The Pursuit of Jesse

by Helen Brenna

  She touched him. Her hands on his arms. His chest. Up his neck and on his cheek. He turned his face and ran his mouth along her palm, but he wouldn’t kiss her. No matter what, he would not kiss her.

  Then her mouth was on his cheek and he pulled his face away, keeping his eyes firmly closed. Sweetly and slowly, as if they had all the time in the world, she kissed his neck. Then she moved lower, over his collarbone and down to his chest. Her tongue laved his nipple, her fingers dug into his side.

  “You’re killing me.”

  “Good,” she breathed against him. “It’s nothing less than you deserve. If you leave Mirabelle you’ll be killing me.”

  He heard the sound of a match and he could no longer stand it. He opened his eyes and beheld the most beautiful vision he’d ever seen. Sarah was standing in front of him naked, her clothes pooled at her feet. Candlelight flickered in her eyes, on her pale breasts, her belly, the dark shadow at the apex of her thighs. It was all he could do to breathe. “There’s a water taxi waiting. I need to—”

  “You might as well accept it. You won’t be on that boat.”

  “Sarah—”

  “I love you, Jesse.” As soon as Sarah said the words, she knew she had never spoken a more important truth in her life. “Stay on Mirabelle. Stay with me and Brian. Build a life here with us.”

  But there was doubt in his eyes. He didn’t doubt her, she knew. He doubted himself.

  “You’re not perfect,” she whispered. “God knows, neither am I, but no one is. You and I have both made mistakes, but we’re better people because of those very same mistakes.”

  He wasn’t convinced.

  “The least you can do is give me tonight. Give me this night.” She kissed his mouth, gave him everything she had to give.

  He groaned.

  The moment his arms wrapped around her, Sarah knew she’d won. She had him. He was hers, for how long, she didn’t know, but at least for the night. Tomorrow she’d worry about keeping him for one more night.

  You can’t do this alone. She warred with herself. What if he doesn’t want to stay? No. He’ll stay. Even if she had to convince him every day for the rest of her life, he would stay.

  His hands were on her back, pulling her toward him. His mouth on her lips, her neck, her breast.

  She undid the towel from his waist, letting it fall to the ground, letting his erection spring free. Then she wrapped a hand around his velvety softness and he shuddered. He was hers, and she was going to prove it. She kissed his chest, trailed her tongue along his stomach.

  “Sarah, don’t.”

  Ignoring his protests, she knelt before him and took him into her mouth, loved him, caressed him until he could barely stand. He moaned and stepped back. None too gently, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. “Take no prisoners? Is that it, Sarah?” he growled. “Well, two can play that game.”

  He crossed the room in two big strides, locked the door and turned toward her. “I hope you’re satisfied because you’re not leaving this room until the sun comes up.”

  “Oh, I’m going to be satisfied all right.” Her body already trembled with anticipation.

  Then he came to her and backed her up to his bed. Kissing her roughly, he laid her back onto the bed, sliding his body against hers from her legs up to her chest. He took her hands and swung them up over her head and kissed her.

  Spreading her legs, she bent her knees, bringing them together, intimately. She shifted her hips, wanting him inside so badly, she was about to cry. Then he pressed her leg up toward her shoulder and entered her quickly, angrily. As if she were the reason for all his pain.

  “Don’t,” she whispered, taking his face in her hands. “Don’t be mad at me.”

  Slowly, as if her words had taken time to register, he stopped thrusting into her and closed his eyes. His chest moved in and out, in great puffs of breath. “I’m sorry,” he said against her lips. “So, so sorry, Sarah.”

  “Don’t be sorry, either.” She pushed him over, straddled him and made love to him. Softly. Deliberately.

  He cupped her breasts as she leaned over him. “Oh, God, Sarah.” He thrust more quickly but gently into her, over and over, and suddenly came as she met him one last time. As the breath shuddered out of him, Jesse looked into her eyes. There was so much love in his gaze, she could barely stand it.

  Tremors ran through her body as if the earth were quaking beneath them. Then she collapsed on him. He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her neck, and all she could feel was his heartbeat thudding against her chest. His soft breath sounded in her ears. His calloused fingertips lightly caressed her back and Sarah realized she had never felt quite so content.

  Finally, she sat up and glanced into his eyes. His tortured gaze told it all. She hadn’t changed his mind. In the morning, he still planned on leaving her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  JESSE WOKE LATE. From the position of the sun, it looked to be midmorning. Lying on his back, he held Sarah tucked in the crook of his arm, her hand flat on his chest, her face pressed against his side. His body was more relaxed than it’d been in years, but his mind was a jumble of disconnected thoughts.

  What the hell are you doing? To Sarah? To yourself? Marry her. Stay. You’ll disappoint her. Go. She deserves better. This is home. They believe in you. You have no home. Believe in yourself.

  Every time he tried to imagine living here, his heart raced, his hands shook. He wasn’t sure he knew how to stop running—he had to be honest—from himself. He had to leave Mirabelle right now. This morning. He had to go. Maybe off the island his thoughts would clear. Yes. Then he could think.

  Slipping out of bed, he grabbed his clothes off the floor and quietly dressed. Within minutes, he was out the door and heading toward the marina, everything he owned in his bag. He’d already reached Sarah’s street when he heard footsteps running behind him.

  “Jesse!”

  Sarah. He stopped, closed his eyes for a moment and turned.

  Without a word, she came to him, slid her arms around his waist and moved in close, resting her cheek against his chest.

  “Sarah—”

  “Don’t. Don’t say anything. If you have to leave, so be it. Last night, I thought I could convince you to stay, but I was wrong. You have to want to stay.” Her body shook. “So go. Do whatever it is you have to do. But come back to me.”

  He dropped his bag on the sidewalk and wrapped his arms around her. He was resting his chin on the top of her head when a strange smell overwhelmed the floral essence from her hair. The scent got stronger and stronger. “Do you smell that?” he said.

  “What?”

  He took a deep breath and glanced into the air. “Smoke. There’s too much of it to be a fire in someone’s fireplace.” It was coming from behind them. Down Sarah’s street. He spun around. Son of a bitch. “Sarah, it’s your house!” He took off running. “Get Garrett! Tell him to get the fire truck up here!”

  SARAH RACED to the nearest home, Charlotte Day’s little Cape Cod, and rang the doorbell over and over.

  The Mirabelle librarian yanked open her front door. “Sarah! What—”

  “I need to use your phone! Quick!”

  Charlotte ran into her kitchen, came back and tossed her the cordless receiver.

  Sarah punched in the number to the police station, a number she knew by heart.

  Garrett answered on the first ring. “Mirabelle Island Pol—”

  “Garrett, my house is on fire!” Sarah cried into the phone.

  “Sarah?”

  “Get the fire truck up here. Fast.”

  Her heart already thudding double-time, she tossed the phone back to Charlotte and ran full-out down the street. By the time she got to her yard, Jesse had already pulled out a garden hose and was doing the best he could to spray down the roof. But his efforts were having little to no impact. Unabated, flames poured out of a kitchen window and smoke billowed out the other windows.

  “Sarah!”
he called. “Stay back.”

  “Oh, my God. My house.” She couldn’t move. Her feet felt sunk in cement.

  On some level of consciousness, she was aware of Charlotte Day coming to stand behind her. Other neighbors, apparently hearing the commotion, had come out of their houses.

  Missy came running down the street. “Sarah!” she called. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Sarah felt herself sway as Missy stopped beside her.

  Missy put an arm around her shoulders, steadying her. “Jesse!” Missy called out. “Get back! That wall looks like it’s going to cave.”

  Jesse ignored Missy and kept spraying the house.

  “Sarah!” someone yelled.

  Sarah glanced down the block to find Erica racing toward them.

  “Brian!” Erica shouted. “Brian’s in your house!”

  “What?” Sarah’s stomach pitched. “That can’t be. He’s with Zach at the Andersens’. They said they’d—”

  “They came home! Then he went to get an old video game he said was at your house!” Erica yelled, terror filling her eyes. “Half an hour ago—”

  Sarah ran toward the house.

  “Sarah!” Jesse dropped the hose and raced toward her. “You can’t go in there.”

  “Brian’s in the house!” she screamed.

  “Stay back!” Jesse yelled. “I’ll get him!” He bolted up the steps and crashed through the front door.

  Sirens sounded around her as Missy and Erica drew Sarah back from the hot flames. The island’s only fire truck and ambulance both screeched to a stop on the street in front of her house. By now, a crowd had gathered, but they hung back, letting the island volunteer firefighters make their way with hoses across the yard.

  Garrett ran toward them.

  “Brian’s in the house,” Erica cried.

  “And Jesse went after him,” Sarah sobbed.

  “Oh, my God.” Garrett hesitated a moment, as if he couldn’t think, and then got on his radio.

  As several firefighters raced toward the house, the roof caved in over the kitchen in a loud and angry crash.

  “Brian!” Sarah screamed. “Jesse!”

  Someone grabbed her around the waist, holding her back. She struggled to break free, but couldn’t. The flames devoured the kitchen corner of the house and quickly moved to the other side.

  “Send the chopper.” That was Garrett’s voice. “We’re gonna have injuries.”

  “No, no, no!” This couldn’t be happening. “Brian! Jesse!” She struggled again.

  “Sarah, don’t.” It was Garrett who had her. “You can’t go in there.”

  “Let me go!” she screamed, and then her legs fell out from under her. As Garrett held her, the world started spinning, and she buried her head in his shoulder. Her beautiful son. The man she’d come to love with a vengeance. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

  “There he is!” someone yelled.

  She jerked her head up to see Jesse staggering around the far corner of the house. “Jesse,” she whispered.

  “He’s got Brian!” Garrett called. “Sean! They need you!”

  He must’ve broken out a back window and was carrying Brian’s limp form in his arms. As Sean shot across the yard, Sarah yanked away from Garrett and bolted toward Jesse and Brian. Suddenly, Jesse, his face and clothes covered in soot, began coughing violently. He dropped to his knees in the grass, but he held on to Brian.

  “Jesse!”

  Garrett grabbed her arm. “Hold on, Sarah,” he whispered in her ear. “Let Sean do his job.”

  Sean had no sooner lifted Brian from Jesse’s arms than Jesse collapsed back onto the ground. “Brian’s not breathing!” Sean called as he began performing CPR on her little boy. “We need an airlift to the hospital!”

  “Chopper’s already on its way!” Garrett called. “It’s on its way, Sarah.”

  JESSE CAME TO in the midst of a coughing fit. Bright overhead lights coupled with the sterile smell and the sight of a privacy sheet hanging from the ceiling told him he was lying in a hospital bed. He reached to rip the oxygen mask off his face, but it wasn’t easy. His hands were bandaged. So was part of his face for that matter. Pushing up on his elbows, he struggled to sit.

  “Okay, okay,” a nurse said, holding Jesse by the shoulders. “Settle down.”

  “Brian?” The word came out as a hoarse croak and another wave of uncontrollable coughing swept through him. “Where’s Brian?”

  “The little boy who came in with you is in one of the other emergency rooms.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “No, you’re not.” Jesse’s hands throbbed, his eyes felt swollen, his head ached and he couldn’t seem to clear his throat. Still, he had to find Sarah. He had to see for himself that Brian was all right. He swung his feet off the mattress. “I need to find him.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.” She tried to hold him back.

  “Like hell.” He pushed her away and stood, felt the floor shift beneath him and quickly sat back down.

  The nurse put the oxygen mask back up to his face. “You have a mild case of smoke inhalation that could turn serious if it’s not treated properly.”

  “Where’s Sarah?” he mumbled through the mask. “Brian’s mom.”

  Ignoring him, the nurse poked her head outside the privacy sheet and whispered, “You can come in. He’s awake.”

  A moment later, Garrett and Erica appeared. “How you feeling?” Garrett asked.

  “I’m fine. How’s Brian?” He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

  “We don’t know yet,” Erica said.

  “Sean resuscitated him before you guys were airlifted here,” Garrett added. “But we don’t know how long he was out.”

  Sarah had to be going crazy. “Where is he now?”

  “Down the way,” Erica said. “In a hyperbaric oxygen chamber.”

  “He’s been sedated,” Garrett explained. “They think the damage to his airways is minor, but they’re worried about carbon-monoxide poisoning.”

  None of that sounded good. “Sarah.” He needed to find her, but another series of coughs wracked his body. He tried to grab the cup of water on the nearby table, but he couldn’t get his bandaged hands around the cup.

  Erica quickly grabbed the water and put the straw under the oxygen mask and into his mouth. He sucked up some fluids. The moment Erica pulled the cup away, Sarah appeared through the opening in the privacy screen. Her skin was pale and worry creased her brow.

  “Sarah,” he croaked, flipping up the mask with his bandaged palms. Before he could stand, she came to his side and Garrett and Erica quietly slipped away, closing the privacy sheets behind them.

  “Don’t get up.” She put her hands flat against his chest.

  He glanced into her puffy eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Brian. I should’ve—”

  “Jesse, you saved his life.” Tears fell unchecked down her cheeks as she looked at his bandaged hands. She caressed the only unbandaged skin on his face. “And now you have serious second-degree burns on your hands and parts of your arms and face.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” He wiped her tears away with the gauze on the front of his fingers. “I want to see him.”

  “Can you stand?”

  “With your help.” He put his arm around her shoulder and tentatively stood. “I’m good. Let’s go.”

  Slowly, they moved through the emergency area and into an adjoining ICU unit. The moment the cylindrical, clear-acrylic chamber became visible, Jesse felt his chest constrict. Unconscious and hooked up to various monitors, little Brian lay completely still on his back.

  It had to be killing Sarah that she couldn’t hold her son’s hand. Hell, it was killing Jesse and he wasn’t even his father.

  “I don’t want him regaining consciousness just yet.” A man’s voice came from behin
d.

  Jesse turned to find Sean coming toward them.

  “So I have him pretty heavily sedated,” he explained. Then he picked up Brian’s chart, flipped through the paperwork and glanced at the readouts on all the equipment.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Jesse asked.

  “I think so,” Sean said, putting the chart away. “A few more minutes in that house, though, and he wouldn’t have had much of a chance.” He squeezed Jesse’s shoulder. “Brian’s alive because of you, Jesse.”

  “I only did what anyone would’ve done.”

  “Yeah, sure. A lot of people would’ve done what you did.” Sean smiled. “But then most of them would’ve been trained firefighters and all of them would’ve been in full turnout gear.” He turned then and walked away, leaving him and Sarah alone with Brian.

  Sarah’s hand tightened around Jesse’s waist, and now he was supporting her. “He’s right, you know,” she whispered, a new round of tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked into his eyes. “You’re a good man, Jesse Taylor.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  SARAH STOOD in the soft green grass staring at the wet, charred remains of her house. It was all gone. Everything. The only things left standing were the Lake Superior stones Jesse had painstakingly laid one at a time to form her new fireplace. The once subtly colored collection of gray, pink and beige rocks were now black with soot.

  She took a few steps into the ash and stopped at the feeling of something solid beneath her foot. An unblemished section of the gingerbread trim Jesse had made for her house stuck through the debris. It was part of the gable decoration he’d designed himself. She ran her fingers along what was left of the intricately carved wood. How many hours had he spent making all that trim? What had he been thinking during that time?

  She felt Jesse’s presence even before she heard his shoes shuffling against the sidewalk behind her.

  He came to stand beside her. “The fire marshall told Garrett the fire started in the basement,” he said, his voice still harsh from smoke inhalation. “The wiring in the electrical switch at the base of the stairs.”