Calling His Bluff (25 page)

She rubbed the soaking wet kittens dry, pressing gently on their rib cages as she
did so, almost certain that at least one of them was already beyond help. They were
so cold, and the fire wasn’t building fast enough. She picked up the three kittens
that weren’t breathing one after the other, holding them firmly between her hands,
their tiny skulls secure between her fingers, and shook her hands sharply downward.
If there was any fluid left in their lungs, she should be able to shake it out.

Steam was practically rising from J.D.’s wet clothes as he crouched before the fire,
cuffs dripping on the floor.

“J.D.”

He ducked his head. She saw his shoulders rise and fall on a deep inhale and exhale.
He swiveled, still in a crouch, to look at her. His face was expressionless.

“The mom ran away. Is that weird? I think I might have bumped her with the scoop.
Maybe I hurt her.”

“No, it’s not weird. She was just scared. And I’m sure she’s okay.” She kept her voice
low and gentle. “She’ll be back.”

He’d tried so hard to make this happen for her. She needed something good to come
out of it for him.

“Get us some dry clothes, okay?”

He brought them down from the bedroom. They stripped in front of the fire and changed
into sweats and warm socks and dry shirts. She gave him the kitten that was still
squirming blindly in search of its mother and made him hold it on his chest, leaning
against the couch in front of the fire. She did the same with the other three, hoping
her body heat and the warmth of the fire would revive them.

Her hair was still dripping wet, dampening the back of her sweatshirt uncomfortably.
She reached behind her, trying to pull the sopping mass out from between her back
and the seat cushion she was leaning against without spilling one of the kittens off
her chest. J.D. reached over and slid his hand beneath her hair, lifting the heavy
strands so that they draped across the couch cushion behind her.

His hand rested briefly on her neck, his fingers warm against her nape. She shivered
and told herself she was still cold from the rain. His hand stroked her neck gently
before letting go, his fingertips trailing against her skin.

She felt colder at once and wished he’d touch her again.

He dropped his hand on the floor next to him. She wanted to cover it with her own,
but felt suddenly unsure of herself. She’d been running around like a lunatic for
hours, pushing him past what any rational person would allow. God, even a saint would
be tired of her right now.

So his words, quiet and low when they came, were an utter shock.

“I’m sorry, Sarah.”

She turned her head toward him and leaned back sharply in surprise. Remembering her
burden, she sat up straight again. “Why? You were awesome. I’m the one who should
apologize.”

“No.” His denial was short. “Look at you, for god’s sake.” But he couldn’t look at
her. He stared down at the kitten that was pawing, light as a feather, at his chest.
“You’re so cold you’re still shivering.”

“No, I’m not.” She blushed.

“Yes, you are. I felt you shiver.” His voice was rough.

Telling herself not to be a coward, she slid her hand across the floor between them
until it covered his, her fingers wrapping around to press against his palm.

“I always shiver when you touch me.”

She felt it again, that instinctive response of his hand tightening beneath her own.
She brushed her thumb across his knuckles, making him shiver.

“See?”

She willed him to turn and look at her. She didn’t want to sit vulnerable for another
minute, wondering if she’d pushed it too far this time. Chasing a semi-feral cat in
a storm like this was not cute or glamorous. It wasn’t fun and easygoing. And it certainly
wasn’t sexy. Jesus. She’d thought the cow mugs in her sink were a turnoff.

If he would just turn his hand over in hers so that they were palm-to-palm. She needed
him to reach for her.

“They’ll probably all die, anyway. Right?” With his free hand, he ran a fingertip
lightly over the head of the kitten that had found a comfortable spot on his chest
and curled up with its paws under its chin. It mewed quietly and he froze. “It was
stupid to think I could— “ She could hear the unspoken
save them for you
at the end of that sentence. He shook his head once and raised his voice. “Shit.
They’re just more goddamn animals that nobody wants, right?”

Wait. Was he blaming himself? She said the words out loud and knew in an instant that
she was right. Despite referring to it as “that damn cat” and acting as if he couldn’t
wait to get rid of her, the neighborhood bad boy was secretly a complete softie who
was beating himself up over not being able to rescue these animals.

“C’mon, J.D. You were amazing.” The kitten on his chest mewed again. “And look, that
one’s doing pretty well.”

She needed to get him out of this mood. She needed to spur him into action. This sitting
around and waiting wasn’t good for anyone. She sent him off to the kitchen for supplies,
with a detour to check the front door.

Sure enough, Mama Cat was yowling just outside. While J.D. arranged a bed of towels
in a low box near the fire and left her with the strongest kitten, Sarah examined
the rest. One ginger tabby was breathing, so shallowly it was almost imperceptible,
but the other two had not shown any signs of reviving. She gave the ginger one a drop
of a homeopathic remedy she kept in the med bag and wrapped the other two in a towel
before J.D. returned. She would take them with her when she left. Then she brought
the ginger kitten over to Mama, who began licking the kit all over.

She made a quick call for pizza before crouching down next to J.D.

“C’mon. There’s nothing more we can do now. Mama will help them.” She tugged at J.D.’s
elbow until he stood and followed her up the spiral stairs to the bedroom. She was
suddenly exhausted yet somehow still cold at her core.

Upstairs, she stripped his clothes off him mechanically, pulling the long-sleeve shirt
up over his unresisting arms before pushing his sweatpants down until he kicked them
off his feet. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She was too tired to appreciate
that fact. She dropped her own clothes into a pile on the floor and pulled him by
the hand into the bathroom, where she cranked the hot water in the shower on high.

They stepped under the massive plate of the rain showerhead together and let the water
pour down over them. Leaning against each other, her head on the muscled curve of
his shoulder, her arms draped loosely around his waist, they slowly warmed up. His
hands stroked up and down her spine, almost soothing in the wet heat and steam of
the shower.

Almost.

She crossed the valley of exhaustion that separated her from being human and felt
it like a flipped switch. His hands swept lower now, gliding over her hips and skimming
the curve beneath her butt. Without thinking, she shifted her left foot to the side
and spread her legs as his hair-roughened thigh nudged between them.

She tipped her head back. Looked up at his dark eyes fixed on hers.

His mouth met hers. Slowly, gently, his lips brushed hers. He licked the water off
her mouth and she felt the heat building in her tighten and then spread in a flood
of sweet honey in her veins. She wrapped her arms tighter around his waist. Felt the
sleek movement of muscle beneath skin, the long muscles that wrapped around his side
and up his back flexing as he curved himself around her.

He tasted like rain. She ran her tongue over the edge of his teeth and skimmed the
soft inner curve of his upper lip. Then traced her way along his jaw to the soft skin
and strong tendons of his neck, where she tested her teeth. She felt him shiver against
her.

She didn’t ask if he was cold.

His left hand slid up her side, his thumb tracing the hollows of her ribcage as his
fingers dragged lightly up her back. Wherever he touched her, she felt hypersensitive.
His hand closed over her breast, his thumb drawing circles around her nipple, and
her whole consciousness settled on that one point. The hard, pebbled tip of her breast
ached for him, and as if he could sense it, he ducked his head and his mouth was there
and she cried out over the rush of the shower with relief and a still-building need.

Her hands were in his hair, wrapping the long strands around her palms and pulling,
tugging his mouth back up to hers. She attacked his mouth as he turned and pushed
her against the tile wall. He palmed her breast forcefully with one hand, pinching
her nipple between his knuckles in a clamp that she felt as a sharp ache between her
thighs, his other hand hooking under her knee and lifting her leg to open her. He
wrapped that leg around his hip and she held it there as his hand dove back between
them and his hard fingers entered her.

She heard the rough panting of her own breath and an aching moan that jerked sharply
as his thumb found her. The hard length of him was pressed between them and she pulled
a hand out of his hair to reach for him, her hips still pressing hard against his
hand as she stroked him.

She was afraid she wasn’t tall enough, but he slid an arm beneath her hips and lifted
her just a bit. She wrapped her legs around him, pushed down hard, and then he was
inside her, his hands gripping her hips with hard fingers. The curve of her lower
spine pressed against the slick hardness of the wall and her arms locked around his
neck as she clung to him.

They could barely move. The tension built inside her like a spring coiled too tight,
every muscle quivering with the strain. He held her in place and pulled himself back
with the smallest of motions. She felt every millimeter of it. He pushed himself back
in and she moved her hips against him, desperate for that pressure inside her. Her
teeth pressed into his shoulder as she shuddered.

Tiny, tight movements. Taking such care in the slippery shower not to move too suddenly.
She felt herself wind up and up and up until every muscle locked and heat ripped through
her. She cried out and slumped against the glass bricks, her arms and legs falling
limp.

He braced her against the wall and held her hips high as he thrust harder one, two,
three times. He came with the last thrust, shuddering against her with a groan as
he leaned his weight against her, holding her in place.

His ribcage expanded and contracted sharply as he took deep, rapid breaths that finally
slowed.

After a minute, he loosened his hold on her and she slid the last few inches to the
floor. Her sensitized skin tingled as her limbs unwound from his. His arms were draped
heavily over her shoulders, his chin resting on the crown of her head. She became
aware that neither of them had said a word this entire time. It had been only gasps,
sharp cries and long shivery moans.

She felt herself holding her breath and let it out with a rush.

Reminded herself not to be a chicken.

“Hey.” She rubbed her palms in small circles on his upper back. Realized she didn’t
know what to say next.

She felt the rumble of a laugh deep in J.D.’s chest and the wiggle of his chin against
her skull as he shook his head. His heartbeat thumped against her ear that was pressed
against his chest and she heard his words twice, once clearly, once as a low vibration
competing with his heartbeat.

“I thought you were mad at me.” He laughed again. He reached out with one hand and
turned the water off. Used that same hand to pull his hair back to his nape and squeeze
the water from it in a slow slide down. Clouds of steam still billowed in the shower
and she wasn’t cold at all now.

“Why?” She pressed her lips against his chest and touched her tongue lightly to his
skin, just a tease, before looking up at him again. “And can I just make it clear,
I’m
really
not mad at you now.”

He smiled down at her, tugged on her hair gently. Then his smile faded.

“Jesus, Sarah, you’ve been, I don’t know, like St. Francis of Assisi since we were
kids. You were always rescuing something that was about to drop dead in the alley.
Your whole family was big on rescue, huh?” He stepped away from her, covering the
maneuver as a reach for the towels that hung on the warming bar outside the shower
door. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that he was thinking of her mom giving
him a second home as a kid. He wrapped her up in the plush heat of the towel and rubbed
her arms, still avoiding her gaze. “I thought you’d hate me because I couldn’t, you
know—”

“What? Perform miracles?”

He stepped toward the door again and she pulled him back, not gently, with a hand
on his elbow. Reaching up, she grabbed his chin and pulled it down until he was forced
to look at her.

“News flash, Damico.” Her words were sharp, but she smiled a little to take the sting
out. “You’re no saint. Miracles are not expected. And guess what? I’m not, either.
So don’t go putting me up on some holy pedestal, okay?” She shook her head. “I’m just
an average, ordinary girl. Woman.”

As she heard the words
average, ordinary
come out of her mouth, Sarah had a sudden flashback to the night of the awards show
in Vegas and Lana striding across the marble floor of the Bellagio toward them. Six
feet tall, cascades of wheat blond hair spilling down her back, and a medically engineered
body. No one would ever mistake that woman for average or ordinary.

Please let her stay in L.A.
, Sarah thought, banishing the mental image of Lana hanging onto J.D.’s arm and offering
with a cheerful grin to blow him. Knowing that J.D. still had to talk to her via their
attorneys about the details of their Caribbean divorce was bad enough. She wasn’t
proud of her jealousy, but there it was. Having to maintain her sanity, not to mention
her pride, around that woman would be impossible if she kept on showing up wherever
J.D. was.

She’d rather give a llama an enema.