by Sandra Brown
But this was different. There was no use pretending that it wasn't. And the thought of Cage's eyes on her underwear made her go hot all over.
By the time he came out of the bathroom, she had taken off her jacket and was lying beneath the top sheet.
He smelled of damp male flesh and soap. He had pulled on his trousers, but that was all. His feet were bare. The hair on his chest was curly and damp. He must have rubbed his head with the towel. The dark blond strands weren't dripping, but they were still wet and tousled.
He flipped out the light and crossed to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. "Comfy?"
"All things considered, yes."
He reached for one of the hands clutching the sheet to her chin and laced his fingers through hers. "You're something, Jenny Fletcher," he said softly. "Did you know that?"
"What do you mean?"
"You've been put through hell today, but you haven't murmured one word of complaint." With his free hand he wound a strand of her hair around his finger. "I think you're terrific."
"I think you are, too." There was a tremulous catch in her voice. "You cried for Hal."
"He was my brother. Despite our differences, I loved him."
"I keep thinking about—" She broke off and clamped her lower lip with her teeth when a tear slipped over the brim of her eyelid and rolled down her cheek.
"Don't think about it, Jenny." He smoothed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
"I've got to!"
"No, you don't. You'll go mad if you think about that."
"You've thought about it, too, Cage. I know you have. What was it like right before he died? Was he tortured? Was he frightened? Was he—"
He laid his finger along her lips, stilling them. "Sure I've thought about it. And I think Hal must have faced it bravely. He had unshakable faith. He was doing what he felt led to do. I don't think that faith would have deserted him, no matter what."
"You admired him," she whispered with sudden insight.
He looked chagrined. "Yes, I did. Our reactions to circumstances were always different. I was violent, Hal was peaceable. Maybe it takes more courage to be meek and docile than it does to be a hell-raiser."
Without thinking, she reached up and laid her hand along his cheek. "He admired you, too."
"Me?" he asked incredulously.
"For your defiance, grit, whatever you want to call it."
"Maybe," Cage said pensively. "I'd like to think so." He replaced the sheet over her shoulders and patted it into place. "Get some sleep." He turned off the lamp and hesitated only a moment before bending down and pecking a brotherly kiss on her forehead.
He moved the only moderately comfortable chair in the room to the window and settled into it. The day had taken its toil. In minutes both of them were asleep.
* * *
"What was that?" Jenny bolted upright in the bed. The room was dark, but bright light flashed periodically at the unfamiliar window.
Cage whirled around at her fearful exclamation and crossed to the bed quickly. "It's all right, Jenny." He sat down and tried to ease her back onto the pillows, but she was rigid. "It's several miles away. It's been going on for about half an hour. I'm sorry it woke you."
"It's not thunder," she said hoarsely.
He paused before saying, "No."
"It's fighting."
"Yes."
"Oh, Lord." She covered her face with her hands and fell back against the pillows. "I hate this place. It's dirty and hot and they kill people here. Good people, beautiful people like Hal. I want to go home," she cried. "I'm scared and I hate myself for being scared. But I can't help it."
"Ah, Jenny."
Cage lay down beside her and rolled her against him, holding her close. "The fighting is far away. Tomorrow morning we'll leave and you won't ever have to think about Monterico again. In the meantime, I'm here with you."
His fingers combed through her hair to massage her scalp, as though to press the reassuring words into her brain. He rubbed his chin on the top of her head and planted a fervent kiss there. "I won't let anything hurt you. God, as long as I'm alive, nothing will hurt you."
She took comfort from his words and the husky, soothing voice that kept repeating them. His physical strength was like a lifeline that she clung to. When he propped his back against the headboard and pulled her across his chest, she didn't resist but curled up against him, instinctively craving contact with another being who was larger and stronger.
Her fingers wove through the thick mat of hair on his chest and she pressed her cheek against the muscled wall. Her other arm hugged his waist tight as she burrowed beneath the shelter of his securing arms.
He held her in a close embrace, whispering the promises she was desperate to hear. Cage's mind wasn't on what he said, but on the precious feel of her lying against him.
Her slip showed up smooth and pale in the dark room. The lace-trimmed silk dipped at her waist and molded over the tantalizing curve of her hip. Her breasts felt soft and feminine against his chest.
Frequently a tremor rippled through her and he would kiss her hair while his hands caressed her bare shoulders. He marveled over the smoothness of her skin and tried to keep his touch impersonal.
Then she slept. He could tell by the even, warm breathing that sifted through his chest hair. And, when in sleep, she moved one leg to cover his shin, he ground his head against the headboard. Her thigh rested atop his, her knee almost nudging the fly of his trousers. He clenched his teeth against the desire that knifed through him. He stared at her hand where it lay in repose on his lap. His need for her to touch him was so profound, it almost killed him. Yet if she had, he probably would have died in a spasm of agony and ecstasy anyway.
He listened to the rumbling echoes of the distant battle until all was still again. He watched the dawn creep over the eastern horizon. And still he held her, Hal's fiancée.
But his love.
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
Hal Hendren's funeral drew public attention. It was thought by all those in attendance that he had been martyred. Those who had scoffed at his fanaticism before he left, now had their heads bowed reverently at the gravesite. Television news teams from major Texas cities and several national networks crawled over the cemetery like ants, setting up their camera angles.
Jenny, sitting with Bob and Sarah beneath the temporary tent, still couldn't believe that Hal's mission had resulted in this. It still seemed impossible that he was dead. She expected any moment to wake up from a bad dream.
Since she and Cage had returned from Monterico, the parsonage had been in chaos. The telephone never stopped ringing. There was a steady stream of visitors. Government agencies sent representatives to interview Cage and her about their impressions of the Central American country. With the interference of well-meaning church members, the whole event had taken on a carnival atmosphere.
Jenny had slept very little since she had awakened in Cage's arms in the hotel room in Monterico. She had come awake slowly, and when she realized that she was sprawled across his naked torso, wearing only her slip, she shoved herself up to find his eyes open and watchful.
"Ex…excuse me," she stammered as she scrambled off the bed and retreated to the bathroom.
Tension between them crackled like a bonfire as they dressed to leave. They seemed prone to bump into each other accidentally, which required awkward mumbled apologies.
Every time she hazarded a glance in Cage's direction, his eyes had been as sharp as razors, studying and analyzing her. So she had avoided looking at him, and that had seemed to irritate him.
They had been driven to the airport in another rattletrap car and put on the aircraft bearing Hal's coffin. In Mexico City Mr. Whithers had scuttled around like a beetle, making arrangements for their flight to El Paso, where a funeral home limousine from La Bota would meet them to carry the body home.
Cage had stood at the window of the airpo
rt staring at nothing, his shoulders hunched, his face tense, chain-smoking. When he caught her eyes on him and saw the surprise on her face—she hadn't seen him smoke since that night before Hal left—he cursed under his breath and ground the cigarette into the nearest ashtray.
They had said little to each other on the flight to El Paso. The drive from there to La Rota, which had seemed interminable as they followed the white limousine with its grim cargo, had been virtually silent.
They had said little to each other ever since.
The comradeship that had developed between them in Monterico no longer existed. For reasons she couldn't even name, Jenny was even more uneasy around him than she had been. He entered a room; she left it. He looked at her; she averted her head. She couldn't say why she took such pains to avoid him, but she knew it had something to do with that night in the Monterico hotel room.
So he had held her. So?
So he had held her against him on a bed while they slept. So?
So he had held her against him on a bed while they slept, while she had been wearing nothing but a slip and he only a pair of slacks. So?
They had been surrounded by danger. They were friendless aliens in a foreign land. People did things in situations like that they wouldn't ordinarily do. One couldn't be held accountable for uncharacteristic behavior.
And it was probably insignificant that when she was first roused from sleep, one of his hands had been splayed wide on her derriere, the other closed loosely, but possessively, around her neck, and that her fingers had been entwined in his chest hair, her lips alarmingly near the flat disk of his nipple.
Now Jenny stared straight ahead at the flower bedecked coffin and willed away the memories of that morning. She didn't want to recall that infinitesimal span of time just after waking when she had felt warm and safe and serene, before she came to the jolting realization of just how wrong that serenity was.
She wouldn't risk getting close to Cage again. His strength and endurance were like a magnet that relentlessly pulled at her. She might even be tempted to look to him for support now if he weren't sitting on Bob's far side, his parents between them.
The bishop concluded the gravesite service with a long prayer. In the limousine that took them home, Sarah wept softly against her husband's shoulder. Cage stared moodily out the window. He had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar button. Jenny twisted her handkerchief and said nothing.
Several ladies from the church were already at the parsonage, brewing coffee, ladling punch, slicing cakes and pies for those who would come by to pay their respects after the funeral. And there were many. Jenny thought the parade would never stop. Weary of being consoled, she left the living room and went into the kitchen, where she insisted on washing dishes.
"Please," she said to the woman she replaced at the sink. "I need to keep busy."
"You poor dear."
"Your sweet Hal is gone."
"But you're young yet, Jenny."
"Your life must go on. It might take a while…"
"You're holding up well."
"Everybody says so."
"That trip you took to that horrid country must have been a nightmare."
"And with Cage."
The last speaker made a tsking sound with her lips and shook her head mournfully as if to say that, for a woman, traveling in Cage's company was tantamount to a fate worse than death.
Jenny wanted to lash out at them all, to tell them if it hadn't been for Cage, she probably would have fallen apart altogether. But she knew their comments were guileless and stemmed from ignorance. As they left one by one, she thanked them, forgiving them their stupidity, because their concern was sincere.
She finished the dishes that were stacked on the counter and went searching for others scattered throughout the house. When she entered the living room, she was relieved to find only the Hendrens there. Finally everyone had gone home. Gratefully Jenny sank into an easy chair and let her head flop back on the headrest.
Her eyes popped open when she heard the click of Cage's cigarette lighter. The flame burst from it to ignite the end of the cigarette he held between his lips. He returned the lighter to his pocket and drew on the cigarette.
"I've told you not to smoke in this house," Sarah snapped from her place on the sofa. Her eyes were dry but ringed with muddy shadows. She looked wrinkled and shrunken, almost skeletal. Her expression was so bitter, it bordered on meanness.
"I'm sorry," Cage said with genuine apology. He went to the front door and flicked the cigarette into the night, which had fallen without anyone noticing. "Habit."
"Must you bring your nasty habits into this house? Don't you have any respect for your mother?" Bob asked.
Cage halted on his way back to his chair, stunned by Bob's harsh and condemning tone. "I respect both of you," he replied softly, though his body strained with tension.
"You don't respect anything," Sarah said tersely. "You haven't told me once that you're sorry about your brother's death. I've gotten no sympathy from you."
"Mother, I—"
She went on as though he hadn't spoken. "But then I don't know why I expected it from you. You've done nothing but give me trouble from the day you were born. You were never considerate of me the way Hal was."
Jenny sat up straight, wanting to remind Sarah that for days Cage had been taking care of the media and relieving them of the legal details surrounding Hal's death. She didn't get a chance to say anything before Sarah continued.
"Hal would have been at my side constantly through something like this."
"I'm not Hal, Mother."
"You think you have to tell me that? You couldn't hold a candle to your brother."
"Sarah, please don't," Jenny cautioned, sliding to the edge of her chair.
"Hal was so good, so good and sweet. My baby." Sarah's shoulders began to shake and her face crumpled with another burst of tears. "If God had to take one of my sons, why did He take Hal and leave me with you?"
Jenny's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my God."
Bob dropped to his knees in front of his wife's chair and began to comfort her. For a long moment Cage stared down at his parents in total disbelief, then his face hardened. He spun on his heel and strode toward the door. The screen was brutally punched by the heel of his hand and went crashing against the outside wall. He bounded across the front porch and down the steps.
Without pausing to think about it, Jenny went tearing after him. She raced across the yard and caught up with him at the curb where his Corvette was parked. He was shrugging out of his dark suit coat as though it were on fire and ripping at the buttons of his vest.
"Go back where you belong," he shouted at her.
He squeezed himself into the low seat of the sports car and twisted the key in the ignition. It surprised Jenny that the key didn't break off. Stamping on the clutch, he shoved the car into first gear. She yanked open the passenger door and scrambled in just as he stamped on the accelerator.
The car shot forward like a missile. It fishtailed into the middle of the street and careened around the next corner without the benefit of brakes to slow its turn. Jenny reached for the door handle and miraculously managed to slam it closed without falling out onto the pavement or wrenching her arm from its socket.
Cage had shifted up to fourth gear by the time they reached the city limits sign. As he worked the gear stick, he ground his jaws together as though that would command better performance from the car. Jenny didn't risk looking at the speedometer. The landscape was no longer distinguishable. The headlights sliced through the endless darkness in front of them.
He reached for the knobs on the radio, controlling the car with one hand until he found the acid-rock station he wanted. He turned the volume up full blast, filling the interior of the car with the deafening clamor of metallic music.
"You made a big mistake," Cage shouted over the cacophony. "You should have stayed home tonight."
R
eaching across the car and fumbling around her knees, he opened the glove compartment and took out a silver flask. Wedging it between his thighs, he unscrewed the cap, then raised it to his lips. He drank long. The face he made when he swallowed let Jenny know the liquor was potent. He drank again, and again, speeding down the center stripe of the highway with only one hand on the wheel.
The windows of the car were opened and the wind tore at her hair, tugging it free of the pins that had contained it in a neat, demure bun for the funeral. The wind sucked the breath from her nostrils. She didn't know how Cage had managed to light his cigarette, but the tip of it glowed against his dark face, illuminated only by the lights on the dashboard.
"Having fun?" He leered at her mockingly.
Seemingly unaffected by his sarcasm, she turned her head and stared out the windshield. She refused to honor him with an answer. The speeding car terrified her. She disapproved of it all, but she would remain mute if it killed her. And she thought it very well might, as he turned the car off the main highway onto a road that had no markings. How he had known it was there, Jenny was never able to figure out.
He abused the vintage Corvette by driving it over the dirt road, which was as corrugated as a washboard. Jenny's teeth slammed together and she clenched down on them to hold them intact. She gripped the cushioned seat beneath her in an effort to keep her head from bumping the ceiling as they bounced jarringly over the pock-marked road.
They were climbing. She could sense the change in altitude, though there was nothing to be seen, no relief from the darkness that surrounded them. The headlights bobbed crazily with each erratic movement of the car. Even the moon had slipped behind a cloud and lent no light, as though to say that Cage Hendren was pulling one of his wild stunts and no one should have to be witness to it.
