by Julie Miller
His lip trembled beneath the stroke of her finger. A shiver of sensation? Or a hint at emotions spinning beyond his control? “He won’t get away.”
Ask for whatever it is you want. I think he’ll listen. Her mother’s words replayed themselves inside her head.
Then and there Jessica decided to risk her heart. “Sam. Will you kiss me?”
His eyes grew brighter, the shades of color there sparkled in richer hues. “I’m dying to.” His face relaxed with a smile. And then he was moving closer. Ever closer. “If I go too far, too fast—” He finished the sentence by closing his mouth over hers.
It was a gentle mating at first, as sweet and tender and full of restraint as that first kiss had been. There was a poignancy in all his strength and passion being contained in such a soft, reverent kiss. Jessica melted into the connection—feeling safe, growing bold—sliding her fingers around his neck and up into his hair. She clutched up handfuls of the silky stuff and marveled at the wonderful textures and heady scents that made Sam O’Rourke the man he was. The man she wanted.
The man she wanted more of than ever before.
She was consumed with a single thought. More. She moaned low in her throat, sighed deeply. She even breathed the word against his lips. “More.”
“Yeah, babe.” He shifted her in his lap, sliding one hand beneath her bottom, the other behind her back—lifting her up, drawing her hip into his groin. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, then pushed his way inside. Jessica tilted her head back and welcomed him.
And suddenly, what was once full of restraint was full of wild, seeking passion.
Jessica’s breasts flattened against the wall of Sam’s chest. His heat seared the tips and hardened them, igniting a slow, simmering trail of desire that wound its way through her, gathering in a syrupy warmth in parts of her body that hadn’t felt—that hadn’t wanted to feel—alive and alert and filled with need since that awful night.
Her breath caught and mixed with his, eliciting something like a husky growl in his throat. Her own vocal cords hummed in a feral response.
She touched her tongue to his as he slipped inside her mouth. A tentative stroke here, a bolder taste there. Every venture of her lips or tongue was rewarded with a pluck, a press, a claim. His mouth was warm and supple as he explored her inside, his hands hard and sure as he explored her everywhere else.
“I want to feel your skin.” His words were an urgent request along her jaw before his tongue did something wicked to the dent beneath her ear. He followed the cord of sinew down the side of her neck, pushing aside the collar of the shirt she wore with his probing lips. His hands were already beneath the long tails of his oversize shirt, clinging almost painfully to the waistband of her jeans, refusing to go any higher.
“You don’t have to always…” She gasped as he nibbled on a sensitive spot at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. For a split second she couldn’t think as a shower of fireworks ignited at the spot and shot out through every nerve of her body. She clutched her fingers against the curve of his scalp and forced a rational thought into her head. “You don’t have to ask.”
“Yes,” he took his sweet time at that bundle of nerves, stoking the fire inside her, “I do.” He kept talking, his voice little more than a whisper of accent as he retraced his path, then finally dropped delicate, taunting kisses against her lips. “I’m not…like…him. I won’t just…take.”
“You’re not.”
She could have argued the differences between an act of sex and an act of violence. She could have pointed out the number of times he’d held himself back, or announced himself before touching her so she wouldn’t be startled, much less frightened. She could have reminded him that she was the one who’d asked for this kiss in the first place.
But Jessica recognized a stubborn will, an innate sense of justice, a kind heart that had been pummeled by life. Talking wasn’t enough.
She untangled her fingers from the silk of his hair and dodged his distracting mouth while she reached down to the top button of her shirt. The instant she started unhooking buttons, his hands were there to help her. “I want this.” She angled her head to look him straight in the eye. “I want you.”
An instant later he pushed the shirt off her shoulders, peeled it off her arms and tossed it aside. The mild chill of true autumn air danced across her bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. But before the cold could take hold of her, Sam’s hands were there, with hard palms and callused fingers spanning her back, dragging her up to his chest. A sizzle of raw heat leaped between them before their mouths ever reconnected.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, praising her with his words and his lips and his hands. “So soft, so perfect. So damn beautiful.”
It was a quick, greedy embrace now. Jessica slipped her hands beneath the hem of his shirt and demanded the same liberties for herself. His flanks were hot and smooth as she seared her palms against his skin.
With a core-deep sigh of satisfaction, Sam scooted them both to the center of the truck’s bench seat, giving them room to move. Anything they could touch—the ridge of a spine, the nip of a waist, a proud, pert nipple—was fair game to their exploring hands. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of her bra, tunneled into the fringe of her hair, dipped into her jeans to squeeze her bottom. Her fingers slid across the quaking response of his flat stomach, abraded themselves in the tickle of curly chest hair, dug into the muscle that defined his shoulders.
And all the while their mouths were joined.
Kissing Sam—being kissed by him—was the truest form of seduction Jessica had ever known. Every touch had a purpose, every stroke conveyed a feeling, every gasp whispered her name.
The scents and sounds of their passion filled the cab and reverberated in her senses. Heat and musk and giggles and sighs. Her blood seemed to thicken, slowed by the volcanic heat that consumed her. But her breathing went shallow, thrusting her chest against his and drawing away in a quickening rhythm that mimicked the more intimate urges that had her squirming in his lap.
He slipped his hand between her legs and worked his way along the inside of her thigh, kneading her through her jeans, sending shimmering trails of warmth straight up to the junction at the very heart of her where every ribbon of heat seemed to be flowing.
It was nearly overwhelming and just a tad frightening how easily, how quickly, Sam brought her to this point. But it was all so delicious. So right. It was so damn liberating to feel like a woman again. It was as if she’d been in hibernation, lying dormant for months and months on end. And Sam was the sunshine that awakened her, the hunger that coaxed her out of her cave and back into life again.
“Mmm…Sam. I want— Oh!”
Her breath rushed out in a strangled sigh as he found the crisscrossed seams of denim at the base of her zipper and rubbed the stiff folds of material against her swollen center. She squeezed her legs together around his hand to intensify the pressure as molten desire demanded its release.
“I know, babe.” He spread his legs apart and Jessica’s rump slid down to the seat between them. Her hip butted against the unmistakable proof of his need for her. “I want it, too.”
Her fingers fumbled with the snap of his jeans, but got no further. She clung to his shoulders and hung on as he leaned her back across his arm and opened her body to his questing mouth.
With one hand behind her head, the other at her waist—working open a snap, lowering a zipper—he closed his lips around one distended nipple, moistening the cotton of her bra with his tongue. Then, pushing the cloth aside, he rubbed her with an exquisite torment. The damp tip hardened and beckoned the instant the cool air hit bare skin.
He murmured something low and hot against her before reclaiming the breast. He pulled deeply on her, plunging her closer and closer to the brink of the eruption of heat that was bubbling to the surface inside her. Jessica threw her head back as he kissed the swell of each breast, branding her as his own
. He peppered a path of maddening kisses into her cleavage and up along her sternum until he dipped his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat and kissed her there.
The first kiss at her throat blended into the haze of passion that consumed her. But when she felt the pressure there a second time, her mind exploded with a deceptive clarity that eclipsed all conscious thought.
Can’t breathe. Too tight.
“No!”
Suddenly he was there. A silver necklace tight around her throat. That horrible pain stretching every joint and tendon beyond its limits. The stale, mothball-scented wool cap pressed close to her nose as vile, filthy things were shouted into her ear.
“Stop it!”
She clawed at the face that was too close. She beat at the arms that were too strong.
“Get off me!”
That damn cat leaped in front of her face and she twisted away from its stifling presence.
“Stop it!”
“Jess!” Viselike hands cinched around her wrists, pinning her flailing arms. “Jess, it’s me!” A voice called to her across the distance of nightmare and time. “Dammit, Jess! Open your eyes. It’s Sam.” Jess. Not bitch. “I won’t hurt you. It’s Sam.”
Oxygen and sanity returned in one huge gasp for air. “Sam?”
Her back was flat against the seat, her chest wedged beneath his. Her legs were hooked in a scissorslike vise between his, while her jeans had ridden down around her hips in their struggle. Her arms were crossed and pinned above her head.
And those eyes—icy gray impenetrable doors of steel—fixed on her with a force that showed no mercy for the demons that tortured her so. Jessica shrank from the intensity of that gaze, fighting to see the real man instead of the monster.
But those eyes were surrounded by lines of strain and concern. And that deep, Irish voice kept whispering her name, over and over, until she knew who she was. And where she was.
And what she had done.
“Oh…oh, Sam.” The instant Sam knew she was back with him, he released her and sat up.
Feeling as frozen and lost and humiliated as she had ever felt in her life, Jessica scrambled backward on her hands and bottom and squished herself into the corner of the truck. The cold metal frame bit into her back, but the softer velour of the door liner didn’t offer her any better comfort.
She yanked her jeans up to her waist and snatched up her discarded shirt, clutching it in front of her exposed torso as if it was a shield of armor. The blood pounded in her ears, but she could feel very little of it flowing through her veins.
“I’m sorry.” She shoved her hair out of her eyes and hugged herself into a tight little ball. “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you all right?” he asked, slowly backing toward his side of the truck. His chest heaved in and out, his nostrils flared as he fought to regain control of his breathing. The scratches along his jaw—four well-defined marks that she had put there—shone like crimson brands across his skin.
Was she all right?
“I hurt you. I’m sorry.” Instinctively she reached out. But long before she made contact, she retreated into her corner and swiped at the tears that burned her eyes. She felt heat staining her cheeks—mortification blending with rapidly dissipating arousal. “Oh, God, Sam. I was afraid I’d do this. What I want and what I can deliver aren’t…” Her gaze fell to the jutting evidence of his erection inside his jeans. “I left you…” She collapsed into a sniffle of tears she angrily wiped away. “I’m so sorry.”
“If you apologize one more time—”
“Dammit, Sam. You must think I’m some kind of freak. A tease—”
“I would love to shake some sense into you right now, if I didn’t think it’d scare you even more.” His voice was harsh, ragged, clipped. But she could see it was frustration, not anger—concern, not disappointment—that fueled his words. He grabbed the steering wheel in his fists and vented his emotions there. “I said if I went too far or too fast that I would stop. I just didn’t realize…” His white-knuckled grip relaxed. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her shaking reaction. “It wasn’t me at all, was it? I did something that reminded you of him.”
If nothing else, she needed Sam to believe that he hadn’t done anything to repulse her—that it was her past, creeping in and snatching her away at the worst possible moment. “My throat. When you put pressure there. You didn’t hurt me. But, suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I was back…there. Then. I wasn’t here with you.”
Sam—the man, the protector, her would-be lover—turned his gaze out the far window and swore. When he faced her again, the special agent was reluctantly back in place. “Did you remember anything? Any details that could help us?”
Her yes got swallowed up by a sob and she pressed her fist over her mouth to stem the raw tide of emotions.
“We need to talk about this.”
“I know, but I—”
“No buts. We’ll talk about this later. When you’re ready.” He shifted in his seat. “After I’ve showered.”
Her sob turned into a humorless laugh. “A long, cold one? I wasn’t being fair to you. I’m sor—”
“Jess!” He reached out and palmed the back of her head. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
He leaned toward her as he pulled her from the corner. Her mouth opened on a startled gasp. But Sam bottled it up with a firm, no apologies kiss that reminded her of the passion that was possible between them. Just as quickly as it had happened, he released her and pulled away.
“That’s to prove a point. This is not your fault. I’m not angry at you. But I am pissed off at what’s been done to you. You’re a passionate woman. And a brave one. A few minutes ago you rediscovered that. And I… Hell. I forgot. I went after what I wanted without considering what could happen.” He sucked in a huge, steadying breath that absorbed whatever rational energy was left inside the cab of the truck. “I never meant to scare you.”
“You didn’t,” she insisted. “He did.”
But he wasn’t ready to accept her forgiveness any more than she was his. And apparently the subject was closed. Just like last night’s storm, the tempest passed, leaving a cooler, gentler atmosphere in its wake. “We need to check for storm damage and get some rest. Then we’ll talk.” Sam stopped her protest before she even got started. “It’s your turn to promise me.”
She couldn’t look into that fierce, wounded gaze and say no. “Later,” she answered meekly. Then she put some backbone into it. “I promise.”
He seemed satisfied with her answer. “I’ll shower up in the apartment. I want you to lock yourself inside the cabin until I’m done. Then we can inspect the grounds together. Understand?”
She nodded. She dabbed her tears with the sleeve of her wadded-up shirt, then shook it out and slipped it back on.
Waiting for her to exit first, Sam climbed out of the truck and followed her up to the cabin. It was the first time she’d ever seen him move without that innate grace he possessed.
But the control was there. As much discomfort as he must be in, he was still cognizant enough to be thinking about her safety. He walked through the cabin first, making sure it was empty. Then he waited on the porch until she’d locked the dead bolt on the interior door behind him.
Once he’d gone, she ran a shower for herself and stepped in, leaning in to let the warm water pelt the crown of her head. Soon, tears were streaming unheeded down her face to be lost in the curtain of water sluicing over her body.
She cried for Harry. She cried for Sam. She cried for his sister, Kerry, and the other women whose deaths he wanted to avenge. She cried for the woman she used to be. The one a man like Sam could have loved.
She cried until the only warmth was the tears themselves.
When the water ran cold, she turned it off, grabbed a towel and headed up to her bedroom to dress. She hated herself for being so weak. During those all-too-brief minutes in Sam’s arms, she’d been in heaven. She was normal. Alive. She was in love.
Now she was a quivering mass of indecision, consumed by regret and glimpses of the hell that was finally resurrecting itself in her mind.
Chapter Twelve
Sam kept a watchful eye on Jess as she carried a fresh pitcher of lemonade out to the porch and refilled his glass and that of their guests—a big blond bruiser who knew how to tell a joke, and a compactly-built Hispanic man whose golden eyes seemed to question the strain of Jess’s smile as much as Sam did.
Jess’s youngest brother, Josh, a Kansas City Police Department detective, and his partner, A. J. Rodriguez, had stopped by with the excuse that they were “in the neighborhood.” Jess greeted each man with a hug, laughingly accused them of being liars and promptly put them to work.
Sam had already replaced a few shingles that the storm had torn from the cabin roof. Jess had determined that the green buggy that had bounced off the would-be thieves’ truck was totaled. She could salvage some of the parts for resale, but most of it was headed for the junk pile.
But Sam had noted that her smile disappeared the instant Josh and A.J. turned their backs and headed down the gravel drive to pitch in with the cleanup around the storage shed. Sam had an idea they were doing some coplike snooping, as well. And though they treated him friendly enough, he could tell that thieves and vandals weren’t the only thing Josh Taylor was here to check.
A while later Jess’s smile was firmly back in place as she served them all lunch, though she barely touched her own. Josh was as verbal as A.J. was quiet, but the two carried on a lively conversation that only occasionally demanded a response from either Jess or Sam.
Yes, they’d reported the truck with the bullet hole to Sheriff Hancock. A.J. promised to run the description on the K.C. Metro wire as well, in case their vandals were city boys. No, she didn’t need any brothers setting up a twenty-four-hour surveillance of her property, though Sam admitted he’d appreciate an extra pair of eyes to watch things that night so he could get some much-needed rest.
