by Jill Shalvis
“No.” But the place was beyond her help, she knew that. “Out,” she reminded herself, wincing because the heat was searing her skin as she stood there. With the extinguisher, she spurted the fire directly in front of her to make a path. Smoke rose, choking her, but it worked. All she had to do was duck under the counter—burning now—and she’d have a clear shot at the door.
She used the extinguisher again, and dropping on all fours, started crawling under the counter, a task made more difficult because of her long robe, but finally she was past the flames enough to stand up in the dining area.
Weaving a little unsteadily, she looked back at the kitchen that had been her life for so long, and her heart lurched.
Her entire life…
Behind her, something crashed, startling her. Whipping around, she saw Jack straighten from where he’d kicked down the door. He started toward her, his expression filled with horror and fear.
All that strength, she thought fuzzily. She’d definitely had different plans for those muscles tonight.
He grabbed her, pulled her hard to him, lifting her face to his. “Sam—”
“The brownies burned.” She felt a sob rise. “All of them.”
He started to say something, but she couldn’t hear over the shattering of another window behind her. Jack shielded her body with his while glass rained down, mingling with the falling ash and thick smoke. “Out,” he yelled. “Now.”
The next thing she knew they were standing in the parking lot, in the warm night, staring back at Wild Cherries as the entire building went up in flames and smoke.
She blinked up at him. Had he carried her, or had she walked? She looked down at her bare feet, streaked with dirt, and couldn’t remember.
The fire lit up the night sky, the noise hurt her ears. Urgently, Jack put his hands on her arms. “Are you hurt? Are you burned? Where?”
Her hands were fisted as she took in the sight of her life burning. She shook her head and felt the tears in her throat, which surprised her because she never cried, never even felt like crying, but another glance at the blazing building behind them reminded her she hadn’t had a big loss in a while, either. At least nothing that had mattered.
This mattered. God, this really mattered. “I probably should have grabbed some clothes.”
“Sam, look at me.” His voice was low, insistent and filled with fear, which brought her back.
Her palm stung, and she figured she’d cut it, but she kept her hands closed because the thing that hurt the most was her heart. “I’m okay.”
“We’re shaking. Let’s sit.” He pulled her down on the curb.
“Here they come,” she said when sirens sounded from down the road.
“Yes. Sam, sweetheart, look at me. Let me see your eyes.”
“It’s going to be too late, you know.”
“It’s not too late, you’re still breathing.” He hugged her tight. “When I pulled up and saw the flames—” A breath stuttered through him.
“You were scared.”
“Try terrified.”
She stared at him, feeling like her entire heart sat in her mouth. “How did this happen between us, Jack? It’s too fast, we’ve only—”
“Shh.” He held her again, and this time she leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”
No. No, it wasn’t. “I had quite a night planned,” she murmured, gripping his shirt in her fists. “I was going to seduce you in black lace and then I was going to do it again, just because.”
“I’ll take a rain check.” He stroked a hand down her back and rubbed his cheek over her hair. “But trust me, the black lace would have worked as many times as you had it in you.”
She let out a sobbing laugh and held on tight, closing her eyes to the sight of flames leaping into the night.
Two fire department engines roared into the parking lot, but the old building had already taken too much of a beating.
Face blank, Sam watched the fight, only her eyes reflecting her emotions, and Jack had never felt so helpless as he did right then watching her watch her life go up in smoke.
She’d suffered so many damn losses; this was just another in a long string of them, and he could hardly stand it. He wanted to shove his wallet at her, wanted to buy her the moon, if only to take away the hollow devastation etched so clearly in her green eyes. But that wouldn’t work here. He couldn’t fix this for her.
She’d had her fists clenched and he reached for one now, holding it between his hands. “Sam—” He’d been about to try to get her to sit again, but frowning, he looked down at her sticky hand. It was dark but he could still see the even darker stain dribbling from her fingers.
His heart caught. “Sam, open your hand.”
She did, then gasped in pain. Her palm had been sliced, probably on glass when she’d crawled out of the kitchen.
“Here.” Jack cradled her hand in his while he gently probed for slivers, her every sharp, pained breath stabbing into him. “It’s clean,” he said with some relief and pulled off his shirt, turning it inside out for the cleanest area, then pressing it to her hand to try to stanch the blood.
Around them, it seemed as if the firefighters had put out the fire nearly as fast as it’d started. And then the questions began. Sam told them everything she could in a flat voice and with an even expression that worried Jack to the bone.
Too calm, he thought. She was way too calm.
“Is it all gone then?” she asked them in a carefully neutral voice. “Is there nothing to save?”
“Not sure what the cap’ll say,” the firefighter told her. “But it looks like you might have some of the base framing left.”
Eyes unreadable, she nodded.
And Jack’s own burned for her.
The ambulance arrived. Sam turned to Jack, face streaked with dirt and ash, bathrobe torn and grubby, and said, “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”
“Sam—”
“I’m okay.”
She needed stitches, and one look at the paramedic’s face verified that. “I’ll come with you,” he said. “But you’re going.”
NINE STITCHES LATER, Jack put Sam back into his SUV. He’d had plenty of stitches in his time and broken bones as well, not to mention three surgeries; but he’d never been on the holding-the-hand side of things. When they’d put a needle into Sam’s wound, he’d actually seen stars, but hadn’t allowed himself to look away.
“Breathe, Knight,” she’d said dryly, and he’d taken a shaky breath to keep from passing out.
Some hand-holder.
Now she sat in his car, wearing her now grungy robe, beneath which was the black lace lingerie he had a few glimpses of and was having a hard time keeping his mind off of, even now. Wearily, she set her head back on the seat. “Stop worrying,” she said, eyes closed. “I’m fine.”
“I’m not worrying,” he said. Much.
“I need to call Lorissa and Red. One of them will let me use a couch. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“No.”
Craning just her neck without moving another inch of her body, as if she were so exhausted she couldn’t manage it, she looked at him.
“My house,” he said.
Giving in much easier than he expected, she nodded. “Your house.”
She sounded defeated, which was so out of character, even given the events of the night, that he wondered how much pain she was in—she’d refused to take the meds offered her at the hospital. Figuring he’d bully her into taking them at home, he concentrated on the drive.
Twenty minutes later when he pulled up his driveway and turned off the engine, she hadn’t said another word. For a moment, he just looked at her, lying so still against the seat, eyes closed, injured hand cradled in her good one.
“Sam.” He put his hand beneath hers. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, but it’s not yours, either,” he said, knowing he’d gone to the crux of he
r thoughts when she grimaced. He got out of the car and came around for her, but she slipped out and stood before he got there, then grumbled when he scooped her up.
“Put me down. I hurt my hand, not my feet.”
He strode to the front door with her in his arms.
“Jack, don’t be stupid, you’ll hurt your knee.” She rolled her eyes at him when he propped her up between his body and the door while he fumbled for his keys. “What, no butler?”
“When I thought you were going to be taking advantage of me all night, I gave him the evening off.”
“Let me walk, Jack. You’re acting like a he-man.”
He sighed. “Maybe you could lean on someone, just for tonight. Lean on me, Sam.”
Her eyes drifted closed, and she snaked her arms around his neck. “I suppose I could…just for tonight.”
“Tonight,” he agreed grimly, wishing he’d asked for longer.
He carried her upstairs, setting her down in his bathroom, next to the large whirlpool tub. “Bath?”
“Yeah.” She watched him turn on the water and test the temperature. “I can take it from here.”
“’Kay.” He stroked his fingers down her jaw. “Call me if you need anything.”
He paced the house for a while. When he came back into his bedroom, she was sitting in the middle of his bed wrapped in two of his towels, looking a little lost. He went into the bathroom, filled a glass with water and brought it to her. “Here.” He pulled out the bottle of pills and shook two into her hand. “Take ’em.”
“I’m fine.”
“Take them anyway.”
That she did spoke volumes. “I’ll be listening for you,” he said. The towels revealed the mile-long legs he’d hoped to have wrapped around him all night long. “If you need anything, anything at all, call for me, okay?”
“Sure.”
Ah, hell, there was a quiver in her voice, and his feet stopped moving, stopped taking him farther away and drew him back to the bed. “Sam…”
“No.” Her voice was a bare whisper as she pulled her feet in, tucking them beneath her so that she was just a little ball. “I’m fine. Really.”
But that was a lie, and they both knew it. He sat on the bed and put a hand on her thigh. Beneath the terry cloth, she was shaking. “Oh, Sam…”
“I’m fine,” she repeated, but covered her face.
“Can I do something?” he asked gently. “Make you something to eat?”
“Jack.” She managed a mirthless laugh. “You’re hovering.”
“I know, damn it.” He ran his hand up and down her leg as if he could warm her up when he knew that wasn’t why she shook—it was from lingering shock or just utter desolation. “I’m feeling pretty helpless here, and I don’t do well with helpless.”
“Then stop it. Just…go away.”
“I thought I could, but no can do.” Scooping her into his lap, he leaned back against the headboard. “Tell me what to do, Sam. Tell me, and I’ll do it.”
She shook her head and looked away, but not before he saw her eyes go glossy with unshed tears. And just like that, he was a goner. “Please.” He put his forehead to hers. “You’re breaking my heart. Do something. Yell, scream, cry, have a fit…you’re entitled.”
“All right.” With her eyes closed, she slid her one good hand around his shoulders and pressed her face in the crook of his neck. When she squirmed a little to make the fit even tighter between them, her bottom ground lightly into his lap.
“Sam—”
“This.” She bit his neck, then soothed it when a kiss. She lifted her face, lightly cupping his with her bandaged hand. “This is what I want.” Fumbling between them, she opened the towels, revealing the tanned, subtle skin and sweet curves he’d been dreaming about for weeks now.
A natural blonde, he thought, and closed his eyes on another groan.
“Oblivion,” she said in a barely there voice, shifting in his lap restlessly.
Yeah, oblivion worked for him, too, but he couldn’t take advantage—
“I want it from you.”
“Sam—”
She rubbed that mind-blowing body against his, making him shake with the effort to hold back.
“Wait. Listen.” He struggled for thought, not easy when it wasn’t his brain in charge at the moment. He had to close his eyes to block the vision of that glorious body sprawled over his, but even that didn’t help because she was imprinted in his mind. “You’re in shock. You’re sick with it.” He sounded desperate, even to his own ears. “You have stitches in your hand for crissake. We can’t—”
“Take me, Jack. “
“Sam—”
“Make me forget. Please?” And to seal the deal, she put her mouth on his.
12
SAM CONCENTRATED on the feel of Jack’s arms around her, of the protective, tender way he held her tightly to him.
Nothing mattered right this second except this, and to prove it, she danced her tongue to his, inhaling the low, rough male sound he made, the one that was so sexy in its neediness that she deepened the kiss even more just to hear it again.
He didn’t disappoint.
Yeah, she needed this. She needed his strength, his passion, the way she felt when his arms banded even more tightly around her.
She held him close, her lips clinging to his while her good hand smoothed its way down his chest, tugging his shirt from the waistband of his jeans, then gliding beneath to touch that hot flesh and sleek muscle.
Releasing her long enough to whip off his shirt, he wrapped her back in his arms. “Your hand—”
“Doesn’t hurt.” She arched into him, pushing him flat to the bed, sprawling over the top of him. He hissed out an oath, a low, desperation behind it that only egged her on. With her left hand she went for the buttons on his Levi’s. “I’m not fragile, I’m not going to break.” Pop went his first button.
Pop. Pop.
Again he swore, then ran his hands down her arms to her wrists. Gently flipping her onto her back, he brought her arms up over her head, holding them pinned to the pillow above her, achingly careful with her bandaged hand. “Sam.” His chest rose and fell with each harsh breath. “Hold still a sec. I can’t think when you—”
“I don’t want to think.” She tugged at his hold and with a worried grunt, he let her go.
“Be careful,” he said. “You—”
“You’re not listening…I’m not going to break, I promise.” She tossed back her head. She knew her eyes were filled with pride and the heart-wrenching sorrow of the night, but she had to have this. Him. She knew she should be shocked by her need, disturbed by her lack of modesty, but she wasn’t. “If you don’t want me, just say so.”
His expression was incredulous. “Are you kidding?” His gaze swept over her, and with the towels discarded, she lay there open and utterly defenseless to him. Slowly he lowered himself over her, covering her with his body, spreading her legs to accommodate his. He cupped her face. Then he kissed her deeply, his hips grinding slowly, purposely to hers, and she felt him, hard and heavy against her. “Feel that?” he murmured.
Oh, yes. Yes, she did, and because of it, pleasure and need entwined, coiled…bordered on frustration.
“Feel how much I want you,” he breathed, his mouth against hers.
Sheer desire had her arching her back a little to feel even more of him. “Do you have a condom?”
Reaching out, he opened a drawer in the night-stand by the bed. There was a strip of them there, and he tore one off and held it up. Then he tossed the towels to the floor. Feeling shameless, she sprawled out a little, watching him. Needing him.
He stood up, his shirt already gone, his Levi’s undone, and stripped himself down to skin and muscle, and oh my, what skin and muscle he had! Quite simply, the long hard lines of limbs, his tight, corrugated belly, his powerful thighs and everything between them took her breath. She couldn’t tear her eyes off of him.
He lay down beside her again. C
upping a breast, he kissed the peak, then pulled back and caressed it with his thumb. “You’re so beautiful, Sam.”
“Not like you.” His virile nakedness made it difficult to breathe. She wanted to touch and taste. She wanted everything.
He let out a rough laugh. “A woman’s body has got it all over a man’s. There’s so much to look at…” He stroked the backs of his fingers over her breasts and watched intently while the sensitive tips puckered tight for him. “So much to touch.”
She felt the tug of his caress now, of his fingers, his mouth, all the way to her womb. She was melting, dissolving away in pleasure.
He swirled his tongue around a nipple, then lifted his head to watch it contract even more. He did it again and again, before finally sucking her into his mouth.
She couldn’t help it; she cried out and thrust against him. And he merely started over with her other breast while his hand slid down her belly. His fingers slipped toward her moist curls. Her body responded to the sharp, burning electrical current, her every nerve leaped with anticipation, driving need…
His hand dipped a fraction lower, but not nearly low enough.
“Jack.” She wrapped her fingers around his erection, and got even more excited when he swore roughly. Then his mouth had claimed hers again, hungrily, greedily.
But still he didn’t take her, still he held back.
“I’m not hurting,” she promised, panting from his kisses, his touches. “Don’t hold back.”
“I don’t intend to.” He set a big hand on her knee, urged her legs even further apart, then lowered himself between her thighs. With his shoulders wedging her legs open, she was fully exposed to him. He ducked his head.
For a moment, she was too shocked at the unexpected move to do more than let out a squeak, and then in the next moment she was a slave to his tongue. The fingers of her good hand slid into his hair, fisted. The sounds that tore from her throat might have shocked her in their neediness if she could think, but she couldn’t. She could only react.
And when her climax came, it dazed her, pummeled her. She was gasping for breath, her skin shining with perspiration, hair clinging to her neck and face. A wreck. A total wreck.
