Her hands, now freed, reached for him, and he went toward her almost helplessly. A metal shaving drawn to an especially strong magnet. Her breasts pressed into his chest, soft and warm and smooth to his firm and slightly hairy, and the contrast made him send out a silent prayer of thanksgiving. Yin and yang, tongue and groove. Male and female.
When her soft hand closed around him, guiding him toward her, Jack let out a string of barely coherent curses, or maybe they were pleas. Either way, he had to cling to the last bit of clear thinking with a control that was rapidly slipping. Before taking the risk, he rolled to the side, fumbled open the nightstand drawer with a heartfelt prayer that it still contained condoms. Fingers closing around one, he pulled it out, ripped it open with his teeth, and barely had it on before he was back on top of her. And this time nothing stopped him.
Jack plunged. He wished he could say he took his time, called on any of his acquired expertise. But it was hard and fast and virtually graceless. Elemental. Mating, plain and simple.
Except that there was nothing simple about it. Not when despite the raw physicality, there was so much more involved. Despite that, his mind and emotions shut down as their bodies fell into a familiar yet somehow altered rhythm. A tune you knew with different lyrics. Comfort and discovery rolled into one. They held each other close, the first rosy streaks of dawn highlighting the sweat which sheened their skin as they raced toward the finish.
At least she came before he did, though it was damn close. A finger slipped between them at the last possible second managed to do the trick.
Jack collapsed, rolling to the side and pulling her on top of him, where they both lay panting for several minutes. As their bodies began to cool, the sweat dried on their skin, except for an area near Jack’s left pectoral. Wet heat remained there, and Jack realized Caitlin was crying.
“Please tell me I didn’t hurt you.”
“No.” She cleared her throat before repeating “no.” She waited another beat. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For crying. I know it’s a girlie reaction.”
“Given the fact that you narrowly escaped death, I’d say it’s a human reaction. Caitlin. Look at me.”
Somewhat reluctantly, she lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed from the tears she’d already shed, brimming with those she hadn’t.
“Cry all you want, babe.” He brushed a thumb over her bruised cheek. “I’m right here.”
She did, letting out all the pain and fear and uncertainty she had to have been feeling over the past week.
“I thought I had this under c-c-control,” she told him.
Lacking a tissue, Jack pulled over a corner of the bedsheet for her to wipe her face. “It’s a cliché that I’m almost embarrassed to use, given that you’re a writer, but a dam can only hold back the flood for so long. A fissure here and there might relieve the pressure, but eventually the whole thing is going to break.”
“I hate crying.”
“Can’t say I’m fond of it myself. Especially when it’s someone I care for doing it. Makes me feel useless. Guys hate that.”
“Well I hate feeling weak and needy, so we’re even. I can’t believe I’m wiping my nose on your sheet.”
“That’s not the only body fluid you’ve contributed to it.”
Caitlin laughed, a short burst of surprise at first, and then with genuine amusement. “You’re awful.”
“Give me about twenty minutes, and I’ll do better.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. But thank you for making me laugh.”
He stroked a hand over her bare shoulder. “Feeling any better?”
“You know, I actually am.”
“How would you feel about a shower?”
She hesitated. “Alone?”
“If that’s what you want.”
She shook her head once, and then with more certainty. “I don’t.”
“Then I’m happy to oblige.”
Jack climbed from the bed and then extended a hand to help Caitlin up. She winced, and then shook her head when he gave her a sharp look.
“You didn’t hurt me. I’m just sore, overall. First leaping out of the way of the car and then struggling with… that man tonight.”
Jack wanted to punch a wall, but he kept his tone light instead. “Then I’ve got a better suggestion than a shower.”
He led her into the bathroom, quickly divested himself of the condom, and then turned on the light.
“Is that…”
“A Jacuzzi?” Jack said. “Yes it is. I told you I played football in high school and college. That comes with some accompanying aches that stay with you, even years after the fact. Aside from the view, the bathtub sold me on this place. But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll call you a filthy liar.”
“So you still stay here sometimes?” she asked as he opened a cabinet to pull out a bag of Epsom salts.
“When I have really late nights, or really early appointments, and don’t feel like driving all the way out to the island, sure. Or sometimes,” he found himself admitting “sometimes when I need to get away from being Jack Wellington, powerhouse defense attorney, and just be me. This was where I lived before I was him. If that makes sense.”
“It does. I’ve often thought that I’d like a rustic little cabin in the mountains somewhere, maybe near the area where Ainsley is going to live. Just a place to reconnect. It’s easy to lose yourself while you’re making a name.”
He looked up, pausing in the act of dumping the salt into the filling bathwater. “I’ve never thought of it just that way, but that’s extremely well put.”
She shrugged. “Guess that’s why I’m a writer.”
“I’d say you’re a hell of a lot more than just that.”
“I think we all are. One thing I’ve learned is to not – ha – judge a book by its cover. Sometimes not even by the words on the page. It’s what lies beneath, the things they don’t always want you to see, that tells the real story.”
“You’re a very interesting woman, Caitlin Cavanaugh. Now tell me if this water is too hot.”
She trailed her fingers through it. “I think it will feel perfect once I’m in it.”
“I could say the same about you.”
Her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink, but her smile was all minx. “I’m not sure you were there long enough last time to really form an accurate opinion.”
His brows shot up. “Is that a critique?”
“More like an invitation.”
“In that case…” Jack strode back toward the nightstand, grabbed another condom. When he returned, Caitlin was climbing into the water, favoring one leg.
“Damn,” he said. “I forgot about your stitches.”
“Don’t worry about it. The EMT tonight said that everything looked good. They can come out any time now. It’s okay to soak them.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” She lowered herself into the water. “This feels amazing.”
“You look amazing. And I swear I’m normally more conversationally creative. You seem to have reduced me to the level of grunts of appreciation. Mind if I join you?”
Instead of answering, Caitlin eased apart her legs so that he would have room to sit down. Jack made some sort of noise, totally without intention, and then cocked a brow at her. “See?”
When she laughed, it made him feel like a king. Perhaps even more satisfying than giving her an orgasm. Although he had every intention of doing that again, and this time with considerably more deliberation.
Sitting the condom on the side of the tub, Jack slipped into the water facing her. Then he turned on the jets, drawing her legs over his so that they rested on his thighs.
They let the pulsating warm water do its thing for a little while, watching each other without speaking. Jack was a little surprised at his comfort with the silence, with simply… being with another person. Especially a person he’d known for such a short tim
e.
But he wasn’t going to question it. Not now, at any rate. Gifts often arrived in unexpected packages. You just had to have the courage to open them.
“Are you okay?” Caitlin finally said.
And Jack somehow knew what she was asking. “I feel like I should feel something… more,” Jack admitted “after putting a bullet into another person. Maybe it’s because I know he intended to harm you, and certainly would have if I hadn’t fired. Maybe it’s because he’s not dead. But either way, I don’t feel anything other than a grim sort of satisfaction. I hope the bastard is in considerable pain.”
“I can’t decide if it makes it worse. That he would kill a stranger for money – or drugs, I guess. Although in his case it might amount to the same thing.”
“I’ve seen crimes of passion. Crimes of opportunity, and of greed. Crimes committed to appease different twisted ideologies. I don’t know that I could rank them according to a hierarchy of awfulness, because no matter how vicious or how cold-blooded the manner, the result is still the same.” He stroked a hand along her shin, gently squeezed her knee. “What happened in your bedroom that night is not the same, Caitlin. You acted in self-defense.”
“And you were defending me. You said you feel like you should feel something more, but at least you feel satisfaction. I can’t… I can’t feel anything, because I can’t remember. And even though I can picture the scenario, there’s this weird sort of detachment. It’s making it more difficult to process everything, I think. Jack. How do you think he found me tonight?”
Jack had been pondering that himself. “Maybe someone recognized your brother’s car, and followed it. Or mine.” An oversight that didn’t make him very happy. “You said you went down to the lobby to pick up something for your headache. You don’t remember seeing him there?”
“There were quite a few people in and out, because the bar was still open. I don’t remember seeing him specifically, no. You think he could have known what hotel we were in, but not what room? That he was waiting until I showed up?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“A probability,” she said, and sighed. “I led him right to me.”
“And succeeded in fighting him off.”
“Barely. And not without considerable help from you. If I hadn’t had the pepper spray, there’s no way I could have done it to begin with. And then with my asthma kicking in, as it tends to when I’m physically panicking, it makes me wonder how I managed to…”
“Defend yourself from Harold Cox?”
“Yes. He wasn’t a small man. Not like the one who attacked me tonight. I googled different date rape drugs, trying to see if superhuman strength was a temporary side effect, but it’s usually the opposite. Victims are most often rendered almost powerless, even if they remain semi-conscious.”
Jack wished he had an answer to at least some of her questions. “I don’t know. And unless you end up being charged, we’re going to have a difficult time gaining access to the results of the autopsy. But I’m going to do my best to find out what happened. I know you’re going to have a hard time putting this behind you with those… pages remaining blank.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For understanding that. For… everything. I wasn’t exaggerating earlier when I said that with you is where I feel safe. Probably the only place I feel safe right now.”
She stared at him a second and then reached over, turning off the jets. As the water calmed his pulse kicked up, despite his lethargy, because he could see the intention in her eyes. He turned the knob to open the drain, watching each new inch of her skin that was revealed by the receding water. When there were only a few inches left, the turned the knob the other way.
“Come here. Please.”
She scooted closer, until she was all but sitting on his lap. Jack reached up, removed the band that held her hair in a loose ponytail, letting it fall around her shoulders. Threading his hands into the flaxen strands, he allowed it to sift through his fingers. And then gently brought her head toward him, met her lips with his.
The kiss was sweet. Hot, yes, but sweet.
Something sighed through him, some sense of rightness that gave him a jolt, even as it eased him. He didn’t think he’d ever been someone’s refuge before, unless it was professionally. Women usually considered him borderline dangerous, a semi-wild animal that they hoped to tame. The image used to amuse him, and he found it useful in keeping people – especially romantically inclined females – at arm’s length.
But maybe he was tired of that. Maybe he was ready for something different.
Or maybe it was simply her.
Their tongues dueled, slid and stroked at a leisurely pace that contrasted their earlier urgency. They were both exhausted, and the warm bath had slowed them down further. But it offered them an opportunity to linger. So linger, they did.
They explored each other with mouths and hands, with soft kisses and light caresses. It was the tenderness he’d hoped to offer her the first time, although he realized that at the time that wasn’t what she needed. She’d needed a good old fashioned shagging, which is what he delivered.
But he wouldn’t rush a single moment this time around.
He slid his hand down her stomach, stroking her mound. Delighted to find her slippery, he used the tip of his finger to press, and trace a clockwise circle.
“Does that feel good?” he murmured when she arched her back.
“Yes. God yes.”
“Good.” Placing his hands on her waist, he lifted until she was standing. “Then this will feel even better.”
Jack explored her with his mouth, with lips and tongue. She cradled his head in her hands and he cupped her cheeks, forming a tight unit. When her legs began to tremble she leaned forward, bracing herself on the edge of the tub.
Jack slid lower, held her closer, unwilling to ease off until he heard her cry out with release.
Holding onto her so that she didn’t slip, he guided her down. And after covering himself, plunged into her heat again.
“God, you’re wet.”
She laughed softly in his ear. “I can’t imagine why.” Then she leaned back, rested her hands on his shoulders, and took control of the pace.
Jack watched her from beneath lids that he had to struggle to keep open, because the combination of wet heat both in and out made him nearly comatose with pleasure. Until Caitlin slid one hand down his side, reaching behind her to gently squeeze him as she rode.
“That got your attention,” she said.
“You’ve had my attention since the moment I saw you,” he said. “I was just too stupid to realize it at first.”
Caitlin smiled before moving her hips a little faster, harder. She rotated them in a circle that drove him half mad. He wanted to push her against the edge of the tub, to pound himself into her. But he also wanted to let her have the control that he sensed she desperately needed.
She was killing him, although he would die damn happy. But when she tipped back her head, slid her hands up to cup her own breasts, Jack couldn’t take it any longer.
Grabbing her hips he forced them down, grinding into her again and again. Color flooded her face, her mouth falling open in a silent cry of pleasure. Jack’s own yell of completion was a hell of a lot louder.
“Caitlin,” he finally said when he could breathe again, and then stroked her head where it rested against his shoulder. “Caitlin?”
He realized that she was basically asleep.
“Hmm?” she finally said.
“Let’s move to the bed, babe.”
“Mmkay.”
Smiling, Jack realized he was going to have to pretty much pick her up and move her. Which wasn’t an easy proposition, given their position in the tub. But he managed. Hell, he was only thirty-four. He damn well better be able to manage at this point.
Jack pulled back the sheet with one hand, supporting Caitlin’s weight with the other. And then he bent over, lowering her to the bed. She was still a
bit damp, so he went back into the bathroom and grabbed a towel. When he came out, he heard the muffled sound of her phone ringing.
Except that it wasn’t her phone. Her already cracked phone had completely shattered when she’d dropped it during her struggle with her assailant, and now wasn’t working at all. They were getting her a replacement tomorrow.
And it wasn’t his phone. Not his ringtone. Definitely not his ringtone. Brows drawn together, Jack looked around.
The manila envelope. The one addressed to Lance. The ringing seemed to be emanating from that.
Curious, Jack walked over to where he’d sat her bag. The envelope was on top.
He hesitated briefly before opening it, pulling out the now silent phone. The lock screen showed a photo of Lance and Connie, smiling into the camera. It also showed the identity behind the missed call.
Peyton Easton.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“CAITLIN Cavanaugh is left-handed.”
Jeremy, who was in the process of removing his sport coat and hanging it on the back of his chair, paused and stared at Phil.
“So?”
Phil just continued to stare at his partner until Jeremy muttered “Shit.”
In that strange way the brain had of making connections during sleep – when one had a chance to sleep, that is – Phil had woken up with the realization that the autopsy report suggested that Harold Cox had been stabbed by a right-handed person.
Which Caitlin Cavanaugh was not.
Jeremy dropped into the chair and met Phil’s gaze across their back-to-back desks. “Are we sure she’s a south paw?”
“Did you see what hand she used to sign the form when she came to pick up her purse?”
Jeremy drummed his fingers on the desk. “Her left. Now that you brought it up, I remember, because lefties tend to smudge the ink with their hand, and I had to make sure her signature was still legible. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t the one wielding the knife,” he continued. “Maybe she’s ambidextrous. Or her right hand was the only one she could use at the time. In fact, that could explain the first couple attempts that missed.”
“Because she was struggling with Cox?”
The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set Page 84
