Bad Nights (19 page)

The door slammed open with the force of a gunshot, and Shane Gallagher barreled into the room, his gaze zeroing in on Jack.

“What the hell?”

Morgan looked at him in panic. “He stopped breathing.”

Shane pushed her out of the way and leaned over his friend.

“What the hell did you do to him?”

“Nothing. He was in a trance; he was fine until just now.”

Shane gave her a look that could have killed. Drawing back his hand, he slapped Jack across the face, then slapped him again.

Morgan gasped as she watched his shock treatment. She wanted to scream at Shane to stop, but she didn't know what else to do.

It felt like eternity hung in the balance. Probably it was only seconds. Finally, Jack coughed, and his eyes blinked open. He focused on Shane, who had drawn back his arm for another slap but dropped his hand to his side when he saw Jack's eyes open.

Jack's gaze swung to Morgan. “What happened?”

She was too choked to speak. Reaching for him, she pulled him close, not caring what Shane Gallagher thought. For a moment she clung to him, and she felt his arm come up and rest against her side.

“Are you okay?” she asked urgently.

“Yes.”

The response sounded automatic, and she thought maybe she should give him air. Reluctantly she backed away again.

“I'm so sorry,” she murmured as she searched his face.

“What happened exactly?' he asked again.

“What do you remember?” she countered.

His gaze turned inward. “You and I were doing another session. I was on the beach like before. Then we went into the beach house and turned on the television set like you suggested. You told me I could see the day that they captured me, but that nothing would happen to me.” He gave her a questioning look. “What went wrong?”

“I don't know. I hope we can figure it out.”

“What I do know is that you're not doing that to him again,” Shane broke in, his voice hard-edged.

“What—were you lurking around outside like you didn't trust me?” she asked as she picked up on the hostility in his voice. It was bad enough feeling like she'd made a serious mistake. It was worse having someone look at her with accusing eyes.

“My ex-wife taught me it's dangerous to trust women.”

“All women?”

He sighed. “Okay. Forget I said that. I thought somebody should be on duty in case you screwed up.”

“I didn't screw up.”

“How would you put it?”

Jack dragged in a breath and let it out. “Mind if I come up with a theory?”

“Let's hear it,” Shane answered.

“The session took me back to Trainer's office, where I was trolling through his email.” He looked at Shane. “I'd already gotten his password. I'd decided I'd better get back to the rifle range. Then everything went blank. Later—I mean in real life—I woke up in his interrogation room. I must have been out cold. Whoever came up behind me must have whacked me on the head, and I guess I repeated that experience in the hypnosis session.”

“That could be it,” Morgan mused.

Shane jumped back into the conversation. “Yeah, well, whatever happened, it wasn't worth it.”

Jack straightened in his chair. “Yes, it was.”

Shane gave him a questioning look.

“I got two names we need to check out ASAP. One's a guy who calls himself G. Washington. Obviously not his real name.” He looked at Morgan. “Actually, I remembered that name in the cave, but I didn't know what it meant. Then we got busy.”

“What's the other one?” Shane demanded.

“Yarborough.”

“Yeah, that sounds phony too.”

“Why?” Morgan asked.

“Because it means a bridge hand with no card higher than a nine, the implication being that it's a name with no real reference.”

She nodded.

“But I have the email address for both of them,” Jack continued. “Yarborough is [email protected]. And the other guy is [email protected]. We can see who they really are.”

“Maybe.”

Jack ignored him and plowed ahead. “You said you were checking into electronic funds transfers. Maybe we can link one of them to the Cayman Islands account.”

“If they use the same email for banking business as for subversive chatting.” Shane looked from Jack to Morgan and back again. “Maybe I'll get on that,” he said.

And despite the crack about not trusting women, maybe he'd figured out that he should leave her and Jack alone, Morgan thought as she watched him leave the room and close the door behind him.

She'd wanted to talk to Jack in private. Now that she had the chance, her mouth was so dry she could hardly speak, but she managed to say, “I'm glad you're okay.” Then, to her horror, she started to cry. Trying to hide her tears, she turned away.

But not before Jack saw. He heaved himself out of the chair and reached for her. Folding her close, he lifted her into his arms, then sat back down in the chair, cradling her against himself.

“It's okay,” he murmured as he stroked her.

“No, it's not,” she managed to say before the tears came harder and faster. “My… idea almost killed you.”

“I'm fine.”

“Because Shane woke you up.”

She leaned in to him, struggling to contain her sobs. She knew why this was happening. She was in a fragile emotional shape, and seeing him pale and lifeless had made her insides knot. Maybe it was because she'd watched her husband die. And then when Jack had stopped breathing, the horror of those terrible moments had come flashing back to her.

A few days ago, her dead husband had been the most important man in her life. Now she knew that everything had changed for her. She still wasn't willing to put a name to her feelings for Jack Brandt, but she understood that they were deep and powerful.

***

Jack closed his eyes and cradled Morgan against his chest. Lowering his head, he stroked his lips against her hair. He was a man who'd guarded his emotions for years, but this woman had brought out tender feelings that he'd thought were long dead, and he wished he could wipe them away. He was wondering what he could say to her that would distance the two of them.

What would she think, for example, if he told her about his mother? To make extra money, she'd taken jobs cleaning the houses of officers on the bases where they'd lived. Until his father had found out she was also making arrangements to sleep with some of the officers—also for a little extra money. His father had kicked her out of their quarters before getting a divorce. That was when Jack had been fourteen. He'd kept that dark secret to himself all these years. He hadn't even told Shane and Max.

And Morgan? He suspected that it wouldn't matter to her. She'd say it was something his mother had done—not him.

He smiled as he continued to stroke his lips against her hair, loving the texture.

He'd told himself that making love with her was a mistake. He'd told himself that he was bad for her. He'd told himself a lot of things, but all he could think of now was the look of panic—and then relief—he'd seen in her eyes after Shane had slapped him and he'd come back to himself.

“I did that… to you. I'm so… sorry,” she said between sobs.

“You didn't do it,” he answered as he stroked his hands up and down her arms.

“Of…course I did. Shane…”

“Forget about Shane. He was upset.”

“Because he wants to protect you from me.”

“I don't need protecting.”

He knew she was going to argue with him again, and the only way he could think of stopping her was to tip her face up and lower his lips.

She went very still as his mouth touched hers. Maybe he had intended the kiss to be comforting, but the moment their lips met, he knew he'd been kidding himself.

He wanted her. More than just physically.

He couldn't admit the emotional part, and at the same time, he couldn't deny the physical component.

He focused on that.

He liked the taste of her. The texture of her lips. The heat of her body, the way her arms crept up to circle his neck. In response, he gathered her closer as he turned his head first one way and then the other to change the angle of the kiss, then change it again, feasting from her.

His tongue played with the seam of her lips, asking her to open for him, and she did, so that he could explore the line of her teeth, then stroke the sensitive tissue on the inside of her lips.

His heart leaped when he heard her make a small sound deep in her throat. Accepting the invitation, he dipped farther into her mouth, his tongue doing a slow dance with hers.

He was beyond caring what the right thing to do was. If they'd been sitting in a chair without arms, he would have shifted her in his lap with her legs draped on either side of his. Instead, he stood and carried her to the bed, lying down with her in his arms, settling her on top of himself so that his erection was pressed intimately to the cleft at the top of her legs.

Even through their layers of clothing, her body seemed to melt into his. She lifted her head and looked down at him. Their gazes locked for long moments before she lowered her head so that she could bring her mouth back to his.

He felt urgency building inside himself, and at the same time he felt as though they had all the time in the world to make her understand that he didn't fault her for what had happened a while ago.

“You gave me a gift,” he whispered.

“Of what?”

“Of knowledge. I'd lost important memories, and you gave them back to me. And don't tell me it was the wrong thing to do. We both know it was right.”

They stopped talking, and he let sensations flow through him, building to a steady, insistent passion. Dizzy with it, unable to speak of what he was feeling, he used his hands and mouth to show her.

They clung together, swaying on the bed, and he knew that if he'd been standing he wouldn't have been able to keep his balance.

When his fingers found the hem of her T-shirt and pulled upward, she lifted her torso away from him so that he could pull the shirt over her head and toss it away. Then he worked the catch at the back of her bra, sending that garment after the shirt.

She kept her position, offering her breasts to him. When he took their weight in his hands, she threw back her head and dragged in a quick, gasping breath. As his fingers began to tug on the distended tips, the breath turned into a sob.

He was caught in a dilemma of his own making now. He'd pulled her on top of himself when he was still dressed.

Gently he rolled her to her side, so that he could climb off the bed. He pulled off his shirt, then his jeans and briefs in one quick motion, his erection springing free.

When he turned back to Morgan, he saw that she'd also kicked away her pants. Now she lay naked on the bed, her ivory skin luminous in the dim light and her eyes focused on him.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispered.

He laughed softly. “I think that's my line.”

“It depends on your point of view. Come here.”

When she held out her arms, he came back to her, rolling to his side so that he could hold her as he devoured her mouth, then slid lower to kiss her neck and shoulders.

They'd made love a few hours ago. It had no effect on his desire. He needed her more than he had ever needed a woman.

He forgot everything but the piercing ecstasy of being with her.

When his fingers stroked down her body and slipped into the hot, slick core of her, she sobbed as she arched into the caress.

He was stunned by the way she responded to him. Silently he pushed her higher and higher still until she was quivering in his arms.

Reaching down, she closed her fingers around his erection, squeezing as she moved her hand up and down, driving him toward the edge, the way he was driving her.

“Jack. Please. Now.”

It was a plea he was helpless to deny.

“God, yes.”

As he slipped inside her, he made a hoarse sound deep in his chest—unable to express in words what he was feeling. How much he was feeling.

All he could do was whisper her name.

She gazed up at him, reached to gently touch her fingertips to his cheek, his lips.

He went still above her, the two of them joined and absorbing the moment—until the longing to move his hips became more than he could bear. As he thrust into her, their mutual need flared.

Sexual need. Emotional need that was more than he had a right to expect.

Heat surged through him. Not just the heat of erotic contact—but heat that burned through his brain, hotter than any fire he could imagine.

Intense pleasure combined with a kind of peace he had never felt in his life.

He quickened the rhythm, taking Morgan with him to a high desert plateau where the air was almost too thin to breathe. She clung to him, her body trembling as she approached the summit. He fought the need to let himself go, waiting for her to reach her climax. And when he felt the inner contractions take her, he allowed his own control to slip.

She called his name as his own climax shook him, a giant whirlwind plowing through his body and soul.

When he could move again, he rolled to his side, holding her in his arms.

She snuggled against him, and when he looked down, he saw the smile on her face.

As he started to speak, she pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Don't make any decisions about us,” she murmured. “Just enjoy what we have now. I know we can't talk about the future until you get Trainer. But we will.”

He dragged in a breath and let it out. She wasn't putting any pressure on him to make a decision. She was giving him space, and that was a gift he wouldn't deny.

“Thank you,” he whispered against her fingers.

She relaxed against him. “I need to sleep.”

“Good idea. Too bad we have to move to get under the covers.”