MADIGAN'S WIFE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  He ignored her agitation. “I’ve never been here before.”

  “Me, neither.” She sighed. “And I never should’ve come here. I’m not … I’m not very good at this,” she said, dismay in her voice.

  Freddie cocked his head. “Not very good at what?”

  She smiled. “Being social. I’m kind of a homebody. I’d rather be at home with a good book.”

  Ah, but she wasn’t at home with a good book tonight, was she? She was out looking for something. Excitement, maybe. An undiscovered passion.

  “Something soft on the stereo,” he added. “Maybe a fire in the fireplace, if the night is cool enough.”

  Her smile widened. Her eyes danced.

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Why not?”

  “My name’s Hank,” he said, offering his hand.

  “Jenny.”

  He held her hand just a little too long, looked deeply into her eyes. Cute Jenny practically melted in his hands. She licked her lips nervously and, judging by the sparkle in her eye, dismissed thoughts of a boring evening alone by the fire.

  Hotels were too risky right now, but Freddie needed a safe and quiet place to stay. If Jenny didn’t have her own digs, he’d move on to someone who did.

  *

  Chapter 14

  «^»

  Grace perched on the edge of the couch in the main room; she couldn’t stop shaking. She’d been sitting here for several minutes, trying to pull herself together while Ray thoroughly checked out each of the rooms in the three-room suite.

  Potts had tried to run her over, and if Ray hadn’t called her name, if he hadn’t seen and come rushing toward her … she closed her eyes. Heaven above, she could still hear the roar of the engine, still see Potts’s determined face behind the wheel.

  Satisfied that all was clear in the suite, Ray approached with a damp washcloth and sat down beside her, pulling her back, making her relax against the back of the couch instead of perching on the edge. He’d loosened his tie so it hung, untied, around his neck, and he’d removed the top stud from his tuxedo shirt. Still, he didn’t look at all relaxed. He was wound so tight she could see the tension in his neck, in the set of his mouth.

  “You shouldn’t cry,” he whispered, gently wiping her cheeks with the warm washcloth.

  “I’m not crying,” she said, and then she sniffled once as he washed away the tear tracks.

  “I know you’re not,” he joined her in her denial as he laid the washcloth on her scraped arm and tenderly washed away the dirt. “Does this sting?”

  “Just a little,” she admitted, watching the gentle movement of his hand on her arm. The way his long fingers looked so dark against the white washcloth, the way the tips of those fingers brushed her bare arm. A hand so large and masculine and strong shouldn’t be so tender, should it? The simple touch shouldn’t feel so good. She shouldn’t want that touch so much.

  “I guess I thought he was gone,” she whispered as she watched the easy movements of his hand. “Gone back to New York or Miami or Chicago or wherever hit men go when they’re not working. Silly, huh? For all we know this guy lives in Decatur.”

  “I’d hoped he was gone, too.” Ray’s voice was low, no more than a whisper as he ran his hands over her arms, checking her for scrapes and scratches he’d missed. He hadn’t missed anything, but she didn’t tell him so. She was afraid he’d stop if she did.

  She shook her head slowly. “Trying to figure out whodunit was turning out to be fun, when I’d convinced myself Potts was gone. That it was just a game.” That it was just an excuse to stay close to you. “But he was here all the time, watching and waiting for his chance.”

  “When I get my hands on Potts I’ll make him wish he’d never set foot in this town,” Ray grumbled.

  “Stay away from him,” she insisted, her heart skipping a beat. She didn’t want Ray anywhere near that killer! “Let Luther and the FBI handle it.”

  “I don’t run from trouble, Gracie.” He didn’t say That’s your way of handling things, but she heard it in his voice, anyway.

  “That doesn’t mean you have to run headlong into it.” He lifted his eyes to hers. “We’re not going to talk about this anymore tonight.”

  She nodded her agreement.

  Ray dropped the washcloth on the end table. “Better?” he asked.

  “Better.”

  He took her face in his hands and searched her eyes, his own eyes so blue it almost hurt to look at them. “You scared me half to death.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “When I saw that car headed for you…” He shook his head. “It was like my life flashed before my eyes.”

  She nodded, understanding all too well.

  He continued to hold her face in his warm hands, coming closer to plant a kiss high on her cheek. “But you’re okay,” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  He kissed the other cheek. “I wish you would stop shaking.”

  “Me, too.” But right now she felt like she’d never stop trembling.

  Ray leaned forward and tenderly brushed his mouth against her forehead, then he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, there where he’d just kissed her. “You’re safe, now.”

  “I know that.” She rested her palms against his cheeks, caressed the skin rough with an evening’s beard stubble. Tough as he was, he seemed to need comforting as much as she did.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  “I know that, too.” She kissed him on the mouth, a soft, brief touch meant to soothe.

  Ray pulled her head against his shoulder, leaned back and relaxed, and held her tight. She melted against him, seeking warmth and solace in his embrace. Sheltered from the world. His arms protected her, his warmth chased away the chill that had grabbed her so completely. She hadn’t even realized she was cold until Ray’s closeness warmed her. He enveloped her in sweet heat, and slowly but surely the trembling and the fear faded away.

  For a while they didn’t move at all. It was as if they didn’t so much as breathe, the stillness was so complete.

  This was where she belonged, she knew without doubt. In Ray’s arms, her head against his shoulder, his arms folded around her. In the quiet stillness they somehow melded together, completed one another, and the world became a better place.

  When Ray did move it was to lift a slow hand to her hair. One by one he removed the pins that had held her once-elegant bun in place. When her hair came down he brushed the strands back and down with his fingers.

  Still without saying a word, he kissed the top of her head. Laid his head there for a long moment and sighed deeply. She felt him, finally, relax.

  Grace lifted her head and looked at Ray. The sight of his face, handsome and strong, made her heart clench. The lines around his eyes had deepened with worry, his jaw was tense with frustration.

  While she studied his face he said nothing. Not a word. After a long moment, he began to feather small kisses on her cheek, her forehead, her neck. He was gentle, achingly tender, but still she saw the distress in his eyes. She felt it in the way his hands held on to her.

  She raked her fingers through Ray’s hair, through pale waving strands so soft she didn’t want to ever take her hands away. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “I’m fine, you’re fine, nothing else matters.”

  He didn’t look as if he quite believed her, so she laid her lips on his cheek, tasting the saltiness of his skin, raking her mouth over the roughness of his evening stubble as she tried to soothe him. She caressed his neck with comforting fingers, and kissed his other cheek. For a moment she was lost in the scent of him, in the warmth and smell and taste of his skin.

  Ray raked his thumbs across her jaw, pushed his fingers through her hair. Repeated her words back to her. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “Everything’s fine, now. Just fine.”

  The words were not enough. He held her tight, and when she tasted his neck her mouth lingered, sucking gently. The
scent of his skin and the sensation of his flesh against her mouth overpowered her. She melted, as if her fear thawed when Ray held her so close.

  Ray’s hands touched and comforted, easy at first and then moving restlessly over her body. How could hands so large and strong be so tender? As his hands drifted over her body his kisses became harder, quicker, almost frantic, until she could barely catch her breath.

  In a rare, motionless moment, she gazed deep into his eyes. “Everything’s fine.”

  When their mouths met this time everything changed, softening, deepening. Slowing down. She felt Ray not only on her skin but all the way to the pit of her soul; she tasted and savored him so completely she knew nothing else. Her body throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

  His hands stilled, one in her hair, the other on her bare back. He held her close but soft, as if she might break if he clutched her too tightly.

  The kiss went on and on, as if to break it would be the greatest sin of all. This was all the comfort she needed, all she would ever need. His mouth over hers was tender one moment and demanding the next, his tongue thrusting and then very lightly licking her lower lip as he raked his mouth over hers.

  Grace wrapped her arms around Ray and leaned back, placing her head against the armrest, drawing him with her. Their mouths never completely parted, though at times it seemed his lips barely touched hers. Those lips brushed and raked and sucked lightly, teased her relentlessly.

  Her body was stretched beneath his, languid and on fire, easing and molding to his body with every passing heartbeat. Ray searched for and found the side zipper of her gown and he slowly lowered it, without ever breaking the kiss.

  His hand slipped inside the opening to touch her side gently, possessively, raking over her ribs and stirring her with the easy caress. His palm rested there briefly, and then slid down her side, over her hip, to cup her backside. Gentle fingers stroked there, teasing and arousing.

  Every breath was an effort, every move calculated to bring some part of her body closer to some part of Ray’s. Her body was on fire; she began to shake again. With need, this time, not fear. The quiver went deep. Ray’s response was evident in the arousal that pressed against her thigh. Knowing that he wanted her gave her hope. Like it or not, he did still feel something for her. Something stronger than either of them dared to admit.

  With a sigh against her mouth, he flicked down one shoulder strap and then another, taking her arms from around his neck, one at a time, to slide the thin straps down and over and then lift her arms back into place. Moving almost lazily, he pushed the gown down to bare her breasts. He languidly teased her nipples with his thumbs while he kissed her.

  She felt Ray everywhere, ached for him. The woman in her cried for this; his weight and heat and strength above her, touching her, shielding her. Protecting her completely, making promises with his body that he would never make with his heart and mind.

  That didn’t matter, not tonight.

  She grasped at his shirt and held on, pulling him closer, needing the grip to brace herself against the sensations that washed over her.

  When his hand slid up her leg and beneath her gown, she parted her thighs and deepened the kiss. A moan caught in her throat as she held Ray tight and lifted her hips slightly off the couch. He impatiently shoved the fabric of her gown up, past her thigh, freeing her so she was unrestrained and could open herself more fully to him.

  Ray touched her where she was already wet for him and she couldn’t contain the cry that tried to catch in her throat. A deep quiver twisted and tugged at her body. While he stroked her with insistent fingers he drove his tongue deep inside her mouth and she reveled in it, in the force and the passion he couldn’t contain.

  Over the sound of their mingled breath and the pounding of her heart, she heard the rasp of a zipper, the soft rustle of clothing.

  And then he was inside her, pushing, penetrating and stretching. She lifted her leg over his hip to bring him closer, deeper, swaying against and into him.

  Ray broke the kiss with a low growl and Grace let her head fall back. Her flesh tingled from head to toe, her body moved instinctively against Ray’s, loving him. Needing him. Needing this. Every stroke took her beyond the last. Every thrust took her higher.

  He rocked into her hard and fast, again and again until she gave way to the climax that grabbed hold and shook her to her core. She cried out his name, softly; felt and savored his own completion.

  I love you. She couldn’t tell him that, couldn’t confess her feelings and ruin everything. I always loved you. He wasn’t going to stay, and she had no right to try to hold him with what they had. He called it sex for the sake of sex, and if that’s all he wanted from her she’d give it to him. But in her heart she knew that what had happened between them was much more.

  He rested his head on her shoulder and she threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him there. She didn’t ever want to let him go.

  With the heat of the encounter behind her, she noticed the little things. The couch was not quite long enough or wide enough to accommodate them. Her torn dress was bunched around her waist; Ray was more dressed than undressed; in fact he still wore his holster and gun and most of his rented tux. They should have been uncomfortable, but weren’t.

  He lifted his head and looked down at her. Ray Madigan, who always smiled, who never took anything seriously, had no laughter in his eyes at the moment. He kissed her, briefly and softly.

  He brushed the hair out of her face, looked down at their joined bodies and whispered, “I need you so much, Gracie.”

  She grabbed the lapels of his white dinner jacket and held him close. Feeling brave, she didn’t drop her eyes or her hands, or the leg that wrapped around his and held him inside her. With everything she had, she stared into his blue eyes and told him, with her heart, that she loved him.

  “Sleep with me,” she whispered. “Hold me all night. Make love to me again.”

  His answer was another searing kiss.

  *

  The dip of the bed woke her from a sound sleep, and at first she thought it was a dream. A familiar dream where Ray came to her in the middle of the night.

  But when she felt him slip carefully under the covers, she smiled. This was no dream.

  She rolled over and eased her arm over his chest. Oh, he felt so good. “Can’t sleep?” she murmured.

  “No,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  His arm encircled her possessively, and she rested her head against his shoulder. “That’s okay. I kinda like it.” It was real. True. Not a dream at all.

  She rubbed her hand against his chest, and her fingers brushed the edge of a scar. In the past week she’d seen the scars, touched them as her hands roamed over Ray’s body, but for the most part she’d done her best to ignore them. The scars reminded her of why she’d left him six years ago. Of why he would eventually leave her.

  More than anything, she wanted to heal the damage she’d done. She wanted to mend the hurt, try to make him understand. After that … whatever happened was up to him.

  “After I moved to Chattanooga, I used to dream about the dip of the bed as you slipped into it. Sometimes the sensation was so real I woke expecting, for a few seconds, to find you there.”

  He didn’t say a word.

  “I used to love that feeling,” she whispered. “That dip of the bed, the soft rustle of you slithering under the sheet. It meant we were together and safe, and that was all I wanted.” It had been too much to want, evidently.

  His fingers combed through her hair.

  “Sounds silly, I guess.”

  “Not so silly,” he said, but she didn’t quite believe him. Grace sat up and reached over to turn on the light. Ray blinked against the brightness, kept his eyes closed for a long moment before opening them again.

  Her unerring gaze landed on the scars on his chest; the one near the center that had almost killed him, the smaller, less threatening one on his left shoulder. She
reached out and touched that one, letting her fingers linger on the damaged flesh for a moment.

  “Does it ever hurt you?” she whispered.

  “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But not much and not often.”

  She covered the scar in the center of his chest with her palm. “It hurts me, too,” she admitted.

  Her hand skimmed down his chest and to the side, to a newer scar she’d felt more than once. It was long and thin, not a bullet wound at all. “What happened here?”

  “Knife,” Ray said simply.

  Grace’s stomach turned, flipped and shuddered. She lifted her head and looked Ray in the eye, silently demanding more.

  “There was a bust,” he said, his voice low and harsh, his eyes pinned to hers. “This half-crazed kid rushed Luther and the knife came out of nowhere. I guess I could’ve shot the kid instead of trying to take away the knife, but since he was barely fifteen I just didn’t have the heart.”

  She slid the sheet down, slowly uncovering Ray’s hard, muscled, toughened body until she found the scar on his thigh, a small, well-healed reminder of the second time he’d been shot. Without reservation she laid her hand over it. Farther down on the same leg there was a long, rough, almost unnoticeable scar.

  “What’s this one?”

  “Road rash. Guy tried to drive off on me.”

  “What did you do?” Her stomach revolted again. “Grab on to the car and hold on tight?”

  Ray shrugged. “Pretty much.”

  There were other, smaller scars she didn’t ask about. Now that she knew why Ray was compelled to throw himself into the middle of it all, why he had to wage this war, she understood. A little. He had a good heart; he’d been avenging his sister’s death all his adult life. She knew that, but it didn’t make the pain any easier to take.

  She wanted to try again to explain, to make him understand why she’d left … but it would be a waste of time and she didn’t want to spoil tonight. But surely there was nothing wrong with telling him to be cautious.