Wildstar

by Nicole Jordan

  "I don't want to hear any more about my not acting feminine."

  "I'm serious, sweetheart. It makes a man feel impor-tant, saving his woman. Can't you see how puffed out my chest is?"

  An irrepressible snort escaped her. "I can see how puffed up your vanity is."

  "You wound me."

  "You aren't wounded—" A sudden suspicion struck her. "Your ankle isn't really hurt, is it?"

  "It smarts a bit."

  "I'll bet." She was now certain he'd only pretended to twist it in order to give her something else besides their predicament to worry about.

  "Devlin?"

  "What, angel?"

  "Thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For being here with me." She was profoundly grateful he was here. She couldn't have held off the terror without him, couldn't have borne the long hours of uncertainty that stretched ahead of her, not knowing if they would be res­cued in time, if she would even be alive tomorrow. The possibility that they might die was easier to bear with him holding her.

  She felt his hand move to her cheek, gently stroking. "My pleasure."

  It was a gentle gesture, one meant to reassure. And it did momentarily make her fear recede. More unaccount­ably, it made her remember the last time Devlin had touched her, had held her intimately. Her heart skipped a beat. She drew a shallow breath, waiting to see if he would take his caress any further. But he seemed content merely to hold her.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked sometime later.

  "Not much."

  "We'll save the biscuits for breakfast, then."

  "You should eat. You didn't get any supper."

  "Don't mother me the way you do your boarders, Jess. It won't hurt me to skip a meal." He patted his stomach la­zily. "I'm liable to get fat on your cooking as it is."

  They were quiet for a time, and Jess managed to keep her most dreadful thoughts at bay. They weren't going to make it: she knew it. But she could face the terror more calmly now. And trying to stay calm was all she could do.

  At least the piercing headache began to ease, and her skull quit pounding quite so fiercely.

  "I am a bit thirsty," she said after a while.

  "I'll go get some water. We can use it to wash with. And I'll find some of those rawhide bags to make us a bed. We might as well get some sleep as long as we can't go anywhere."

  She didn't want him to go, but she didn't want to seem cowardly, either. She didn't protest when Devlin untangled himself from her. He lit the candle, then rose and made his way back along the tunnel. Without limping, Jess noticed, her mouth curving in a bleak smile.

  He was gone for a long time. Jess began to miss not only his warmth but the reassurance of his presence. She hated being alone down here in this dark underground hole. It was too easy to believe the Wildstar mine was a tomb from which she would never escape. Without Devlin, she couldn't keep the specters at bay.

  She could see the flickering light of his candle farther down the tunnel, but it seemed as if he had paused in his search.

  "What is it?" she called out. Her voice echoed hollowly, holding an edge of fear.

  "Nothing."

  He returned a few minutes later carrying a dozen raw­hide bags and a covered water bucket. While Devlin spread the bags on the floor, Jess drank gratefully from the dipper, then tore another strip from her petticoat to sponge off her face. Devlin followed suit, assuaging his thirst and washing the dust off. Finally settling beside her again, he carefully unwound the bandage from around Jess's head and examined the gash on her temple.

  "The bleeding's stopped," he observed as he used the wet rag to wipe the dried blood from her cheek. "You'll live."

  Her troubled gaze met his. "Are you sure about that?"

  "Entirely."

  He kept his tone light, she noticed. Rising to his knees on one edge of the makeshift bed then, he grinned and bowed from the waist. "Your pallet, milady." When she hesitated, he reached for her hand.

  Uncertain but obedient, Jess lay down. Devlin took off his gun belt, then blew out the candle. Stretching out be­side her, he pulled her gently into his arms, arranging her so that her head rested on his shoulder. The blackness en­veloped them, but it wasn't quite the dreadful, suffocating inkiness of before. Instead it was cool and quiet, almost peaceful. Yet it wasn't in the least soothing. Jess couldn't relax. Her mind wouldn't let go of the haunting images of tombs and death.

  "I never thought it would take such drastic measures to get you into my bed," Devlin murmured in the darkness.

  Jess could almost see his lazy smile and knew he was still trying to cheer her. It didn't work. Devlin was holding her comfortingly, but she didn't feel comforted. Instead, she felt restless and edgy and frightened of what the morn­ing would bring—if it even came.

  "Go to sleep, Jess," he said a minute later, his tone pa­tient.

  "I don't want to sleep."

  His hand came up to stroke her hair tenderly. Jess stirred in his arms. She didn't want tenderness from him. She wanted him to ease the terrible feeling of fear and ur­gency that was gnawing at her.

  "Try to relax, sweetheart," he murmured against her hair. "You should know by now that I'm not going to at­tack you."

  "I wish you would."

  She felt his muscles tense perceptibly. "I beg your par­don?"

  Jess felt her heart begin to beat heavily, its swift rhythm at odds with the conviction that was steadily building in­side her.

  "Jess? What did you mean, you wish I would?"

  She took a slow, deep breath. "It means that if this is going to be my last night on earth, I don't want to spend it sleeping. I want to know what I've been missing all my life."

  She heard his sharp inhalation and knew he understood what she was asking.

  "I don't want to die like this, without knowing what it's like to feel passion . . . to be a complete woman," she said softly, so there would be no doubt.

  "Jess, you aren't going to die."

  "Can you promise me that?"

  He was silent for a long moment.

  Deliberately, she shifted her head, nestling her face in the naked hollow of his throat. "Devlin, please . . ." she whispered against his warm skin. "Show me what it's like to be a woman."

  Chapter 10

  "You don't mean what you're saying, Jessica," Devlin replied, his tone as taut as his body.

  "Yes, I do," she said quietly. "I want you to make love to me."

  He lifted his head slightly, trying to look down at her, silently cursing the darkness that wouldn't let him see her face. His fingers reached up to touch her chin, curling around it with an unconscious pressure, while his thoughts raced.

  A short time ago during his search of this level, he'd passed a crack in the rock and his candle flame had sud­denly flickered. Unless his imagination had been playing tricks, there seemed to be a small stream of air blowing into the tunnel where he and Jess were trapped. If it really was air, then they might be able to survive for a while. He hadn't mentioned it to Jessica because he didn't want to falsely raise her hopes. Besides, he could be wrong. The odds were greater that they wouldn't make it through the night.

  Devlin grimaced at the morbid thought. "You're supposed to save your virginity for your hus­band," he finally said, his voice rough, husky.

  "I may never have a husband."

  "Yes, you will. We'll get out of here shortly, and sooner or later some man will come along and sweep you off your feet and give you that family you said you wanted."

  Jess shook her head mutely. She didn't believe him.

  And thinking about a future with some nameless man didn't help. She wanted Devlin, God help her.

  But then a man like Devlin could have any woman he wanted. He could afford to be particular. Maybe he didn't want to make love to someone like her, an inexperienced virgin who had few of the feminine qualities he thought a woman should have.

  She pressed her face harder against Devlin's shoulder, not knowing if she could bea
r the humiliation of being turned down by him just now, not with her nerves so raw and unstable.

  "You don't want me?" she asked shakily.

  His heart turned over. She was burrowing against him like a small animal seeking shelter, and he longed to com­fort her, protect her, reassure her.

  "Not want you?" He laughed harshly. "I've wanted you every day for the past two weeks . . . ever since I saw you galloping down the street in your morning robe."

  "I thought . . . you were just playing a game with me, trying to prove you could charm me like you could every other woman."

  "A man doesn't kiss a woman the way I kissed you if he doesn't want her, Jessica." His voice had thickened, and without his being aware of it, his grip had loosened on her chin, his fingers spreading lightly over the warm, silky texture of her cheek, stroking it soothingly.

  "Will you kiss me again at least?"

  Devlin inhaled sharply, striving for control. Her breath was warm and sweet against his face, while her fingers had curled into his shirt. Even that brief touch speared him with desire; need ground through his body, making his loins hot and heavy. God, how he wanted her. Yet he felt the urge to protect as well as the urge to take.

  "Devlin, please?"

  "Jess . . ." he said warningly. He let out a pent-up breath and forced himself to recall all the reasons why what she was asking was insane, impossible. He'd promised himself he wouldn't seduce her. He didn't want to hurt her, and hurt was all he would bring her. He wouldn't be staying around once his mission was finished. He couldn't fulfill Jess's dream of a marriage and kids. He wasn't the kind of man she needed. He couldn't let her throw away her vir­ginity on him. If they somehow lived through this, she would regret her rashness. She might even come to hate him for it. He didn't want her to hate him. . . .

  "Devlin, please? Make love to me."

  He thought of being inside her and a jolt of pure driving lust swept through him.

  "Jessica," he said again, but with an agonized note of indecision in his voice. They might not make it. A man shouldn't die without tasting a woman on his lips. A woman shouldn't die without knowing the ecstasy a skill­ful lover could give her.

  Jess waited, listening to the powerful beating of his heart beneath her ear, feeling the tensely coiled muscles in his body as he held her. She knew what she wanted him to do was wicked, foolish. But right or wrong, foolish or wise, she wasn't going to change her mind. Devlin was something real and warm to cling to in the dark night. She didn't want to spend what might her last moments on earth being terrified. She wanted to forget that she was trapped in this dark hole, waiting to die. Devlin could make her forget her dire situation, her grim surroundings. He could make a woman forget her very name if he tried. And that, even more than simple comfort, was what she wanted. She wanted to know what it really meant to be a woman . . . Devlin's woman.

  She lifted her head again. She could see nothing, not his beautiful face, not even the gleam of his eyes. She wel­comed the darkness, though; it hid embarrassment, fear, nervousness. Yet it couldn't hide the feeling that ached in the pit of her stomach, the breathless tightness of her throat.

  Cautiously, hardly daring to breathe, she raised her hand to his face, letting her fingertips brush the hard edge of his jaw.

  "Jess, stop it."

  She touched his mouth, his beautiful, sensuous mouth.

  "Dammit, Jess. . . ."

  "Please, kiss me. . . ."

  "All right, I'll kiss you, but that's all I'll do."

  "That's not all I want—"

  His lips found hers abruptly as he rolled over her, pin­ning her down. Hard and determined, they covered her soft, dewy mouth in a kiss meant only to silence her. He didn't want to hear her pleading with him. There was no way in hell he could listen to her begging him to make love to her and not respond. He was only a man, with a man's weaknesses, a man's fierce desire.

  At his sudden assault, Jess sighed and wrapped her arms around Devlin's neck, losing herself in the dark magic of his lips. This was what she wanted, what she needed. They could die tomorrow, but for now she would live. Their im­minent danger only added a distinct urgency to the mo­ment, to her need for him.

  She returned his kiss almost desperately, with all the frustrated yearning he had aroused in her body during the past two weeks. She strained against him, the swollen tips of her breasts pressing against his hard chest, her hips seeking his instinctively and finding the hard tumescence that made him male.

  By the time Devlin broke off the kiss and drew away, her breath was coming in soft pants, and so was his.

  "That's enough," he said hoarsely.

  "No . . . it's not."

  "Jess. . . ." Almost of their own volition, his fingers moved to cradle her cheek. Stop me, Jess, don't let this happen. Against his will, he bent his head again.

  He kissed her once more, knowing it was wrong. But he wouldn't, couldn't, deny her. He would give her what she wanted . . . at least some of what she wanted.

  Praying he had the strength to stop with "some," he shifted his weight onto his elbow so that he had better freedom of movement. While he plundered her mouth with his tongue, his hand went under her skirt, pushing it up slowly, sliding along her cotton-covered legs to their junc­ture, to caress her feminine mound.

  Jess made a soft choked sound deep in her throat, but she didn't pull away. Instead she arched her back, pressing up against his hand. Devlin felt his breath falter at the er­otic movement, while the stiff bulge of his erection thick­ened and grew even harder. It was beguiling, her eagerness, her innocence, her untutored need.

  "Part your legs a little, sweetheart . . . that's it."

  His lips gently brushed her forehead as he slipped his fingers through the opening in her drawers, finding the tri­angle between her thighs, touching intimately.

  Jess's gasp was loud in the dark tunnel, and then her breathing ceased altogether as his fingers tangled in the curls between her legs. He stroked the warm satin, making her quivering thighs open to him as he murmured soft, coaxing phrases against her temple,

  "D-Devlin?" she rasped.

  "Hush, sweet. Don't talk."

  Purposefully, he continued his intimate ministrant-ions, cupping her swollen, moist flesh, exploring the slick folds. Then his fingers sought out and found the damp, throbbing nubbin of flesh protected by the dense curls.

  Jess thought she would die of the incredible sensations . . . but she didn't. Instead she whimpered and thrashed her head at the flaring pleasure that was spreading from his in­credible touch to every throbbing point of her body.

  Hearing her breathless little moans, Devlin closed his eyes and silently recited the litany that would be her sal­vation as well as his own. She's a virgin, remember that. A sweet virgin. Not for you.

  He was glad of the darkness. Because of it, he wouldn't have to watch the flush of desire spread over her skin, the startled pleasure on her beautiful face when he brought her to climax. He could hardly bear it now. That slick, hot satin flesh was responding so erotically to his eager hand. She was unfolding before him like the petals of some rare flower. . . .

  He stroked the tender morsel of flesh and clamped his teeth together against the savage need that was grinding through him. What he wouldn't give to bury himself inside her, to ride in the silky sheath that would be soft and wet and hot. He'd never known such sweet torment as this.

  Moments later, he felt her wild clutching at his shoul­ders, and he increased the pressure, the rhythm, bringing her skillfully, sweetly, inescapably to fulfillment. Jess arched violently, crying out, clinging to Devlin as she ex­perienced a fiery explosion so shattering that she felt her­self coming apart.

  "Easy . . . easy," he whispered in her ear as tenderly he gathered her close.

  He held her shuddering body for long minutes, his breath fanning against her hair. Jess couldn't move. She lay limp and stunned in Devlin's arms, with her cheek on his chest, where she could hear the erratic beat of his heart.
When eventually he kissed the top of her head softly and started to ease away from her body, she tightened her hold.

  "Devlin," Jess said in a sweetly hoarse voice, "if you let me go now . . . you'll never find all the pieces."

  He smiled in the darkness. His fingers stroked her neck lightly as he remained where he was, enduring the fierce ache of his own body.

  "That's . . . what I've been missing?"

  "That's what you've been missing."

  She was silent for a moment. "That isn't all there is to it, is it?"

  His chest shook as he laughed helplessly. "Sweet Jessie, did anyone never tell you that you shouldn't crush a man's ego?"

  "Your ego doesn't crush, Devlin. Besides, you know perfectly well that what you did to me was . . . won-derful."

  "Was it?"

  "Yes."

  "A man likes to be told when he's pleased a woman."

  "Oh." There was a pause. "Devlin, you pleased me very much."

  His chuckle whispered against her brow as he pressed his lips there. "Good."

  "But I didn't please you."

  "How do you know?"

  "Flo told me . . . what's supposed to happen. I know there's more to it than what we just did, no matter how wonderful it was."

  Devlin silently cursed Florence O'Malley; Jess silently blessed her. Because of Flo, at least she wasn't totally ig­norant about men.

  Her hand slid up from Devlin's shoulder and curled around the back of his neck. "Show me the rest," Jess whispered, drawing his head down to hers.

  His kiss was slow, reluctant, as he tried to maintain some semblance of control, tried to remind himself that he had no right to do this. But her mouth was so soft and in­viting. Her body so pliable. His mouth lingered and melted into hers, making Jess arch toward him.

  His breath was harsh and uneven when he forced him­self to draw away. "You're making it damn hard for me to be noble, angel."

  "I don't want you to be noble. . . . I just want you to make love to me all the way. Are you supposed to keep all your clothes on?" Finding the lapel of his vest in the dark, she pushed it down over one shoulder.