Wild Rain

by Donna Kauffman

  This was far from the first time his head had been pillowed between a woman’s breasts. So why did it feel so different?

  He moved his head to nuzzle her again, slowly laving each nipple, reveling in the way she arched against him more naturally this time. He knew she’d be so easy to bring to a peak, her body was fairly screaming for it.

  Not that he could blame it. If he’d gone without ever climaxing, he’d have probably picked it a long time ago.

  Each and every muscle in his body tensed as he contemplated moving his attention slowly southward. A million sensations rushed through him at the merest idea of how she’d respond under his lips, his tongue.

  “Reese.” Her tone was urgent, demanding. Reese understood.

  “I know, sweetheart, I know.” He shifted, spreading light kisses along the center of her stomach, lingering over her navel, finding the whole experience of discovering her in the dark both frustrating and immensely erotic. He unsnapped her jeans quietly, and began to pull on the zipper.

  “Reese.” Her voice was rougher, deeper, but this time she leaned up and reached down for his shoulders, tugging at him. “Come back up here.”

  Reese experienced a moment of deep indecision. Everything in him was urging him to continue on the path he’d begun. She hadn’t tensed under him—at least not in a negative way—and she didn’t seem to be panicking now. Far from it. Her body felt soft and languid beneath him.

  “Please.”

  Sighing softly against her still-zipped jeans, he carefully shifted upward, not pulling her shirt down, but wishing like hell his was off so he could feel her bare breasts against his chest. He vowed then and there that he would. Sometime. Somehow.

  Shifting carefully to his side, favoring his sore thigh, he pulled her to him, bending his head down to hers. “What is it, Jillian? Was I going too fast?”

  “No.”

  He smiled again, suddenly not minding that they’d slowed down a bit. “You sound surprised.”

  “I guess I am. Reese, I …” She ducked her head, resting her forehead on his shoulder for a moment.

  He lifted her face to his with a finger beneath her chin. “You’ve never made love with a man during a hurricane?” He kept his tone carefully light, completely ignoring the fact that he’d called what they’d been doing lovemaking, when he’d never referred to it as anything but sex before.

  “That’s true. And I didn’t want you to stop. Not really.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “Because I’m not … that is, I don’t use … anything. And I didn’t think you …” She buried her head again. “Dear Lord,” she muttered against his chest, “I’m over thirty, I’m not a virgin. You’d think I could talk about birth control without stammering.”

  Reese actually felt his heart swell in his chest. She was strong and tough, and wonderfully adorable in ways he wouldn’t have imagined he’d enjoy in a woman. “I would have stopped.” He lifted a quick finger to her lips when he felt her tense as if to speak. “I wouldn’t have liked it, but I would have stopped.” He leaned down and gave her a hard, fast kiss. Because he thought she needed the reassurance, and because he damn well wanted to. Then he whispered against her mouth, “But if I were you, I would have waited about five more minutes. You’d be feeling a lot better now than you do.”

  She punched him lightly on the shoulder.

  “What? It’s the truth.”

  “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  In his best Southern American drawl, he said, “Why yes, ma’am, I am.”

  She hugged him tightly, and he hugged her right back. Damn but he didn’t think he ever wanted the storm to end. It would mean he’d have to let her go. And he was beginning to realize that it was going to be more difficult than he’d ever thought possible.

  “Reese?”

  “Yes?”

  “Does this mean we have to stop kissing?”

  His body answered with a resounding no. “Nah. I imagine it would irritate old Ivan to death out there if he knew how much fun we were havin’ while he was doing his darnedest to wreak havoc.”

  “Can I … would you …?”

  “You’re cute when you stammer.”

  She thumped him on the chest. “I take it back. I liked you better when you let your actions speak for you.” Without another word, she reached down and tugged his shirt up.

  “Well, never let it be said that I disappointed a lady.” He ripped off his shirt and quickly settled his mouth back on hers. Shifting to his back, he pulled her half on top of him, groaning deeply at the feel of her small breasts rubbing along his rib cage. “Damn you feel good.”

  “You too, Reese. You too.”

  EIGHT

  Jillian woke up slowly. Awareness filtered in in fragments, like pieces of a kaleidoscope falling into place. Memories of Reese kissing her, of her kissing Reese, of her heart pounding and feeling Reese’s pulse race under her lips when she kissed his neck. His hands on her, her hands on him … She remembered Reese slowing things down by getting her to talk, teasing her into recounting stories both funny and sad about her travails as a wildlife rehabilitator.

  And at some indefinable point along the way, she’d fallen asleep. Or had she?

  Her eyes flew open as it occurred to her what had woken her up. If in fact she could be woken up. The noise. Or more to the point, the total lack of it.

  She couldn’t see a thing. But she felt a heavy weight pressing against her chest and abdomen.

  “Are we dead?” she whispered, then felt disappointed when the question didn’t sound as absurd spoken outloud as she’d hoped it would.

  “God, I hope not,” came a raspy reply.

  Reese shifted his head, and the bristle of his beard scraped against her left breast. Her bare left breast.

  Before she could react, he turned his head and pulled her nipple into his mouth, having no problem locating it even without a bit of light. As if he’d reached for it before.

  More than once.

  She arched automatically under his touch as a dozen sensations warred with twice as many questions for her immediate attention. It was a toss-up as to which side was winning the battle, but when he shifted his attention to her other breast things slanted swiftly toward the sensations’ side.

  “Reese,” she gasped. Something niggled at the back of her brain … something that had caught her attention, woken her up. What he was doing felt so good. But …

  Suddenly she reached down and shoved at his shoulders and head. “Reese, stop.”

  “Don’t wanna,” he mumbled against her soft skin. “Let me enjoy heaven before someone figures out they made a mistake and sent me in the wrong direction.”

  “The storm, Reese, the storm. Listen!”

  With a groan and deep heartfelt sigh that oddly enough made her mouth curl in the beginnings of a smile, he lifted his head. After a silent moment, he said, “It’s over.”

  Jillian wanted to believe that almost as much as she wished Reese would go back to what he’d just been doing. She shook off the last vestiges of the seductive drowsiness of her waking moments.

  “How do you know it’s not just the eye passing over us?” she asked, listening hard for any signs that the storm still raged. She heard nothing.

  “Been too long. It’s over.”

  “We made it?” She whispered the question, as if afraid Ivan was still hovering outside and might overhear that he’d unknowingly left a survivor or two.

  “Yeah, mite. We made it.”

  Her thoughts instantly shifted to Cleo. Had she survived as well? Jillian immediately began to struggle to crawl out from under Reese. Her progress was stopped short when he pinned her back down with strong hands on her shoulders.

  “Hold on there a minute.” He slid off of her. “Let me make sure the only thing on top of us is this mattress.”

  She heard him shuffle a bit, then, remembering her state of dress—or rather, undress—she quietly pulled down her shirt. She tr
ied not to let herself think about the sudden sense of loss that flooded her as she realized her time with Reese was probably over. Not that they’d done anything earth-shattering that would have permanent repercussions.

  Unless you called spending twelve hours in the arms of the most tantalizing man she’d ever met earth-shattering.

  “Feels sound,” he said a minute later. “I’m gonna prop this side back up, you feel around over there for a battery lantern.”

  Jillian willingly shoved aside her seesawing emotions and did as Reese asked.

  “I’ve got to check on Cleo. Right away.” She found the lantern and switched it on, then swung her forearm over her eyes as the unnatural brightness filled the small space.

  When she’d adjusted, she peered at Reese, whose eyes were also squinched up.

  “Takes a bit of getting used to. Feel like a mole.”

  “I know what you mean,” she replied, finally lowering her arm completely. “Is it day or night outside?”

  Reese glanced at the watch on his wrist, taking a moment to focus on the small dial. “Morning. A bit past seven.”

  “Good, at least we’ll be able to see the damage outside.”

  “Jillian,” he began, his tone one of warning.

  She held up her hand. “I know. At least, I know that it may be horrible. I don’t imagine I could possibly really prepare myself. Except I keep thinking of the scenes after Andrew.” She shuddered and rubbed her arms. “It’ll be different since it’s … my home … that’s rubble.”

  “You’re alive, Jillian.”

  Her gaze connected with his. Damn but he looked as good and strong and reassuring as he’d felt all through the long, dark hours of the night. “Yes, you’re right. Thank you, Reese.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank Ivan.”

  Ivan didn’t hold me for the last twelve hours. “If I’d spent last night alone, I’d have fallen apart long ago. That is if I’d been able to protect myself in here as well as you did.”

  Reese stared at her for a few moments, his expression unreadable. Then he said, “You wouldn’t have fallen apart. You’re strong, Jillian Bonner. You do what has to be done.”

  He continued to stare, and Jillian got the uneasy feeling he was distancing himself from her, like he was cataloging her, storing his time with her away. There was no deeper, more personal message lurking in his flat eyes. Nothing to indicate he’d spent the better part of the last twelve hours with his face between her breasts, or with his lips fastened on hers.

  She swallowed her regret, determined to take this next step in stride without embarrassing either one of them. Maybe it was just as well they pulled back now, she told herself. She’d need all her strength and concentration to deal with what she was likely to find on the other side of the closet door.

  Their parting was inevitable, anyway.

  They’d come together in a crisis, when the line between life and death had thinned to almost invisible proportions. She was not stupid enough to think that what they had shared in the darkness would survive in the light.

  It was as simple as that. Painful, but expected.

  She squared her shoulders. “That may or may not be true,” she answered him at length. “But the fact remains that you were here and I’ll always be grateful to you for that.” Without waiting for his reply, she rolled onto her hands and knees and went about pushing her side of the mattress back up onto the boxes. Once that was done she faced Reese again, careful to keep her demeanor and tone businesslike.

  “What’s the best way of getting out of here? I don’t want to move something, or open the door, and have the remainder of the house cave in on our heads.”

  “Slowly. First, let’s get this mattress folded under so we can stand up. Scoot over here next to me and help me shove this half onto the other side.”

  Jillian did as he’d asked, but paid a price for being so close to him again. She could smell him, even the heat of his body made her pulse pound, and she had to quickly duck her head before he looked up and caught what she knew was written plainly on her face.

  She still wanted him. She wanted to finish what she hadn’t let him really start last night. And she wanted it so bad, she hurt.

  And they said pain was a great teacher. Well, if that was the case, she should be a scholar.

  What she felt like was the class dunce.

  They made short work of the mattress. She stood and immediately began to massage the sudden cramping that assaulted her thighs and calves as her blood flow obeyed the force of gravity.

  Out of the corner of her eye she caught Reese wince and hop a bit off to one side before catching his balance with a hand on the wall.

  She’d forgotten. “Your leg. Let me look at it.”

  “It’s okay. Just cramped a bit when I stood.” He turned. “Let me check the door.”

  Jillian watched him lift the lantern and examine the doorframe, she assumed for cracks or stress fractures. She didn’t pursue checking his wound, telling herself he was a grown man and could look after himself. It was easier and less shaming than admitting the very last thing she wanted to do was come in to close contact with his bare skin—no matter what the reason.

  Reese angled the light at the ceiling. “Looks sound from in here.” He turned and twisted the doorknob slowly, then opened the door a crack. Nothing crashed down or caved in. He turned to face her. “You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” She took a deep breath and moved to the door. She reached past him to grab the knob.

  “Jillian.” His voice was low, husky. Private. Without the background noise of the storm, his rich accent filled her name with mysterious texture. It sounded almost … intimate.

  Jillian realized then that she didn’t want to hear any emotion in his voice. Flat and distanced was better, made it easier for her to remain focused. She bowed her head for a brief moment, then looked up at him. “It’s okay, Reese,” she said quietly. “Really. I’ve got to check on Cleo.”

  “Right.” The distance was back. He moved away.

  Shoulders squared, mind carefully blank, Jillian opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

  Behind her she heard Reese whisper, “Good on you, mite. Good on you.”

  The respect she heard in his voice was the only thing that carried her through the next several seconds without buckling to the ground.

  Her hand rose slowly to cover her open mouth. In the next instant, Reese’s strong hands covered her shoulders and pulled her stiffened body back against his.

  The kitchen still stood, but her office was rubble. It looked as if the corner of the house had been accidentally stepped on by a huge giant whose long stride hadn’t quite cleared the width of the house. She twisted from Reese’s hold and looked behind him, back down the hall toward the front door. It looked fine. Except for the unnatural amount of light streaming down the staircase.

  She took two steps in that direction, but Reese stopped her, his hand on her arm.

  “Let me.” He moved in front of her before she could answer.

  A step behind him, she spotted the rubble at the base of the stairs only a second after he did. She slowly raised her gaze upward, up the staircase now littered with remains of what had been the upper level of her house.

  “Dear God,” she breathed, in complete awe, truly aware for the first time the enormity of the danger they’d been in. She’d known what she was risking, or thought she had. But this … this … destruction, so casually ripping apart a piece of her life here, then generously sparing another, as if on some evil-minded whim.

  Reese grasped her shoulders and turned her back toward the kitchen. “We can’t check the front bedroom, too much rubble piled at the bottom. Let’s get out of here. Until we see the extent of the damage from the outside, we don’t know where it’s safe to be.”

  Jillian stretched her head back and took one last glimpse up the stairs. There was so much structural garbage blocking the entrance to the upper hall, it was hard to t
ell how much of the roof had caved in. But the amount of light streaming in and around the mess up there made it a certainty that at least part of it was gone.

  “Let’s check on Cleo.” He gently prodded her forward.

  Like a zombie, she took two steps forward, then swung around, and buried her head on Reese’s shoulder. His arms came around her immediately, holding her tightly against his chest.

  “You’re alive, Jillian, you’re alive,” he whispered, his warm lips nuzzling her ear. “Nothing else matters.”

  Jillian’s eyes burned but no tears would come. She wondered absently if she was going into shock. She concentrated on the steady beat of Reese’s heart under her cheek, and forced her breathing into the same even cadence. In, out. In, out. She’d be okay, she’d be okay.

  They were alive. Reese was right, nothing else mattered.

  “So why does it feel as if my life has come to an end anyway?” She hadn’t been aware of speaking out loud until Reese answered.

  “We’ll make it right again, Jillian. It’ll take more than a passing fair amount of time, but we’ll make it right.”

  She barely heard him. The enormity and strength, the sheer magnitude of the storm to have done damage like this …

  Cleo. The thought jumped into the jumble her mind had become. Her head shot up. “I’ve got to check on Cleo. Or”—she pushed out of Reese’s arms with a sudden burst of energy and determination, her brain racing forward—“maybe you should do a perimeter check while I go find out how she is.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “It’s okay,” she rushed on, turning toward the kitchen. “I’m fine really, I’ll be—”

  She didn’t have a chance to finish. Reese simply took her hand in his, slipped his fingers between hers and began picking his way over the rubble that had blown into the kitchen from the destruction that had once been her office. “Watch your step.”

  Jillian looked down automatically, then froze when she saw what she’d been about to step over. After a split second she stooped down and grabbed the carved wooden lamp that just yesterday had been on the nightstand in her bedroom.