Wild Rain (12 page)

Jillian worked hard to school her breath to an even pace, willing herself not to panic like her mind was screaming at her to do. “Your turn,” she said at length, her voice hoarse.

Now he tensed. And suddenly she wanted to smile. To laugh out loud. What a hell of a pair they made.

“Nothing horrible,” she assured him. “What made you decide to come to America?”

He remained tense. “Ask another question.”

“Okay. None of
my
business. Can you tell me what you did before you opened your private security firm?”

Silence. Still stiff. She had the odd thought that now it felt like a tree was hugging her.

“If I guess will you tell me?”

His arms loosened a bit. His chest relaxed, and she felt his heart drop into a steady rhythm.

“You don’t think I can, do you?”

“You’re free to try.”

“If I’m right, will you tell me?”

“I’ll never lie to you.”

Jillian tensed at the quiet declaration, then forced herself to relax in his arms. “You carried a gun then as you do now. I think it’s like an extension of you. So the easy guess would be a cop. But that wasn’t it.”

“What makes you say that?”

His tone was one of reluctant interest. Jillian allowed herself a secret smile. It was so much nicer now that her turn was over. “You don’t strike me as a man who’d settle for solving local problems.” He tensed again, but it didn’t daunt her. “I mean, even now, you’re tackling this hurricane like someone who would vanquish it single-handedly if he could. I can’t see you giving out speeding tickets or investigating the robbery of the local five-and-dime.”

“For a lousy judge of character, you have a passing fair amount of intuition.”

“So what made you quit, Reese?”

“Who said I quit? I changed jobs.” She felt him shrug.

“Are you happier now?”

Another long pause. “I don’t think happiness ever played a role in any decision I’ve made in over sixteen years.”

His tone was flat and resigned. A tiny ache knotted her insides way down deep in a place she’d kept scrupulously closed to inspection. “I’m sorry, Reese.”

“Odd, coming from you.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked, honestly
surprised at his remark. “I’m happy. I love what I do.”

“I like what I do too. We’re both good at our jobs, and I imagine we both derive equal amounts of satisfaction from them. But job satisfaction isn’t happiness, Jillian.”

“Then what do you call it?”

“Surviving.”

A shiver ripped through her. And that hollow space in the pit of her soul suddenly yawned open, the black emptiness echoing with the truth of his assessment. Surviving.

“Maybe,” she said, so softly, she wasn’t certain he could hear her. “But I’m pretty damn happy with that. It beats the alternative.”

In the next instant she was facing Reese. He turned her over and pulled her up until her face was just breathing space away from his.

“Too right, mite. Too right.” He lowered his mouth toward hers, then in the instant before they would have touched, he pulled back an inch and whispered, “So tell me, why is it that I’m suddenly not so satisfied with just surviving?”

Jillian wasn’t given the chance to answer. A breath later she’d forgotten she wanted to.

His lips were warm and firm; the tip of his tongue, wet and hot. He didn’t devour her, he didn’t crush her lips with his as she’d half expected—as she wanted to do to him.

He tasted her, sampled her, moved his mouth over her lips slowly and so thoroughly, she memorized
every texture and taste of his. He plundered her mouth, stealing her tongue and carrying it back into his own, where he savored it as if it were a much-sought-after treasure.

Never had she been so completely seduced by a simple kiss. Except there was nothing simple about Reese’s kiss.

There was nothing simple about Reese.

His hands had been holding her arms, but as he slanted his mouth to take the kiss even deeper, he moved one hand around her waist, his big palm spanning the small of her back as he pulled her more tightly against him. His other hand slid slowly up her arm. She arched violently against him as the back of his thumb dragged against the side of her breast.

Reese groaned as his body responded in kind. “Madness,” he whispered raggedly against her lips. “Stop me, Jillian. You won’t find happiness here. Not with me.”

“Neither will you,” she rasped back, the teasing feel of his lips just beyond hers almost as seductive as actually tasting them. “But maybe we can have pleasure. Surely we each deserve some pleasure.”

Reese pushed his hand into her cropped-off hair, the thick pads of fingers performing the most erotic massage on her scalp. He gripped her head gently and pulled it back, leaning over her so that when he spoke his hot breath whispered straight into her open mouth and down her throat.

“Yeah, but haven’t you learned that the pain that always follows is never worth the thrill?”

The storm boomed into the sudden breach in their hushed conversation, rattling the house, shaking the very floor beneath them. Jillian realized how far gone she was when she merely reveled in the heightened sensations the undulating rhythm of the flooring provided.

“This time we may not be around long enough for the pain.” Her voice was a hoarse rasp. “But I know I can have pleasure, Reese. Now. With you.” She heard him suck in his breath, felt his rib cage rub against her belly. She swallowed a moan. “We’re both survivors, Reese. We’ll deal with the fallout after.”

Reese’s answer was to take her mouth again. And again. Where before there had been sweet, sinful seduction, there was now only hot, driven possession. His mouth ravaged hers as if the storm outside had entered the very room, had taken up residence in his body.

Jillian gripped his shoulders, twisting her hips in search of an elusive fix, something, anything to take the ache away. The thought had barely formed when she felt the hard shell of his denim-clad knee push between her legs.

Oh yes, oh yes, she thought dazedly. Higher, harder. She clamped her knees together to strengthen the pressure.

Reese growled against her lips as his entire body
bucked up. Confusion washed over her as she suddenly found herself shoved half a foot away.

Jillian’s heart was still racing so fast, she could barely think, much less comprehend what in the world had just happened. She heard Reese’s harsh breathing, but couldn’t make him out in the darkness. Automatically, she began groping for the lantern. Her sweeping arm smacked against warm, hard denim.

Reese hissed on a sharp intake of breath. “Bloody hell, stay still!”

Jillian froze. Heat of an entirely different sort flooded through her. My God, what had she been thinking? She’d thrown herself at the man. Practically demanded that he pleasure her, for mercy’s sake. Oh, dear Lord. Not even when she’d walked into the small apartment she was to share with her future husband, Thomas, only to find her mother standing in the center of the now-empty rooms with a false smile of compassion on her face and her checkbook in her hands had Jillian felt this humiliated.

She could blame it on the storm, on her nerves, on her overwhelming reaction to being cooped up in such a small place with Reese Braedon. Brash, bold, blond, and sexy. Every woman’s fantasy come to life. But it wouldn’t wash.

Maybe the story she’d overheard Richard regaling her coworkers with on the Valdez expedition had been more painfully correct than she’d been able to admit. Maybe she
was
a frustrated, insecure
little wallflower who couldn’t hold a man without a checkbook of her own. An attractive man walks into her life and less than three hours later she was flinging herself at him. How much more pathetic could she get?

A sudden blinding light filled the room. Jillian ducked her head instinctively, shielding her eyes from the yellow glow. And from Reese’s all-too-perceptive scrutiny.

She was successful only at the former.

“I think—” He broke off on a wince as he shifted his leg. “I think I’ll take that painkiller now.”

Jillian wanted to get a small spade and start digging. If she was lucky, she’d hit China before she died of mortification. She’d been so carried away, she’d forgotten about his wounded leg. Hot, incredibly clear flashbacks sprang up to torture her. Her hands groping his shoulders, her hips squirming closer, forcing his knee between her legs … clamping her thighs around his.

“I’m so sorry,” she said on a ragged whisper. She turned and started rummaging through the stacks of boxes, purposely not giving him the chance to reply, certain whatever he said right now would only make matters worse.

She wished with all her might she could turn the light off again. She felt his gaze on her. Imagining what must be going through his mind right now, it was all she could do not to cringe.

She found the box with the medication she was
looking for and slid it over closer to the light, careful to keep her face averted. She hated being such a coward, especially in front of Reese. But she’d had damn good reasons for adopting the lifestyle she had, and this interlude had merely proved her instincts were right. If she was really, really lucky, Reese would be a gentleman and pretend the whole scene had never happened.

“You gonna tell me why you got your head stuck in that box like there was a cure for cancer buried in there somewhere?”

As usual, luck was taking its circuitous route around her. Suddenly weary of the whole thing, she sighed and lifted her head. If they survived the next twenty-four hours, he’d be gone shortly after. If they didn’t … Well, either way, his opinion of her didn’t amount to squat in the overall scheme of things. And the sooner she got that straight in her head the better off she’d be.

She looked at him and extended the medicine bottle, proud of the steadiness of her hand. “Here, take two of these while I get you some water.”

He didn’t say anything, but held her gaze in a way that made her distinctly uneasy as he reached out to grab the bottle. She should have gone with her instincts. Instead of taking the bottle, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. His size and strength made the maneuver ridiculously easy. He sat upright, keeping her wrist pinned next to his hip while he used his free hand to tilt up her chin.

Jillian used every scrap of will she had to keep from yanking out of his grasp and scurrying backward like an awkward crab to escape his touch. But nothing short of asphyxiation would keep her from trembling under his touch. Considering that she was finding it equally impossible to breathe, that solution held definite merit.

“You’ve got this survivor thing down to a science, don’t you, mite?”

Her heart pounded under his direct, unreadable expression. Why was he doing this to her? He had to know now how woefully unprepared she was for a man like him. She parted her lips, not sure if it was to breathe or speak but found it didn’t matter, since she could do neither.

“I know all about surviving.” He tugged gently on her wrist until she bent forward so her weight was braced on both her hands and knees, the motion bringing her perilously close to his mouth again. “But we gotta make a decision, and I’m not sure I’m thinking clearly enough to make the right one.”

“About what?” The words were more mouthed than spoken.

“About whether we’re going to remember all the reasons we became survivors in the first place.” He leaned closer, tilting his head as if he meant to kiss her, but stopping just short of doing so. “Or say to hell with it all and finish what we began a few minutes ago.”

SEVEN

If anyone had told Reese yesterday that he would pose a question like that to a small-breasted, diminutive mite with a shade less than zero experience in seducing men—and actually be in pain over her response—he’d have thought the bloke had gone starkers.

The only one starkers here apparently was him.

Worse even, he didn’t care.

Jillian’s eyes were so expressive. Every thought that filtered through her brain was broadcast loud and clear from them. How could he have ever thought them plain? And her breasts might be small, but God, he bet they tasted twice as sweet. His hands nearly spanned her waist, and she’d already proven just how strong her slim thighs were.

He felt his heart rate pick up as he willed her to answer him. One tug against him and he knew he could have her.

But for some reason that wouldn’t do. Maybe it was those questions he saw so clearly in her eyes; the doubts, the vulnerability, the survivor in her screaming not to invite him in, not to invite pain. Maybe that was why it had to be her decision.

All he knew was she better make it and damn quick.

“Maybe pleasure isn’t enough after all,” she whispered finally.

Reese was stunned by the sense of loss, the immediate urge to force a different answer from her. What in the hell was happening to him?

He dropped his hand and shifted away from her. The space he put between them was small, but as effective as the Great Barrier Reef in distancing himself from her. Mentally anyway. His body was registering a very insistent complaint. He ignored it. Discomfort helped him to remain focused.