by The Saint
night, and he had already okayed her return. "All right."
Courtney blinked. Nothing was ever this easy with Jake. "Just like that?"
Jake changed lanes and shrugged. "Just like that." Glancing her way, he saw the suspicion creep into her eyes and watched her carefully rein it in. Considering what had just gone down in Dirk's office, he respected both her reaction as well as her restraint. So, she could work within boundaries, he thought. Even if they were of her own making.
By the time they pulled up in front of her place, the long evening shadows had diminished into darkness. As Jake walked her from the car, Courtney couldn't help but notice the refreshing, cool evening breeze as it brushed against her warm cheeks.
Was that what made her want to cry? Fresh air. Springtime. New beginnings. Certainly not because the quiet echo of Jake's shoes against the sidewalk said so much more at this moment than words could ever say. Not the fact that the only man she had ever loved stood by her side, but in actuality he did not. And never would. Not really; not in her world. Or Janey's.
"Thanks for everything," Courtney told Jake once they entered the building. She turned away and faced the elevator, punching the up button. But he made no attempt to leave. At the familiar bell tone indicating the doors were about to open, she added, "I'll see you in the morning."
"Yes, you will," was his only reply as he stepped in beside her.
She held out one hand, preventing the doors from closing. "Look, it has been a long day."
He didn't expect this to be easy. "What floor?"
"I'm in no mood for this," she warned. As much as Courtney dreaded the long night ahead, she feared Jake ever trying to step back into her life even more. Disrupting her safe place. Their safe place–
hers and Janey's.
"My point exactly," he teased gently. "After what just happened, I can't leave you like this."
"One cup of coffee," she sighed, lowering her hand along with her guard and allowing the doors to whoosh shut. "Then you're gone."
Not agreeing to a word she had said, he smiled and repeated, "What floor?"
"Five." Courtney had no strength for this. But then Jake had always been able to crank up the charm when he wanted to. If nothing else, maybe his being here would take the edge off this evening and keep her mind off tomorrow.
"You lived here long?" He tried a little chitchat to put her more at ease.
She leaned against the wall and felt the elevator hum beneath her back. "About …two years, I guess."
Twenty-six months and three days to be exact, Jake corrected silently as the car thudded to a stop and they stepped out. Ciora had confirmed her residency when he had checked out her building for security.
"Does Janey like it here?"
Unwilling to discuss her daughter with a man who may very well be a criminal, Courtney sidestepped his question. "We'd like a house someday.” Without thinking, she added wistfully, “Janey would love a dog–" She stopped herself mid-sentence. The last person in the world she wanted to share her daughter’s dreams with was Dirk Templeton's driver.
As they walked down the hallway, Jake noticed Courtney nervously fiddling with her key ring. He waited patiently, but watching her capable hands fumble to unlock her apartment proved too difficult. He eased the keys from her ice-cold fingers and opened the door.
Following her inside, he remembered O’Shea had sent a team of experts to sweep the entire flat the night before. Jake looked around quickly and was pleased that everything appeared neat and untouched. He was glad Courtney had been spared the indignation of knowing strangers had rifled through all her belongings. As proud and independent as she had become, he was certain such a thorough search would have appalled her.
"Nice place," he told her as she peeled off her suit jacket and kicked out of both shoes. And it was. Unlike her prim, professional look, Courtney's apartment was filled with vibrant colors and interesting textures. Overstuffed furniture had been scattered with plump, embroidered pillows. Louvered wooden shutters, not curtains, covered the expanse of windows. Bold oil paintings done in various shapes and sizes hung on every wall. All in all, the effect, like the woman, was striking.
"Thanks." Courtney snagged her pumps and headed toward the living room. Thank God Uncle Brian had done as she had asked and cleared the mantle of family photos. Courtney hadn’t trusted Jake and did not want her family involved in this–especially Janey. "Have a seat. I'll be right back." On the way, without thinking, she punched her answering machine.
Beep. Courtney, this is Barry. You said you'd phone last night, but you didn't. That was very inconsiderate.
Jake coughed.
Beep. Courtney, this is Barry again. I might have time to swing by and see Janey this week, but you still haven't called… I spoke to your brother, and he hasn't heard from you either. You know, it's rude of you to take off like this without telling anyone. What's gotten into you?
Jake choked.
Beep. Hey Courtney, you can pick up the phone–it's Michael, not Barry–the weenie– Montgomery who, by the way, just called for the second time looking for you. Honestly, Sis, I don't blame you from hiding from your dork of an ex-husband, but next time, do me a favor–don't name me as next of kin.
Jake laughed.
And laughed.
Maybe Michael St. Claire wasn't such a bad guy after all.
Courtney hit the stop button, but not half as hard as she wanted to smack Jake. Without saying a word, she walked off and left Jake sitting there–still laughing.
In a matter of minutes, Courtney emerged from what Jake surmised must have been the bedroom. She had taken down her hair from its neat French roll and thrown on a faded pair of jeans along with a lime green, cotton sweater. Like her apartment, both were a far cry from the conservative black suit and crisp white blouse she had worn earlier. But it was her ratty pink slippers that did Jake in. Such a small thing. But so endearingly personal that he couldn't help but smile.
After experiencing such a nerve-racking end to her day, Jake simply looked too damn good to Courtney. Sitting there in the middle of her apartment. Grinning like some kind of fool. Her heart shifted permanently and totally without her permission.
He had opened a window to let in the balmy evening air and planted himself in the middle of her sofa. Legs outstretched. Fingers linked behind his head. A sympathetic twinkle–if there was such a thing– in his eyes.
"I'm fine, Jake. Really. You don't have to stay. You can–"
"Not go," he finished. His smile widened at her increasingly familiar exasperation. "You should know I'm not going anywhere tonight."
"Look–"
"No, you look." He eyed the short distance between them and decided, for the time being, to stay put. "Have you forgotten the death threat in your car?"
She swallowed hard, but refused to relinquish more than a single syllable. "No."
"Then you realize I'm here for the duration." At the arch of her brow, he couldn't help but add, "Get used to it. I'm not leaving anytime soon."
Too tired to argue, she shrugged and raked a hand through her hair in frustration. "Kind of like a disgusting rash, huh?"
"Similar," he agreed, aware that exhaustion, not conviction, had prompted her to give in. Satisfied, he played her stinging analogy to the hilt. "If you mean under your skin." When her eyes widened, he laughed. "Or maybe an itch you can't quite scratch."
She couldn't help but return his grin. "Get over yourself."
"I will, if you will."
She stepped away and flipped on the sound system, deliberately ignoring his comment. The truth behind his words, much like the man, wasn’t nearly as easy to dismiss. With nowhere to run, or maybe no desire to, she turned and asked, "Coffee?"
Jake nodded, letting her off the hook–for the time being. "Thanks."
As Courtney worked her way around the familiar kitchen, she realized how little she and Jake knew about one another. Small details. Tiny things, really.
Cream
or sugar?
White bread or wheat?
Mustard or Mayonnaise?
Low-life hood or, Dear God, some other explanation? Oops! Where had that come from? Who was she kidding? Courtney knew exactly what kept igniting that spark of hope and why.
She forced her hands to steady and quickly filled two mugs and assembled a couple of ham sandwiches, appropriately placing the condiments on the side. Tucking a bag of cheese doodles under one arm and a box of double fudge brownies under the other, she fumbled uncharacteristically with the tray before making her way back into the living room.
While Courtney was in the kitchen, Jake dimmed the lights and lit the candles he found scattered in every nook and cranny around the room. Soft and soothing, he reasoned. Since she couldn't be with her daughter tonight, a little atmosphere, combined with her being home, should help calm Courtney.
The moment Courtney saw the candlelight and heard the music, the china she carried nearly played a tune of its own in her already shaky hands.
When Jake heard the rattle of dishes coming, he relieved her of the tray, then placed the food on the coffee table.
As Jake took the tray, her cheese doodles and brownies hit the floor simultaneously. Beyond pretense, Courtney snagged both packages and shrugged. She opted to sit on the floor directly opposite Jake, who had taken his seat on the couch. Having a table between them could definitely not hurt, she reasoned. In fact, the way the soft candlelight flickered across his handsome face…
It was probably a very good arrangement.
And his hauntingly familiar mouth…
A very smart arrangement.
And his dark, penetrating eyes…
The only arrangement.
By the end of dinner, Jake had achieved exactly what he had set out to do. Courtney appeared much more relaxed. Leaning against the chair, she faced him. Legs curled comfortably to the side. Elbow resting on the seat cushion. Smiles occasionally lighting up her face.
During the course of the evening, Courtney noticed how hard Jake worked to put her at ease. Grinning. Teasing. Coaxing. His small talk during their meal was clever and entertaining, his warmth and charm irresistible. The same man whose life she had put in danger just hours earlier had turned the tables on her and accomplished the impossible. For a little while, he'd made her forget. And remember…the last time they'd been alone together like this and how their lives had changed forever because of it.
Despite the memories and their present circumstances, Courtney asked, "So tell me, Jake, why didn't you turn me over to Dirk this afternoon?"
Jake eyed her over the rim of his mug. "You mean, without giving you a chance to explain?"
"Touché. But don't try to sidetrack me with guilt." She cringed inwardly but refused to let him see. "I can buy the fact that you waited to hear my side. But what I can't understand is why you still haven't asked."
Her gaze appeared skeptical, but he was glad her demeanor remained unruffled. "Maybe I hoped you'd tell me."
"Maybe."
"Besides," he stood as he continued, "we go back an awfully long way, Sweetness." Jake liked the way Courtney's blue eyes widened in surprise when he reached out and pulled her to her feet. "About as far back as this song," he whispered holding her close, willing her into silence. Just for now, he wanted, no, he
needed to leave reality at the curb.
"Jake–"
"Not one word." His arms circled her waist as he pressed his mouth to her throat. The pulse hammering there matched his, beat for beat. And that was what he had spent a lifetime searching for. That oneness. After all these years, he had never found it with any other woman.
The familiar Brian Hyland oldie, "Sealed With A Kiss," beckoned to Courtney, inviting her to turn back the clock, enticing her to return to a quieter, simpler place. Caught up in the moment, she wrapped her arms around Jake's neck. So strong, she thought. So vital. The strength of his heartbeat reminded Courtney how he had risked his life for her–without question or concern for his own safety. And not just once, but twice in as many days.
Courtney's practical, logical side should have forced her to further question Jake's motives. But surprisingly it didn't. In fact, quite the contrary. For some unexplainable reason, the very fact that his actions made no sense at all offered her an ironic feeling of comfort. Hope? She leaned into his body, feeling content for the first time in such a long, long time.
Jake felt her snuggle against him, then heard her sigh. Her feet kept time to the music, matching him step for step like an elegant, graceful shadow. Surrounded by the delicate scent of burning candles, he skimmed his hands the length of her hair. Then a velvety, murmuring touch, his lips on hers.
I run to tenderly hold you, but darling you won't be there.
The haunting lyrics reminded Jake their time together was running out, but there was no way he could ever find the right words to say what he had always known. What was in his heart. But tonight he could definitely show her.
Unsteady, she braced her hands on his chest, trying hard to be strong. Yet as his lips caressed her cheeks, she shivered.
Very slowly, hardly brushing her skin with his fingertips, he pulled her sweater over her head and found little more than a frothy scrap of lace that made him smile. Leave it to Courtney to hide a silky surprise beneath such sensible, soft cotton. Watching her face, he unsnapped her jeans and painstakingly slid them to the floor. When her eyes met his and she reached out, he stopped her hands.
"No, let me."
Mesmerized, she nodded, then her eyes slowly fluttered shut. His fingers barely skimmed her body, tracing the delicate curves and hollows. Elegantly erotic, his fingertips coaxed the blood to hum beneath her skin, warmed it, teased it until the sheer pleasure seemed unbearable.
A sultry moan escaped her lips as he continued those lazy explorations with tender, intuitive hands. He watched the dark passion shadow her features, sensed it snaking through her body. As the parallel fever coursed through his veins, his thumbs feathered over the heated breasts that strained against the lace. When his hands stilled only to be replaced by his tongue, she clawed at his shoulders to steady herself.
"Please… I can't…"
Her knees buckled, but he caught her. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her into the moonlit bedroom and kicked the door closed behind them. After laying her on the bed, he silenced her with his mouth.
"You're the only one," she insisted against his lips. "I've never felt this–"
"Sweetness, you ain't seen nothin' yet."
He didn't lie. Slow and deliberate, his passionate journey took her places she had never dreamed existed. The leisurely pace was intoxicating. Each locale more exotic than the last. More erotic. More mind blowing.
She tasted of chocolate. Dark and sweet, and he savored every mouth-watering inch of her. Down the front of her throat, her shoulders, her wrists. As much as he needed to banish all the years of waiting and take her, he gritted his teeth and held on… just a little while longer. His fingers stroked her ribs as he sampled her smooth skin. Her hands reached out, urging him on.
Melt down. That's exactly what Jake was doing to her. His clever, clever mouth scorched a desperate path down her body. Her body that was burning up, from the inside out. Temperature rising. Sparks exploding. Friction igniting.
He tugged away the last scrap of lace that stood between them, and she all she could do was lay helpless beneath his skillful hands. She arched against him, her fingers clutching the bedspread in clenched fists.
When she called out his name, something possessive exploded inside him. Something primitive. Something predatory. The power of which he had never before felt in his life. He savored her. Absorbed each desire until her eyes fluttered open, and she begged for more.
He was so close. His gaze so intense. Desperate to return some of what he had unselfishly given her, she reached out and removed his shirt. She arched to meet him, to work her way up his chest with kisses, to trace the strong cords of his
throat with her lips.
The moonlight shimmered around them. The balmy May breeze stilled outside as if holding its breath. Continuing the sultry dance they had started, she undressed him, needing to mirror every pleasurable gift he had given her. Tempting and teasing, the true satisfaction came when she shocked him into trembling as helplessly as she had. Satisfaction, strong enough to challenge the best Irish whiskey, spread through her, stirred her very soul.
Six years of waiting and wondering had finally come to an end. Breathing her name, he took her. Her gasp dissolved into a gentle sigh. Together for what felt like the first time, they moved poignantly. Their rhythm deliberately paced, deliciously indulgent.
Out of the gentleness grew passion, and desire turned to need. Bodies and souls entwined for eternity, they joined hands and hearts and raced off the edge of the cliff together.
CHAPTER 7
>Drifting awake, Courtney instinctively reached out and touched Jake's warm, solid chest. She sighed, then grinned. So, last night had been real, after all…
Oh, my God.
Her smile faded.
What had she done? To herself? To Janey? And even to Jake. She glanced out the window and noticed the faint threads of daylight streaking through the still-darkened sky.
Reality, as unavoidable as the dawn, reared its insistent head and refused to be ignored. She had less than one day to finish off Templeton. Her alarm clock read 5:13. Time was running out. She raised herself on one elbow and paused indulgently to watch him sleep. Just for a moment, she promised silently. Reassured by the steady rhythm of his breathing, she fought the overwhelming desire to brush back an endearing lock of dark hair curled across his forehead.
Instead, Courtney put her needs aside and did what was expected, what was right. Always the high road. Never the easy one. Over the years, she had embraced her practical, logical side, using it to her advantage. And she had to admit it had brought her both happiness and success. She only hoped that today that same integrity would help her leave one man to trap another. The man who had murdered her father.
