He turned his head in the direction the sound seemed to be coming from, and then frowned, because he wasn't sure what he was seeing. It looked like…
"Flash flood!" Jessi shouted.
Lash reached out for her just as the wall of water unleashed its fury on the tiny bridge. His hand caught hers. A torrent flooded over them, slamming into his side and washing up around his waist, the current fierce and pulling at him, pulling at her, as if determined to snatch her away from his grip. Lash held tight to her hand, yelling at her to hold on. He tried to hold his footing, tried to back off the damned bridge and onto solid ground before it was too late, but the force of the water just kept shoving at him, trying to knock him off balance.
He sought for something to hold on to, something to grab to pull them both to safety, but there was only Jessi's cold, wet hand in his, and the roar of the water, and the pressure of it. And her eyes meeting his, filled with a terror that made his stomach clench.
There was a cracking sound as the bridge gave way, and the wood under his feet dissolved beneath the onslaught. He and Jessi were hurled forward, pitched into the frigid turmoil of the flood, tossed up and sucked back under the waves again and again as they were dragged downstream. He managed to get an arm around Jessi, then another, and he held tight to her as he struggled to get their heads above water. But it was no use. He was at the mercy of the flood. He only hoped they'd both survive.
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
Garrett looked at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. The hour he'd given Lash to get back to the office was up, and then some. Of course, the rain had gotten worse. Weather might be holding them up. But he just couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was up. And though he'd told Wes he didn't believe his suspicion about Jessi having a crush on Lash, he couldn't get the thought out of his mind now. If Lash so much as—
The telephone on his desk interrupted his thoughts with a soft bleat, and Garrett snatched it up.
"Oh, good, you're still there."
It was Chelsea's voice and, as always, it put a dreamy smile on his face. He settled back in his chair, the worry fading. "That's not good at all," he told her. "I'd rather be home with you."
"Yes, but I'm glad I caught you all the same. We just got a bulletin over the radio. There are flash flood warnings posted for Sycamore creek. So you'd best take the long way home."
His smile died a sudden death. "Honey, did Jessi and Lash make it back there yet?"
Silence.
"Honey?"
"No. Garrett, were they taking—"
"They're fine," he said, hearing the panic in her voice. "I'm sure they're fine. Look, just to be safe, why don't you send the boys out? I'll meet them at the bridge. All right?"
"Garrett, you don't think—"
"Don't worry, darlin'." But she was worried. He knew her too well to think otherwise. And he was worried, too. "Send the boys. I'll call you as soon as we find them."
"Be careful, Garrett."
"Always," he told her. "I love you, Chelsea."
"Me too."
Garrett put the phone down, and looked again at the rain slashing against the windows. "Damn." He grabbed a raincoat and a flashlight, then headed out to borrow a car from the first person he could rouse.
Jessi clung to Lash with everything in her, stark terror giving her additional strength. The cold water filled her nose and mouth and blinded her eyes, dragging her into its tumultuous depths again and again, despite her struggles. The two of them pitched and rolled at the whim of the waves, and there was nothing she could do but hold on and wait it out. Each time the current forced her to the surface, she dragged in desperate gulps of precious air, only to be sucked beneath the frigid, filthy waters once more. More than once she was slammed against debris, and she never knew for sure just what had hit her—logs or limbs or what. And each time her body was yanked forcefully, Lash would only tighten his grip on her. He refused to let go. No matter what hit them, he refused to let her go.
The weight of the raincoat was tugging her down, and it seemed Lash knew. Somehow he wrested it away from her and let the current carry it off. He'd lost his, as well, she realized, or maybe he'd shed it deliberately.
They were battered and dragged and pounded in the water's fury for what seemed like hours, though it could have only been minutes. And then, suddenly, the force eased, and it was Lash who was pulling her, tugging her through the still-rushing water. She was barely aware of the shallows, the stony bottom dragging beneath her legs, the lack of water over her head, the rain pounding down on her. Still drenched by the flood-waters, it took a full minute for her to realize that she was no longer immersed in them. Instead, she was stretched out on the muddy bank, Lash lying beside her, raised up on one elbow to bend over her, his face inches from her own. Water dripped from his chin into the hollow of her neck as she blinked her eyes open and met his. She shivered. God, she'd never been so cold.
"Jessi? God, Jessi, are you all right? Come on, darlin', talk to me. Tell me you're okay."
She closed her eyes, coughed, and nodded slowly.
Lash sighed loudly, and it was as if his body melted, in relief or in exhaustion. She wasn't sure which. Maybe a combination of the two. But the result was the same. His upper body lowered to rest atop hers, his arms anchored around her as if they were still clinging to one another for dear life. She slipped her arms around his waist, feeling the water squeeze from his shirt in response to the pressure of her embrace. "I thought we… God, Lash, I've never been so frightened in my life."
"I know," he whispered, his fingers threading through her wet hair. She could feel his warmth seeping through their wet clothing, infusing her chilled flesh, and she clung tighter when he moved as if to get up.
"Don't," she told him. "Please, Lash, don't go running away from me this time. Just hold me … just for a minute."
Head lifted, he stared down into her eyes. He didn't want to get up. She could see that very clearly. "I'm cold, Lash. I'm freezing."
"Me too."
"You didn't let me go," she whispered, blinking up into his eyes. "I can't believe you didn't let me go."
"I'd have to be nuts to let you go," he replied, and seemed as surprised to be blurting out those words as she was to be hearing them.
He touched her face, just a slight caress of his chilled fingertips across her cheek. And it was so intimate, so honest, that touch. It was her undoing.
"Will you kiss me this time, Lash?"
Very slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers. Gently, he kissed her, and she could taste the cold water on his lips. She parted her own, and felt him tremble. She wondered if it was from the cold, or something else. Something like the finger of heat that was sending tremors of longing through her.
When he would have lifted his head away, she slipped her hands up over his wet shoulders, higher, into his hair, and pressed her mouth tighter to his. With her tongue, she touched his lips, and when they parted she slipped inside the inviting warmth of his mouth.
He groaned softly, deeply, and his weight shifted, his body moving to cover hers completely. Instinctively, she moved her hips against his, and felt the answering motion of his, arching against her. His hands slid under her, then down to cup her buttocks, and he squeezed and pressed her tight to him, moving intimately. She parted her thighs to bring him to the place where she longed for him to be. She shuddered, clinging, kissing, moaning softly as her hips moved with his in the age-old rhythm of woman and man. The rain pounded down on their heated bodies as they mimicked the act of lovemaking, fully clothed, pressing urgently against one another without consummating their desire.
But she knew it was going to happen. And she wanted it to happen. And she knew he wanted it, too. The hardness pressing insistently between her legs was more than he could deny this time. And she didn't think he'd even try.
He ground against her, his mouth devouring hers as if he were starving for the taste o
f her. Jessi pulled her hands from around him, and slipped them between their bodies, pulling the snap and zipper of her jeans until they came open, tugging at the buttons of her shirt until they tore free.
Lash stiffened, and slowly lifted his head. And then his body, up and away from hers, leaving her cold and alone. He stared down at her—blouse gaping, breasts naked and tingling beneath his heated gaze, jeans parted as if in invitation. He stared down at her, and with one trembling hand, he reached out, touched her breast, his thumb running slowly over the aching peak. Jessi closed her eyes and arched her back.
The hand moved away.
"I can't do this, Jessi."
It was like a slap in the face.
Her eyes flashed open, and she felt her cheeks warm. He was still kneeling beside her, staring down at her, and she felt vulnerable and exposed to those eyes, instead of aroused and caressed by them, as before. "I d-don't understand." It was difficult to speak. She was breathless, her heart hammering against her ribs so loudly he had to hear it. She'd never been this aroused. Never.
"Jessi…" He shook his head, then averted his eyes. "I can't. Look, this is just stress. The aftermath of damned near drowning together. Understand? This isn't—"
"Liar!"
He shook his head, keeping his eyes averted.
"Look at me, dammit."
He did. He turned his head, slowly, and looked at her, and his gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, to her still-uncovered breasts. She shivered at the chill touch of the wind on her nipples. "Jesus, Jessi, fix your shirt." But his gaze didn't change its focus.
She sat up, leaning back on her hands, leaving her blouse just the way it was. "You want me just as much as I want you, Lash Monroe. Admit it."
Lash licked his lips. He shook his head in denial, but continued staring. "It isn't right, Jessi."
"Feels right to me." She got up onto her knees, bringing her exposed chest up to eye level for him. Let him deny it now, she thought. "You're gonna say it's wrong because you're older, aren't you?"
Eyes transfixed, he nodded.
"But ten years isn't all that much older. And you know that as well as I do."
"It's not just that."
"No?"
His tongue darted out to moisten his lips again. "I'm a drifter, Jessi. You know that. I can't stay—"
"I didn't ask you to stay," she whispered, and she reached down to slip her fingers into his hair. He moved his head a little closer, closed his eyes, bit his lip.
"Please fix your shirt, Jessi. I'm begging—"
"Tell me you want me," she told him.
"You're killing me."
She leaned in, just enough. Her taut nipple brushed his lips, and then she backed away again.
Lash's eyes flew open, and they blazed. His hands clasped her waist, hard and without warning, and he jerked her close, capturing her breast in his mouth as he trembled from head to toe. Jessi clutched handfuls of his hair as his tongue flayed her nipple, his lips capturing it, suckling it. His teeth catching it and pinching with delicious pressure. She closed her eyes and let her head fall backward, pulling him closer, holding him to her breast and craving things she'd never even thought about before.
"Jessi! Lash!"
At the sounds of male voices shouting their names, Jessi's eyes flew open, and Lash jerked away from her as if he'd been electrocuted.
His eyes met hers, unspoken need flashing from their pale, silver-blue depths. She released a shuddering sigh, got to her feet, and righted her clothes as best she could. She could easily have screamed in frustration, but she resisted the impulse. Barely.
She heard a low barking, and turned to see Ol' Blue's tall, sagging shape loping toward them from farther up the slope. Behind it, bobbing beams of light showed the location of her brothers. She waved halfheartedly, knowing they'd be worried, and knowing she had to reassure them. And yet wishing she could take Lash by the hand and run off into the night where no one could find them. No one could stop them. Damn, she'd been so close!
"Here," she called. "We're here. We're all right."
"Jessi!"
The beams of light bobbed faster, and then her brothers ran into view. Wes reached her first, sweeping her into his arms and hugging the breath out of her. He kissed her wet hair and held her tight, while Ol' Blue barked at her and raced around her legs, moving more enthusiastically than she'd ever seen him move. He'd be exhausted when he got home. And chilled through, as well. She stroked his wet fur. "You're too old to be playing hero, Blue."
"You okay?" Wes asked.
"Yeah," she breathed. "Lash pulled me out. If he hadn't…" She lowered her eyes, shaking her head.
Elliot slammed Lash's shoulder. "Good man," he announced. Jessi looked at Lash and saw the horrible guilt on his face. It was eating him alive. "Hell," Elliot went on, "Garrett will probably even forgive you for the pickup."
Lash looked at Elliot, brows lifted in an unspoken question, and Jessi, too, frowned at her brother. "I kind of lost track of the truck," Lash said. "Is it—?"
"Nose down in the creek, a mile upstream," Ben said softly. "When we spotted it, we thought…" He didn't finish. Instead, he pried Jessi from Wes's arms and hugged her himself.
"There's Garrett," Wes said, pointing to another flashlight beam on the opposite bank. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted, "Garrett! We found them! They're okay!"
The beam of light on the other side stopped moving, then lifted in an effort to reach them. Wes shone his light on Jessi so that Garrett could see for himself that she was in one piece. Then Garrett's voice drifted across the rapid water. "Take them home. I'll meet you there."
Jessi bit her lip, and hoped no one would notice the missing buttons on her blouse. The old hound dog barked once more, and she looked down to see Blue sitting at her feet, looking up at her with a question in his big brown eyes. "Yes," she said. "You done good, old boy." And she stroked his ears and whispered, "But your timing could have been better."
Lash's head came around, and his eyes met hers, letting her know he'd heard that remark. She held his gaze, and wished to God she could tell what he was thinking. But she couldn't read the man. He was better at hiding his feelings than anyone she'd ever known.
Damn. Was he regretting the untimely interruption?
Or maybe regretting that he'd lost his stoic resistance to her for just a moment?
Jessi was soaking in a hot bath, and Lash knew she'd be all right. Chelsea was dancing attendance on her, as if she were a fragile little china doll in danger of shattering in a strong wind. Ol' Blue had taken up residence in Jessi's room, and he was convinced the hound had decided to watch over her until he assured himself she was okay. Damn dog was close to human. And as protective of Jess as if he were one of her brothers.
She didn't need their help, though. Lash was only just beginning to get a feel for the real Jessi Brand. And she was tougher than he'd given her credit for.
Smarter, too. There was no longer any doubt in Lash's mind about what Jessi had meant when she told her brother that she had chosen her own man. She'd meant him. It scared the hell out of him. Especially when he thought about certain other remarks she'd dropped his way lately. Like that one about her always getting what she wanted.
Damn. If the boys hadn't come along when they had, he'd have … he'd have…
Damn.
Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh, he thought to himself. It didn't help. He still lusted. And Jessi was right, ten years or so wasn't all that big an age difference. But for crying out loud, Lash Monroe had known what he wanted all his life. Freedom. Solitude. He wanted to be untethered, able to roam where the wind took him, whenever he pleased. He didn't want a relationship, and he knew better than to think Jessi had a casual fling on her mind. No, she'd want more. She'd want commitment. Imagine, Lash thought, just imagine being crazy enough to plunk himself down in the midst of another big family. A family chock-full of older brothers, all of whom would h
ate his guts for soiling their baby sister with his unworthy touch. Imagine the tension, the arguments. Damn, this thing with Jessi would end up making all of them miserable, himself included. Besides, it wasn't as if he loved her. Any red-blooded male would respond to her. She was gorgeous, and sexy as hell, and clearly attracted to him. And damned if he could figure where she'd managed to learn it, with her brothers as guard dogs, but she sure as hell knew what she was doing.
So, he wasn't acting illogically to want her. He was only human. Hell, Saint Francis of Assisi would want her! But that was as far as it went. And Lash needed to keep that in mind. Maybe find himself a casual fling in town to relieve the pressure. And keep his distance from Jessi Brand at all costs.
He thought then about the women he'd met while he'd been here in Quinn. Beautiful sloe-eyed Mexican women who could keep a man awake nights. Blue-eyed Texas girls with big hair and bright smiles and bodies to die for. He thought hard about those girls. And he felt cold inside. Couldn't even work up enough interest to dwell on any one of them for more than a second.
Who the hell was he kidding? He didn't want any other woman. He wanted this one. He'd never been hit as forcefully with desire's hammer until right now. He felt as if he were under some sort of spell, one that wouldn't let go.
But he owed Garrett. Owed him a lot. And Lash wasn't the kind of man who could pay back his debt by committing what would be seen as the ultimate betrayal.
And that was final. Even if it killed him.
He resolved not to think any more about what it might be like to make love to Jessi Brand, to hold her hot, naked body close to his own. To run his hands along those firm thighs, and taste, just once more, those round, luscious breasts, and kiss those plump lips.
He shifted in his seat, and tried real hard to bring his attention back to the conversation taking place around him.
"Might as well spend the night here, Lash," Garrett was saying. "No sense trying to drive back to town now."
The Baddest Virgin in Texas Page 8
