by Carol Caiton
He almost laughed out loud. He'd been fighting that fragrance for a couple of years now. Ever since she started wearing it. The first few times he'd smelled it, he'd found himself crowding her, trying to flood his senses with it. It had taken a couple of times before he realized what he was doing, which wasn't until he wanted to bury his face in her neck and find out if she tasted as incredible as she smelled. —Jill.
Tearing himself away from her, appalled, he'd scowled down at her and barked some insult he'd had to apologize for later. After that, though, he knew to arm himself.
She often stopped by his apartment. To check on him. He knew it was to check on him. For some reason she was almost as anxious as Ali had been and she'd been that way ever since her sister was attacked. She either called him on the phone every couple of days, or she stopped by. When she began wearing that fragrance though, he'd started keeping dispensers of air freshener scattered around the place. It wasn't a problem when she cooked for him. The aroma coming from the kitchen took care of it. But she didn't always cook for him. Sometimes she dropped by and talked for a while, then left. Other times she stayed for a couple of hours, watching TV or playing poker with him. Those were the difficult times. Fortunately, it wasn't a heavy fragrance and she didn't douse herself with it.
But tonight, while they danced, he'd filled his senses with her. He hadn't gone so far as to run his tongue over her skin, but he'd done what he'd been wanting to do for a long time and had buried his face in her hair and breathed her in. And damn if he hadn't gotten even harder just smelling her. On some women the choice of perfume could be a definite turn-off. On others it was a seductive aphrodisiac and Jill's was a remarkable example of the second group. He'd never responded like that to any woman's perfume.
And now? He didn't know what the hell to make of here and now. She wasn't a child anymore. She was all grown up and making choices she was old enough to make. It had started with Luke Ingersol. At least he was pretty sure Luke was her first. But now she'd turned to him. He couldn't have taken much more on the dance floor. When he slid his hands around her ass, when she responded to his rhythmic thrusts with a shudder of need, hell, he was burning up for her. And she was burning up too. But for who?
He understood she was grieving. He could relate to the stabbing pain of loss. But there were going to be some conditions to this mutual need they were about to explore. She wasn't Rachel. No matter how identical they were in appearance, Jill was Jill. He didn't even want her to be Rachel. And he sure as hell wasn't going to let her pretend he was some dead guy. If she couldn't handle the reality of whose bed she was in, he'd make her get dressed and take her home.
Then again, the silence in the car might be telling him she'd already changed her mind. She hadn't said a word since he told her to fasten her seatbelt and fifteen minutes was plenty long enough to think things through.
He turned into the parking lot of his apartment complex, pulled the SUV to a stop in front of his building, and shut off the engine. If she'd changed her mind he'd take her home. He'd make it easy for her to explain her lapse in judgment, and then he'd leave. In fact, he should be the one taking a few minutes to think this through. There were other people involved here, other relationships to consider, and he hadn't given them a minute's thought.
Unfastening his seatbelt, he pulled the keys from the ignition and turned to face her. It was time to find out how the chips were going to fall.
She unhooked hers as well, and reached for the door handle.
"Jill."
Immediately her shoulders fell. A pained expression chased across her face. She breathed in, sighed, and her hand dropped away from the door.
"Jill," he tried again.
Without turning to look at him she said, "Is this where you tell me I don't know what I'm doing? That you'd better take me home?"
Apparently he'd guessed wrong. He studied her for a long, silent minute. Even in profile her face told him she was braced for rejection. And she'd make it easy for him, too. Jesus, he knew her so well. But he'd never looked at her the way he was seeing her now. As a big brother? Yes. A cop? Once, when she was sixteen. But as a potential lover? No. Not ever.
"Are you going to tell me this has been a mistake?" she asked, still staring out the windshield.
But he wasn't ready to answer that. He was too caught up in looking at her. Really looking at her. In some ways it was like seeing her for the first time. Before his eyes, in a matter of minutes, she'd become complex and fascinating. She was both girl and woman—the child he'd known almost all her life, and the beautiful woman who was turning the world on its side.
Logic and reason told him to step back and reconsider, but his instincts told him something important would be lost if he let this night slip through his fingers.
"No, I'm not going to tell you it's a mistake," he answered quietly. "This is where I tell you to be sure. To take a close look at who you're with. Because if we do this, if we go inside, it's going to change things, honey."
Finally she turned to look at him. She scanned his face, lowered her gaze to his mouth, then lifted it to his eyes. "I know who I'm with, Nathan." She drew a breath and her hair drifted forward like a silky curtain around her shoulder. "I couldn't be like this with anyone else."
He sucked in a breath. Jesus.
Her words filled him with a truckload of emotions he didn't have time to sort out, yet she spoke them like it was a simple matter of fact. There were no undercurrents of romance going on beneath the surface. No heated passion was driving her now. The fifteen minute drive back to his place had been long enough for her to cool down. So why was she still here? For solace? Was it a simple need for comfort?
Shit.
He ground his teeth against the incessant, pressing need she obviously didn't feel anymore and tried to put on the brakes. Sweat broke out on his forehead despite the chill starting to permeate the interior of the car. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and squeezed. What did she want from him—a stand-in for Luke Ingersol? A shoulder to cry on?
He stilled. His anger evaporated. He couldn't remember, ever, a time when Jill had asked for comfort from him. Life just seemed to breeze right past her in a flurry of nonchalance and unconcern.
But not tonight. Not this time. She was a fragile butterfly tonight. Look how out of character she was acting . . . how out of character they'd both been acting. If she was looking for a warm body and a pair of strong arms, it didn't have to include a rock hard erection and hot sex.
He turned his head and stared out at the night. What if he hadn't taken these few minutes to step back? What if he'd screwed up their lives by taking her inside and making love to her?
Hauling in a long breath, he resigned himself to the rough, uncomfortable hours ahead. If it was a pair of strong arms she needed, he could give her that. He could hold her through the night without either of them taking off their clothes. He'd be able to rein himself in by reminding himself it was Jill he was holding, and he'd try to think of her as a sister again.
Exhaling, he reached for the door.
He walked around the front of the SUV, opened the passenger door for her, and assisted her to the ground. He led the way up the sidewalk and she waited beside him while he unlocked the door.
Downshifting wasn't easy. Every cell in his body was aware of her now. All of his instincts were honed in on her standing beside him, focused on something he wanted.
He told himself again she was Jill. Flighty and wispy.
But he'd had his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her ass, and his erection pressed hard against the softness of her.
Stepping over the threshold, he flicked on the lights and started purposefully toward the kitchen.
"Are you hungry?" he asked. "It's been a while since we ate."
Silence.
Not a sound.
He shut his eyes briefly, then turned to face her.
"If you've changed your mind, Nathan, just tell me."
He walked
back into the living room. She hadn't moved far from the door, both hands wrapped around a useless, miniscule purse that probably held nothing more than her ID.
"Look . . . Jill . . . I'm just trying to do the right thing."
She blanched.
"Jill—"
"Will you take me home please?"
"Just listen for a minute, will you?"
"If you don't want me, Nathan, just say it. Don't give me any lectures. Don't . . . humiliate me."
He clenched his jaw. There were times, like ten or fifteen a year, when she made him want to punch a wall.
He tried again. "Jill, if it's comfort you're looking for—"
Her eyes widened in horror.
Terrific. Just great.
"I'll wait outside," she said, her voice cold as frost.
She whirled around, hair swaying out behind her, and reached toward the door.
"Will you goddamn listen to me?" He caught up to her, grabbed her arm, and spun her back around. She made him so frigging crazy.
"I don't need your comfort, Nathan." She tugged at her arm. "What is it they call it—a pity fuck?"
Her words slammed into him. Christ!
Tightening his grip on her, he hustled her against the hard surface of the door and pinned her there with his body.
"What you feel," he bit out, grinding himself against her, "is not pity. I haven't been this hard for a woman in a hell of a long time."
Right away she stopped fighting. Silent, eyes wide, she searched his face. "Then why?"
God, she felt good. "Because I don't want to screw up a relationship that's important to me, to my family, and to yours."
She stared up at him. Pain arced through her eyes and it hurt him to see it. Color stole into her face and she turned her face away, pressing her cheek against the door.
"Jill . . . ."
She swallowed. The pulse in her neck throbbed. A tear slid down her cheek.
"Jill," he whispered. He took his fingers from her arm and wiped the tear away. Staring down at her, the past and the present warred inside him. So familiar and so different. He loved her, but that love was rapidly undergoing a number of unexpected changes.
He lowered his eyes to the throbbing pulse in her neck. Then lower, to the swell of her breasts.
He knew what she wanted. It was the same thing he wanted. They'd crossed a line and he'd already touched her in a manner far from brotherly. If he did this, how would it affect the future? Their future? They weren't romantically involved. This was something different. Luke hadn't been gone long enough for her to move on. But he knew he'd never see her as a sister again if they did this. Could she deal with that?
Closing his eyes, he bent his head and breathed in the scent beneath the lingering cigarette smoke. Feminine. Sweet. Floral. He'd never smelled that fragrance on anyone else and he took another long, deep breath. Barely touching her, he traced his mouth across her cheek. Her skin was warm. Soft. He skimmed a path down the delicate shell of her ear, heard the short quick intake of breath and felt it all the way down his spine.
"Jill," he whispered again. He slid his fingers along her jaw and turned her face toward his. Blue eyes, dark with emotion, drifted up to meet his, searching, waiting for his decision, waiting for him to tell her what he wanted.
Bending his head, he paused, gave her one last chance to pull away, then covered her mouth with his.
Desire crashed through him. Excitement. Disbelief. A hundred thoughts and emotions tore through his mind. Love. Guilt. Affection. Lust. The strangeness of kissing her fascinated him. He focused on the feel of her mouth, on the smallness of her body. It was a body he'd watched grow from childhood to womanhood, now slender beneath his hands.
His blood pounded in his ears. Every muscle strained with need. He caged her in against the door, found the warm silky flesh at her waist and worked his hands up under her top until his palms were filled with lace and woman.
"Yes!" She cried out into his mouth, trembling as he sank his tongue between her lips. When she ground her hips against him, he almost came in his pants.
Shit!
Tearing his mouth from hers, he grabbed the hem of her top and pulled it over her head. Another wave of lust assaulted him when he saw the wine-red bra she wore.
Reaching behind her back, he unfastened the hooks with a flick of his fingers and swore he'd never seen anything as beautiful when he slid the garment down her arms.
High and firm, the pale globes filled his hands. He lifted the weight of her in his palms and watched her face as he pinched her nipples, gently tugged, then squeezed just to the point of pain.
"Oh, God!" She wrapped one leg around his thigh and tried to lift herself onto his cock.
"Wait," he growled. "Wait, goddamn it!"
Sinking a hand into her hair, he pulled her head back. "Open your eyes."
She looked up at him through a haze of desire. "Nathan . . . ."
That was what he needed to hear. His name on her lips.
"Yes," he growled.
He reached up under her little black skirt, slid his palm up her thigh, and tugged her panties down.
"Step out," he ordered.
Releasing her hair, he freed himself from his pants, slid his arms around her and lifted. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he found her slick hot entrance on the first try. Bracing his arms against the door, he drove deep inside her with a long, hard thrust.
She cried out.
Damn! She was wet but tight. Had he hurt her?
Struggling against a need that was almost violent, he held himself still.
"Jill?" he could barely speak her name.
"Nathan," she breathed. "Oh, Nathan . . . ."
She arched, digging her heels into his buttocks, and cried out again as her inner muscles squeezed, clenching him in a forceful orgasm.
He groaned at the exquisite pleasure. She was gorgeous in her passion, head back, hair tumbling around them both, her mouth parted in ecstasy.
He pumped into her once, twice. The third time finished him. He drove deep and hard, his body shaking as he went over the edge and erupted inside her.
Drained, barely able to stand, the muscles in his thighs ached and he slumped against both her and the door.
"Nathan. . . ." It wasn't even a whisper, just a breath of air against his ear. But it was still his name on her lips, no one else's.
When he could move without falling over, he slid his hands down under her hair to cup her ass and leaned against the door while he pushed out of his shoes. He stepped out of his pants and boxers and walked with her, still joined to him, into his bedroom.
She seemed content to stay where she was, arms wrapped around his neck, lips against his throat, and he was going to keep her there. He might be depleted for now, but he planned to have her again. And again after that. And, God willing, again after that.
One knee on the mattress, he pulled the covers aside then lowered them both to the bed. Her hair caught beneath her and she arched, reaching a hand behind her back to lift it away and toss its length off to the side.
He watched. The action itself was probably one she'd done a hundred times before. Thousands of times. But the pale blonde waves now spread across his sheets, the feminine beauty of her, had him hardening inside her all over again.
He made love to her twice more before the sun rose, then held her while she slept. Exhausted as he was, he stared into the shadowy light streaming in from the living room and considered what they'd done. Earlier, when he'd told her things would change, he hadn't realized the full scope of that change. Couldn't have. But he knew now what it was he would have lost had he taken her home.
He lowered his chin to his chest and looked down at her. She slept with her face pressed against him, one arm around his waist and a leg draped over his thigh as though, even in sleep, she needed the security of knowing she wasn't alone.
He smoothed her hair away from her face, then rubbed some of it between his thumb and finger
s. She was beautiful. He'd always thought so. She and Rachel both. But now he was looking at the woman, holding the woman in his arms, and the past fifteen years continued to clash and crash with a new, still surprising present. Things were changing faster than his mind could piece together. This time with her had been a hell of a lot more than just sex. There was a world of difference between going to bed with someone because she turned him on and going to bed with someone he'd known and cared about for half his life. One was casual while the other was . . . .
Releasing her curls, he used his free foot to tug the covers up, then reached for them and tucked them over her shoulders. She wasn't ready for this. He knew that. He wasn't sure he was ready for it either. But he didn't regret it and that was something. They'd talk about it in the morning. And maybe he'd have her again.
But Jill was gone when he woke up. The other side of the bed was empty. He didn't need to get up and look around to know she'd left the apartment as well. He sensed her absence and—
Scowling, he scrubbed a hand over his face. She would have gotten dressed, grabbed a granola bar from the pantry, and called a taxi.
Maybe.
Shit.
Rolling over, he reached for the landline phone and dialed her parents' house. Her mother would be up early, holiday or not.
"Happy new year, Eileen."
"Good morning, Nathan. Happy new year to you, too. Did you and Jill have a good time last night?"
Now how did he answer that one?
By acting normal, that's how.
"We went to Seven and stayed till the countdown. Listen, Eileen, would you look the window and see if my SUV is parked out front?"
He waited while she checked.
"Nathan?"
"Yeah?"
"It's here."
He grunted. Wasn't that just typical?
She laughed. "Since I can't imagine you drinking too much and getting drunk, my guess is you two had another run-in. What did she do, snatch your keys and drive home when you dug in your heels?"
