Hurn taught only upper-level classes. Sociology and economics and...psychology? Emily thought. He was old, like at least forty, and was tall and sort of Ichabod Crane skinny. He might be divorced, but... Emily could not imagine. He even had a kid that went here, too. A junior. Emily couldn’t remember her name.
Detective Moore wouldn’t have had any reason to talk to him.
“That’s weird,” she admitted. What if one of those nearby classrooms was his?
“I saw her talking to Mr. Fuentes once after school, too.” Kim made a face. “In Spanish.”
“He’s in charge of the after-school tutoring program. Sabra’s been doing that all year.”
Kim shrugged. “That’s all I remember.”
Mr. Bouchard, that made sense. But Mr. Hurn? Wow.
“Now we’d better hurry,” Kim said. “Otherwise, we won’t get any say in what play we do. Although whatever it is—”
“Amy Harris will be cast in the main role?”
“It’s disgusting, the way Mrs. Chastain fawns over her.”
Bad-mouthing Amy was what Mom called a “guilty pleasure.” It was fun, and it distracted Emily from thinking again, Mr. Hurn? Or worrying about what he would do, once he heard she was still asking questions.
* * *
MEG GAVE FLEETING thought to her daughter. If Emily came home, found her in her bedroom with a man...
But what was one more risk, when she was already taking such a huge one?
Still on the brink of a panic attack, she couldn’t look away from Jack, from his perfectly shaped lips and heavy-lidded eyes and strong jaw. “My bedroom is upstairs,” she said.
Those lips curved. “We’ll take it slow. You can say no at any time. I promise.”
Knowing he meant his promises brought a lump to her throat. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t afraid of him, and it was true. Maybe she was more afraid of herself, that she wouldn’t be able to let go, live in the moment. Discover what making love was really all about while she gave him what he needed from her.
She nodded instead of tangling herself in some kind of explanation. He took her hand and led her to the stairs. Halfway up, he paused. “I could replace these balusters for you.”
Meg looked at the hole where she’d removed two broken ones. “Really?”
“Yep.” He nuzzled her and nibbled on her earlobe. “Dad’s a carpenter. Taught me everything he knows.”
“You’re lucky.” At least that sounded coherent. Having him offer to do something like that melted a little more of her fear.
“Um.” He tugged her upward.
It was a wonder she could walk, never mind climb stairs. Her body was warm, tingling, and she was so aware of him, the way he moved, the breadth of his shoulders, the heat in his eyes, even the minute lifting of his chest when he breathed; she’d have stumbled into a wall if it had been left to her.
He led her past the bathroom and reached for the knob of her bedroom door. Meg almost opened her mouth to ask how he’d known which it was, until she remembered their search of Emily’s room. The only other door up here was to the linen closet, and it was narrower.
Her room wasn’t very romantic, with scuffed wood floors, a slightly threadbare upholstered rocking chair and the chenille-covered bed, but she reminded herself this wasn’t about romance. Or maybe it was, but she couldn’t let herself worry about anything beyond this moment.
And in this moment, he wasn’t looking at her room. He’d stopped beside her bed, and a gaze she could only call tender was focused on her.
“Can I take your hair out of the braid?” he asked huskily. “You have no idea how much I want to see it loose.”
“Oh. Yes. I can—” She started to reach up, but he shook his head.
“Let me.” After removing the elastic, he unwound her hair, finally combing his fingers through it. His concentration was absolute.
Meg shivered at the sensation of his fingertips stroking her scalp and the expression of fascination that gradually changed into desire. When he finally met her eyes, his burned.
But instead of grabbing her, he cradled her face and kissed her. His mouth lingered, tasting and caressing, as if he meant to take all the time in the world. His tenderness had her melting, all her fears dissolving until she was the one trying to deepen the kiss. Her hands found their way beneath his sweater and shirt to flatten on his back. When she’d barely begun exploring the pads of muscles protecting the indentation of his spine, he pulled back to yank his sweater over his head, then unbutton the shirt he wore beneath it faster than she would have thought possible.
His bare chest was beautiful. Lightly dusted with hair, it was firm with muscles that flexed at her every touch.
Meg stared, and then she explored, hardly aware he stood absolutely still expect for breathing, watching her. Her fingertips found his ribs, his small, flat nipples, the ridge of collarbone and the hollow at the base of his throat. She couldn’t resist rubbing her cheek against that hot, smooth skin, then licking him. Astonished by the salty male scent, she looked up in surprise.
The strain and sheer desperation on his face stunned her.
“Jack?”
“My turn,” he said hoarsely, and reached for the hem of her sweater.
It and her shirt vanished. Her bra dropped to the floor.
“God, you’re beautiful.” He wrapped his hands around her waist and gently squeezed, then slid them upward until he was cupping her breasts, testing the weight. “I want to touch you all over,” he muttered, before taking her mouth in a long, drugging kiss that had her head swimming.
By the time she realized she was lying on the bed, she was past being nervous. He kissed her breasts, teased and sucked until her hips rose in time with the draw of his mouth. His jaw scraped deliciously on her belly as he strung kisses lower. When he reached her waistband, he grumbled and set about stripping her of jeans and panties, too. Which of course meant he had to take off her boots and socks first.
She’d never known anyone could see feet as sexy, but he apparently did, and when he sucked at her toes and rubbed that scratchy cheek against her sensitive instep, Meg felt sensation zinging up her legs to her belly.
Once her clothes were gone, his mouth and hands traveled upward, making her squirm and shudder. He found her knees as intriguing as her feet, and the rough pad of his fingers stroking the inside of her thighs had her whimpering.
He nuzzled her triangle of hair, groaned and pushed himself off the bed.
“I assume you’re not on birth control.”
“No, I didn’t have any reason—” Struck by horror, she knew her mouth had fallen open. They wouldn’t have to stop now, would they?
She was reassured when he yanked his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a packet and let the wallet fall. Within seconds, he had stripped the rest of the way and sheathed himself.
Before, she had tried not to look at that part of a man, but this time she couldn’t tear her gaze from him. She thought she might even want to touch, but...another time.
He crawled over her, and, without a second thought, she spread her legs to cradle him. But instead of taking her, he kissed her some more while his hands roved. Meg was ready to beg, to scream, by the time she felt pressure at her core. She was mindless, hungry. Her hips rose to meet him; her thighs tightened around his hips.
He seated himself deep, astonishing her with a pleasure she’d never felt, and then he began to move. The tension rose; she had to be digging her fingernails into his back as she tried to pull him harder, deeper, but he took his time.
Teeth gritted, he looked at her, his eyes absolutely intent on her face. “Don’t close your eyes,” he murmured. “That’s it, sweetheart.”
He rocked, and rocked, until all that tension drew unbearably tight and then sprang free, shocking
her with the intensity of the pleasure that flooded her entire body. Her vision blurred. She might have even screamed, but at the same moment he made a guttural sound and went rigid above her.
When he sagged down on her, Meg wrapped her arms tight around him and closed her eyes to try to hold back the tears. All she could think was, Now I know.
* * *
CUDDLED UP TO Jack’s side, her head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest, Meg savored the feeling of entire-body happiness. If night had fallen, she suspected she might have glowed in the dark.
Jack held her securely with one arm and allowed his other hand to wander. He explored the vertebrae in her neck, squeezed the ball of her shoulder, stroked her hair back from her face, traced the line of her jaw. The touches were all soft and undemanding. His way of savoring, she thought.
Only then he said, “Meg?” and there was something in his voice that had her tensing.
“Mmm?”
“Will you tell me about those first years? It’s...really bugging me.”
Of course he would keep pushing. Knowing she almost had to tell him was enough to extinguish her afterglow. He’d be repelled, and then—
But he’d find out eventually. He could even be imagining something worse than what she’d actually done. And...she’d let him get close enough to ask. So close, she was lying naked in his arms. He’d come to her today when he needed a listening ear, and maybe more. If she refused, she might kill any possibility of this relationship going anywhere.
Which made the moment pivotal.
At least she didn’t have to look at him.
“Like I told you, first I went to a shelter for runaways.” She felt her mouth twist. “I thought all the other kids would have actually run away from home. It turned out, quite a few besides me had been kicked out, instead.”
“There are a lot of dysfunctional families out there.” His cynicism was obvious. Or maybe what she heard was something else. Weariness? Frustration? “Kids are born to drug addicts. Women trust scumbags, choose them over their own children.”
His words vibrated beneath her cheek and ear. “I went to a group home, but I hated it. I was angry and mixed up. Every minute was regulated. The other girls were streetwise. In comparison, I felt stupid and naive. One was particularly hateful.” She was silent for a moment, remembering. “So I did something that really was stupid.”
He lifted his head from the pillow, perhaps hoping to see her face. “You ran away.”
“Yep. I’d seen kids downtown, living in vacant buildings, begging. You know. I thought I could do the same.”
“But you were pregnant.”
“I did survive that way for a while. Some of the girls turned tricks, but I wouldn’t.” She’d quit seeing this room. Remembering her foolish young self wasn’t a fun exercise. “I’d started showing by then, so I doubt I’d have had many customers anyway.”
Jack remained silent, but his muscles had become rigid.
“I was within weeks of my due date when I met...a guy. He said he’d help me, and it was okay if I kept the baby, but I’d have to pay him back after.”
“A pimp.” A new note had entered Jack’s voice, one she couldn’t interpret.
But she shook her head, then said, “Well, his gang might have run some girls. I don’t know. He was the leader. Violent and volatile. Cold, too, in a way.” She hesitated. Jack was a cop. This was the part he especially wouldn’t understand. What did it say about her that she could live with Emilio as long as she did, knowing what he was, what he did? “A few times I saw him lash out and hurt people. Once he pounded this guy’s head into the floor.” She had pressed herself into a corner, stifling her terrified sobs with a hand clapped over her mouth. Remembering was enough to send a shudder through her now. “He never hurt me, but I was careful not to give him reason to, either. He had a scar down his face—” She traced a line from her temple over to her cheek, ending at the corner of her mouth. “He said it had been a knife. He carried a switchblade all the time. They had guns, too. I think they bought and sold them.”
He only asked, “Did he take you to the hospital when Emily was born?”
“No, how could he? I was a minor. They would have asked questions.” She gave a sad laugh. “Silly me. Somebody might have actually helped me.”
“Then what?”
“An older woman came. She said she was a midwife, but I don’t know. She might have just been somebody’s mother. She didn’t speak very good English, so I couldn’t really ask questions. But my labor wasn’t that bad, and she knew how to cut the cord and handle, well, everything. Before she left, she talked to—” Did she want to say his name? Oh, why not? “Emilio for a long time. She sounded stern. I saw her wave a finger in his face. He’d have stabbed anyone else for doing that.”
“Maybe she was his mother.”
Meg shrugged. She had wondered, but she’d never seen the woman again. Not that Emilio took her home to meet the family, if he had one.
They lay in silence for a time. Jack resumed stroking her. His touch was so gentle that she felt a sting in her eyes. He wasn’t withdrawing, the way she’d feared.
But she heard dread when he asked what Emilio had wanted from her.
“Just... I had to be his woman. He waited a few weeks. I thought later the midwife had told him he had to. I knew all along I’d have to sleep with him.” The truth was ugly. “I sold myself.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AT HER SHAME-LADEN ADMISSION, Jack reared up in bed, lifting her to a sitting position, too, so that she had to look at him. “Damn it, Meg! You were a kid! You did the only thing you could see to do. A lot of women marry men for no better reason. If he didn’t mistreat you or pass you around—”
He bit off the rest of whatever he’d been going to say, his jaw muscles bulging with what she knew to be suppressed rage.
Meg laid a hand on his bristly cheek. “No, nothing like that. I was some sort of prize, that’s all. He swaggered in front of the others because I was his. He liked the way I talked, that my skin was so white.” Her mouth pulled to one side. “Of course, I wasn’t allowed to answer back, or speak to other guys when he wasn’t there—and even when he was, I kept my eyes downcast—but he was gone a lot.”
His eyes locked on hers, Jack asked, “How long did you stay with him?”
“Two years. And a few months. He wasn’t bad to Emily. I’d have run away if he had been, but he either ignored her or was indulgent.” True confessions were not fun. She hated the pleading note that had entered her voice, the one that said, See? I’m not so terrible a person.
Jack let his head fall forward for a moment. He squeezed the back of his neck and rotated his shoulders, then said with calm she doubted he felt, “Let’s lie down.”
“Emily might call anytime,” she said uneasily.
He looked over her at the digital clock and shook his head. “Not yet.”
So she told him the rest: how she’d eventually visited the Pike Place Market and seen hooked rugs for sale. A young woman hawked her own work at a table in front of the market on sunny days. Meg had been entranced and persuaded the woman to give her lessons.
“She gave me my first hook and an old frame. I started going to garage sales when I could. I got lucky early on, which was good because Emilio didn’t give me much money.” This was a happy memory, allowing her to relax. “It was a Sunday afternoon, and these people were going to be stuck with a lot of stuff. I think an old lady had died. Clothes don’t sell very well at garage sales no matter what, and these weren’t stylish at all. So they let me pick through and take anything made of wool.”
“This...Emilio didn’t object?”
“I guess he thought it was a womanly hobby. My first rug was really simplistic. The strips weren’t totally even, and the binding sucked. But I got bette
r. He didn’t know how much time I was spending at it, or that as I got better, Jordan sold my rugs along with hers and only kept a really small commission.” The pressure in her chest kept Meg silent for a moment. “I owe her so much. Everything,” she finished softly.
“Did you stay in touch with her?”
She nodded. “We mostly email now. And use Facebook. She still hooks, but, like me, she sells online instead of at the market.”
“So you hid your earnings.”
“Yes. I opened a bank account. When I had enough to take care of myself and Emily for two or three months, I packed and left while he was gone. She was two. Walking and talking. I had to go.” She’d written Emilio a note, probably schoolgirlish, exquisitely polite, thanking him. “I felt a little guilty, but I knew he’d never have let me go.”
“You do know there’s not a reason in the world for guilt, don’t you? It was a devil’s bargain, and he was the devil.”
“I do, but...he gave me some breathing room.” There was one more thing she had to say. “I knew stuff about him, but even after I left him, I didn’t report him to the police. I probably should have, but I couldn’t.”
“You were grateful.”
“He might not have been a good man, but he did take care of me.”
This silence had her bracing herself, but then she realized Jack was still stroking her, kneading, soothing.
What he said was, “So from a small nest egg and a talent for handwork, you earned a living solid enough to allow you to buy a home. What I thought when I first met you couldn’t have been more wrong.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re an amazing woman, Meg Harper.”
She’d cry if she wasn’t careful. “Even if I sold my body?” He started to talk, but she shook her head fiercely. “That’s what I did. I hated sex with Emilio. I hated even being touched. I pretended for all I was worth, because I was scared of what would happen if he didn’t want me anymore. I was as much a whore as the girls who shivered out on the Pacific Highway hoping a john would stop.”
Because of a Girl Page 18
