Facing It (14 page)

“Beech,” she whispered as he moved his attentions to her other breast. “Too much.”

“No,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin. He cradled her rib cage, rubbing his thumbs over her. “Just enough to make you burn.” He nipped her, lightly enough to tease, hard enough to send pleasure tingling alive again. “And it’s Harrell when we’re in bed.”

He made it sound like it would be a regular occurrence, and she stroked his hair before giving herself over to the magic of his touch. She brought up her knees, hugging his solid thighs with her own, and bowed up into him as he continued to tug and tease her already aroused nipple.

His thumbs kept up a cadenced stroking on her lower rib cage, the only touch other than the sinful attention he paid to her breasts. She didn’t need anything else to make her crazy for him—the warm brush of his naked body against hers, the soft rhythm of his thumbs on her skin, the hard suckle of his mouth and teeth and tongue—all had desire twisting through her in a heavy, pulsing sting in her belly and between her legs. There, she felt swollen and heavy and full yet empty, waiting for the thick hardness of him.

One of his hands left her torso, sliding down her stomach, muscles flickering beneath his easy touch, sifting through the curls at her mons, flicking at her clit, delving between the lips of her vulva. She bit her lip on a muffled moan.

“You’re wet for me.” He licked along the upper curve of her breast, dropping a kiss or two along the way.

“Yes.” The syllable emerged on a breathy gasp and she clutched at his shoulders, tightened her knees around his hips. His heavy erection bobbed against her. “I want you inside me, now.”

He reared up on his elbows, his eyes hot and stormy yet serious at the same time. “You’re sure? There’s no going back from there, Jen.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Her body reacted like an addict in the first throes of withdrawal, craving his touch once it ceased so suddenly. “Please, Harrell.” She lifted her head to bring their mouths together. “Take me. Make me burn.”

Taking her hand, he drew it down to his groin. “You take me, Jen. Make
me
burn.”

Fisting his hard-on, she shifted beneath him on the bed, perfecting the angle. He winced and sucked in a scratchy breath as she rubbed her hand up and down his length, once, twice. He caught her hand and eased back. “Condom.”

He grabbed his slacks and plastic crinkled moments before he returned to her arms. Holding his gaze, she curled her fingers about his erection, placed the head at her vagina and pushed up against him, meeting his first deep thrust so he was firmly, completely seated in her. Abrasive pleasure seared her with the pressure, her body adjusting and stretching around him.

“God,” he groaned, eyes squeezed shut, his face set in severe lines, his arms trembling. “Hell, babe, you’re so tight.”

She reached up to cradle his face, fan her fingers over his cheekbones. She brushed his lashes, and he lifted them, staring into her eyes, his own dilated with pained satisfaction. She smiled, a giggle bubbling up from deep within, and an answering smile relaxed his face before he moved, withdrawing to push home once more and beginning a deep, steady, rhythm.

With her hands linked behind his neck, she sighed. “Oh, that’s…perfect.”

His rough laugh growled over her ears. “You’re perfect.”

“
We’re
perfect.” She tilted her hips and wrapped her calves around his thighs to change the angle, taking him deeper with each penetration, and he groaned through another laugh.

He lowered to rest on his forearms, his chest along hers, so they touched at every possible spot. Maintaining those satisfying hard thrusts, he sifted his fingers through her hair, stroked her throat and shoulders.

“Jen,” he whispered, lips moving at her jaw, and the pure, raw emotion in his voice speared through her, intensifying the compelling heaviness building in her belly, her sex, her body again. “Jennifer.”

She slipped her hands to his shoulders, nails digging at him faintly, and she pushed higher against him, wanting him deeper, harder, all the way, however she could have him. He gasped her name near her ear, followed by words of love, and she let go, let the exquisite buildup of pressure and weight and tingling excitement take her in a wild crushing flow as she came, his name leaving her mouth on a harsh cry.

She was still trembling and spasming around him when he stiffened above her, lunging into her with two, three harder thrusts, a throaty shout drowning her gasping sighs. A fierce sense of possession curled through her. He was
hers
.

He slumped in her easy hold, collapsing against her, his face buried in the curve between her neck and shoulder, murmuring her name over and over as he regained his breath. Jennifer ran her hands over his neck and back, tracing his spine, feathering along his shoulders, as warmth and well-being suffused her body.

Could life get any better?

With a low groan, he rolled away onto his back, an arm thrown over his eyes. Something about the quality of that groan snuffed a little of her giddy afterglow. Something about that small growl spoke of regret. Eyes narrowed, Jennifer lifted up on an elbow and studied her lover. She could literally see the tension seeping into his muscles with each second.

Oh, hell, he was going to make this hard and it didn’t have to be. And damned if she was going to let him crawl back into the protection of his fear. She rested a hand on his flat abdomen and he jerked in reaction. Lowering his arm, he sighed and met her gaze, and sure enough, his was troubled and tinged with regret. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. Jennifer lifted her eyebrows at him and waited.

He moistened his lips. “You realize we just changed everything?”

Making love to her had only deepened the jones.

He scowled. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I did.” She shrugged and scooted to the end of the bed. Small red marks highlighted her breasts, tiny little love bites he didn’t remember leaving. He’d been too lost in the sensations of her. She bent to retrieve her skirt and top, giving him an excellent view of her tight, luscious ass. She straightened them and laid them over the back of the desk chair. “I wonder if there’s an all-night diner here. Pancakes would be awesome.”

Irritation gathered under his skin. “Jennifer.”

She turned to face him, seemingly unconcerned with her gloriously nude state. “What?”

“I asked you a question.”

“I know.” She shook back her tangled sheet of shining hair. Picking up his clothing next, she tugged the second condom from his wallet and folded the slacks and shirt onto the opposite bed.

He had the distinct sensation that he’d seriously lost control of this situation. Reality tilted under him. “Is there a reason you’re ignoring it?”

“Yes.” Crossing to the bed, she took his hand and pulled him to his feet. Fingers wrapped around his, she tugged him toward the bathroom.

He balked at the doorway and she released him. The loss of her touch filtered through him immediately. She swept the shower curtain aside and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature and flow. He rested his forearm along the doorjamb.

“And that reason would be…?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, and the determined set of her chin sent foreboding sliding through him. Straightening, she turned and walked to stand before him, mere inches away.

With a serene smile, she looped her arms around his neck, bare breasts brushing his chest. “Because you’re trying to backpedal and I refuse to let you.” She tapped his nose with her forefinger. “You have issues. We’re going to deal with them.” She leaned up, her gaze fixed on his. “But I am not letting you go now and I am not letting you screw this up for us with your fear. We’re going to face it and handle it, together. Got that?”

A blend of warmth and unease shivered through him. “But—”

She covered his mouth with a hand, their mingled scents filling his nostrils. “No buts. That’s the way it’s going to be.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled against her palm, and she smiled, the serene, regal smile of a princess accustomed to getting her way. His princess.

“Good.” She stepped away and took his hand, drawing him after her to the shower, sending him under the warm spray first. She ducked inside and pulled the curtain closed after them. She pushed him against the tiled wall and curled against his chest with an impish grin. “Because after our shower, we’re going to find a place that serves pancakes. But first…” She trailed a finger along the center of his abdomen and his gut tightened, muscles jumping beneath that soft teasing caress. Her smile widened, her hazel eyes slumberous and glowing. “But first it’s my turn to make you burn.”

Morning brought sanity with it.

Ruthie dawdled through getting the children up and dressed, dreading what waited downstairs, dreading facing Chris after their midnight interlude. What was worse, kissing him, bullying him into agreeing to be her friend, or having to push him into that simple relationship?

He had to think she was crazy.

And he was right. She made herself slide the comb slowly through Ainsley’s silky hair, although her hands jittered. She didn’t look at him the way she did her friends. She didn’t go around kissing her male friends.

Well, if she had any friends, male or female.

That part of what she’d told him had been true. She needed a friend right now, with a desperation that frightened her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had someone to confide in, to share warmth and closeness with, but despite their agreement, sealed with a handshake or not, she didn’t think she could be Chris Parker’s
friend
.

“Mama, I’m hungry.” John Robert, dressed and lying along the foot of the bed, rolled restlessly from side to side, jostling her as she attempted to subdue Ainsley’s fine hair in a braid.

Ruthie opened her mouth to tell him to be still while he waited and smacked it shut instead. What was she doing? They weren’t in Charleston anymore. She didn’t have to keep him and Camille here until she had all three children dressed. That had been Stephen’s dictate.

Why was she still following it? She suppressed a shudder.

Still working on Ainsley’s tresses, she smiled at John Robert, then at Camille, who was peeking at her through the scrollwork of the iron footboard. “Would you like to go downstairs where Grandma is? I smell breakfast.”

John Robert paused in mid-roll and levered up on his elbows. He eyed her with suspicious incredulity. “Without you?”

“Yes, without me.” She twisted a ponytail holder around the end of Ainsley’s hair. “Grandma won’t mind, she’ll be glad to see you and there’s really no reason why you have to wait for me.”

Camille’s dark velvet eyes flickered to meet her gaze. “Daddy wouldn’t like it.”

Ruthie straightened her spine, but made sure her voice and smile were reassuring. “But Daddy’s not here, sweetheart. If you’re hungry, it’s fine to go downstairs.”

John Robert glanced at his sister and bobbed his head in a sharp bob. “All right, Cammie.” He slid from the bed and held out his hand. “I’ll take you. Come on, it’s okay. We’ll find Grandma.”

Tears prickled at Ruthie’s eyes. He was already so strong and gentle at the same time. Pride swelled in her as the pair slipped into the hallway, John Robert’s calm voice fading once they reached the stairs. Ruthie hugged Ainsley close, and her daughter giggled, patting her arm.

“Ainsley, girl, what did we do with your shoes?”

Scrambling free, Ainsley shook her head, perfect little teeth displayed in a grin. She held her hands out wide. “I don’t know, Mama.”

Ruthie covered her mouth. “Are they under the bed?”

Eyes twinkling with glee at the simple game, Ainsley dropped to peer under the tall old bed. “No, not here.”

“Maybe they’re in the closet.”

From below, the muffled squeak of the side door sounded, followed by a quiet rumble of male voices.

Voices, plural. Ruthie paused, one eye on Ainsley as she searched the closet, and listened. She relaxed. Tick’s deep drawl, joined by another low male tone, slow and resonant.

A rich
woof
followed them. She frowned. A dog, in her mother’s house? That was on par with learning her neighbors, the couple living next door, were really undercover FBI agents.

“Mama, where could they be?” Ainsley pouted a little, hands at her hips. Ruthie leaned down to kiss her daughter’s nose.

“I bet they’re in your go-bag.” She tapped a light finger on her daughter’s cheek. “Check there.”

In short order, Ainsley was shod and they descended the stairs, Ruthie holding Ainsley’s hand. Scents of coffee and scrambled eggs wafted down the hall, blending with a quietly raucous mingling of adult male voices and childish giggles. She smiled. Gosh, that was good to hear.

She stopped at the doorway and stared. There wasn’t only a dog in her mother’s house, it was in her mother’s
kitchen
. And the German Shepherd was huge, a large mass of brown and black fur, limpid eyes, enormous lolling pink tongue.

Not to mention, it was licking her child, delving that colossal tongue between John Robert’s outstretched fingers. Camille, eyes shining with excitement, watched from her chair next to her grandmother at the kitchen table. Nerves jumping in her stomach, Ruthie stepped forward.

And stopped.

Chris knelt by the big dog, one hand on its neck, the other on John Robert’s shoulder. John Robert giggled. “Does he like bacon?”

“He’d love bacon, if we let him try it. But he’s only supposed to have his special food and treats. So we can’t feed him from the table, okay?”

Biting his lip, John Robert nodded. “Can I pet him?”

“You stroke him.” Chris ran a hand over the dog’s massive head and down his neck and shoulders. “See? Like that.”

His expression set in earnest lines, John Robert followed Chris’s instructions. The dog seemed to sigh with bliss, appearing to melt into her son’s easy patting.

“That’s right.” Chris grinned in tacit approval and simple joy bloomed on John Robert’s face. “He likes to be touched but we have to be careful with him.”

Ruthie’s heart lifted and turned over in her chest. Ainsley tightened her hold and pressed closer to her thigh. “That’s a big puppy, Mama.”

“Yes, it is.” She laid a palm on her daughter’s shoulder, her cheeks warming as Chris, still crouched by John Robert and the dog, looked up at her with neither his face nor his eyes betraying any emotion.

He shifted his gaze from Ruthie to Ainsley and his expression softened. “Hey, Ains. This is Hound.” He rubbed a firm hand across the dog’s ruff. “Would you like to meet him?”

Ainsley danced from one foot to the other. She ducked her head. “Does he bite?”

Chris glanced up at Tick and Mark Cook, both in uniform and gathered at the coffee pot. “Only if I tell him to.”

With a nervous giggle, Ainsley nibbled on her fingers. “I don’t know.”

Ruthie leaned down to look into her face. “What if I go with you?”

One last chew on her fingers and Ainsley’s small white teeth flashed in a smile. “Okay.”

Holding hands, they crossed to the dog. Ruthie knelt opposite Chris and laid Ainsley’s little hand in his larger one. As Tick and Mark joined her mother and the older children at the table, Ruthie watched while Chris showed her youngest how to approach the dog, let him get used to her scent and voice and finally stroke him. Every so often, Hound shifted adoring eyes in Chris’s direction, ears flicking whenever he spoke.

Ruthie rested her palms on her denim-clad knees. “Is he yours?”

Tick snorted. “Might as well be.”

Affection lit Chris’s face as he patted Hound’s side. “Technically, he’s the department’s, but Hollowell’s boys did a poor job of maintaining his training. He was pretty neglected when the sheriff took over. I’ve enjoyed getting him back in shape.” He gave the dog another solid pat. “He’s a great dog. A good partner too.”

Their gazes caught and there was that feeling again—as if she had stepped into a private airless space with him, where she couldn’t catch her breath, where little else existed.

Oh yes, she could be simply
friends
with this man.

“I figured since I wasn’t at the coast, there wasn’t much point in him staying at the boarder’s.” One corner of Chris’s mouth curled up as the dog rested his large head on Chris’s knee, eyes sliding closed in supreme bliss under Ainsley’s tentative stroking. “Your mama said it would be fine if I used the dog kennel down at the pond for him while I was here. I can work on his training. I want to teach him some commands in a different language. German, maybe.”

“There’s always French,” Mark said, his voice as deadpan as his expression.

Tick choked on a swallow of coffee, flushing a fiery red from his open collar all the way to his hairline. The glare he directed at Mark was killing. Shaking her head at an obviously private joke, Ruthie swung her gaze back to Chris, only to find him biting his lower lip, his eyes watering with the laughter he fought to contain.

“I’m going to take him outside to work a little while,” he said, the words strangled, his face reddening as he blinked away the glitter at his eyes. He cast a quick glance at the children. “Would you like to come and help?”

He didn’t have to ask twice and when he headed out the door, John Robert was on his heels like a shot. The girls followed, hands clasped.

Tick pushed up from the table. “We’ll go out too. Help watch the kids and give you and Mama a chance to catch up.”

He leaned down to kiss their mother’s cheek, brushing the bandage at her hairline. Mark preceded him out the door, Tick’s voice filtering through the screened porch. “What the hell was that all about? I can’t tell you anything without you holding it over my head.”

The screen door slammed shut on his fussing.

Her mama dissolved into laughter, setting her cup aside and resting her face in her hands. Ruthie paused in the act of pulling down a ceramic mug dotted with flowers. Her mother’s joyful delight warmed her, bringing with it a sense of home and security.

She reached for the carafe, smiling at the memory of Chris’s silent mirth. “Did I miss something?”

Her mother wiped away a stray tear. “Your sister-in-law speaks French very fluently. Obviously, your brother finds that quite attractive. Or maybe stimulating is a better word.” She laughed again, shaking her head.

“Oh.” Ruthie bit her lip on a laugh of her own. Yes, that would explain Tick’s fierce blush. “Mama, how do you know that?”

“I’m sure, judging by his reaction, that I’m not supposed to. But then, I’m not supposed to be aware either that he and Caitlin can’t keep their hands off one another or have any understanding of how things can be between a woman and a man, you know.” With a saucy wink, she lifted her cup for a long, slow sip and pursed her lips. “As to how I know, Mark can be quite the useful source of information, I’ve found.”

Ruthie joined her mother at the table, shaking her head at Camille’s mostly untouched plate. She’d never been much of a breakfast eater, to Ruthie’s chagrin. She snagged Camille’s abandoned fork and picked at the scrambled eggs, her chin propped on her other hand.

“You like him, don’t you? Mark, I mean.” She savored the fluffy eggs. “He’s a good bit older than Tori, though, isn’t he?”

“I do like him. He’s a good man and he loves your sister.” A soft expression crossed her face. “He’s a strong man. He settles her and she definitely keeps him on his toes.”

“I’m sure.” Tori had spent most of her life keeping various members of her family on their collective toes.

“She’ll be here later today. I want to work on those alterations on her gown.”

“Mama, you just left the hospital yesterday. Are you sure you should—?”

“Yes. I’m sure.” Her mother patted Ruthie’s hand. “I’m fine.”

“Mama. You were kidnapped, suffered a head injury and don’t remember what happened. I don’t call that fine.”

“Ruth Ann, I assure you I have been through worse things than this incident.” Strength vibrated in her mama’s voice. “I survived those, and partly how I did so was I kept on doing what had to be done. Just as you are right now.”

“Oh, Mama.” Ruthie reached for her mug. “If you only knew. I feel like all I’m doing is putting one foot before the other, with no real idea of where I’m going or what I should be doing. I don’t know if I know how to make those kinds of plans anymore.”

“Of course you do, darling.”

She dropped her gaze from her mother’s gentle face. “I don’t trust myself any longer, Mama. I was so wrong about Stephen and I remember how sure I was that he was the perfect one, how stubborn I was when you tried to tell me I hadn’t known him long enough. What if I’m showing the same lack of foresight now?”

“What you are showing is incredible strength and wisdom.” Mama covered both of Ruthie’s hands with her own, a sweet blanket of love and faith. “I couldn’t be prouder of you. You’re doing everything you can to make things better for yourself and those babies. What you need to remember is that you don’t have to do this alone, darling.”

“I wish I knew where to start,” Ruthie mumbled. Her mama patted her hand once, twice.

“You start with a new step. You’re meeting with Autry Reed later today, aren’t you?” At Ruthie’s affirmative nod, Mama smiled. “Well, then, that’s your next step. And you can spend the morning helping me with altering Tori’s wedding gown.”

Ruthie rolled her eyes. “I suppose there’s no point in arguing with you?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Okay. But just remember, I never could stitch a straight line.”

A trill of childish laughter drew her to the window. Camille and Ainsley sat on the patio steps, flanking Chris. Tick and Mark had disappeared, and John Robert stood on the grass before the stoop and threw a tennis ball. The German Shepherd raced after it, almost tumbling over in his excitement. He gamboled back to drop the ball at John Robert’s feet and gaze with eager eyes and a lolling tongue at her son.