by Carol Caiton
She placed each clip on the counter beside the sink, aligning them neatly, meticulously, side by side. Then she speared her fingers through her hair, fluffing it and letting the waves fall naturally . . . the way Rachel wore hers.
Once again she checked the mirror. For just a few seconds she met the somber blue eyes that looked back at her. Then she turned away.
Leaving the tidy row of faceted red behind, she opened the restroom door and started back into the crowded nightclub and the table Nathan had secured for them. Her timing couldn't have been better. The first notes of a familiar tune rang out as though prompted by some prearranged cue, and the band began playing the song she'd requested.
The stage was set.
Everything was as perfect as it was going to be.
Nathan sat at the small table alone, waiting for her. Drink in hand, he stared down at his glass, lost in thought. His dark hair, always clean-cut and neatly styled, was brushed back off his forehead, giving her a full view of his face.
It was a face she'd daydreamed about as a teenager. She'd been madly in love with him for years . . . almost since she'd known him, she thought. But it was during those years, while she longed for him to notice her, really notice her, that she realized it was Rachel who held his heart, Rachel who softened something in his eyes when he looked at her. Jill didn't think anyone else was aware of it. Nathan didn't openly share his private thoughts, at least not with three teenage girls. But she'd been watching him, continued watching him, and knew she wasn't mistaken. For more than five years he'd broken her heart until finally, she told herself to start taking a closer look at the guys who did notice her and asked her out.
Nathan had gradually fallen into the category of a friend and the lines of friendship became more clearly defined as she and Rachel and Ali grew older. He'd taught all three of them how to drive. He'd also instructed them on the dos and don'ts of clubbing, sometimes meeting up with them—or, more likely, checking up on them—and then grumbling about it because he didn't like the looks of some guy who had asked one of them to dance. Or because all three of them left their drinks unattended at the same time. Or because he thought Jill was too provocative out on the dance floor . . . . The list went on and on. Still, by the end of the evening, in spite of the fact that he couldn't stop being a cop, he'd had a good time. He danced with all three of them, laughed, and hung out. And Nathan was a good dancer. Jill liked dancing with him.
Tonight he hadn't grumbled. Not once. Instead, he'd been considerate and caring and protective. He was watching out for her regardless of the unhappiness in his own life.
She saw that unhappiness now as she approached. He stared pensively down at the glass in his hand, lost in thought, his mouth grim. He was hurting and raw and grieving as deeply as she was. He never had voiced how he felt about Rachel, but she knew. And now Rachel, without ever having realized Nathan's adoration, had chosen someone else. Whatever future Nathan had waited for and hoped to have with her sister, was out of reach. Just as her own was out of reach.
Smoothing a hand over the flare of her short skirt, she zigzagged a path between the nearby tables. Tonight she was going to do something for both of them. And maybe, for just a little while, they could escape the grief that haunted their souls. The lights were dim, the music slow and dreamy . . . it was a backdrop made for lovers. It was perfect for what she had in mind.
When she reached their table, instead of sitting down again, she walked around to his side, held out her hand, palm up, and waited.
Immediately he raised his head to look at her. Then he dropped his gaze to her fingers, raised his eyes again, then narrowed his lids as he skimmed over the changes in her appearance. Subtle though they were, he would notice. Because he was a cop. Because he was Nathan. Because he knew on sight who she was and who Rachel was, just as her parents did, and Ali . . . and Michael Vassek.
She knew the moment he comprehended the significance of the changes she'd made. His eyes jerked back to hers, but not before she witnessed the shaft of pain that shot across his face.
He pushed aside his drink and stood up. But he ignored the hand she held out. Instead, a sudden coolness settled over his face and the warmth and caring he'd shown all evening chilled over. He was in cop mode now. She'd seen that same shuttered expression a thousand times over the years. Aloof. Untouchable. In a matter of seconds he'd withdrawn as though only the shell of his body now stood before her.
He was going to turn her down. The hollow pain in her chest carved a deeper void. He knew what she had in mind and he didn't want what she offered, even though it would ease the bottomless ache for them both. All he had to do was pretend. Just pretend.
"Please," she whispered, gazing up at him. Because there was no one else she could go to like this. No one she loved and trusted the way she loved and trusted him.
He couldn't have heard her above the volume of the music, but he knew what she'd said. It flickered in his eyes, a brief moment of hesitation, of uncertainty.
She held onto the possibility that he might change his mind and tried one more time. "Dance with me, Nathan."
He'd danced with her countless times before. He'd even been the one who taught her to stop trying to lead, to follow him instead.
"Jill," he said, and his voice held a note of patient reprimand.
"Dance with me," she said again, urging him to consider it, to think about it and give it a chance.
The cool withdrawal in his expression wavered. For long seconds his eyes probed hers. Perplexity darkened his gaze. He studied her face, watching her carefully.
"Why?"
She looked up at him without flinching, aching inside, and said, simply, "Because I need you." And that was as raw and honest as it got. No vacillating, no pretense. She couldn't be more serious. She needed him.
Little by little the hardness, the skepticism in his eyes, melted away. He lifted a hand and traced his thumb across her cheek, pausing, still searching, still trying to assimilate a lifetime pattern of behavior to fit the moment.
She watched the way he filtered this new information. She observed the gradual shifting of attitude in the way he viewed her. And when his eyes settled on hers again, when the adjustment was complete, for the first time in her life, Nathan Brosig the man looked back at her. He held her gaze, strong and direct. Only this time they met on a different plane. No longer was she the young sister who irritated him with her unconventional lifestyle. In those few silent seconds he'd taken stock of Jill the woman and had reconciled what he saw. They stood on equal ground now, man to woman.
He looked down at her hand. Then he drew a breath, met her eyes again, and the warm rasp of his calloused palm slid over hers.
A tiny shiver ran down her spine. For a brief second, the change, the unexpected maleness of him, sent a quick flash of uncertainty through her.
She pushed it away.
Turning, holding his hand, she took the initiative and led the way to the dance floor. It was crowded. Couples swayed back and forth, wrapped in each other's arms. She wove her way through, wedging a path toward the middle of the floor, then stopped, released his hand, and turned.
Nathan was bigger than Luke. Taller. Broader. She waited for him to open his palm for hers, to fit his other hand on her waist as he always did. But he did neither.
Unsmiling, he stood motionless, looking down at her. It took a few seconds before she understood, to realize he wasn't going to lead this time. If this was the path she wanted to take, she was the one holding the map. It was up to her. She'd have to make the first move, show him what she wanted, and show him where this was going.
Lowering her eyes, she moved in closer and lifted both hands to his chest, felt the strength of solid muscle beneath her palms. Then she slid her fingers up and around to the back of his neck, the newness of touching and clutching him this way sending tingles of awareness through her. When she raised her eyes to his again, he settled his hands on her waist. Her short top had risen when she lifted
her arms and the warmth of his palms on her skin caused her heart to beat faster. Then, with a light squeeze, he took the lead and began moving with the music.
How many times had she danced with Nathan? Too many to count. But not like this. Never like this. Not with her fingers woven into his hair. Not with the tremor that shuddered through her when his arms slid around her back, easing her against the heat of his body. Not in the slow, lazy rhythm of seductive love.
She rested her forehead on his chest and gave herself over to the music, to the bittersweet joy of strong male arms wrapped around her once again. He slid one hand up her back, sinking his fingers into her hair, and when he brushed his lower body against her, the question in that brief contact was unmistakable.
He had an erection. Her body flushed with heat as she realized he wanted her to know it and to make a decision. Once again the reins had been passed to her. He guided her in a slow easy rhythm to the music, but she was calling the tune and he waited for her cue.
A little breathless, a little awkward, she took the initiative once again and showed him what she wanted. Curling her fingers in his hair, she answered his question with a brush of her own hips, intentionally pressing against his hardness before retreating again. Her breasts felt heavy in the cups of her bra, swelling and needy. But it was her turn now to wait for his acceptance, for the next question, and she relinquished control back to him.
She didn't have long to wait.
Bending his head, he lowered his face into her hair and breathed in deeply. His hands slid down to her hips, guiding her in, fitting her abdomen against his length, and liquid warmth heated the lower region of her body. Desire started a course through her veins. This was what she wanted. What she needed. His hands tightened on her hips, holding her firmly against his body, swaying slowly to the beat of the music.
Another couple jostled lightly against them but she scarcely noticed.
"Jill." His voice sounded low and deep beside her ear.
He eased away and she lifted her face from his chest, raising heavy lids to look up at him. The familiarity of him, the security of knowing he wanted her made it so easy, far easier than she would have thought. Lost amid the crowd on the dance floor, beneath the darkly colored lights, she pulled his head down to hers and closed her eyes, sighing as his mouth met hers.
It should have been a moment of rejection, of pain, the touch of an unfamiliar male mouth on hers. Only it wasn't. Nathan's lips were soft and warm and after a moment of brief surprise, another shiver went through her and she crowded closer, wanting to learn the feel of him, of his kiss.
Maybe it was because he was so loved. Maybe it was because she'd had a crush on him throughout her teenage years. Or maybe it was because she was so utterly alone that she found it natural to be with him, to cling to him and yearn for more. Restless, achy, she held on, wishing they were alone now.
The change was subtle. Something about the way he held her, something about the way his mouth moved on hers, molded her lips to his . . . . Then everything changed at once. His kiss grew hungry. Demanding. He sank his tongue into her mouth, seeking, compelling a response. He was finished with being careful and following her lead. His thighs firmed against hers and his hold on her tightened. The fingers on her hips reached around to her backside, holding her in place as he gyrated against her in rhythm to the music.
Heavens, but he was good. The music, the man, his body, the seduction . . . .
She gave up control without hesitation, arching against him and answering his search with her own tongue, pushing the boundaries they'd already breached. She ached for greater intimacy and pushed her breasts against his chest, rubbing, circling, trying to relieve the pressure.
"Jesus," Nathan swore, ripping his mouth away.
Smoldering eyes stared down at her. For a moment she thought he was going to call an end to their madness and she struggled to catch her breath, tried to grab one sane thought that would convince him not to stop. Then his eyes dropped to her mouth. Hot fire glowed in his gaze. His lids lowered and he crushed her mouth beneath his again, hot and urgent, over and over, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, trembling with need.
The crowd, the music . . . it all faded to the background. Beneath the dark glow of colored lights, hidden among the couples on the crowded dance floor, she came back to life, shedding the numbness that had enveloped her and taken over until she was afraid she'd never feel again.
Even when the lights came up and Nathan pulled his mouth from hers, the magic remained. He held her close, one arm firmly around her shoulders as the frontman for the band began the countdown to midnight.
Her heart pounded in her chest. The crowd around them shouted the seconds. Noisemakers blared.
"Seven! Six! Five! . . . ."
Nathan's chest heaved beneath her cheek, his warm breath rough and uneven on top of her head.
"Three! Two! One! Happy new year!"
His other arm slid around her and he bent his head toward her ear. "Happy new year, Jill." It was a softly spoken, private bestowal of good will.
She lifted her head and looked up at him. For a few moments, passion took a back seat to the years of deep abiding affection between them. Confetti floated down from overhead unnoticed. The surrounding cacophony made hearing next to impossible, but she mouthed the words in return, wanting only the best for him. "Happy new year, Nathan."
Neither of them smiled.
The band began playing the opening chords to Auld Lang Syne and he gave her a small squeeze. "Let's go," he said, sliding his hand down her arm and clasping her fingers.
Legs slightly unsteady, she followed behind him as he wove a path through the raucous crowd. No one paid attention. It was time to party and the celebration was in full swing.
The bouncer standing at the front entrance gave a silent nod of farewell as Nathan held the door for her. Then she led the way outside, leaving the party behind to embark on something edgier, dangerous, and more exhilarating than anything they'd walked away from.
CHAPTER 18
Her ears rang with the residual vibration of booming amplifiers and megasonic music. The cold night air felt good on her overheated skin.
Still holding her hand, Nathan slowed his steps to match hers. Midway across the parking lot he said, "Why me, Jill?"
She stole a quick glance up at him, then looked away again. It was easier if she didn't have to see his eyes. "Because I love you and I trust you," she told him quietly.
For a minute he didn't answer. When they reached his SUV he pulled her to a stop and turned her to face him. "Tell me what it is you want."
She had a difficult time getting the words out. This was Nathan. There was no romantic music now to set the mood. He looked down at her with solemn intensity.
She took a breath. "I want to go to your place." And no elaboration was necessary.
His expression was unreadable. Seconds passed slowly. Then he lifted the small remote in his hand and released the locks. Opening the passenger door for her, he held her elbow while she climbed in. "Put your coat on," he said, then waited while she reached into the back seat for it.
"Do you know what you're doing?"
Sliding her arms into the chilly satin sleeves, she readjusted herself on the seat and turned to face him. At this height she was eye level with him and she steeled herself to meet his gaze.
"I'm not drunk, Nathan." She spoke softly. "I've only had a glass and a half of wine." Then she smiled. "And I know you kept track."
A flash of humor lit his eyes. "Fasten your seatbelt," he told her. Then he closed the door, walked around the front of the vehicle, and climbed in behind the steering wheel.
* * *
He didn't live far from Seven Over, maybe fifteen minutes away. A little to the east, about a twenty minute drive, was her parents' house. And that's where he should be heading.
But he wasn't. Nor did he plan to. And didn't that just prove he was every bit as screwed up as she was right now?
Jill. The twin who made him grit his teeth with the frivolous choices she made. She was brilliant. She had a frigging doctorate, for Christ's sake. At the age of twenty-three. But what did she do for a living? She worked at one of those new age health spas where they treated stressed out yuppies with elevator music and rocks. Was it any wonder she made him want to chew a handful of nails?
He slanted a sideways glance at her. She wore a skimpy little black skirt and a sparkly red top. The neckline was low enough to show the upper swell of her breasts and the bottom of it bared her stomach when she lifted her arms. He knew because he'd had his palms on silky bare skin when she stretched her hands up around his neck. Just remembering how soft her skin was, how small her waist was, made him uncomfortable.
She and Rachel had grown from strikingly pretty little girls into two strikingly beautiful women who couldn't look bad if they tried. But when he'd gone to pick her up and had seen what she was wearing, he was glad Rachel had phoned him. Out alone on a crazy night like New Year's Eve and dressed like that . . . . Hell, had he been a shorter man, it wouldn't have been any trouble at all to slide his hands up under her skirt while they danced. And heaven help him, he'd thought about it. She was one sexy little package.
He shook his head.
She'd turned out to be an unexpected surprise with unfamiliar facets he was trying to take in all at once. Like a replay that wouldn't stop, the shock of wanting her kept turning over in his mind. The urgency of it had him gripping the steering wheel with a lot of unnecessary pressure until, every few minutes, he had to tell himself to ease up. But every time he caught a whiff of that flowery fragrance she wore, he throbbed. He'd swear it seemed to ooze from her pores. And waiting to catch another whiff made it difficult to focus on driving.
