by Beth Andrews
“J.C.,” he asked slowly, “were you a virgin the night we—”
“No! No, there were…two other guys—”
His head snapped back. “Two?”
“Three…since we should count you,” she added faintly.
For several long moments, Brady just watched her. Her body started to cool and all the reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this seeped back into her brain.
Until he sat up. Keeping his hand above her center, with his other hand he brushed her hair away from her face. Then he kissed her. Their lips clung for one heartbeat. Then two. When he lifted his head, he traced the arch of her eyebrow, the slope of her nose with one finger. Her resistance and her doubts melted away.
“I want to touch you,” he said quietly, his hand now in her hair massaging her scalp. Before she could point out that he was touching her, he continued, “I want to touch you like no other man has touched you. Make you feel things no other man has made you feel.”
He was. He did. But she couldn’t say that out loud. He rubbed large circles over her stomach as he swirled his tongue around her nipple. When he bit her nipple lightly, her hips rose off the bed.
Then his hand on her stomach moved between her legs. At his slow, sure strokes, her pleasure built, almost impossible to bear. Sweat coated her skin which suddenly felt too tight. Sensitive to his touch. Her need to find relief from his talented hands and tongue grew until her hips pumped up and down. Brady once again sucked on her breast, his teeth scraping the sensitive bud the same time he slipped a finger inside her.
She teetered on the edge, but then she looked down at the sight of his head at her breast and she fell. Her back arched off the mattress and her vision blurred as her orgasm flowed through her, a rush of pleasure followed by smaller tingles of electricity. Tears stung her eyes.
And she knew that her worst fear had come true after all.
She was one hundred percent, totally and unequivocally in love with Brady Sheppard.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HIS BODY ACHING, screaming for release, Brady raised his head and watched J.C. come down from her orgasm. Her eyes were closed, her full lips parted, her heavy breasts rising and falling as she panted softly, a sheen of sweat coating her skin.
At that moment, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
As if of its own accord, his hand moved back up to her belly. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her there, where she carried their child. Couldn’t get past how…hard…her stomach was. He could only imagine what she’d look like next month. Or four months from now. How much more would her body grow and change?
And did it even matter if he wasn’t sure he’d be around to see it?
He rubbed her stomach, his body growing harder as she wiggled and sighed. Her eyes slowly opened. She skimmed her hand over his shoulder and down his bicep, her touch hesitant. Shy, almost.
Which made sense, considering her sexual history. Obviously neither of the two guys she’d slept with had taken the time to give her pleasure. Idiots.
And he was idiot number three for not only neglecting J.C.’s satisfaction the first time they’d made love, but by not even remembering being with her and calling out her sister’s name. Make that king of the idiots.
And yet, by some miracle, she hadn’t turned him away tonight. Instead, she’d trusted him with her body.
I won’t hurt you, Jane, he’d promised.
J.C. stared at him, or rather the bulge in his pants. She reached out, her hand a few inches above his arousal. Behind his zipper, his body twitched.
“Don’t stop,” he said in a husky whisper when she took her hand away without touching him.
“I’m not stopping,” she said. “At least not until I’ve had my fill of you.”
He swallowed in an attempt to work some moisture in his mouth.
J.C. rose onto her elbow, the movement causing her breasts to sway. He lightly pinched one hard, dusky tip and she moaned. He lifted his head to take her into his mouth again but she moved back, out of reach.
“Let me,” she said, nudging his shoulders until he reclined on the bed once again.
He held his breath as she laid her hand against his cheek. She stroked the side of his neck, then his shoulder and down his arm. Outlining the edges of his USMC eagle tattoo with her fingertip, her frown thoughtful. He expected her to ask him about it, why he got it, what it meant. Instead, she smoothed her hand back up to his shoulder and down his chest. Under her soft, seeking touch, his heart skipped a beat before finding a steady rhythm that quickened as her fingers traveled down to his belly button.
He inhaled sharply, his stomach muscles contracting. With as much concentration as an explosive ordnance disposal unit defusing a bomb, her other hand went to the waistband of his jeans. Both his lungs and his groin tightened almost to the point of pain. But he forced himself not to move. To wait and see what she’d do next.
“Could you take your pants off?” she asked in a rush.
He thought she’d never ask. He undid his jeans, shimmied them and his boxers down his legs and kicked them off before sitting back up.
She blinked. “Wow. That must be some sort of land speed record.”
“I aim to please,” he managed. Not an easy feat when J.C. stared at his body as if he were one of her candies.
“So do I,” she murmured. His mouth went dry.
J.C. rose to her knees. Lying flat on his back, he couldn’t watch her like he wanted so he grabbed a pillow, folded it in half and shoved it under his head, the scent of her shampoo surrounding him.
As she sat back on her heels beside him, she looked confused, as if she had no clue what to do. He almost took her hand and placed it on a part of him where he’d love for her to start. And finish. And spend any amount of time and attention on.
She leaned forward and softly kissed his scarred knee.
He jerked, his hands fisting into her bedcovers.
She lifted her head and turned to him, her hair falling to the side, the ends tickling his lower thigh. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
But he couldn’t stop himself from tensing when she laid her right hand above his knee. Blindly staring up at the ceiling, a lump formed in his throat as she traced each and every one of his scars, her touch as gentle, as soothing as a summer breeze. No one had touched his knee in a nonprofessional way since the attack. He couldn’t remember anyone ever touching it, touching any part of him with as much compassion and tenderness as J.C. did now.
When she was done with his scar, she caressed his thigh. Up and down, from his knee, along his outer thigh to his hip bone and back again. Each time she seemed to get more confident. And a lot bolder as she worked her way toward his inner thigh, stopping shy of his erection. Grinding his teeth, he raised his head to look down at her only to find her watching him.
As soon as his eyes met hers, she wrapped her hand around him. His vision blurred. Then she started stroking him leisurely. He about went over the edge. He hissed out a breath and fought for control. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her, the sight of her pale, small hands on him and the way she watched him carefully, her eyes bright, as if there were nothing she’d rather do than touch him, explore his body.
She was…amazing. Her generosity and warmth. Her sensuality. Her beauty—both inside and out. And she wanted to be with him. Even after all of his mistakes, she still wanted him. She humbled him.
She scared the hell out of him.
He lost the ability to think at all when J.C. did some sort of gentle twisting motion that felt so damned good that he groaned.
And she smiled.
That did it.
He jackknifed up, had a glimpse of her startled expression right before he took her mouth in a hungry kiss. Clutching his biceps, she kissed him back as he lowered her to the mattress and followed her down, supporting his weight on his elbows.
Breaking the kiss, he shifted to the side, picked up his jeans and shook them until his
wallet fell out of the pocket. He flipped it open and took out a condom.
“I’d say it’s a little late for that,” J.C. said, the lightness of her tone unable to completely cover her underlying nerves.
He opened the packet and covered himself. “It’s never too late to be safe.”
Besides, though he’d gotten a clean bill of health when he’d had a physical before starting physical therapy, he didn’t want to take any chances with J.C.
He settled himself between her thighs, his arms shaking with the effort to hold himself back.
“Are you sure this is safe?” he forced himself to ask. “For the baby, I mean.”
“Dr. Owens said it’s safe.”
She no sooner got the last word out when Brady lifted her hips and slid inside her. Her body tensed, her expression unsure. He withdrew slightly and didn’t move. It took every ounce of self-control not to take what he needed so badly from her.
But he couldn’t find any of those things at J.C.’s expense. Not again. Not when he was finding his way to who he was. He kissed her, careful to keep his weight off both the baby and his bad knee.
He continued to kiss her until some of the stiffness left her. When she combed her fingers through his hair, he rolled his hips, filling her. She gasped into his mouth and he smiled against her lips before pulling back and repeating the motion. Again. And again until the tension built to a fever pitch. Her hands pulled at his hair, her body soft and pliant under his. But still, he could feel her holding back from him.
He lifted his head but her eyes remained closed, her hands now at his hips. “Jane.” Her eyes popped open, her nails digging into his skin. “It’s just you and me here,” he continued hoarsely, increasing his tempo as he moved in and out of her body. “No one else I want here. Only you, Janie.”
Reaching between them, with the pad of his thumb he rubbed the hard nub at her center. Her mouth opened and her eyes grew cloudy. Her body squeezed around him. She tipped her head back but kept her eyes on his as she came, her body pulsing around him. Pushing him to follow.
He gripped her under her thighs and plowed into her. Again. And again. His concern for the baby, his vow not to hurt J.C. keeping his control in check. Keeping him from taking her as hard, as fast, as he wanted.
His climax built.
“No,” he ground out when J.C.’s eyes began to close. “Watch me, Jane. Watch what you do to me.”
Her eyes, so dark they seemed bottomless, locked on his. With a guttural groan, he threw his head back and emptied himself.
J.C. ROLLED OVER and reached for Brady but found his side of the bed empty. The sheets cold. Shoving her hair out of her face, she glanced at the glowing numbers of the digital clock on her nightstand. Two thirty-two. Flopping onto her back again, she flung her arm across her eyes. After she and Brady had made love, he’d pulled the comforter over them both and she’d immediately fallen asleep in his arms.
Hoping he’d still be there in the morning.
She tossed off her covers. Since she was up, she may as well get a glass of water, maybe use the bathroom. Swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, she sat up and flipped on the light. “You okay?”
She yelped and almost fell off the bed. She spun around to find Brady, wearing only his jeans, sitting on the floor, his back against her closet, one leg bent, his injured leg out straight.
“Don’t do that!” Grabbing the comforter, she wrapped it around herself.
“Sorry.”
She frowned. Something was wrong. And it wasn’t just that he sat on her floor in the middle of the night. His expression was tight. His hands clenched.
Holding the end of the comforter so she didn’t trip, she walked over and sat next to him. “What are you doing on the floor?”
“I couldn’t stay.” His head fell back against her closet door with a thump. “But I couldn’t leave, either.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“I should go,” he said. “But I don’t want to.”
She wouldn’t read more into any of this—what he said or how he acted or how he’d looked at her when they’d made love. She was going to take it one day, one minute at a time.
And she wouldn’t get her hopes up or start wishing for things that weren’t going to happen. Like him loving her back.
“I’m glad you stayed,” she said. “But I think you’ll be more comfortable in the bed.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can. It’s plenty big enough for two.”
“No. I mean, I really can’t. I have these…dreams.” He faced forward and wiped an unsteady hand down his face. “Nightmares. And sometimes I get…sometimes it’s like I’m…back in Afghanistan and I…I’ll throw a punch or…” He shook his head, and his voice dropped so low she had to strain to hear him. “I don’t want to hurt you. Or the baby.”
Oh, God. Unable to catch her breath, not strong enough to face the bleakness in his eyes, she curled her knees up to her chest and stared at the floor.
As much as it shamed her, as big as her feelings for Brady were, she wanted to run. She had no idea—absolutely no clue—how to help Brady, what to say or do.
“These dreams…” She cleared her throat. “Are your dreams like the flashbacks?” The flashbacks he never confirmed nor denied having.
Sometimes I think about what happened back there.
He remained silent. She didn’t press. She waited, hoping he’d open up to her. Time passed and her toes got cold so she tucked the comforter around them.
“We were on patrol,” Brady finally said, speaking in a slow monotone as if unaware she was even there. “Jonesy was driving, Thad was riding shotgun, and me and Van were in the back. One minute Van was telling us about when he’d accidentally hired a male stripper to show up at his brother’s bachelor party, and the next…I was coming to on the side of the road. We’d all been laughing and then…” He swallowed. “The explosion was so loud, after it was as if I was listening to everything through a filter. But I could still hear Van yelling for help. Jonesy’s cries of pain.”
She shivered. God, she couldn’t even imagine what he’d gone through. How close he’d come to dying. “What about your other friend?”
“Dead,” he said flatly, his lips a thin line. “He had a wife and two little kids and now…” He blew out a heavy breath and lowered his head into his hands. “It should’ve been me.”
“Don’t say that.” She scrambled onto her knees in front of him, cupping his face in her hands and raising it so he looked at her. “What happened was horrible for you all but—”
“He should’ve lived,” he said, bracketing her wrists with his hands. “He had people to live for.”
J.C.’s eyes stung but she wouldn’t cry. Not when Brady sat there dry-eyed, thinking he had nothing to live for.
“Have you considered talking to someone about this?” she asked. “A psychologist or—”
“No.”
Shaken and humbled he’d trusted her with this, she pressed her forehead against his. “I’m glad you told me. But I think,” she said carefully, not wanting to say the wrong thing, “you should consider getting professional help.”
He exhaled shakily, his breath washing over her face. “I know you’re trying to help—”
“I am. And I won’t push you, I swear, but could you at least think about it?”
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” she said. Then she pressed a kiss against his mouth. As she stood, she let the comforter slide off her shoulders to pool at her feet. “Come on. Let’s go back to bed.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he accepted the hand she held out and let her help him get to his feet.
As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t heal him.
But she could help him get through tonight.
BRADY CARRIED HIS SHOES as he soundlessly made his way to the bedroom door. He glanced back at J.C. She was still asleep, the covers pulled up to her chin
, her lips were parted, her hair a mass of wild curls.
He wanted more than anything to slip back into bed with her. To be here when she woke up so they could make love again.
He snuck out of the room. Sitting on the sofa, he put his shoes on, grabbed his jacket from the chair where he’d tossed it last night and stepped out into the cold. His leg had stiffened during the night and descending the stairs became an awkward and painful process. But less awkward than it would’ve been if J.C. had woken up while he was still there.
He couldn’t face her. Not now. He needed time to sort things out. Like why he’d told her about the nightmares when he’d never told anyone else. Why he’d enjoyed holding her so much as she slept.
A black Lexus pulled into the driveway as Brady reached the bottom step. Goosebumps appeared on his arms as the driver got out.
Stopping below him, Liz glanced from him to J.C.’s apartment and back at him again.
As if she had any right to try to make him feel guilty.
“You slept with her? Again?” Liz asked, crossing her arms over her red jacket.
He moved to the left but she blocked his way. Her breath turned to a cloud before disappearing. “What’s between me and Jane is none of your concern,” he said.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Anything having to do with my family is my concern. Especially when someone is using my sister to get to me.”
“Get to you? Why the hell would I do that?”
“To hurt me for what I did to you or…or maybe you think if you make me jealous, I’ll come back to you.”
“I’m not into revenge,” he snarled. “And what makes you think I’d ever want you back?”
Liz tucked her hair behind her ear, her hand trembling. “From what I understand, you’ve made it clear you want nothing to do with the baby. Why else are you with J.C. if not to hurt me?”
“You act as if she has no redeeming qualities other than having you as a sibling.”
Liz blushed, rubbed her gloves hands together. “J.C. is plenty special on her own but I’m not blind to her faults. She’s a dreamer, unreliable and can’t stick with one project, job or college for more than three months at a time.”
