And now she’d been waiting again. Expecting. Hoping. She felt like that child on the sofa. Eyeing the door, knowing that after a certain hour her father would return drunk, that he would stagger to the bedroom without seeing her.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Jess?”
She turned and saw his blurred figure through tears that hovered in her eyes. “Don’t,” she said.
Concern etched lines in his face, but she dared not believe them. She tried to turn to go, but he didn’t let go. His hand was like steel around her wrist. The other touched her face and wiped away a wayward tear.
“Jessica, don’t go now, not like this.”
“Everyone has lied to me about everything. Except you. You only omitted a few crucial details.”
“It wasn’t my place,” he said, but his voice was low, even uncertain.
“And you make sure it isn’t your place, don’t you,” she said bitterly. “You make an art of being uninvolved. Why do you stay if that’s the way you feel?”
A muscle quivered in his cheek, and his eyes hardened. He let her go.
“Damn you,” she said suddenly. “Don’t you care about anything?”
His hand jerked out and pulled her into his arms. He bent his head and his lips sought hers, his mouth violent with need.
She felt the depth of that need, and her own, as desire swirled deep inside her and the very air was sucked from the room.
The need, the loneliness, the fear went with it. And they were the only two people in the universe.
nineteen
Ross hadn’t meant it to happen.
Or maybe he had.
He only knew he couldn’t let her go with so much pain in her eyes. He’d experienced the agony of betrayal himself. He knew she felt that, and worse, now …
And so he’d wiped the beginning of a tear from her face. And then he’d sought to silence the bitter words with a caress that turned into something else altogether.
He just hadn’t realized how dangerous that was going to be. The electricity flared again, raw and bold and irresistible. It flashed between them like an exposed, snaking wire ready to strike and burst into flames. He knew he should move away from it, but he couldn’t. Not now. He’d said those words because there had been no place up in the Saddle to make love. But it had also been self-protection. He’d meant never.
But never was here, and he didn’t have an excuse. He didn’t want an excuse. He wanted her.
And she wanted him. That was an aphrodisiac he couldn’t resist.
He tightened his arms around her. He wanted to comfort. But he knew comfort would lead somewhere else. The desire between them was too explosive, the emotion too thick to disperse. They’d already stepped off the parapet into the abyss.
She shivered in his arms, and he was filled with a tenderness he didn’t want, had tried to avoid. Tenderness led to commitment. Tenderness was weakening.
But now tides of it washed over him, through him. Reining in his own desires, he softened his kiss, seducing rather than taking.
Her lips parted then. Offering. Inviting.
He deepened his kiss, his tongue inching its way inside her mouth, searching, exploring, arousing. Need and yearning danced in a sensuous courtship.
His hands played with the back of her neck, and silken curls wrapped around his fingers. He wondered at their softness. There was nothing artificial about any of her. She was real and enchanting and challenging.
And hurting. Remember that. Remember that he knew things he could never share with her, and she might never forgive him if she ever learned of them. So why was his mouth pursuing the forbidden taste of her?
Yet he couldn’t stop. He was lost in a sorcery he’d never known existed. Just as he’d never given tenderness, he had never received it either. Lovemaking had usually been a hot, frantic release between two consenting adults. Nothing more. But now he realized the magic of it, the sweetness that caring brought to a kiss, to a caress. He wanted to prolong every moment, relish every touch.
She snuggled against his body, and her arms clung around his neck. Her fingertips massaged the back of his neck in slow exquisite movements that ignited tiny explosions throughout his body. Heat radiated through their clothes, and they merged into one as much as their clothes allowed. Piercing streaks of raw need thundered through him.
He rained kisses on her face, tasting the saltiness of her tears. That touched him as nothing ever had before. She was such a intriguing combination of vulnerability and courage, of tenderness and toughness.
His hands moved to her back, massaged it in slow, sensuous movements. Then as her body burrowed even deeper into his, his hands pressed her hips up and tighter against him. The heat intensified between them. Match and kindling.
She trembled, and he remembered the rape. He took a step back. Jessie groaned in protest and looked up at him, her eyes glazed with desire.
“Jess?” he asked achingly, so soft he wondered whether she even heard.
She did. The word went straight to her heart. “Yes,” she said, the word trembling on her lips. She had not been intimate with a man since the rape. She just hadn’t been able to do it. She’d thought she could, but when the moment came she’d always turned to ice.
But now she felt herself responding. Not only responding, but becoming an eager partner. There was no ice now, no hesitation, not even fear. Perhaps because he knew, and then he’d asked. Perhaps because his touch was so tender, and his fingers light and gentle. Perhaps because she’d never had this hunger inside before. The compelling cry of her body. She’d hadn’t realized how strong desire could be, how irresistible.
“Yes,” she said again, hearing the hoarseness in her own voice.
He stared at her for a moment, his dark eyes boring into her as if they reached into her soul, still trying to decide whether she really meant it. Then he smiled, a crooked, wry sort of smile.
There was nothing at this moment but his head bending down to meet hers, his lips playing with hers with a sweet delicacy spiced by just a hint of restrained passion. But even as he obviously reined back the need in him, she felt it radiate in the shiver that ran the length of his body. The kiss intensified as their lips melded again in eager contest.
She found herself responding in ways she never thought she would, her body swaying against his, her lips playing against his. She felt his swelling manhood against her and wasn’t repelled. She sought it. She sought him.
His hands moved again, touching, sparking blazes wherever they went. She was consumed with wanting and feeling, the anticipation of something grand and glorious. His lips left her mouth and nibbled her ear, his breath sending shivers of pleasure through her. He kissed the pulse at her throat, and she thrust her head up, feeling the tenderness in each caress.
Tremors ran through her body as his hands continued to stoke it, his fingers trailing heat wherever they moved. An odd pressure grew inside her.
His hands left her, and she felt bereft. But then they were unbuttoning her blouse, not hurriedly, not violently, but with a care and restraint that made her want to rush it.
Her blouse slid easily off her shoulders, then her bra. His head bent and his mouth touched her breast, his tongue teasing and nibbling. Her breasts hardened, ached, became so sensitive that the merest touch of his tongue sent shivers of want reverberating through her.
He straightened, and her gaze lifted to his. His eyes smoldered now, like dark fire. No mask now. No enigma. Just need.
He took her hand and led her into another room. His bedroom. She hardly noticed. All her attention was on him, on the way her hand felt in his, of the internal echoes from his touch.
Ross guided her to the bed, and she sat down. He disappeared for a moment behind a door and quickly returned. He stood before her. She saw the tension in his body, the strain in his face. “Are you very, very sure, Jess?”
His tongue lingered over the shortened version of her name. She was glad no one had ever called her tha
t before. She wanted it only on his lips. She nodded.
Still, he hesitated, and a thousand thoughts ran through her mind. The accusation of rape against him, her own confession.
She reached out and unbuttoned, then unzipped, his jeans. It was shocking to her that she did so, that her fingers did such a bold thing. It was also exhilarating. For the first time, she felt free of the shadows that had kept her from intimacy, from trusting, from giving.
She trusted now, and it was as if some giant anvil had been lifted from her shoulders. She leaned her head against his hard stomach as her hands shoved down the trousers. She heard a small groan come from deep inside his chest, and then he lay naked next to her.
His hands caressed her, his lips touching hers again as if she were the most fragile piece of crystal. But now she didn’t feel fragile. She didn’t want to be crystal. She was all feelings, sensations, want.
She felt his hands at her slacks, undoing the clasps as she had undone his. Then she was naked, her body next to his, the friction of their skin setting new fires, and the pressure inside building to an inferno.
His mouth went to one of her breasts again, as his hand slid down to the triangle of hair, his fingers sparking new waves of sensation. She strained against him, her fears only a faint memory, her reservations trickling away like sand in a hourglass.
He guided her down, one hand still at the sensitive opening between her legs. His fingers teased, aroused until she was nearly mad with need for him. He moved slightly, positioning himself above her, his swollen manhood probing but not invading. He was waiting again, asking. In reply, her body instinctively reached for him, arching upward until she felt the marvelous warmth of him. Her arms went around him, urging him down, wondering at the strength and restraint of his body, the feel of him as he entered ever so slowly. She’d never known anything could feel this good, this … exquisitely painful friction that made every nerve come alive.
Her arms tightened as she needed more, had to have more, had to quench the aching, insatiable need spiraling in the core of her body.
Ross moved then, ever so slowly, igniting ripples of warm, expectant sensations. His slow, languorous movements stroked, then provoked, and she felt herself moving with him as his rhythm increased. Her body moved to his, danced with his in a primitive orgy. Streaks of exquisite pleasure rushed through her, and she felt her body quiver as the tempo increased and finally exploded in a burst of splendor.
He rested on his elbows, keeping them linked without having his weight on her. He rained kisses on her face, even as she felt the sumptuous aftershocks as tides of gratification continued to run through her.
She heard her own breath, felt his on her skin. “Oh my,” she said, though it was more a wondrous sigh than words.
He chuckled. She felt it in the flat belly that was melded to hers. It sounded fine in her ears.
“I think it was more a wow,” he said as his mouth reached down and nuzzled her neck.
“Definitely more,” she agreed. Her fingers played with the dark, springy hair on his chest, then traveled lightly over his muscles, feeling the hardness of them. He rolled over, taking her with him until she was on top of him. She put an elbow on his chest, propped her head on her hand, and regarded him.
His eyes had a lazy, satisfied look, and his lips were curved in a slight smile. His hands ran up and down her body possessively. “You’re so beautiful,” he said.
“So are you,” she whispered.
He chuckled again. “Men aren’t beautiful.”
“Yes, they are. You are.” She couldn’t keep her hands off him.
“Then I like it,” he murmured. He was more relaxed than she had ever seen him.
She felt satisfied, fulfilled. Sensations still echoed inside her. For a moment, she felt nothing but bliss. Then gratitude that her fear of intimacy had dissolved, ecstasy at discovering she could respond to the right person.
She played with his hair. Thick and unruly and sexy. In fact, everything about him was sexy. And he made her feel sexy. She leaned down and started nibbling on his ear, amazed at herself, astounded at the ease she felt with him.
Her fears had faded in his tenderness. Since she’d become an adult, she’d told herself she didn’t need protection; she could take care of herself. She still could. But she liked the warm protectiveness she felt in him. It felt good and right. A part of belonging.
He groaned as she continued her exploration. “You don’t know what you’re starting,” he complained, in a voice that seemed tinged with hope rather than censure.
“Now I do,” she said. She leaned down and touched his lips with hers. She was the aggressor now, and it delighted her. She was pushing away the last of her fears, the last shadow of a decade-old event that had haunted her ever since. She still didn’t know why she had trusted him. But she had. And she’d been right.
He moved slightly, dislodging himself with obvious reluctance.
She watched him rise with the graceful ease she associated with him. She had an idea where he was going, and she appreciated it, even though she was reluctant to lose his warmth even for a moment. She stretched out. Her body felt different. It felt loved.
When he returned and sat down, a rush of fur joined him on the bed, jumping into his naked lap.
He yelped.
Surprised, Ben barked from his new perch on Ross’s lap. Timber put a paw on the bed, obviously concerned that one dog was on the bed, and it wasn’t him, but he was too mannered to make the leap. Still, he wasn’t above sneaking another leg up onto the bed in hopeful exploration.
Ross disentangled himself and laughed. He leaned back and howled, and at that very moment Jessie knew she loved him.
“Foiled by a dog, and not even my own,” he finally managed. Timber was still trying to find his way up on the bed without anyone noticing. Like an elephant dancing on a bar table.
“Timber,” he said. The dog immediately put down both paws and stood at attention. Ben, however, was lolling all over the bed, trying to lick Jessie’s face, then Ross’s.
She giggled. She never giggled. She’d never lain naked in a man’s bed. She’d never even kissed one back. Not really. Not with shameless abandon.
“My dignity’s been destroyed,” Ross protested, but amusement danced in his eyes. She’d been intrigued by him, fascinated, attracted, but now she discovered how much she liked him. “As well as the moment,” he added.
She gave Ben a hug, then pushed him off. “Down,” she said and, oddly enough, he obeyed. Then she turned back to Ross and held out her hand to him. Her fingers touched his cheek. “I don’t think so,” she said.
“What? My dignity or the moment?”
“Depends—which is more important?”
“I’ll have to think about that.”
She batted at him, still amazed at her lightheartedness, her absolute lack of self-consciousness at her lack of clothes. He turned and caught her in his arms, and the amused curl of his lips zoomed straight into her heart.
Ben whined. Timber joined him.
Ross shook his head.
“Perhaps you had better put them outside.”
“Excellent suggestion.”
In seconds, the dogs had been reluctantly ejected. He was back on the bed, on sheets thoroughly mussed, and for a moment they stared at each other in a kind of wonderment. Then he bent his head, and she was whirled back into a world of sensation and wonder.
Ross watched her dress. He had watched other women dress, some obviously doing it slowly for his benefit. She was not. She was obviously uncertain. Hesitant.
He didn’t want her to go. He wanted to go to sleep with her in his arms. He wanted to wake up next to her.
He’d never wanted that before. It stunned him.
He rose from the bed and helped her with buttons. Her own fingers were fumbling, her eyes not quite meeting his. The one thing he did know was that she wasn’t used to doing this. He had felt, sensed, watched her bloom under his touch, reali
zed that her first tentative responses were both shy and uncertain. He was sure he’d been the first since the rape.
The trust humbled him. It also filled him with guilt.
Still, he couldn’t help but run his fingers across her cheek and meet her hazel eyes with their specks of gold. So solemn. So unsure.
She needed promises, and he had none to give her. Not until she knew who and what she was, not until she’d had time to understand the currents in the family. Even then, he wasn’t sure he could offer her anything. Part of his heart had closed down years ago. He wasn’t sure it could ever be whole again, and certainly not as long as he played around the edges of the Clementses.
Sarah had tied him to them as surely as if he’d been a bond servant two hundred years ago. She’d claimed what was left of a soul and placed upon it a burden and debt that could never be erased.
He leaned down and kissed Jessie. It was a tender gesture, but he knew it didn’t answer the questions in her eyes.
“I had better get back,” she said, and he knew she was disappointed when he didn’t demur.
He walked her to the bedroom door. Two dogs were just outside, waiting. Ben jumped on her with pure joy at her appearance. His own dog regarded his master solemnly; it obviously didn’t cross his mind to make such an undignified show of canine affection.
The little vignette said something about the two of them, of how different they were. He had perfected discipline and kept his emotions in tight little boxes. Hers were more open, spontaneous. She was obviously more willing to take chances.
He wasn’t sure whether he was capable of that. It was not fair, not to any woman. Especially to someone like Jessie.
He walked her to the door, her Ben at her heels. He wanted to take her in his arms, but he resisted. He had done enough damage tonight.
Instead, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. He knew instantly it was the most wrong, most clumsy thing he could do.
She turned, the glint of tears in her eyes, and skipped down the steps, the bundle of fur on her heels.
Jessie knew she had no reason to expect more than he’d given. He’d made no promises, uttered no expressions of love. Or even affection.
Perfect Family Page 25
