Body Contact

by Rebecca York

  Through the doorway, Jack saw Juanita step out the door at the base of the tower and cross the inner courtyard once more.

  The man thrust the packet of chicken bones at her. “Take these away.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “You were up there a long time.”

  “I feel sorry for the poor girl. And—she tells me things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Her father is rich. Maybe he will reward—”

  Her words broke off abruptly. Quickly she thrust the hand with the packet of chicken bones into the pocket of her skirt. Moments later, Jack realized what had caused the abrupt change in behavior.

  Two armed guards were coming rapidly up the path—heading straight for the tower.

  The sentry at the door snapped to attention as the two men on patrol came abreast of the doorway.

  “What’s going on?” one of the newcomers asked.

  “You’re early,” Miguel said.

  “We’re doubling the shifts.”

  From the jungle Jack silently cursed.

  “So you thought we wouldn’t be here now,” the man on patrol said. “What were you up to?”

  “Juanita was delivering food to the prisoner, the way she does every night,” the man in the doorway answered.

  “Well, I don’t see any basket of food,” one of the men on patrol answered.

  “I’ve already taken it up,” the woman replied.

  “Then why are you still hanging around?”

  “Miguel and I were just passing the time.”

  “That’s against the rules.”

  “We weren’t doing any harm.”

  “What if somebody tried to help the prisoner escape?”

  Juanita laughed. “Who would be stupid enough to do that?”

  “I don’t know. But we have our orders to be watchful. You could be in big trouble,” he added.

  “I hope not,” she said, moving forward.

  Jack watched as she reached out a hand and touched the front of the man’s shirt.

  His arm shot out, and he pulled her closer.

  When he lowered his head to her mouth, she didn’t resist. In fact, she twined her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his.

  The man’s hands slid down her back to cup her bottom and pull her more tightly against himself.

  Probably not part of his official duties, Jack thought. He’d bet that Reynard would like to know about this little incident.

  Maybe it would make a good bargaining chip. On the other hand, then Jack would have to explain what he was doing out here by the tower.

  “That’s very persuasive,” the guard was saying, his voice thick with arousal.

  Probably not just his voice, Jack thought.

  “But not quite persuasive enough. You’ve left me wanting a lot more.”

  “Then we’ll have to do something about that.” Juanita looked from him to the three other men. “But not here,” she added quickly. “We could all get in trouble for this.”

  “I’ll be off duty in two hours.”

  “You could come to my room.”

  “Where is it?”

  “You go in the entrance to the servants’ complex. Turn to the right. My door is the fifth one down. The number is 22.”

  “Twenty-two,” he repeated.

  “Yes. I’ll be waiting for you,” she answered, making her voice husky and seductive. Like she was really looking forward to having sex with a man who’d threatened her. Without waiting for further comment, she turned and hurried away into the darkness.

  Jack heard the men talking in low voices, heard sharp laughter. The one who had kissed her probably thought he was getting away with murder. He didn’t know that Juanita had her own agenda. And the scene Jack had witnessed made it appear that the woman was desperate to stay out of trouble. For Dawn’s sake, he hoped.

  IN THE DARKNESS, Maddy glanced at the illuminated green numbers on the clock face. Jack had been gone for almost two hours, and she was worried.

  What if Reynard’s men had discovered him out there in the darkness and taken him into custody? What if he was being questioned now?

  She wanted to pull on her clothing and rush out into the night. But that wasn’t an option. Her job was to stay here and convince anyone listening that Jack was here too.

  A small sound escaped from her lips, something between a moan and a sob. She clapped her hand over her mouth, then took it away, her face twisting in the darkness.

  That’s what she was supposed to be doing, wasn’t she? Making noises.

  “Oh, Jack,” she murmured. “That’s so good. Don’t stop.” She punctuated the request with a series of breathy pants—thinking that this was a damn strange way to conduct a secret mission.

  Yet at the same time she knew that Jack’s life might depend on her midnight performance. She hoped that if somebody was listening they’d decided that Jack was a hell of a good lover.

  Actually, he was a hell of a good lover, she thought, her body heating as she remembered that first time. And then in the shower.

  He was sensual and focused and as concerned about her pleasure as he was his own.

  For a few moments she allowed herself to remember the feel of his hands and mouth on her body.

  This time when a little sound of pleasure escaped her lips, it was genuine.

  “Jack,” she said his name aloud again. “Jack.”

  Just thinking about him had her whole body on fire, and before she could stop herself, she brought her hands to her chest and cupped her breasts.

  She could feel her hardened nipples though the silky fabric of the gown. Restlessly, she stroked her fingers over them, making her blood heat even more.

  She thought of Jack touching her. Thought of Jack sliding his hand down her body and caressing the slick flesh of her sex.

  Her own hand slid downward, but she stopped when she reached her hip bone.

  She was only making things worse. She couldn’t let herself dissolve in a pool of sensual pleasure. She had to keep her mind alert.

  Ruthlessly, she struggled to quench the flames that thoughts of Jack and her own hands had ignited. She needed to calm herself down, and she knew how to do it. She could think about this afternoon, when she’d known that Jack was hiding something from her.

  The remembered scene had the desired effect. And now her mind went spinning off in another direction. What if Jack had lied about where he was going this evening? What if he had a secret meeting with Reynard or somebody who worked for the man.

  No! She silently screamed.

  Impossible.

  Yet the evil thought lodged like a knife blade in her skull.

  Tomorrow, she knew, she had to bring it out into the open somehow. She had to know where she stood in this operation. But lying here getting upset wasn’t going to do her a damn bit of good.

  Eyes closed, she made her mind blank, concentrating on breathing slowly and deeply in a pattern that she hoped would relax her brain and body.

  For a short time, it seemed to work. She even drifted into a peaceful sleep.

  JACK WAITED until the patrol had passed, waited until the sentry was once more standing beside the archway. Then he took his bearings by the North Star again and began retracing his steps to the villa.

  Because he knew the route, he could move faster through the jungle. Although he had to keep stopping and checking his position by the stars, he reached the villa in forty-five minutes.

  From the protection of the foliage, he studied the back door. Everything looked okay, but he couldn’t be absolutely sure until he got inside.

  Under the protection of the greenery, he used a stick to scrape the bottom of his shoes, then stepped forward and wiped them on the grass beyond the patio.

  A NIGHTMARE GRABBED Maddy by the throat. Her mind knew at once that it was a dream, that it couldn’t be real, because reality had shifted. She hadn’t come to Orchid Island to rescue Dawn. Daw
n was safe at home, and Maddy was the woman locked in the Dark Tower, her hands wrapped around the bars of a small window as she peered out into the blackness of the jungle night.

  She was listening for something. Waiting.

  Then, from her high vantage point, she saw a man moving through the foliage, making his stealthy way toward the tower. She couldn’t see his face, not from up in the tower. But she knew it was Jack—coming to save her.

  Then, to her horror, she saw a group of men heading toward him.

  Reynard and his soldiers.

  She pressed her face against the bars and screamed a warning. “Jack, watch out. They know you’re there.”

  He stopped dead in his tracks, but it was already too late. They were on him, beating at him with their fists and with the butts of their weapons, and she was helpless to do more than watch the horror unfold.

  Then somebody yanked her roughly away from the window. She kicked at him. Clawed, because she knew it was Reynard. She might have gotten away. She had almost struggled free—until more hands clamped onto her body, and she screamed again because it was Calista. Touching her, whispering that she had her now.

  Horror rose inside her, and she put forth a mighty effort, yanking herself free of the woman and yanking herself free of the dream.

  Her body drenched in sweat, she lay among the tangled sheets, listening to the sound of her own heart beating—until another noise told her that she was still in danger—real danger.

  JACK CROSSED the remaining distance to the concrete pad. It was darker closer to the house where the wall cast a shadow, and he cursed as he bumped into one of the patio chairs.

  Anxious to get inside, he pulled open the sliding glass door and stepped across the threshold. As he did, an arm slipped around his neck and took him in a stranglehold.

  10

  JACK TRIED TO DRAW in a breath. The arm tightened, and he staggered forward, the assailant on his back weighing him down.

  Lord, the guards had come here to investigate, found Maddy alone, and taken her into custody.

  Now they were after him.

  The thought was canceled immediately. The person reaching across his back to clamp his windpipe wasn’t heavy. Then he registered the twin pressures against his shoulders.

  Breasts.

  It was Maddy. She’d heard him outside, thought he was someone from Reynard’s goon squad, and gone on the attack.

  In his mind, he screamed out his own name. Jack. It’s Jack. Stop it; you’re choking me.

  But no sound made it past the stranglehold around his windpipe.

  Lord, the woman was determined. She was weaponless, but she’d come after a man she undoubtedly thought was armed. Too bad he was the victim.

  He had little time to dwell on her bravery. Not when she was cutting off his breath. In the darkness he could see nothing. Hear nothing besides the roaring in his own ears. The one thing he knew for sure was that he had to break her stranglehold quickly, before he lost consciousness.

  And he had to do it without hurting Maddy.

  He reared back, taking her by surprise. He felt her hold loosen just a little. Leaning forward, he flipped her over his head and onto the rug.

  He had time for a quick, grateful gulp of air before she grabbed his leg and toppled him.

  She was on him again, like a woman fighting for her life—a woman bent on doing serious damage to the man who had invaded her bedroom.

  He grunted when she slammed her fist into his chin. The blow was surprisingly solid, but didn’t slow his own reactions. This time he was ready for her. His hands came up, grabbing her wrists, keeping her from strangling him again.

  Once more he flipped her over and off his body—this time onto her back. Before she could slither from his grasp, he came down on top of her, his hands manacling her wrists as he held them against the carpet.

  “Don’t,” he growled when she tried to get her knee into position to do serious damage to his manhood.

  At the sound of his voice, she went very still, then sucked in a shaky draft of air.

  “Surprise,” he hissed in the darkness, easing his hold on her.

  When she didn’t try to fight him again, he rolled to his side, taking her with him.

  They both lay there on the rug, breathing hard.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t know….”

  Right. She hadn’t known it was him. She must have been on overdrive, he thought, waiting for the worst. When she’d heard an invader in the room, she’d defended her turf.

  In his mind, he tried to reverse their positions. If that had happened to him, he’d want to explain his thinking to the person he’d just attacked. Unfortunately, explanations could be fatal, under the circumstances.

  Before she could say anything else, he moved his hand to her mouth, keeping it there for several seconds. She gave a little nod, and he eased up on the pressure.

  This time when she spoke, she brought her lips to his ear, then said in a barely audible whisper, “Jack, I’m sorry. I…I was trying to make myself relax, and I fell asleep. I had a dream….”

  “Bad?”

  “Yes,” she murmured, and he knew she was thinking about how to phrase her response. “This island makes me feel…nervous. I guess I fell asleep for a while and dreamed that Reynard and his men had captured you…they…” She broke off abruptly and started again. “When I woke up, I heard a noise, and I thought…I thought…”

  He nodded his head in the darkness, his forehead pressed against her cheek.

  “I’m here,” was all he could say. He wanted to tell her that it had taken longer than he’d expected to get to the tower. He wanted to relate what had happened when he did. And he wanted to tell her that he knew she was in danger from Reynard—but he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.

  He thought about dragging her out into the star-filled night, where presumably they would be able to talk. But he’d already pushed his luck pretty far this evening. Which made going outside again a bad idea.

  What was he going to tell the guards if they got caught? That they’d wanted to have sex outside in the darkness—after they’d presumably been enjoying each other in bed for hours.

  Not likely.

  “Jack?” she murmured, probably sensing the tension coursing through him.

  There was nothing he could tell her about the night’s activities—not now. But at the same time, he wanted to ease her mind.

  He raised up. “At your service, baby,” he said, feeling her warm breath against his lips. He wanted to see her then, wanted her to see the reassurance in his eyes. But the room was too dark for eye contact, so he simply lowered his mouth to hers. He meant it to be a quick kiss, just a way to connect with her as best he could. But the moment his lips touched down on hers, he knew he was kidding himself.

  He felt as if he were drowning, with no one to save him except the woman in his arms.

  Perhaps she was feeling the same thing, because she made a hungry sound, and slid her arms around his neck. Her lips never leaving his, she deepened the kiss.

  He wanted to tell her to stop. He wanted to tell her they shouldn’t be doing this. That he had no right to take any more from her than he’d already taken. But the words stayed locked in his throat because he didn’t have the strength to utter them.

  He’d wanted her all day. No, he’d wanted her again almost as soon as they’d stepped out of the shower. And the roles they’d been acting while they were together hadn’t helped. Not when every touch, every taste of her had fueled his blind, selfish need.

  Now he felt his heart slamming against the inside of his chest as he gathered her to him.

  He was lost in the woman taste of her, the feel of her mouth on his. He forgot about the trip to the tower. For a moment out of time he forgot about why they’d come to Orchid Island and why they were in the worst fix of his life.

  There was only the reality of the warm, pliant woman in his arms. Swamping his senses, threatening t
o drive every coherent thought from his mind.

  Some part of him was waiting for her to pull away. This was wrong—for her. He was no good for her. Not on any long-term basis. He was a man who couldn’t afford commitments. But in the short term, he simply couldn’t turn her loose. Not when she was making small whimpering sounds in her throat, begging him to deepen the kiss.

  When her hands slid to his hips, and she pulled herself to him, rocking her body against the rigid flesh behind his fly, he thought he would go out of his mind if he didn’t have her now. Here. On the rug.

  Somehow the realization of where they were brought back a measure of sanity.

  “Not here,” he said. “Not on the damn floor.”

  He eased away from her and lay on his back, his breath coming in great gasps.

  “Jack?” she questioned, and he could hear her breath, fast and uneven.

  When she rolled toward him, he put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m trying to remember I’m a civilized man.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He turned his head toward her. In the darkened bedroom he could see her profile but not the expression on her face.

  “It means we’re getting back into bed,” he answered, his head clearing enough to remember that someone might be listening to this conversation.

  Damn! He wanted privacy. He wanted the lights on so he could see Maddy, see the arousal he knew was painted on her face. And he wanted to watch that arousal build and grow.

  But he wanted privacy more. Because he was damned if he was going to stand for anyone watching them make love.

  He stood, reached for her hand, and helped her to her feet. When she swayed toward him, he put his palm up again, preventing her body from touching his—preventing either one of them from reaching flash point too quickly.

  She made a small sound of protest. He only led her to the bed, then looked down at the sheets. There was enough light for him to see that she’d twisted them into a tangled mess while he’d been gone. Well, she hadn’t been lying about her anxiety.