"I didn't."
"Yes, O'Connor, you did."
"It's just that she's so little, and I keep thinking I should be doing more." Her lashes trembled, more from fatigue, he decided, than anger. If anyone ever had needed eight hours of oblivion, she did.
"The best thing you can do right now is get some sleep."
"Oh no, I couldn't possibly! Not until her temperature is down to normal again." Craning her neck, she tried to peer around his big chest at the sleeping baby.
"Bedtime, Mommy," he ordered.
"Just let me check one more time."
"I'll do it – after I make sure you're tucked in nice and tight." He slid his hand to her shoulder and turned her gently but firmly toward the bedroom. They made it to the bed before she had another go at rebelling.
"Jess, wait, you said you'd get another thermometer."
"In the morning."
"But—"
"No more buts, O'Connor."
He grabbed a handful of lapel and pulled her toward him. Angling his mouth over hers, he smothered the protest still brewing in her eyes with the only method he hadn't already tried.
As soon as his mouth touched hers, the desire that had been on slow boil all day spilled over. Now that he knew how responsive she was and how sweet it felt to be inside her, he was having the devil's own time convincing himself to take things slow and easy the way he had to take most things in his life.
Pulling his mouth from hers, he managed his version of a teasing smile. "Lights out in five minutes."
She was using his shoulders for support, and her eyes were soft and anxious, tugging at him hard. She was one tough, self-sufficient career woman, all right. Except when it came to those she loved. And then she was a bundle of nerves and tension.
"Jess, she's going to be okay, isn't she? Ty didn't tell you anything you're keeping from me?"
"I don't know how many ways I can say the same thing. She has a minor ear infection, nothing serious."
He rested his hand in the warm spot of her neck, where the hair was thickest. Beneath his palm her small bones seemed painfully fragile, too easily crushed. He wanted to slay dragons and climb mountains and build moats to keep her safe. Instead, he had to settle for massaging her taut muscles and distracting her from her terrors.
Her mouth wobbled, then decided on a small, fey smile. "I'm being silly, right? A run-of-the-mill neurotic first-time mother. A typical textbook case."
His mouth brushed through her hair to find her forehead, and he breathed in her fragrance. Just being with her, finding himself surrounded by the whimsy and color and light of her house, was bringing his senses to life again.
"I don't know about textbooks, but there's nothing typical about you."
Hazel absorbed his words, but it was the beginning of a genuine smile in his eyes that held her. He wasn't in love with her, but that didn't mean he didn't find her interesting. With a man as controlled as Jess had made himself, perhaps that was as far as he was able to stretch his feelings. She told herself that it was enough.
"Should I be insulted or pleased?"
"What do you think?"
"Hmm, I'm not sure." She tilted her back so that she could see his face. Some of the lines had smoothed away, but his eyes were still hooded, more from worry, she decided, than wariness.
For more than two days he'd been as patient and understanding as a saint. He'd warmed bottles and helped her sponge Francey's hot little body and run through his entire vocabulary of soothing phrases – all without once showing a hit of his famous impatience.
Slowly, giving him plenty of time to guess her motives, she lifted her hand to his face and traced the aggressive curve of his mouth. His lips firmed under her touch, then slowly, imperceptibly, relaxed.
Hazel hid her pleasure behind a slow, teasing grin. "Something tells me you're too easily bored to be happy with a conventional wife."
"What is this, married less than a week and already you're psychoanalyzing me?" She sensed that he was absorbing her words, testing her mood, like a crafty trial attorney at his best.
"Wrong school. I'm partial to Jung, not Freud."
"Yeah, well, it's all mumbo jumbo to me."
"And you don't believe any of it, do you, tough guy?" She drew his head down and brushed his mouth with hers.
"Behave yourself, woman. You need rest, remember?"
"Hmm."
Her tongue feathered his lower lip with the lightest of pressure. If tension had a taste, it would have a masculine tang, like his mouth.
"Lights out in five minutes," she repeated softly. "For you, too, Daddy."
His eyes narrowed and grew intense. "O'Connor, I'm working hard at being self-sacrificing," he grated in a low rumble that she felt as well as heard. "You're not helping."
"Am I supposed to?"
She nuzzled his chin with her forehead, and Jess wondered if a guy could get high on the fragrance of a woman's hair.
He skimmed his palm down the curve of her spine and felt her tremble. His hand lingered at the small of her back, pressing her closer.
He brought his mouth to hers with as much restraint as he could handle. When her lips parted and her arms lifted to his neck, he fought to remember that she needed rest more than she needed kissing.
"O'Connor…"
He discovered that he didn't have the words, only the desperate hunger. Her face was tilted toward him, her mouth pouting for his and her eyes a shimmering gold reflection of his needs.
His hand was unsteady as it worked on the sash cinching her robe. It was even more unsteady when he slipped it inside the soft material to find soft warm skin.
"You feel so good," he murmured. "Unbelievably good."
"Mmm, so do you."
Flattening his palm against her abdomen, he rubbed gently, seductively, until she moaned softly.
"I … could make you pregnant. Neither of us took precautions last night."
She drew back, her gaze fixed intently on his. "I want to have your baby," she murmured. "Now, as soon as possible, before it's impossible for me."
Jess closed his eyes, still unwilling to let her see the depth of the emotion he was feeling. "I'd like that," he breathed against her throat. "Thank you."
"I love you, Jess," she whispered. "I think I've loved you for a long time."
He groaned, too overcome to speak. Instead, he used his mouth to kiss every inch of her he could reach. When he encountered the roll of her lapel, he nudged it aside and lowered his mouth to her breast. At the same time his hand slipped the robe free of her shoulder.
Gravity carried it to the floor, with a little help from her. Using his tongue, he lashed the small brown nipple into hardness, then transferred his attention to the other. Her hands kneaded his shoulders, tugged at his shirt.
He circled her waist with his arm, then lifted her gently onto the bed. Her hands freed the snap of his jeans, slid down the zipper, found hot distended flesh.
A groan shook him, and he pulled away. Before she could protest, he reached past her to snap off the light, plunging the room into darkness relieved only by the faint glow of the night-light across the hall.
"Jess?" Her voice was anxious, tinged with desire.
"Right here, honey," he murmured, shedding the last of his clothes. His chest felt vulnerably naked, his skin hot.
The bed dipped, and then she felt the heat of him. He was lying on his right side again, as though to keep it hidden, caressing her breasts with his hand. At the same time her fingers sought to know him, the hard contours of bone and sinew, the steely leanness of muscle, the slightly rough texture of his skin.
He trembled under even that gentle exploration, the reaction of a man unused to being touched for too long. Moving closer, she kissed his mouth, then slipped her tongue along his lower lip.
Her hand kneaded his upper arm, his shoulder, feeling the solid strength of him. The warmth. The tension.
She wanted to tell him that he would always be perfect to her,
but she didn't dare, so she tried to show him with her mouth and her hands.
Pushing him flat, she lowered her head to his chest and teased his nipples with her tongue as he'd teased hers. His chest was wide and hard under the soft furring of hair, his midriff flat, his skin resilient.
Her fingers moved lower, encountering an increase in heat, a change in texture. A rough groan shuddered from his throat before his hand trapped hers.
"God, honey, you're killing me," he grated hoarsely, his breathing coming in short, desperate bursts that lifted his big chest and fluttered her hair.
"I need to feel you inside me," she murmured. "Please, Jess—"
He turned them both in one fluid motion, then plunged into her with another. Hazel cried out, clutching at him as the pleasure rolled through her.
Jess waited, so ready it hurt him not to move. Still he waited, until the first urgency passed for both of them, and then he began to move, absorbing every soft sigh, exulting in every gasp, glorying in the slick heat enveloping him.
She arched upward, eager for more, desperate as he'd been desperate for so long, needing as he'd needed. Gritting his teeth, he let her take over the rhythm, let her make his body hers, surrendering control.
And then, at the moment when her body began to tremble and her fingers were clenching hardest, he took over again, thrusting faster and faster until she cried out and raked his shoulders with her nails.
Only then did he give in to his own rhythm, his own needs. And as he did, he prayed that he'd given her the child she'd asked him for.
Hazel woke slowly, her body deliciously heavy, her emotions humming. It wasn't quite morning, but the deepest part of night had slipped into a pearly dawn.
Lifting her lashes slowly, she saw the hazy outline of a man's chest half-covered by the sheet. It rose and fell evenly, deeply, and she smiled with lazy smugness.
Enjoying the first flutters of excitement, she slowly raised her lashes, following the long, lean contours of his chest to the massive shoulders.
And froze, her breath catching like a small painful gasp in her throat. His shoulder was one raw, puckered scar, the ugly redness tendriling like octopus legs all the way down his side.
The pain he must have suffered, she thought. The agony endured. Tears filled her eyes, and her teeth clamped her lower lip to stop its trembling.
Raising her gaze, she encountered the blackest, hardest, most pain-filled eyes she'd ever seen. Jess was awake, and from the look in his eyes, he'd seen every nuance of horror that must have crossed her face.
"Jess…" she whispered, her voice catching. "It's not what you think."
Jess didn't hear the words or feel her reaching for him. He'd been through this before. Ice inside and out, his brain numb with hurt he would never be able to articulate, he made himself move.
Like a robot under remote control, he left the bed, picked up the clothes he'd shed with such haste only a few hours before and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.
* * *
Chapter 16
«^»
Hazel shifted Francey to her left shoulder and closed the door to Jess's office behind them. As the door clicked, an immaculately groomed woman about her age looked up from her keyboard and smiled.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. May I help you?"
"I hope so." She returned the woman's courteous smile with one of her own. "I don't have an appointment, but I was hoping I could see Mr. Dante for a few minutes. I'm … his wife, Hazel."
The woman brightened, banishing all formality from her expression as she rose to circle the desk, her hand extended eagerly. "Mrs. Dante, how very nice to meet you at last. I'm Ardiss Henderson, Jess's paralegal. We've spoken on the phone."
Shaking the woman's hand, Hazel hid her nervousness behind a cheery grin. "Of course. A pleasure to meet you at last."
"So this is Francisca," Ms. Henderson exclaimed softly. "Jess said that she was the prettiest baby he'd ever seen, and I agree."
Hazel smiled down at the baby. Fists flailing, Francey stared up at her with intense blue eyes. The day was a typical August scorcher, and Hazel had dressed the baby in one of the thin cotton dresses she'd bought at the mall.
"That's not what he says when he's changing her messy diapers."
"Now that is a concept – Dangerous Dante changing a diaper."
Hazel kept her smile firmly in place. "Actually, he's been working so many long hours recently that he hasn't had a chance to change all that many."
Ms. Henderson's expression sobered. "So what else is new?"
"Okay if I go on in?" Hazel murmured.
Ms. Henderson glanced toward her desk, where the red light on the phone console had just blinked on.
"Please do – only I'd advise you to be careful about making any sudden moves. You just might get your head handed to you if you do."
Hazel frowned. "He's in a bad mood?"
"Oh no. Bad is normal these days. We're talking impossible today." Ms. Henderson returned to her desk and sat down. "Like a bear with a sore paw. A very large, very unpredictable bear. To tell you the truth, I haven't seen him so preoccupied since the McClane retrial."
"Must be an important case."
The other woman looked at her oddly. "That's just it. The jury brought in an acquittal day before yesterday, against everyone's expectations – including Jess's. He should be on top of the world." She shrugged, then looked embarrassed. "But, of course, you know all of that better than I do."
Hazel gave her an all-purpose smile, the one she used with patients when she didn't know what to say. "Actually, I hadn't heard. We're both so busy, and then there's the baby."
Ms. Henderson looked suddenly very uncomfortable. "Of course."
Hazel rapped once with her free hand, then slowly eased open the door. Jess was seated behind a large mahogany desk with the phone clamped between his right shoulder and his ear, writing furiously on a yellow legal pad.
He glanced up at the interruption, a scowl on his face changing instantly to remote coolness that shut her out as effectively as any door.
"Hell, yes, I'll testify," he growled into the receiver, but his gaze followed her progress as she and the baby came toward him.
"Yeah, well, I saw those bruises on both kids, and they didn't get them playing with the dog."
Hazel hesitated, then slipped into one of the two leather chairs pulled conveniently close to the desk, shifting Francey to her lap at the same time. A quick check reassured her that the little lamb was now fast asleep again.
"Yeah, all right, I'll hold."
Jess dropped his pen and leaned back. He was wearing a long-sleeved yellow and brown plaid shirt with the cuff rolled, something that she'd discovered he did with all his shirts before he put them on, and jeans worn almost white in spots. A bright orange knit tie, still knotted, was looped over the shade of his brass desk lamp.
"Welcome to my office." His mouth took on the cynical, half-mocking look she'd come to detest. "If I'd known you were coming I would have tidied up."
"If you'd known I was coming you would have been somewhere else, the way you've been for the past three weeks."
Dusty color stained his cheeks, but he didn't bother contradicting her. "I figured that was best for both of us."
"Another unilateral decision, like the one you made to move back into the guest room?"
Before he could reply, the person on the other end of the phone began speaking again.
While she waited, Hazel gave the large space a slow, thorough inspection. One theory of human behavior had it that the surroundings a person chose reflected his or her true personality. In this case it seemed bang on. Who else but Jess would have chosen impermeable brick walls, impossible to reach ceilings and scarred hardwood floors?
She was studying the landscapes on the wall when he hung up. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said, looking anything but.
"No problem. In case I forgot to mention it during the few times we've talked rece
ntly, I'm taking this week off."
"You didn't forget."
Jess swiveled his chair to the left and reached for the bottle of Scotch and the water glass he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk.
Opening the bottle with one hand, pouring, recapping the bottle – those things he'd learned easily enough. Just as he'd learned to drive a car and get himself dressed and fed. Forgetting was something he hadn't learned.
"What did the doctor say?"
"Our little girl is blooming. Weighs over seven pounds now, and everything else checks out. He wants to see her again in three weeks for her first shots."
He grimaced. "Sounds painful."
"Sometimes a little pain is necessary," she murmured. Jess finished his drink and thought about pouring another. Bad idea, Dante, he reminded himself. He had a tendency to talk too much about the wrong things when he'd had a few.
Carefully replacing the bottle and glass, he slammed the drawer closed, again. "Yoder's preliminary hearing is scheduled for the nineteenth of this month. I intend to attend."
Two weeks from now, Hazel calculated. A lifetime, these days. "Perhaps I should, as well."
The hard wedge of his shoulders moved a fraction, the only reaction he permitted himself. "If you'd like, although there's no practical need."
Sometimes needs weren't practical or logical, but that didn't make them any less real. Hazel glanced down at the sleeping baby. She was so small, so utterly perfect. Hazel was dying inside, thinking about having to give her up if she couldn't make this marriage work.
"Jess, do you want a divorce?"
"No, do you?" The coldness in his tone brought her head up quickly. He'd been polite but distant since the morning she'd gotten her first look at his scars.
Since then he had rebuffed all her attempts to break through the wall he'd put between them. Telling herself that she understood, that she couldn't really judge him unless she'd lived in his skin, seen the stares, felt the humiliation of sometimes having to ask perfect strangers for help, she had no right to be impatient with him. Or angry. Or, heaven help her, so ready to brain the man that she was sometimes shaking with the restraint she'd put on herself.
ONCE UPON A WEDDING Page 21
