by Rachel Lee
With a curse he stood up and reached for his gun, snapping the holster to his belt. There was only one way he was going to be able to relax. He would have to go over there and assure himself that she was all right.
After he’d left Jessica in the MTI parking lot, he’d driven home to shower, shave, change and check in. The checking in was what had gotten him tangled up in this business. Hell, he’d meant to go by the drugstore, and he hadn’t even done that.
He pulled his sedan to a stop in front of Jessica’s house a bare fifteen minutes later. The night had turned cold and windy, and there was a taste of rain in the air as he studied the front of Jessie’s house, seeking any indication that something was amiss. Seeing nothing untoward, not even a car parked along the street, he crept around the side of the house to the back door, silent in the jogging shoes he’d exchanged his boots for. Since he was no longer on official business, he’d left his FBI windbreaker behind in favor of his own nylon jacket, but as he worked his way around the house he began to wonder if that wasn’t a mistake. If some neighbor noticed him and called the cops, he could well live to regret it.
At the back of the house everything appeared normal, too. Jessie’s car was parked at the back door, and all the lights in the house were out. She’d probably gone to bed. She’d probably taken the phone off the hook simply because she didn’t want to be awakened.
But he wouldn’t rest until he saw with his own two eyes that she was okay. Well, he could beat on her door, a good, solid police-style hammering that would wake the dead, not to mention half her neighbors.
He chose instead to let himself into the house and check things out. If someone was in there with her, he didn’t want to startle them. People got hurt that way.
A credit card unlocked her back door for him. Arlen made a mental note to see that she got a dead bolt on that door. Feeling stupid, sure that he was overreacting, yet unable to talk himself out of it, he crept through the house and up the stairway. He would find Jessica curled up safely in her bed. Then he could get the hell out of here and never admit to a soul that he, a veteran agent of sixteen years’ experience, had gone off the deep end because a woman he hardly knew had taken her phone off the hook.
Right.
He might not have known her long, but she was important anyway. She was important at a gut level that was dragging him through a dark house at two o’clock in the morning to make sure she was okay. And if that wasn’t the stupidest part of this whole thing…
At the top of the stairs he paused, listening intently. Not a sound disturbed the silence. A step brought him to the door of her bedroom. It was open, which he guessed wasn’t surprising, since she lived here alone. Somebody ought to tell her, though, that it was safer to sleep behind a closed door, because thieves were reluctant to enter closed rooms, unsure of what they might find. And then, of course, there was the fire protection factor provided by a closed door…
He could see the shimmer of her white satin spread in the dark, and he crept toward it, hesitating only when a board creaked beneath his foot. She wasn’t in the bed.
She wasn’t in the bed!
Alarms went off in his head, and his hand dived under the jacket for his gun. The last thing he felt now was stupidity. Something was definitely wrong. Without wasting another moment, moving with a silent stealth learned in the military, Arlen began to check every nook and cranny of the upstairs.
Finding nothing, he headed downstairs, stepping at the outside of each riser so it wouldn’t creak. The adrenaline shot he’d gotten when he looked into Jessica’s bed had his heart hammering rapidly. The increased demand for oxygen forced him to breathe through his mouth in great, silent gulps.
When he reached the foot of the stairs he held his breath and listened. The pounding of his heart was so loud that he wasn’t sure he would be able to hear anything quieter than the roar of a freight train, but he listened anyway.
There was something, a sound more felt than heard, so faint beside the pounding in his ears that he couldn’t be really certain he heard it. Crouching, he inched toward the living room and then through the arched doorway.
Again a sound, like a soft, muffled moan. It came from the couch. Straightening, holding his gun at the ready in both hands, Arlen stepped around the end table and looked down at the couch.
It was Jessica. His eyes were dark-adapted enough to make out her features in the faint light that filtered through the crack between the curtains of one tall window.
Leaning over, he found the switch on the table lamp and turned it. Fifty watts of golden light poured over her, revealing every detail.
“God,” Arlen breathed prayerfully.
She was all right. She was sleeping. Tearstains marked her soft face, but otherwise she was all right. Relief left him feeling shaky. He shoved his gun back into the holster and looked down at Jessie, taking in every detail. She was wrapped in a silky robe, something old-fashioned-looking, with large pink flowers on a beige-and-cream background, something edged in beige lace that fell gently around her throat, across her breasts, around her wrists. She looked softly, sweetly feminine. She looked like something a man ought to grab and hold on to. Someone he ought to gather close and protect and shelter and love.
“Jessie.” He murmured her name, bending closer, smelling the fragrance that was especially hers, a light, fresh scent like a rainwashed spring day. “Jessie.”
She stirred a little, and her eyelids fluttered. “Arlen?” Her voice was husky with sleep. She licked her dry lips and tried to pry her eyes open to see him. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I’m here,” he said as a deep, inexplicable ache bloomed in him. “I’m here, Jessie. I’ll carry you up to bed.”
“No,” she mumbled as he slipped his arms beneath her. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Hush, honey. Just hush.” In one easy movement he lifted her high against his chest. One of his arms cradled her shoulders; the other supported her knees. Instinctively she turned toward him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as she buried her face in the warm curve between his neck and shoulder.
“I’m glad you came.” She sighed sleepily as he began the climb up the stairs. It was all a dream, she thought hazily, this dark trip up the stairs in strong arms. Just a wonderful dream that would make her smile come morning. “You’ll stay, won’t you?”
“I’ll stay.” He didn’t know how he was going to handle it, though. Missing the drugstore earlier tonight was rapidly becoming a serious mistake. He suspected, however, that the tearstains on her cheeks were his fault, and he couldn’t do that to her again. No way. Not if every bit of common sense in him argued that he ought to get the hell out of here.
Without turning on a light, he carried her across her bedroom and lowered her gently to her feet beside the bed.
“Let me pull back the comforter, Jessie.”
Stifling a yawn, she leaned against him. “I need to take my hair down,” she said drowsily. He felt so good, so hard and strong. And he smelled so good, she thought. “I can’t sleep with all these bobby pins.” What a funny thing to worry about in a dream.
Her hair. Arlen was suddenly distracted from his single line of thought: to get her into bed and covered quickly before his traitorous mind and body could come up with other activities.
Her hair. From the moment he first set eyes on her he’d been wanting to get her hair down. “I’ll help you,” he said.
Jessica found herself sitting on the bench before her dressing table, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Arlen had turned on the small bedside lamp, the one that gave her just enough light to see her way to the bathroom when she needed it. The dim glow highlighted her face from the side, giving her a light-dark look of mystery. The beat of her heart had become a heavy throbbing. This was no dream. This was real, and she was at last waking to the reality of it.
In the mirror she watched Arlen remove his jacket. Then he unsnapped the holster from his belt and placed it on the bedsi
de table. He was really here, she thought, excitement pounding in her blood. He was really here, and the simple acts of removing his jacket and gun suddenly seemed incredibly intimate. Incredibly wonderful. He filled the virginal room, dominated it, a dark, virile presence amid all the soft white fluff of her childish dreams.
This was it. She clenched her hands in her lap and waited for whatever was to come. For the first time in her life she truly understood what it meant to tremble before the unknown. No book, no movie, could prepare a person for the reality of this moment. Nor would she ever have believed that it was possible to want and fear the same thing.
Suddenly Arlen was behind her, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. “I made you cry,” he said softly.
She wanted to deny it, but as she met his eyes in the mirror she knew she couldn’t. Mute with embarrassment at what she felt had been childishness, she simply looked back at him.
Lifting one hand, he stroked her soft cheek with a fingertip. Jessica caught her breath and watched, mesmerized.
Arlen spoke quietly. “I made the mistake of calling in to work to see if anything earth-shattering had happened while I was out of touch.”
“And something had.”
“Something was about to,” he corrected. “I’m sorry, Jessie. Really sorry.”
Slipping his fingers into her hair, he began to remove the pins one by one, tossing them on the table as he found them. Jessie shivered delightfully as she felt the gentle touch of his fingers against her scalp. Never in a million years would she have guessed that that could be erotic.
“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, a catch in her suddenly breathy voice.
“Yes, I do. Another time maybe I wouldn’t but this time, all things considered, I really do have to apologize for how I made you feel.”
The last lock of her hair fell free, and Arlen stared in pleasure at long, shiny locks that fell all the way to the bench on which she was sitting. “Your hair is beautiful, Jessie. I’ve never seen such beautiful hair.”
“Thank you.” Pleasure flushed her cheeks, made her heart skip a beat.
“I’ve been wanting to see it down since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he confessed. Leaning forward, he took the brush from the dressing table. Then, slowly, gently, he began to brush the heavy, shiny veil. “And while I’m making all these apologies and confessions, there’s another one I’d better make straight out.”
Jessica was already sinking into the luxury of having her hair brushed, but now she stiffened slightly. “Is something wrong?”
“Hell, yes,” he said wryly. “I never made it to the drugstore.”
“The… Oh!”
“Right. Oh.” He smiled at the way she clapped her hands to her hot cheeks, but then she laughed, startling him. “Jessie, don’t you understand? I didn’t get any—”
“That’s okay,” she said swiftly, her voice dropping an octave with embarrassment. “That’s okay.”
“How can it be okay?” He felt a little irritated. It was late, he was tired, he was horny as hell and there wasn’t a condom in sight. “Damn it, Jessie, it can’t be okay. I know perfectly well you’re a…you’re not real experienced. You can’t possibly be protected, and I’m not taking any chances with you. It’s like wearing a helmet on a Harley. Only a fool rides without protection.”
“I, uh…” She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her hands. “Damn it,” she said tautly, “I bought the darn things without any trouble. Why can’t I just say it?”
“Say what?” Arlen’s hands paused in her hair. “Bought what, honey?” He had an idea, though, and it was soothing his irritation.
“I went to the drugstore myself,” she said in a rush. “The bedside table.”
He crossed to the table and pulled the drawer out enough to see the familiar box. “Jessie, I’m impressed. How’d you ever whip up the nerve?”
She still couldn’t look at him. She cleared her throat. “I, uh, I’m liberated enough to think a woman is responsible for her own, uh, protection. Besides,” she said almost petulantly, “buying them was easy. Telling you is something else!”
Arlen laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Jessie, Jessie,” he said warmly as he came up behind her. His hands settled on her shoulders again, and he bent, bringing his mouth to her ear. “God, woman, I’ve been wanting you!”
His roughly whispered words caused a sharp thrill to pierce her very center. The unexpected pressure of his teeth on her earlobe did even more. She arched back toward him, and his hands tightened on her shoulders.
“That’s it, Jess,” he said softly and knelt behind her. “Lean back against me.”
He parted her hair so that he could kiss the nape of her neck, and Jessie sank immediately into a warm languor. Her limbs felt weighted, and her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open as Arlen’s lips did incredibly arousing things to her neck. Another erogenous zone she’d never dreamed of, she thought hazily, and then just about stopped thinking as his arms wrapped around her and his hands each captured one full breast. She felt her nipples pucker immediately, straining eagerly for more of the delicious treatment he’d given them yesterday.
Arlen watched them both in the mirror, watched the way Jessie’s eyelids drooped closed, the way her head sagged back against his shoulder in complete surrender. He watched his hands shape her breasts through the flowered silk, watched his thumbs brush her beading nipples. He heard her quickened breaths, the soundless sighs, felt the slight, restless stirring of her body as he stroked her. The knot of need that had been with him virtually every moment since he met her hardened even more. He felt his own breath speed up, felt his control slip a notch, and then another notch.
Fantasies were filling his mind. A fantasy of slowly disrobing Jessie here before the mirror, of touching her with intimacy while they both watched. A fantasy of her lying on her white satin spread with nothing but her yards of dark hair to clothe her. Oh, yes, he had fantasies such as he hadn’t had in years, but not for tonight. Tonight was for Jessie and Jessie only. A first time should be special, and he was determined that hers would be.
“Mmm,” Jessie moaned softly and arched her breasts hard against Arlen’s hands. “Arlen…” His name was a sigh that trailed away into another moan.
If he didn’t move them now, he doubted he was going to be able to move them at all. Rising, he scooped Jessie up from the vanity bench and carried her to the bed. Holding her by her shoulders, he let her feet trail to the floor. She steadied herself as he bent to tug the satin comforter back.
Jessica saw the invitingly pulled-back covers, and without any coaxing at all she climbed right in and threw herself on her back. The smile she gave Arlen was nearly beatific. “Hurry,” she said, her voice a low purr.
The urge to laugh rose in Arlen. It was a happy urge, a joyous urge, something so long forgotten that it startled him. He didn’t laugh, but his crooked smile spread across his face in answer to hers. Standing right beside the bed, he began to undress.
Breathlessly she watched. In college she’d seen a magazine with pictures of nude men in it, but she’d never seen a real, live man without any clothes. Arlen would be beautiful, she was sure, but natural curiosity and natural shyness were warring within her.
First he pulled his black T-shirt over his head and tossed it onto the vanity bench. Jessica drew an audible breath at the sight of his broad, hard chest. She had known that he was sheathed in flat muscle—she had felt it when he held her, when he carried her—but she’d had no way to know whether he was hairy. He was not. He was smooth and firm and golden in the lamp’s dim glow. How she wanted to touch him!
A click drew her eyes downward, and she stared in fascination as Arlen unbuckled his belt. Here there was hair, she saw, dark hair arrowing downward from his navel to the waistband of his jeans. Unconsciously she licked her lips. A nervous, edgy fluttering filled her, an uneasy uncertainty.
Arlen saw the nervousness, but that was exactly why he was standing beside her
bed undressing like a two-bit stripper in a bad floor show. If virginal nerves were going to scare her off, he wanted them both to know it before things went too far. Before he lost the last bit of the self-control she’d been chipping away at so steadily. Before he lost the ability to behave like a gentleman.
He certainly wasn’t doing this because he thought he was pinup material. His own mouth was dry with nervousness. Damn it, maybe he needed to see a shrink. He’d made love to only one woman in his entire life, and that was hardly a measure by which to judge his skills. Yet here he was, getting ready to climb into a virgin’s bed and telling himself he was going to make it good for her. Just how was he proposing to do that?
But his hands kept moving anyway, unclasping the belt, popping the buttons, yanking the zipper. Damn, he wanted this woman. He couldn’t remember ever having wanted like this. How had she done it? How had she gotten inside to pluck at his feelings and draw out his responses? How had she made him so hungry when he had been sure he would never be hungry again?
He shoved down his jeans but left his briefs in place. He heard Jessie’s faint gasp, and he looked quickly at her. Her gaze seemed to be stuck on the bulge in the front of his briefs, the rather obvious evidence of his arousal.
“Jessie?” He spoke gently. “Want me to stop?” The unsure part of him half hoped she would.
“No…no,” she answered unsteadily, astonishing him. “Arlen, please…I ache…”
That did it. The plea, the sound of her breathless voice, the yearning in her bright brown eyes, all combined to untangle the twisted skein of his feelings. In an instant he became a man with a purpose. He might not be a Lothario, but he could be caring and gentle and patient, and, by heaven, he would.
He lay beside her at last, still wearing his briefs, and wrapped her in the strength of his arms, tugging her close to his heart. She sighed with apparent pleasure and turned her head so that her cheek rested against his breast. Her hands were caught between them, small and soft, and her fingertips touched him in gentle, kneading strokes that reminded him of his daughter’s cat.
