Jamie (3 page)

“How could someone I don't know tell you anything at all about me?”

Careful, Faith.
She touched his forearm and became aware of his strength and the tension he hid. “There are others like you, Jamie. Others who can see and feel things but are also kind.”

His lack of belief hung in the air between them, visible in the flat line of his mouth, the enigmatic glimmer of his shadowy eyes as he met her gaze. “You won't give me names?”

Damn, he was pretty good at this elusive, give-nothing-away stuff. “Not yet.”

With slow, precise movements, he unbuttoned his flannel shirt. “Then tell me how you found me.”

Oh Lord.
He couldn't expect her to think while he undressed right next to her. In the closed confines of the small cabin, his scent filled her head, sending sexual lethargy to further weaken her already shaky muscles. Even his bare-bones conversation rang with confidence and unbelievable strength. He was all man, and in every conceivable way they were very much alone. Being unaware of him wasn't an option.

As silky, dark chest hair became exposed, new heat scorched Faith's skin, and it had nothing to do with fever. It wasn't easy, but she directed her attention toward a darkened window. The impenetrable forest muffled the fury of the storm, but every so often the flash of lightning reflected off the wet panes and the echo of thunder rumbled the air.

Faith drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “I'm sorry, I can't tell you that either.”

Again, he caught her jaw, his fingers hard, his hot, bottomless gaze boring into hers. She had no choice but to stare him dead in the eyes—and at close range, Jamie Creed's gaze felt lethal. “You'll tell me.”

He didn't raise his voice, made no overt threat, but that in no way lessened the impact of his intent. Faith shrank away until she huddled in the corner of the sofa. Her heart pounded a demented beat, leaving her breathless and more shaken than ever.

The slight trace of menace faded from his expression, and he shook his head. “Don't faint.”

“No. No, I won't.” But she knew she might.

Jamie made a sound of annoyance and, still watching her, shrugged the sopping shirt off his broad, sleek shoulders and let it drop to the floor. His naked chest was ... the thing of dreams, at least her dreams.

Her mouth went dry and her belly constricted.
Wow, oh wow.

“Then again ...” With the sight of his partial nudity, fainting seemed a real possibility. He wasn't a thick man but ripcord lean, as if he lived off the bare necessities and his frame had room only for muscle, not fat. Naturally dark, smooth, firm flesh stretched taut over bone and sinew, all male angles and innate strength.

She needed food. And sleep. And a shower sounded better and better. Even so, she'd be happy sitting there for about ... oh, an hour or so, just looking at him. Or maybe touching him. Or maybe even—

Jamie tapped her forehead. “You wanna block those thoughts a little?”

Startled, Faith jerked her gaze up to his. Lo and behold, he looked amused. He didn't actually smile, no, never that. And he was still tense. But somehow she just knew he wanted to laugh at her.

Well, hell. Making a fool of herself was not part of the plan.

Taking a drastic mood swing, Jamie pressed the heels of his hands against his eye sockets. “What,” he asked, “is the plan?”

Did she cause him pain with her strategy? She'd never intended that. He'd had more than enough pain in his life already. Faith touched his shoulder and relished his warmth and tensile strength. “I'm so sorry, Jamie, but there's a natural order for things. You'll understand, I swear. When it's time.”

He dropped his hands, staring at her with drugging force. “I don't have time.”

Tears gathered, and Faith hated herself for them. But in the past weeks, exhaustion had become her constant companion. Because of her illness, she had few reserves left.

Trying a smile that almost hurt, she said, “Jamie,” and even to her own ears, her voice sounded gentle, scolding, and so very sad. “All you have is time.”

Chapter Two

Jamie couldn't argue with that. His life consisted of endless days and even longer nights. But he wouldn't admit it to her. She couldn't read his mind, but she knew things about him. That meant she'd gotten her information from somewhere, from
someone,
and since few people knew of him, he had to assume she'd been in contact with the institute.

Just thinking it made him edgy with destructive emotions, emotions the profs had tried to strip from him. They'd been ruthless but unsuccessful. Still, the lessons were impossible to forget.

Normally, underhanded tactics never occurred to Jamie. With his abilities, he didn't need subterfuge or guile to get what he needed. More often than not, information bombarded him even when he didn't want it to.

But with this woman ...

He handed her the dry flannel shirt he'd retrieved from his loft, deliberately removing any inflection from his tone. “Put it on.”

“Thank you.” She hugged the shirt to her breasts with anticipation.

Jamie wanted to watch her dress, to again see her fascinating body with her pale skin and intriguing curves, her pink nipples ...

He wasn't an idiot, and he wouldn't start acting like one now. Being this close to her could be dangerous. Touching her would heighten that danger, leaving him vulnerable. He'd let a woman do that to him once; no way in hell would he let it happen a second time.

Turning, he gave her his back and stripped off his wet jeans.

Her attention burned over him with the severity of a live flame. Awareness, fascination,
yearning ...
Jamie glanced over his shoulder to see her eyes glazed, her lips slightly parted. She liked his body. She wanted him. He didn't need psychic ability to know it. Being a man was enough.

It had been a hell of a long time since a woman had looked at him like that. Sure, he'd grown used to the infatuations of the town women. They romanticized his life and made him out as an ethereal Romeo. Some of them twittered when he got near. Some of them fantasized so blatantly that he felt naked in front of them.

Some of them greeted him with smothering compassion, hoping to befriend him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to think about them right now. He had his hands full. They'd come, he knew it. Alyx would lead the pack, damn her. And Cyn ... so big-hearted and so determined to save him from himself. Julie would be all practicality; Shay and Luna would be bull-headed and stubborn despite what the men had to say about it.

They were warm and loving, and Jamie liked them all, when he knew liking had no place in his life.

But he'd deal with them when he had to. Not yet.

For right now, he had a bigger problem: the carnal temptation of a red-haired, chatty woman who kept some secrets yet divulged things he'd be better off not knowing.

As a man, Jamie watched her—and wondered if he could use her sexual interest to his advantage.

Even as he considered it, guilt surfaced. She was sick. She was female.

But she plotted against him, and he had to find out what those plots entailed. “Put on the shirt.”

“Oh.” She inhaled sharply, suffered a coughing fit, and twisted slightly away from him. The graceful line of her back intrigued him. The voluptuous swell of her hips warmed him. Her legs ... God, she had killer legs that would wrap around a man and hold him tight.

As Jamie watched her pull on the shirt, he stepped into warm, dry jeans and carefully tugged up the zipper. He hadn't even thought about underwear or a shirt for himself, but then, given the unique situation, clothes weren't a priority.

He didn't look at her now, but he heard shifting and rustling and had no problem at all imagining her every move.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Coast is clear.”

Jamie faced her. Her efforts to towel dry her hair had left it more disheveled than ever. Long tresses curled and twisted, springing in different directions. Without really thinking about it, Jamie reached out and ran his fingers along one corkscrew curl that fell to her shoulder, tugging it out straight, examining the texture, then watching it spring back as he released it.

Totally female, she smoothed her hair and rushed into flustered explanations. “It's a mess. I haven't washed it in three days because of traveling, and with the wind and the mud ...”

Realizing what he'd done, Jamie took a step backward, away from her allure. The shirt covered her better than the towel had, leaving only her legs bare. But what legs ... She probably stood five-six or five-seven, not petite but not exactly tall either. She'd rolled up the sleeves to free her hands.

As he studied her legs, she slowly snagged the quilt and pulled it over her lap.

Deprived of that splendid view, Jamie picked up the jar of liquid and settled beside her. “This'll make you feel better.”

She stared in horror at the Mason jar of wild peaches and dirty moonshine. “What is it?”

“Homemade liquor. Some locals brew it.”

“Moonshine!” Damp curls bounced as she shook her head. “Oh, no. I'm not a drinker. One sip and I'm smashed. I can't even drink a social glass of wine without getting tipsy. It's embarrassing really, because everyone should be able to drink one lousy glass.”

Damn, she talked a lot.

“But I can't. There was this one time—”

“I insist.” Jamie unscrewed the metal lid. Careful not to touch her injury, he cupped the back of her head and held the jar to her mouth.

“But I don't want—”

“You don't want to get drunk,” he said for her. “You don't want to accidentally tell me things that you don't want me to know.”

Sadness softened her blue eyes. “I'm sorry.”

He hardened his heart, giving her a stare that meant business. “Drink it or leave.”

Pink lips parted. Color left her face. “You don't mean that.”

Unflinching, he watched her indecision, the desperation that flickered over her features.

“But where would I go? It's storming and I'm sick and you brought me here....”

Jamie didn't relent. His survival instincts were too ingrained to allow any advantage.

For only a single moment, she closed her eyes and her shoulders slumped in defeat. “All right.” Her chin lifted and she returned his stare. “But ... will you please trust me? Just a little. I swear to you, I don't mean you any harm.” Her small cool palm flattened on the front of his chest, right over his heart—which immediately began to thump at the contact. Her fingers curled the tiniest bit, biting into his flesh, turning him on more.

Face tipped up to his, she leaned closer. “I'm open to you, Jamie. You can feel my intent. You know I mean what I say.”

For one startling heartbeat, her desperation became his, causing him pain, making his brain throb and his heart ache. He didn't know why she was desperate, or what he could do to help her, but she believed he could.

She trusted and needed him.

His pulse quickened as something oddly sweet expanded in his chest, conflicting with his suspicions. He gave a slow nod. “All right. I'll trust you, but only until you give me reason not to.”

Body going limp, she whispered, “Thank you.” Her hand left his chest and curled over his where he held the jar. She wrinkled her nose and brought the potent liquor to her mouth. Apparently unfamiliar with moonshine, she made the mistake of trying to gulp and nearly choked herself.

While she sputtered and wheezed and tried to suck in air, Jamie set the jar aside and rubbed between her shoulder blades. Touching her was nice, which made it dangerous.

Finally, after nearly a minute, she drew in a startled, strangled gasp of air.

“Ohmigod,” she rasped, her eyes watering and her cheeks hot. “That's
awful.”

Jamie's mood lightened. A feeling that could have been humor wormed through his cynicism. “Sip it this time.”

“This time?”
Her eyes flared comically in horror. “I have to drink more?”

He nodded and again carried the jar to her mouth.

Holding her nose, she dutifully sipped and made a face each time.

When he lowered the jar, she explained, “I'm a teetotaler.” A small burp purled past her compressed lips. “Oops, sorry. I told you I didn't have the knack for drinking.”

Mesmerized, Jamie noted how her eyes had lightened, her cheeks darkened. “Just a little more.” Enough to loosen her up and free her of reserve.

She licked her lips, already becoming foggy. “The peaches help, huh?”

“If you say so.” But he still felt guilty, damn it. “It's all I have for ailments. I've been meaning to get to town.... Actually, I've been to town. But not to shop.”

“Just to help people?” She voluntarily took another swig, surprising Jamie. This time it went down her throat smooth as silk.

Probably not a good sign.

He relinquished the jar into her hands. “My supplies are low, but I can find you something simple to eat.”

“Anything would be good. It's been hours and hours and hours since I ate anything.”

“Hours and hours, huh?” He watched her, appreciating the new flush to her skin, the fading caution in her eyes, the restless way she shifted on the couch.

Moonshine made for some heady liquor, guaranteed to give a quick kick. Jamie did more business with the reclusive moonshiners than with any reputable businessman. Anything he needed, they could get. So he dealt with them often.

She tipped the jar to her mouth once again.

“That's enough.” Jamie pulled it away from her, capped it, and went to the fireplace. “I'll warm things up in here first, then get you the food.”

Flopping back onto his couch, she stretched her legs straight out, folded her hands on her belly. The quilt fell away, exposing her legs again. She gave a lusty sigh. “I'm not that cold now, but thanks.”

Jamie kept getting distracted with her, the sound of her voice, how she moved, her air of femininity. “Stay put.”

She waved a hand. “I'm not about to move, trust me. My legs are mush.”

Her legs were sexy. Hell, everything about her was sexy. But given how long he'd been celibate, likely any woman alone in his cabin would affect him the same way.

Then he remembered Alyx Winston barging in,
more than once,
and he shook his head. He liked Alyx, even if she was a major pain in the ass. He'd noticed her long legs and her behind and ... everything about her. He wasn't dead. But he didn't want Alyx sexually. He'd leave her to Deputy Royal. God knew, that man would have his hands full.

After opening the flue on the fireplace, Jamie went outside to fetch wood from the farthest corner of the porch, where he kept it in a covered bin. Chopping wood kept him busy, helped to exhaust him sufficiently so that he could doze. He had enough to last him three winters.

The fading daylight couldn't penetrate the combination of black clouds and thick forest, allowing darkness to descend on the mountain earlier than usual. The wind whistled through branches, tossing fallen leaves and twigs onto the wooden planks of the porch floor and swirling a bone-deep chill around Jamie's bare feet.

When he walked back into the cabin, his arms laden with chunks of wood, his gaze went immediately to the woman. She'd sprawled onto her back, one leg on the couch, one over the side, her foot on the floor. In a vague and inadequate attempt at modesty, she'd draped one corner of the quilt over her thighs.

Staring at the ceiling, she smiled and hummed . . . definitely drunk.

She looked so appealing, in an inebriated, easy way, that Jamie almost missed the relevance of her carefree thoughts, complete with visions of a little girl, laughing one moment, so very serious the next. Jamie saw the child holding up her arms, being lifted and hugged.

The little girl's eyes twinkled, and in a tiny, childlike voice, she squeaked, “Mommy.”

The wood fell from Jamie's arms with a terrible clatter.

Luckily, the logs missed his toes, but that damn vision hit him square in the lungs, knocking the wind out of him. He'd connected too strongly with her, felt the warmth of the child, smelled her powder scent, her carefree happiness, the ... love.

In a snap, her memories turned to vapor, disappearing in the air with a poof. She bolted upright, held her head with a moan, then struggled to her feet. They stared at each other, Jamie flabbergasted, the woman alarmed.

Weaving on her feet, she whispered, “Jamie? Are you all right?”

He hadn't been all right in years. But now ... a
mother
had invaded his cabin? Jamie searched her mind, seeking out that elusive comfort he'd felt for only a flash. He failed. Her thoughts now centered on him, soft, caring thoughts that battered against his better sense.

“I'm fine.” He stepped over the fallen wood, giving himself a moment by loading the fireplace with wadded paper and twigs from a bucket on the hearth. He felt her coming toward him even as the air stirred with the female scent of her body. Before her hand settled on his shoulder, he'd already grown rigid.

She stroked him, knelt behind him. “Your hands are shaking,” she whispered. “I can take care of the fire if you want.”

Jamie glanced at his hands, saw it was true, and curled his fingers into tight fists. Moderating his voice and actions had never been quite so difficult. “Go back to the couch.”

She leaned against him, her breasts flattening against his shoulder blades, her breath on the side of his throat. He could feel her stiffened nipples and the brush of her lips on his shoulder as she spoke. “I don't want to.”