of stopping fled as he drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked.

  Jessica groaned deeply, and her hands clasped Arlen’s head to her, encouraging, pleading. Wires that stretched from her aching breasts to her womb seemed to draw tighter each time he sucked on her, and soon she was rolling her hips helplessly, needing more, so much more, yet wanting him never to stop.

  He moved to her other breast, teasing and tormenting her there, too. His hand slid downward, gliding beneath her skirt and drawing it up until he was able to slip a leg between hers, into the heated cradle of her thighs. Jessica’s hips pitched against him, unleashing his own groan. When he felt her legs part even more in receptivity, he moved between them, resting on her, pelvis to pelvis. Only thin layers of material separated them.

  What the hell was he doing?

  The question penetrated the pleasurable haze that was absorbing him. He gasped, trying to gather himself to move away, when Jessica’s eyelids fluttered and her hips gave a maddening upward roll against him.

  No, he thought, not like this! Not like a kid in the backseat of a car. Hell, he hadn’t even done this when he had been a kid! Both of them were clothed, but layers of fabric that should have been a barrier were merely a minor irritant at this point. He was lost already, his hips rocking slowly and deeply against hers, knotting his insides with aching hunger, causing him to moan as her hips moved in perfect counterpoint. Hungry. She was as hungry and needy as he, Arlen realized. He could have her, fully and completely, right now. All he had to do was strip away the last layers of their clothing. But, damn it, he wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t going to take advantage of this woman’s vulnerability.

  “Arlen!” Jessica cried out in fright as strange, uncontrollable feelings of painful pleasure gripped her, clenching her insides in a vise.

  He had more control than her, and he understood far better what was happening. Caught in the grip of a battle against his own mounting passion, he nevertheless heard her fear and understood it.

  “It’s okay, Jessie,” he whispered on short gasps of air. “Let it happen. Just let it happen.” Sliding a hand beneath her hips, he encouraged her movements against him. Whatever his self-denial cost him, he couldn’t leave her hurting like this. “Raise your knees, Jessie.”

  She did, then cried out as the throbbing ache intensified even more pleasurably. She clutched at his shoulders, then at his head, holding him closer, closer, loving even the starchy rasp of his shirtfront against her swollen breasts. So good, so good, she thought dimly, and wondered fearfully if she would make it to the place her every cell seemed to be straining toward.

  And then she found it in an explosion so intense that a keening cry escaped her.

  Hearing it, he clutched her close and battered back his own passions, refusing to give in to himself. Not like this. No way. But damn! He felt as if he was going to explode. Drawing one deep, steadying breath after another, he held perfectly still, afraid the least movement would shatter the last thread of control. Forever. It took forever.

  Arlen levered himself carefully off her.
Reaching out, he drew her blouse closed over her breasts, then tugged her into the circle of his arms, tucking her head onto his shoulder. She lay there without resistance, a welcome soft warmth against him. From time to time an aftershock shook her, a small trembling that arched her slightly, pressing her breast and belly even closer.

  Arlen held her close, inhaling her fresh fragrance, feeling the soft silk of her hair against his chin, guiltily savoring the physical closeness despite the torment it had cost him. He was finding it difficult to deal with the mental image he had of what had just happened. He was lying here, fully clothed including shoes, with a young woman whose blouse was unbuttoned, whose skirt was wrapped around her hips, and whose shoes were presumably still on her feet, too.

  It sure as hell didn’t fit with his idea of proper behavior for an agent on a case. And it made him grin with a kind of sheepish amusement. There must be life in the old boy yet if he could still carry on like a teenager.

  Still, he felt he owed Jessica an apology for letting things get so out of hand. She was bound to feel embarrassed by what had happened. When her head stirred against his shoulder, he looked down at her and found her smiling shyly up at him.

  In that moment he understood that she would be embarrassed only if he implied there was something wrong in what they’d done. The apology he’d formed died unspoken, and instead he bowed his head to gently kiss her swollen, smiling lips.

  “How do you feel, Jessie?”

  “Mmm.” A sound like a purr passed her lips, and she snuggled closer, enjoying the intimacy of being held this way by Arlen. He smelled so good, soapy and musky, and felt so hard, warm and strong. Shyly she reached out and ran her palm over his shirtfront, stroking from the center of his chest to his stomach. Just as she reached his waist, Arlen caught her hand and held it.

  “Witch,” he said, surprising her with his warmly laughing tone. He turned and drew her even closer, confining her hand between their bodies. “You’re going to start more trouble.”

  Jessica glanced at him from beneath her lashes, feeling more attractive and more like a woman than ever before in her life. “Is that so bad?”

  That was when Arlen knew he was in real trouble. The rules had been broken, a line had been crossed, and there was no going back. The hell of it was, there was no going forward, either. Somehow he had to make Jessica understand that, and he had to do it without wounding her, a feat that would be even more difficult because of what they’d just done.

  “Jessie…”

  Jessica tensed. She heard it in his voice and knew he was once more going to tell her there was no future, that this never should have happened. She closed her eyes and thought of the wedding ring he still wore, of the photos on his wall and beside his chair. She thought of each of the things he used as a talisman against involvement and realized that he needed such defenses only because he had once been so devastated. To be desolated in such a way, a person had to be capable of great love.

  He was afraid, she thought. Afraid of the pain and loneliness he’d suffered because of his wife’s death. He simply didn’t want to run the risk of going through that again. Having cobbled together some kind of a life on the ashes of his old one, he wanted to be left undisturbed in the peace he had managed to make for himself.

  Jessica understood all too well. She, too, had managed to build herself a relatively safe and comfortable life, and she, too, was reluctant to risk it. Her insides fluttered fearfully at the mere thought. Intuitively, however, she understood that she would have to risk her tranquility and safety if she was to get anywhere at all with Arlen. She was the one who would have to step off the cliff first.

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him, forestalling the difficult speech he was trying to formulate. “It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to explain yourself all over again, Arlen. I understood the first time.”

  His gray eyes looked into hers penetratingly, as if he could see past iris and pupil to the thoughts behind. “Do you?” he asked roughly.

  “Absolutely. I feel exactly the same way myself.”

  His hold on her relaxed a little, but his expression remained doubtful. “We need to talk about this, Jess.”

  “Why?” But she instinctively understood that, as well. Too much had happened. He simply couldn’t let it lie any more than she could.

  “We just do,” he said firmly. “But not right now. Believe it or not, I’m supposed to be working. And I have to get back to the office before the afternoon is over.”

  He pushed himself to a sitting position and looked down at her, taking in her unbuttoned blouse and the wrinkled skirt that was still tangled around her upper thighs. In spite of himself, he ran his hand along the silky smoothness of her nylon-clad leg. His entire aching body responded in a flash. Idiot!

  “I have to take you back to get your car,” he said after a moment. “Is it all right if I come by your house this evening?”

  “Of course.” Suddenly, miserably embarrassed, she sat up, clutching at her blouse and tugging at her skirt. “But I’d really rather not get my car right now. I’ll call a cab to take me over there tomorrow. I’m such a mess….”

  Feeling like the worst kind of heel, he realized he had to do something or Jessie was going to leave here feeling used. Steeling himself against his body’s inevitable reaction, he caught her face between his hands and leaned forward to kiss her gently on the lips. And then he uttered the truth. “You’re damn near irresistible, Jessie Kilmer. What the hell am I going to do about you?”

  Having the afternoon off gave Jessica an opportunity to finish straightening up the living room as well as time to unpack the boxes Arlen had carried upstairs—was it only last night?

  She sat back on her heels and stared blindly at the box she had been unpacking. Was she losing her ever-loving mind? Was she actually trying to figure out how to hold a man she had known for less than forty-eight hours?

  And what had happened this afternoon in his apartment…! Memory turned her cheeks crimson. She had heard kids talk about doing that in high school—she could even remember the term they had used—but she was not in high school. She was supposedly a mature adult!

  A groan escaped her, and she pressed her palms to her hot cheeks. Her active imagination had little difficulty painting a vivid picture of the two of them on his couch a few short hours ago. Closing her eyes at the image, she nearly died from the embarrassment even as her body betrayed her by clenching pleasurably.

  It was silly to feel embarrassed, she told herself. What they had done had just…happened. It had been a natural outcome of natural feelings. Arlen hadn’t been embarrassed by it. Not at all. So she didn’t need to feel embarrassed, either.

  Besides, she thought as her lips curved upward in a shy but satisfied smile, she would never have imagined or even dreamed that it was possible to feel like that. She had certainly never before understood how it was possible to forget caution, modesty and good sense. And now that she had, she wanted to do it again. Soon. With Arlen.

  In a burst of girlish exuberance, she threw herself back on the rug beside her bed and flung her arms wide.

  All right, she told herself daringly, it was great. Fantastic. Embarrassment aside, she wouldn’t have missed it for the world. She had liked all of it, especially being held. It felt different to be held by a man. There was a whole range of feelings to the experience that she struggled to find definitions for, feelings that were quite apart from the sexual arousal. And there were so many impressions to remember, sensations that had no words to adequately describe them.

  With just the slightest effort, she was able to vividly remember the texture of his faintly scratchy cheek against hers. The way it had felt so right and comfortable to rest her head in the hollow of his shoulder, to rest within the shelter of his arms while she had been so—face it, Jessica—completely and utterly vulnerable. With just that gentle embrace he’d made her feel absolutely safe, as if she could without fear relax her guard and lower her ba
rriers. As if she could safely bare her soul.

  Somewhere, she found herself thinking, she’d missed the realization that a man could make her feel safe. On the rare occasions when she had noticed a man as a man, she had felt more threatened than anything. Somehow Arlen had never made her feel that way.

  Of course, she told herself, staring up at the ceiling, maybe that was part of his training. Maybe FBI agents took a seminar called “How to Inspire Trust.” The notion made her laugh. It was a fact, though, that government agents pretty much looked as if they sprang from the same mold. Six years with a major defense contractor had brought her into brief contact with inspectors from several different investigative branches. Arlen fit the mold in his conservative suit and neatly barbered hair. His restrained manner and politeness, too, were a copy of every other agent she’d met. Some had more personality than others—Arlen certainly had lots of personality—but otherwise you could almost always spot a government agent just by the way he looked and acted. Especially in this Texas city, where only bankers and federal agents actually wore suits. Around here, dressing up meant a white shirt with your jeans, or at best a sports jacket and slacks. It was as if government agents all strove very hard to present an inoffensive, pleasant, courteous exterior that would arouse dislike in no one.

  However, Jessica thought, the blandness must be deceiving. People didn’t join the FBI by accident. Agents obviously selected the career for a reason, and she suspected it wasn’t to become another gray, faceless clone in an army of clones. That image, she thought, was a kind of camouflage. She would willingly have bet that beneath that facade there beat the heart of a James Bond.

  What of it? What difference did that make? What mattered right now was that this particular agent had locked himself inside an emotional shell, a shell that she had no business disturbing for her own frivolous reasons. At this point, the only thing she had any right to want was a chance to get to know Arlen, and a chance for him to get to know her.