by Wendy Rosnau
"What's going on, Sis?"
She should hate him for the cruel words he'd said to her at the hospital, but he'd been right. And he'd also been justified in delivering the cold hard fact in an angry voice and with fury in his eyes. Still, she wouldn't let him slice her to bits a second time. And the safest way to prevent that from happening was to keep at least a good ten feet between them. Better yet, excuse herself and make a quick exit back upstairs.
"I was hungry." She refused to give him more information than was necessary.
"Want me to fix you something hot?"
"No. I found what I needed, thank you. I'm on my way back to bed."
He didn't move.
"I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to bed."
He shoved away from the door frame and came toward her. "Now that I'm up, I'm up."
His blunt words sent Sunni's eyes to his crotch. And it was true, he was up. He walked past her and poured himself a cup of cold coffee from the old stuff sitting in the coffeemaker.
Seeing her chance to escape, she headed for the door. But she wasn't quick enough—he reached out and grabbed her wrist, then took a swig of coffee and made a face. "That's bad."
"It's late, Jack. I'm talked out."
"Me, too."
Slowly, he drew her toward him. Sunni angled her head. "Sex, then, that's what you want? Should I keep my eyes closed so I don't have to see the disgust in your eyes, or do you have a blindfold for me?"
"I could never be disgusted by you. You torture me, Sis. That's what you're seeing in my eyes." That said, he locked his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the counter in a single motion. "We didn't get a chance to try out your office desk. Ever do it in a kitchen?"
His husky voice sent shivers up Sunni's spine, but she needed to fight them, to fight … Jack. She was too vulnerable where he was concerned.
"You smell good. Feel good." Fingers splayed, he slid them over her stomach to her thighs.
"Jack, please put me down."
His fingers curled inward and slowly spread her thighs open. "You liked me touching you last night."
"Last night we were equals. Tonight I have a disease and I'm dying, remember? And since you've learned that fact, you've been staring at me as if you expect it to happen any minute."
He stepped into the open vee of her legs. "I was upset. I said things I had no right saying. But I thought you trusted me. Then the next thing I know I'm learning you have a secret. I'm learning you have…"
"I have what, Jack? You can't even say it without getting the word caught in your throat. Let me go."
"No." Suddenly his hands were in her hair, peeling it away from her face, his gaze practically smoldering with heat as he looked into her eyes. "If you catch me staring, I'm remembering things. Things we've done. Things we haven't done. Things I want to do to you … with you."
He kissed her mouth without the slightest hesitation, the heat driving Sunni's mouth open and her eyes closed. She loved his warm mouth, his gentle hands. His lips trailed her throat, then moved lower, his breath dancing over her breasts, his nose nudging them as he boldly inhaled her scent. She felt his tongue tease one of her vulnerable nipples through her robe. When he had the little nub hard and the black silk wet from his attention, he moved on to the next nipple.
"Jack…"
"I'm right here."
His hands parted her robe to expose the black chemise she'd worn to bed. His fingers brushed the dark curls between her legs, once. Twice. "No panties. Oh, baby…"
She heard the air whoosh out of his mouth, and she let out her own held breath and his name along with it.
"I want to watch a solo performance on the counter," he whispered against her lips.
He was suggesting he make love to her with his hands and watch her come apart. His erotic words made her shiver as his palm flattened out and slid over her mons.
His name was caught on a tortured moan as he parted her and two fingers sank inside.
"My fingers feel good, don't they? Ride my fingers, baby. Come on. I know you want to."
He moved his thumb forward and stroked slowly. He knew what he was doing, where to go, how fast to move, how hard to push. What would make her the most vulnerable. What to do to her to make her his.
"Jack…"
Sunni came apart in front of his eyes hard and fast. Her body moved against his loving fingers—magic fingers—with a sudden need so strong she soared swiftly and violently. Proudly and openly.
He'd once told her she wore her feelings. Tonight there was no doubt she'd exposed her soul, driven by the euphoria that she was fast realizing always came when she was in Jack's arms, surrendering to his unrelenting touch.
His lips were warm as he kissed her seconds later, drawing her lips into his mouth like savored pieces of candy. When his tongue came, it teased and coaxed at first, then turned into a hot poker—probing and searching. Hungry and determined.
He had the most marvelous breath, Sunni thought, as his tongue entered her mouth like a dragon breathing liquid fire. She moaned softly, felt his hands shove the straps of her chemise off her shoulders along with her robe. As he peeled the silk from her breasts he broke the kiss to watch them spill forward. "So damn beautiful," he sighed, then bent his knees and kissed each ripe swell, tugging on her nipples with his lips, then nudging them with his nose and gently torturing them with his unshaven chin. His mouth back on hers, he whispered, "I want in … inside you."
"Jack, no. Stop…"
He stood slowly, his gaze sweeping her swollen lips, then her tortured nipples. Sunni's breath hitched in her throat and she knew he heard it. That's why he wasn't backing off, why he hadn't stepped out of the notch between her legs. His hand went to his back pocket, produced a wrapped condom. "Is that a firm stop, or just a wait-a-minute-let-me-catch-my-breath kinda stop?"
The question hung in the silence. One minute dragged into two.
"That's what I thought." He took her hand and laid it against his zipper. Sunni hesitated only a second before her fingers found the metal clasp. When her hands slipped inside his jeans, he said, "Push 'em down. Free me up."
She pushed his jeans off his hips, and as he urged her to wrap her legs around him, she bent her knees. He half lifted, half dragged her forward off the counter, and then, in one smooth solid motion, he was inside her.
Sunni gasped in surprise, then again as he bucked his hips forward and sank deeper into her tight sheath.
He was so hot, and so incredibly hard…
Sweet agony was what came to mind as Sunni clung to his sturdy shoulders, each thrust of his hips taking them closer to a mind-numbing, earth-shattering climax.
They were both slick with sweat when surrender joined them in replete moans of victory. Seconds later, he was kissing her as deeply as he was seated, the air around them ripe with the spicy tang of spent passion.
Sunni buried her face against Jack's neck and tried to catch her breath—tried to rationalize what had just happened. What seemed to always happen when they gave into this powerful sexual attraction they had for each other.
But there was no rationalizing pure ecstasy, Sunni thought. Or how or when she'd fallen so desperately in love with Jack.
"You asleep, Sis?"
Sunni was holding on to him for dear life, too shattered in both body and mind to speak.
"Sis? You all right?"
"Just catching my breath." Slowly, she leaned back and looked at the man who had become so important to her in such a short time. "That was…"
"Fast," he breathed heavily, studying her face. "Should we try it a little slower … upstairs?"
* * *
Sunni woke before dawn and slipped out of bed. Quietly, she wrapped her robe around her nakedness, then went downstairs to the bathroom. After she'd given herself her insulin injection, she slipped back upstairs, removed her robe and eased back into bed to curl up next to Jackson's hot body.
"Everything all right?"
Eyes closed, Sunn
i snuggled close. "Yes. Go back to sleep."
She felt him shift his body, the bed creaking more than it would have over a minor adjustment. She opened her eyes to find him on his side, his arm stretched out high on the pillow. "What are you doing?"
His fingers began to play with her hair. "Touching and watching. My two favorite things to do when I'm with you."
Sunni slid her hand up his chest, her fingers sliding through the soft dark hair to curl around the silver cross that he wore. The cross had three distinct crossbars. She'd never seen him without it. "And what do you think about when you're touching and watching me, Jack?"
"Lately?"
"Yes, lately."
"Mostly I think you don't look sick."
His answer was unexpected. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"It means you look good. Better than good." He offered a small smile. "That's why it was such a shock when the paramedic said your unconsciousness last night was brought on by hypoglycemia."
"And you knew what that meant right away?"
He nodded. "But you're not sick. Not like my dad, anyway. Joe's right. There're no similarities except for—"
"Excuse me? Your dad's a diabetic?"
"Was. Diagnosed at age six. Dead at forty-eight."
His unexpected declaration hit Sunni like a hard fist to her stomach. She moaned inwardly, tried to keep from wearing her emotions, and sat up slowly. She kept her face averted as she attempted to escape the bed. Her heart was suddenly pounding wildly and there was a rushing noise in her ears.
Jackson reached out and tugged her back down beside him. When she tried to push him away, he leaned over her and pinned her to the mattress with his chest. "What's wrong?"
"I—nothing."
He tossed the sheet back over both of them, then rested his arm along her side and curled his fingers around her upper arm. "I acted like an ass last night at the hospital. I'm not trying to excuse it, just explain."
"I haven't asked for an explanation, Jack. Really. I … I don't want one." Sunni closed her eyes, fighting tears.
He kissed her. "Open your eyes, sweet thing." When she did, he said, "My dad's diabetes was acute. He had advanced heart problems before age twenty and wasn't expected to live to thirty. He married my mother when he was twenty-nine against the advice of his family and the doctors, but—"
"Jack, I don't need an explanation. I—"
"Ssh… Let me get this out. I was born four years later. Dad never worked a day of his life. My mother opened Caponelli's to support us, and while she was at work I took care of him. I ran bedpans, gave him insulin injections … cooked. Wiped his nose, and the other end, too. There were days at a time when I lived at the hospital. I used to hate it so much that… Well, I used to … is all."
"Jack, let me up."
"Ssh… The first thing I thought about last night when I learned you were a diabetic was … oh, hell, this can't be happening. Not again."
"Jack, please."
"That's why I was angry. Why I—"
"Okay, Jack! I get it." She shoved hard, and when he let her go, Sunni scrambled off the bed and quickly pulled on her robe. "I don't recall asking you to be my nursemaid, Jack. It sounds like you've had plenty of practice, but I'm not ready to climb into bed and die just yet."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Sometimes honesty wasn't the best policy, Sunni thought. But then again, Jack's you-think-it-you-say-it policy had certainly brought her head out of the clouds and settled her feet firmly back on the ground … once more.
Last night she'd been so afraid that the look in his eyes had been disgust. Now she knew it hadn't been disgust at all. What she'd seen was pity.
Oh, God! She'd been such a fool.
"Come on, Sis. Talk to me. Why are you looking at me like that? You're mad. Why?"
How dare he paint such a horrible picture, then ask her why she was mad. "You want me to talk. Well, here it is, Jack. I know what I am, but it's my problem. Mine. I'm not asking you to share any of it, so you can breathe easy. I'm the free ride, remember? No mess, no strings, no promises. And that's the way I want it. So don't worry. You're not going to have to polish up your bedpan."
Sunni swore, then went looking for her slippers.
"I thought that was a strange thing for you to say the other night. Now I understand."
"Understand? Just what is it you understand, Jack?"
"Fear can make a person do and say things they don't mean. I did that at the hospital last night. I sliced you up pretty good. It works like a safety net. In case you fall you're forewarned it's going to happen. You can say, I knew it would happen, or maybe … it's better this way. Anyway, it's all crap." He sat up and shoved himself against the headboard. "You don't really believe in free rides. Nor do you want it that way."
Sunni bit down on the inside of her cheek and tightened the sash around her waist with such force she nearly cut herself in two. In the beginning her plan had been just a few nights in his arms. After last night, she'd begun to think there might be a chance for more. This morning that chance had been shredded. No, torched, and what was left was a pile of ashes.
"This mess doesn't have a solution like one of your cases, Jack. I know you're the whatever-it-takes cop. The down-and-dirty-is-familiar-territory guy, but I don't need you to pick up with me where you left off with your father. Thanks, but no thanks."
His jaw jerked, and he lifted an eyebrow. A second later, he raised one naked knee and rested his arm there, displaying himself openly. Finally, he said, "Afraid to lean on someone, Sis? It's more than obvious you're hungry for a man in your bed. Afraid the guy can't stick it out for more than a week or two?"
All right, it was an excuse to keep from drooling over his marvelous package, or saying the wrong thing. She was furious with him, but, naked, Jack could make a million as a male centerfold—everything about him was larger than life.
Damn him for that. And damn him for being able to read her mind.
"Since you've been shooting insulin, can't get anyone to carry the ball? Is that it? How many guys have come and gone? We both know there hasn't been anyone recent because of the way you—"
"Shut up, Jack." Sunni was practically standing on her head, looking under the bed for her slippers when she found one. She reached, gripped the hard sole, then stood slowly.
"I used to brush Dad's teeth, too. Cream his feet to keep 'em soft. Didn't bother me, though."
"Go to hell, Jack. Better yet, go back to New Orleans." With that, Sunni hurled the slipper through the air. It made a loud smack as it hit him square between his eyes.
He grunted. Swore, then dropped his knee. The bedsprings groaned. Sunni didn't stick around after that; she raced through the door.
"Going for higher ground, Sis?"
"The kitchen," she hollered over her shoulder. "I need to eat breakfast in twenty minutes. You know us diabetics, Jack, we're a royal pain in the ass."
* * *
Sunni watched from the kitchen window as Jack leaned over and rested his forearm on a gray sedan, talking to the two detectives who had stood watch throughout the night.
Tom Mallory's home was in a quiet neighborhood.
The front yard was well taken care of with sturdy oak and elm trees to shelter the small two-story from the street. But Sunni wasn't interested in oaks and elms or how quiet the neighborhood was. What was distracting her from keeping breakfast on time was the nicest, tightest male butt in the city aimed straight at the kitchen window.
He shoved away from the car and turned around. The morning was cool and he'd pulled on his leather jacket before he'd gone outside. She could see his breath as he started back to the house. His stride was long and his dark hair moved freely in the wind.
The tough-guy jacket and faded jeans fit him, she decided. And the tough-guy city where he'd grown up fit him, too. He had never really told her why he'd relocated to New Orleans, but last night when he'd mentioned Tom Mallory, she had put two and two
together. The death of his ex-partner had driven him away from his home and the job that fit him better than his made-to-order shirts and hip-hugging sexy jeans.
The door opened. She turned, her chin as high as she could get it without staring at the ceiling. He leaned against the door frame, his hands finding his jeans' front pockets, parting his jacket to show off his hell-raiser hard body. "I don't smell any breakfast, Sis. How come? Stove not working?" He looked at the clock on the wall next to the table. "You got eight minutes if you want to keep on your breakfast schedule."
Sunni glared at him, not liking him telling her what she already knew. "We're having cereal. It won't take me eight minutes to put a box on the table. More like thirty seconds." That's not what she had planned, but it was his fault she'd been unable to yank herself away from the window.
He didn't say anything to that, just kept staring—staring at the twins. For heaven's sake, now he had her calling them by that ridiculous name. Disgusted with herself, she stormed to the fridge and jerked it open, then bent over, "Mac? When are you going to pick him up?"
"He has to be awake before they'll release him. I'll pick him up around five. You miss him?"
"About as much as I'm going to miss you when you're out of my hair and back in New Orleans," she lied. "Eek!"
The sudden pinch on her butt cheek sent Sunni into orbit. On her way back down, he grabbed the milk carton out of her hand. "That's for this lump." He pointed to his forehead and the raised red welt, then walked to the table and set the milk down. When he turned around to face her, he was, again, ogling her.
"Knock it off, Jack." She spun around to retrieve the box of cereal she'd seen earlier in the cupboard.
Suddenly an arm came around her and hauled her back against steel muscles covered in soft leather and rugged denim. He bent his head and, next to her ear, whispered, "I'm the one who can carry the ball."
He kissed her ear, straightened quickly, then spun her and lifted her off her feet. A moment later she was sitting on the counter in pretty much the same vulnerable position he'd put her in last night. His hands clamped down on her knees and he jerked them wide and stepped forward. "Let's get something straight here. Whether you believe it or not, I'm the man. It's ironic, but your father told me that the day I left. He said, 'Whether I like it or not, Ward, you're the man.' He said it just like that. I didn't know how right he was then. But I do now."
