IN BED WITH BOONE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  "Why are you thanking him?" Jayne asked sharply. "He just lied about … everything."

  "I know, bless his devious, attention-hungry little heart." Boone placed his gun on the dresser near the television. He turned to face Jayne. Yeah, she looked too damn good, and she was most likely virginal, untouched territory. "If Darryl buys it, I'm off the hook. Maybe. I can tell him I had a moment of sexually induced weakness and helped you escape so he wouldn't shoot you, but he doesn't have to know I helped Jim. I can tell him I didn't feel a pulse." He shrugged. "Thinking Jim was dead was a perfectly natural mistake."

  Jayne sat up straight as the television news continued, telling the world about her kidnapping. "No," she said in a tone of voice he imagined she was accustomed to having obeyed.

  Boone smiled. "No?"

  "Darryl doesn't strike me as the forgiving sort. He'll … he'll kill you."

  "I won't let that happen."

  She pursed her lips. "I don't like it."

  "Sugar, you don't have to like it." Boone returned to the bathroom. He couldn't stand there wearing nothing but a towel and argue with her. After he towel-dried his hair, he pulled on his jeans and the new green T-shirt.

  When he stepped out of the bathroom, Jayne was sitting up in bed, watching the last of the news and munching on the bag of soft chocolate-chip cookies she'd found among his purchases from the convenience store. She didn't sit in the center of the bed, but to one side, as if she expected them to share the bed as they had last night—her under the covers, him on top. That arrangement hadn't worked exactly as planned last night, and he didn't think it would work at all tonight.

  Seeing him, she placed the cookies on the bedside table, used the remote to turn off the television and sat up very straight. Great. Her nipples were hard. Just what he needed.

  "I want to know why," she said softly.

  "Why what?"

  "I want to know why you'd risk your life to go back to Darryl. Alone or with help, I don't care. Either way it's much too dangerous, and I want to know why."

  Boone reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a worn wallet. He opened it, flipped his fingers past the condoms he had foolishly purchased at the convenience store and retrieved the small photograph that had been folded and stuck beneath a flap of leather. He tossed it to Jayne. It landed in her lap and she picked it up.

  When she saw the picture, she smiled. "Cute kid. How old is he?" Her smile faded. "And what does he have to do with the case you're on?"

  "He is the case." Boone circled the bed and pulled up one of the chairs they'd used for their poor excuse for dinner. He spun the chair around and sat, resting his arms across the back. "Andrew Patterson. He'll be four in a couple of months. That picture was taken more than six months ago, so he's probably changed a little."

  "I don't understand." Jayne lifted those wide green eyes of hers. "Is he yours?"

  "No."

  "Then…"

  "Erin Patterson was seventeen when she found herself pregnant. She'd been in and out of trouble for years, and she and her parents had always butted heads. But this was the last straw. They had a fight and she left."

  Jayne turned her eyes to the picture. Boone didn't need to look; he had memorized that kid's face. Dark hair, dark eyes, fat cheeks and the biggest smile you could imagine.

  "Erin's parents didn't hear from her for years. They hired private investigators to find her, they … regretted their harsh words only hours after the confrontation was over. But they couldn't take those words back, and they didn't find their daughter."

  Jayne rubbed her arms with her hands as if to ward off a chill.

  "Six months ago they got a letter in the mail. A letter from Erin. That picture was inside, and Erin told them she wanted to come home but was afraid she couldn't. She told them she had to sneak the letter out, that she'd become involved with a man named Joaquin Gurza, and he didn't want to let her go."

  "Oh, Boone…" Jayne said softly.

  "Three weeks later Erin's body was found in Flagstaff. She was dead from an overdose, and no one wanted to hear from two grief-stricken parents that their daughter had been murdered, that their grandson was out there somewhere in the hands of a killer. They raised a stink and they were determined to stay here in Arizona until they found Andrew. One day they had a delivery to their hotel room. Another picture of Andrew, very much like that one. The note that came with the picture warned them that if they didn't back off, the kid would be next. It also warned that if they went to the police, he would know."

  "They went home and hired you," Jayne said.

  "Yes."

  "And you're not giving up until you find that child."

  "No."

  Jayne scooted to the end of the bed and handed him the photograph. "I understand. But that doesn't mean you can't bring in someone to help you. My father knows—"

  "No," Boone snapped. "This is my fight. I bring in anyone official, word gets to Gurza, and the kid is as good as dead. Besides—" he gave Jayne a crooked grin "—no one official will even admit that Gurza exists. They think he's some mythical bad man that lowlifes in the Southwest use to blame for crimes they committed. The drug dealer's invisible friend."

  "But—"

  "There are no photographs of the man, no official records of any kind. We have the letter of an undisputed troublemaker who died of an overdose, and myth. The only real lead I have is his association with Darryl."

  "I'm so sorry," Jayne said, settling down there on the end of the bed. "This disaster is all my fault, and I can see that finding Andrew is important to you." She reached out and stroked his cheek. "I'm sorry." She knelt there, wearing nothing but that damn T-shirt, and looked at him with big green eyes, still stroking his cheek.

  When he'd come to the door tonight bearing strawberry wine and cookies and cheese in a can, he'd been stunned to see Jayne standing there wearing nothing but one of his T-shirts. Beneath it, he knew she was naked. He knew, because he still had her panties and bra in his pocket.

  He'd seen her dressed that way before; he'd seen her wearing less. But somewhere along the way everything had changed.

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face. "Jayne, sugar," he said quietly, glad of an opportunity to change the subject, "are you a virgin?"

  "Ummm, well, kind of," Jayne said softly.

  Boone shook his head and placed her hand on her knee before releasing it. "Sugar, when it comes to virginity there is no 'kind of.' The answer is yes or no. I'm thinking the answer is yes, which is too bad—"

  "No," she interrupted.

  That stopped him.

  "The answer is no."

  Jayne knew she really should have left well enough alone, crawled beneath the covers and gone to sleep. Or at least pretended to. Right now, tired as she was, she probably couldn't sleep if her life depended on it.

  Boone didn't look convinced. "Why the 'kind of'?"

  Again, the most prudent route was probably some kind of denial. But Jayne had taken the prudent route all her life, and the events of the past two days had her questioning everything about the way she lived. If not for Boone Sinclair, she might very well be dead now. "It was only once," she said softly. "And … and…"

  "And what?" he said impatiently.

  Jayne took a deep breath. If she was ever going to be brave, now was the time. "No one's ever made me go yee-haw." She felt a blush rising to her cheeks, but she pushed away the childish urge to pull the covers over her head and try to take back what she'd said. "No one's ever made me feel like I'm close to losing control, like I'm missing something important in my life. Not like this," she confessed softly. "It's more than that," she added quickly. "No one's ever wanted me just for me."

  "I find that so hard to believe." Bless his heart, he sounded as if he meant it.

  "I was engaged for a little while," she said. "Turns out my fiancé was more in love with Daddy's political connections than he was with me."

  "Moron," he growled.<
br />
  "I've never known anyone like you," Jayne said sincerely. "You're … different. Sorry," she said, mortified that she had said so much. Terrified that Boone would laugh at her.

  He didn't. As she backed away and returned to the safety of her place on the bed, covers all around, he left his chair and followed her. "I like you," he said as he sat on the bed beside her. His fingers touched her neck, gentle, easy, undemanding fingers that caressed. "But let's face it, you and I have nothing in common. Nothing except something physical. Maybe it's because I had to pretend to make love to you, or maybe it's because I've been carrying your panties around in my pocket all day."

  Jayne's heart thudded. She craved more of Boone's tender touch in a way she had never craved anything before.

  "Maybe it's the way you screamed when you thought of snakes." He leaned slightly forward. "I won't lie to you, sugar. I like you, and I want you bad, but tomorrow morning I'm going back to my world and you're going back to yours, and we'll never see each other again. I would love to spend the night right here. I'd like to hear you scream yee-haw for real, but I won't pretend there's anything more than that going on."

  She took a deep breath. "What you're saying is, you want this to be a one-night stand. You want to cavort in bed all night and then walk away in the morning with no ties, no promises to call me or get together for dinner when this is all over. All you want is the sex."

  "Yeah. Right now I'm wound so tight I'm about to explode. You are, too, you just don't realize it yet." He laid his hand over her breast, brushed a thumb over an already hard nipple. "We're just talking about blowing off steam here. That's all."

  She knew that if she indignantly rejected his offer, Boone would back off and they'd never speak of it again. Maybe that was what he expected. Maybe that was what she should do. She was so tired of always doing what she should. For once, just for once, she wanted to take what she craved without thinking about tomorrow.

  Jayne fisted her hand in Boone's shirt and pulled him gently toward her. "Okay."

  He seemed surprised for half a second, and then he kissed her. His mouth molded to hers, he forced her lips apart with his and kissed her deeply. His tongue slipped into her mouth, teased her with flutters and swirls while his fingers teased her breasts the same way.

  Heat pooled low in her belly, and her breath caught in her throat, low and fluttery.

  Boone kissed the way he did everything else. Thoroughly. Expertly. He kissed her until she could think of nothing else but the way his body felt against hers, the way his wicked mouth made her toes curl.

  He slipped his hand beneath her shirt and raked it over her bare skin, over her belly, up her torso to touch her breasts and roll the nipples gently between his fingers. Sensations, gentle and not so gentle, billowed through her body.

  With a steady hand at her back, Boone brought her into a sitting position. He pulled the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. No man had ever seen her like this, completely naked and vulnerable, trembling with something she didn't completely understand. Maybe this was just one night of many for Boone, but it was an important night for her. One that would never come again. She offered him more than her body; she offered him her trust and a newly discovered piece of her heart.

  He touched her, his big hands surprisingly gentle and arousing. His kiss she knew, but the touching was different. So beautifully real and tender. His mouth left hers and teased her throat … rousing an unexpectedly strong sensation that made her quiver deep. When Boone brought his mouth to her breasts, first one, then the other, a jolt of pure sensation washed through her. He kissed and suckled until her bones turned to butter and her core throbbed with need.

  It was much too late for anything resembling second thoughts. Everything she was, she trusted into Boone's hands. She felt safe here, safe and wanted and aroused beyond imagination.

  When Boone's hands trembled, she sighed. He needed her as much as she needed him, and she liked that.

  "You," she said, reaching out to take his shirt in her hands. "Why are you still dressed?"

  "What's your hurry?" he teased, but he lifted his arms so she could yank the dark-green shirt over his head.

  Heavens, she loved the sight of his chest. Hard, muscled, light sprinkling of dark hair, so different from her own. She laid her hands on him and teased his small flat nipples. While she touched and explored, Boone kissed and nibbled her shoulder, then her neck.

  They fell back, his hard chest pressing against her soft breasts, his arms bracketing and protecting her. And he kissed her mouth again.

  She understood now what Boone meant when he said he was about to explode. Her body, too, was nearing eruption.

  While he kissed her, she reached down and touched him. Denim covered his erection, but she could feel it with her curious fingers. The length, the hardness, the heat. She raked her fingers up and down, and Boone answered with a long low growl of a moan.

  Now. Surely he would enter her now. But he didn't. Instead, he backed away a little, placed his hands on the insides of her thighs and spread her legs wide. His hands caressed her thighs, up and down and up again. And then he touched her. With gentle fingers, he caressed her intimately. Her hips surged to meet his caress.

  He kissed her again while he touched her, and something wonderful danced just out of reach. Jayne rocked against his hand, threaded her fingers through his hair and held on tight as she returned his kiss fiercely.

  And then he was gone. She felt as though something she needed, the way she needed air to breathe, had been snatched away. But Boone wasn't gone. He removed his jeans, ripped open the foil condom package and sheathed himself. And then he was on top of her again. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs wrapped around his hips. And he guided himself into her.

  He stretched and filled her, moving slowly, entering her with tender power. When he was all the way inside her, deep and complete, he held himself there and Jayne held her breath. It was unexpectedly beautiful, breathtakingly exciting.

  Boone began to move, shaking the bed with his thrusts. The headboard banged against the wall, and then again and again. Jayne rocked with him.

  His thrusts were slow at first, long strokes that made her moan and rise to meet him. His speed increased. The bed squeaked, the headboard banged, and Jayne couldn't stop the low moans that escaped from her throat.

  Sensations she had not known were possible shimmied and jolted through her; a depth of need she had not expected made her reach for him in every way. The passion wasn't hers or his, it was theirs, and it was potent.

  Boone drove deep and she shattered, crying out with the force of her completion, then holding on tight as the waves washed over her. He came with her, while her muscles milked and stroked his length. Strong tremors worked through his body as he caught her up tightly and groaned. He even whispered her name, before he shuddered one last time and lowered himself to cover her, still at last.

  Jayne wound her fingers through his hair and held him close. She couldn't breathe deep, and her entire body trembled. Her heart pounded, she was covered with sweat … and she was wonderfully, deliriously happy.

  Words she knew she couldn't possibly mean teased her lips. I love you. It was an emotional reaction to a memorable moment, and if she let the words slip out, Boone would be horrified. He hadn't come to her looking for love. Still, she couldn't deny what she felt.

  It wasn't gratitude for everything he'd done for her; it wasn't simply physical. Perhaps it wasn't love, but that was the only word she could put to the emotion that flowed through her.

  Boone lifted his head and grinned down at her. "Damn," he said softly.

  Jayne brushed back a long strand of hair and whispered, "Yee-haw."

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Boone rolled onto his side and pulled Jayne closer to him. She murmured in her sleep before settling comfortably against his chest.

  He had not expected the elegant lady who chastised him for curs
ing, averted her eyes when she caught him in his boxers and readily admitted to being "kind of" a virgin to let loose the way she had. Jayne had taken him by surprise, first by her acceptance of his less-than-romantic offer of one night and then by her unbridled response. These days Boone didn't let anything surprise him.

  If she wasn't exactly the wrong kind of woman for him, he might think about calling on Jayne when this was all over. What a crock. He didn't call on anyone, and besides, her father the senator would have heart failure if Boone Sinclair came courtin'.

  No, this was it. All they had was tonight, and one night would have to be enough.

  He wasn't going to waste it sleeping, though.

  He placed his hand on Jayne's hip and moved his fingers over her backside. The glow from the bathroom cast just enough light across the bed for him to admire her fair skin, those perfectly feminine curves and valleys, and a small birthmark on one rounded cheek, a couple of inches beneath her waist. His fingers traced the tiny mark, and Jayne stirred. Just a little.

  His hand moved downward, brushing the back of her thigh, cupping the inside of her knee. His fingers fluttered there, teasing her. Waking her slowly.

  She came awake with a sigh and a leisurely undulation, and her arm draped around his waist. Her fingers gently stroked his spine. For a few minutes they lay just that way, touching tenderly and savoring the heat they generated. And they did generate some heat.

  Boone rolled Jayne onto her back. Her breasts rose and fell as she breathed deep, and he skimmed his fingers across the curve of one, then over a nipple, which peaked at his touch.

  Jayne smiled sleepily. He had never known a woman who could smile that way, sweet and wicked at the same time. She so openly and completely responded to his every touch. Each sensation was new to her, each a ribbon of pleasure she had never known before. He heard wonder in the catches of her breath, in the way she whispered his name.

  He skimmed his hand down and rested his palm against her belly, then leaned over to lick the skin around her belly button, his tongue circling and teasing. Jayne answered with a deep tremor and a sigh that was almost a moan.