The Only Way Out

by Susan Mallery

  She was already waiting for him. Her lips parted instantly, urging him to sup his fill. Moist heat surrounded him, urging him deeper, farther. He explored her mouth. Her sweet taste made him hungry for more. Even as his tongue traced hers, touched tip to tip, retreated and waited for her to follow, his hands were everywhere. He rubbed along her back and her hips. He moved his palms against her legs, up her hips over her belly to her breasts. Through the layer of her shirt and bra, he cupped the full curves and squeezed her taut nipples.

  She moaned low in her throat. Her body arched toward him as if she, too, were as needy, as ready, as hungry for love. He angled slightly so she could recline on his lap. He buried his fingers in her long hair. It was gold silk, cool and sexy. He wanted to feel it trickling against his chest. He wanted her to stroke it around the hardest part of him. He wanted her to be over him, kissing him, her hair providing a sensual curtain of privacy.

  He moved his hand from her breast to the buttons along the front of her shirt. They opened easily, exposing her pale skin. He raised his head and looked at her. Her bra was white cotton. Somehow he’d assumed she would wear black satin. The plain white bra made her vulnerable. Innocent.

  She rolled away from him and sat up, then shrugged out of her shirt. Her pale midsection contrasted with the faint tan on her arms and chest. Despite her slender body, her breasts were full. He wanted to see them bare and taste them. But before he could reach for her, she touched him.

  He sat still as she unbuttoned his shirt and drew it over his shoulders. Her movements were slow and sensual. Her fingers trailed over him, leaving him unable to do anything but feel. Her eyes—

  “Oh, Jeff,” she whispered, staring at him.

  He glanced down and saw she was looking at the bruise on his ribs. His swollen skin had darkened, clearly showing the imprint of where he’d been hit.

  “You said you were okay.”

  “I’m fine. Just a few bruises.”

  “A few? Where else did they hurt you?”

  She quickly studied his chest, then checked both arms. She winced when she saw the mark on his upper back from the blow that had almost dislocated his shoulder. Her smooth hand brushed around the tender area. She slipped off the bed and found the swelling by the waistband of his trousers, to the right of his spine.

  “Oh, Jeff, they could have killed you.”

  “They didn’t.”

  “I know, but—” Instead of speaking, she pressed her mouth against his back. Soft lips replaced her fingers as she soothed his wounds.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She pressed herself against him. Her full breasts seemed to burn into his skin. She kissed his shoulders, then the back of his neck. “So sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” He turned suddenly and grabbed her arms. “Listen to me,” he said, staring into her eyes. “It’s not anyone’s fault.”

  Guilt flickered across her face, then a fierce desire to believe him. He wondered how long she’d carried the shame and how much he’d contributed to the feeling.

  Before he could consider the question, she touched her hands to his chest. Her palms grazed his flat nipples. Fire shot down to his groin. Need swelled there. He was tired of thinking, of having conversations. He only wanted to feel. She needed that, too. Getting lost in the passion was the only escape for both of them.

  He pulled her up onto the bed. Even as he lowered his mouth to hers, he reached behind her and unfastened her bra. Her lips parted, accepting him, pleasuring him. She let her bra slip down her arms onto the bed, then raised her hands to his shoulders and clung to him.

  Her breasts flattened against his chest. He could feel her rounded softness brushing back and forth as she moved against him. He rested his hands on her waist, then moved them higher until he cupped her feminine curves. She filled his palms, spilling over. His greedy fingers reached for her nipples. As she nipped at his lower lip, he brushed his thumbs over her taut peaks. She caught her breath.

  The fire between them grew rapidly. There was no time to think or question. He could only react. To the feel of her next to him, to her heat and her passion.

  He pushed her onto her back, then knelt over her. Even as he kissed her neck and her throat, then trailed lower to her straining breasts, he reached for the button of her jeans. As he drew a pink nipple into his mouth and tasted her exquisite flavor, he lowered the zipper. His fingers slipped past her panties, to the waiting curls. She was already wet. As he probed her secrets, his own need ached.

  He found her place of desire. With two quick circles of his fingertip, he had her writhing. Her hips arched toward him, her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing increased.

  He withdrew his hand and she whimpered a protest. He grinned at her impatience. With one quick jerk, he pulled off her tennis shoes and socks, then pulled down her jeans. Her panties came with them, leaving her bare to his gaze.

  She was more beautiful than he’d imagined. Pale belly and breasts, the faint honeyed tan on her arms and legs. Her blond hair shimmered in the lamplight. He wanted to stare at her forever. Then she parted her legs, exposing her most secret place to him. He swallowed against the overwhelming need to take her. He had to pleasure her gently. He had to—

  He swore silently and quickly tore off his clothes. He knelt between her welcoming thighs and touched his hand to her dampness. She smiled.

  He bent over her belly and kissed her firm skin. Even as his fingers moved faster, he tickled and teased her midsection, then moved higher to suckle her breasts. She writhed beneath him. He brought her close to release, then slowed, taunting her. She tossed her head back and forth, straining closer. Her hips arched and he felt her moistness brush against his engorged organ.

  “Yes,” she whispered, drawing her legs back.

  He sat up. His fingers continued to move against her. He could feel her muscles tightening as she neared her moment of pleasure. He wanted to wait until she had her release, but she arched closer, tempting him. He caught his breath. It would be so easy to plunge inside. Get lost in her. He probed her, pushing in slightly. So tight and wet. He swallowed hard, wanting to hold back. Usually he was able to hold off until he’d pleased—

  No, he told himself. He wouldn’t think about Jeanne. Not now. Not while he was making love with another woman.

  The emotions crashed in on him. Guilt, anger, desire. They swelled together, filling him, erasing all from his mind. His self-control snapped and his body reacted. With one long smooth push, he entered her.

  Instantly his entire being focused on the moist heat caressing him. He tried to call back the anger, but it was gone. There was nothing but the need to plunge into her again and again. He hated himself even as he withdrew slightly, then arched forward. She drew her knees back, taking him deeper. He moved his fingers faster. She whimpered and trembled beneath him.

  Not this way, he pleaded. He was losing every part of himself inside of Andie. She was consuming him. He couldn’t remember anything, feel anything except this moment.

  And then it didn’t matter. Her muscles tightened around him as she prepared for her climax. He moved his fingers faster, liking the slick feel of her most sensitive place. Her breasts quivered with each movement of her body. Her neck stretched back, her mouth parted. She was consumed by the sensations he created.

  Or was she? Jeff tried to push the question away. Not now. He didn’t want to know that Kray had done this before. That she had held his enemy, loved him, given to him even as she was now giving to Jeff. The unwelcome thought could not be banished. Did she think of her husband?

  “Look at me,” he commanded, feeling her soar even closer to release. He wanted her to know who was in her bed and in her. He moved deeper inside, faster, as if the act would brand her.

  “Jeff,” she whispered, then opened her eyes and stared at him. Passion glazed her irises, darkening them. Her mouth curved sweetly in a smile. She whispered his name again, as if she’d had no other thought.

  He was a fo
ol, he thought as shame filled him. Worse than that, he’d assumed her betrayal. He felt his expression changing. He tightened his features, but it was too late. She saw the truth.

  “You thought—”

  Then her body reacted to the pleasure. He felt her tense. Her eyes closed. The tremors began in her center and worked out. Strong muscles rippled around his arousal, forcing him to the edge, then flinging him off the side. He tried to hold back. He had no right. Not only had he hurt her, he feared getting lost inside of her and never finding his way back.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he thought, even as the explosion built between his legs. It wasn’t supposed to hurt them. It wasn’t supposed to—

  He shuddered with his release. It swept through him, over him, leaving every part of him sated. It went on forever, until he’d been wrung dry and left broken.

  Only when they were both still, did he raise his head and look at her. She was staring at him. For once he couldn’t read her emotions. Just as well. He didn’t want to know what she was thinking. It would make it easier for him to apologize.

  He moved away from her. She sat up and swung her legs over the bed, then stood up.

  “Where are you going?” he asked as she gathered her clothes and clutched them to her midsection.

  She walked to the door. He thought she was going to leave without saying anything, but she paused and looked back at him. She was still naked. Her long hair hung down, partially concealing her round breasts. She looked like a pagan princess—except for the stark pain in her eyes.

  “Andie, look, I’m—”

  She shook her head. “Don’t say you’re sorry. It’s too late.” She opened and door and stepped into the hall. “I have to go take a shower.”

  The door closed behind her. Jeff rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He’d made her feel dirty. He’d taken her and used her. He was as much of a bastard as Kray had ever been.

  Andie sat in a chaise lounge by the pool and watched the sun rise over the jungle. The sky lightened, changing from gray to almost white, to pale blue. There weren’t any clouds. Nothing disturbed the beauty of the morning, except perhaps her mood.

  She rubbed her eyes. They were dry and they burned. It had been another night without sleep. She was so exhausted, she’d passed tired days ago. Now she was just numb. She felt as if she were moving through thick water all the time.

  The first rays of sunlight poked over the trees and slanted down by the pool. She pulled her legs up close to her chest. She wasn’t out here to tan. She’d come outside because she couldn’t stand to be in the house anymore. She was afraid of what would happen when Jeff left his room. She didn’t want to think about last night, yet she couldn’t think about anything else.

  She closed her eyes against the memories, fighting them, trying to focus her attention on something else. It didn’t matter. They returned. Reminding her of the magic she’d felt in his arms. The tenderness. He’d touched her as if she were a fragile piece of porcelain, as if she were beautiful. Right up to the end she’d thought he was thinking about her, caring for her. Instead, he’d been hiding anger at who she was and what she’d done. An act of love had turned into a violation. It didn’t matter how long she’d stood in the shower or how much she’d scrubbed, she couldn’t wash away the feeling of being dirty.

  She’d cried then. Cried until there were no tears left. She’d lain down in the bed next to her son’s and listened to his breathing. Over and over again, she’d relived her time with Jeff. She’d wondered what she’d done wrong. Was it something she’d said? Had it been how she’d touched him? In the end she’d realized it was nothing that specific. It was just her.

  He judged her. Not by her actions, but by association. His reaction last night was one of the reasons she’d avoided getting involved with a man after leaving Kray. She didn’t want to have to explain herself or justify her past. She knew she had to pay for her mistakes. Foolishly she’d thought at some point she would be able to put them behind her.

  If only she’d never met Kray. Except she couldn’t wish that. Without Kray she wouldn’t have Bobby, and her son meant everything to her. Ironically without Kray she would never have met Jeff, either.

  If only Jeff was another kind of man. Not quite so good or honorable. Maybe a little less kind to her son, a little less faithful to the memory of his late wife. But if Jeff was different, she wouldn’t care about him so much. His opinion of her wouldn’t matter. She’d hoped he would help her put the past in its place. Instead, he’d brought it to life.

  She told herself it didn’t matter what he thought of her. He was just one man. There were plenty of others out there. But that wasn’t true. He wasn’t just one man—she’d hoped he was the man for her. Someone she could freely give her heart to. Someone she could risk caring about. She’d been wrong.

  The front door opened. She grabbed hold of the arms of the chair and held on tightly. She wasn’t ready to face him, but he didn’t have to know that. She’d bluffed her way out of more difficult situations; she would do it again in this one. He mustn’t know how much he’d hurt her.

  He walked barefoot across the porch and down the stairs. His hair was damp from a recent shower, his face freshly shaved. Despite the shadows under his eyes, he was handsome enough to make her heart pound faster and her palms sweat.

  His stride was long and easy as he moved toward her. His open shirt flapped against his sides, exposing his bare chest. Baggy blue shorts sat low on his hips.

  She expected him to take the chair across the pool, or at the very least, the one next to her. Instead, he got closer and closer until he perched on the foot of her chaise lounge. She drew her legs closer to her body, angling away from him. Her hair was loose. She tilted her head forward, using the long strands to shield her expression. He stared at her.

  “You look like hell,” he said, after a while. “Didn’t you sleep?”

  “You look like hell, too, and I’d like you to keep your opinions to yourself from now on.”

  The muscles in his jaw tightened briefly, then he nodded. “I will.”

  “Cheap talk,” she snapped, allowing the rush of unexpected anger to give her strength. “How long will that promise last? Until you’re ready to explain exactly what’s wrong with me? Who do you think you are, judging me all the time? Who gave you the right?”

  His steady gaze never left hers. “I don’t have the right, Andie. I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s true. As for judging you—” He looked away. “It’s a joke. As if I’m any kind of a standard. Compared to me, you’re a saint.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But what you think of me isn’t our biggest problem. I still have to get you and Bobby off the island.”

  In the pain of his rejection, she’d almost forgotten they were stuck here. “Can you still help us?”

  He stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Yes. It’ll take some doing, but I can get you two away from here. I have a friend who will help us.”

  “How do you know he’s willing to get involved?”

  “He just is. I trust him with my life. More important, I trust him with yours.”

  “Oh, please, don’t waste your time with lines like that. You trust him with my life. As if my life has any value to you.” She leaned forward slightly and poked him in the arm. “I was there last night, Mr. Jeff whoever-the-hell-you-are. You looked at me as if I was dirt. No better than some whore.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I don’t care what you meant, I care about what you did.” She scrambled past him and stood up. “I’m just Kray’s ex-wife. Not good for anything, except maybe a fast, easy way to get off. I’m still good enough for that I guess.”

  He glared up at her. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Oh? How was it? Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t once think about my being with Kray. Tell me you didn’t try to stop, that you wanted to get away from me, but it was too late.”

  He t
urned away. The silence was deafening.

  It wasn’t until that moment that she’d realized how much she’d wanted him to deny the truth. She was bruised enough that she would have been willing to accept a halfway decent lie. At least she would have tried to. She didn’t want to know the truth. It hurt too much. She wanted Jeff to like her, to care about her the way she cared about him. She wanted him to admire her. But that would never happen. It was too late for them. No—they would never have found a right time. It wasn’t meant to be.

  “You used me,” she said, speaking slowly so her voice wouldn’t crack. Sadness and shame filled her, but she wouldn’t give in to the emotion. “You took my body, you made me think I mattered, then you used me. You didn’t care. Not even a little. And because I was once married to Kray, it was all right. You could be contemptuous and disdainful. I’m hardly human, right? My feelings don’t matter. If you started to feel guilty, all you had to tell yourself was that I’d earned it.”

  He stood up. She didn’t move back. She let him tower over her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

  “Yes, you did.”

  He reached out toward her. She stayed in place until his hand was inches from her face, then she ducked away. He curled his fingers into his palm and dropped his arm to his side.

  “I thought you at least liked me,” she said. “The worst of it is, I was foolish enough to care about you and admire you for being strong and honorable. All the things Kray had never been. I thought—”

  “Dammit, stop thinking,” he ground out. “Don’t care about me. You hear me? Don’t care. I don’t want that. I don’t want—”

  You. He didn’t say the word, but she heard it. She took a step back.

  “No.” He grabbed her arm and held her in place. “That’s not what I meant. I can’t—” His eyes darkened with anguish.

  She wanted to go to him and offer comfort, but she knew better. He was dangerous, and her heart was already close to breaking.