Part 17 (2/2)

”Andie, what?” He touched a finger to her chin, forcing her to look at him. ”Tell me.”

”When I closed my eyes, I saw the explosion again. I could hear it in my head. I'm afraid I'm going to have nightmares for a long time.”

”You will, but they'll fade.”

She wanted to ask how long that would take,then remembered he wouldn't be able to tell her. After all, just a couple of nights ago he'd had nightmares about his wife, and had called out Jeanne's name. Andie wondered if she would call out Jeff's name when she dreamed of the boat exploding. She'd stood there, terrified, not knowing if he was dead. She hadn't been able to see anything.

”Don't think about it,” he said.

”I can't think about anything else.”

”I know.”

She glanced up at him.

His expression was resigned. ”I want to tell you it gets better, that you'll learn to live with it,” he said.

”But it doesn't get better, does it?”

He pressed his hand against her head then, urging her to relax against him. She wanted to protest, but she couldn't. It felt right to be with him like this. His strength offered her the illusion of safety, the feeling that as long as she was with him, everything would be all right. It wasn't true, of course. But for a while she would pretend. Pretend that he liked her, that her admiration was nothing more than a fleeting well of grat.i.tude. That she didn't really care for him specifically. She tried to gather the strength to move away. She told herself to be strong, not to be a fool.

”You're so d.a.m.n beautiful.”

His words shocked her. She looked up and found him staring down at her. His eyes were hungry, filled with a fire that kindled instant heat inside of her. He didn't move, yet he seemed to strain toward her. His muscles tensed, his heartbeat increased.

”Jeff?”

”I know,I'm a complete b.a.s.t.a.r.d.” He pulled away from her, s.h.i.+fting on the sofa so he faced forward. ”You need rest, Andie. Go to bed.”

Did he want her? It seemed impossible to believe. She stared at him, at the way the lamplight caught the gold blond of his hair. At the breadth of his shoulders, at his strength. She needed him, she cared about him and she wanted him. Perhaps more than he could imagine. It had been so long since she'd been with a man, been touched intimately. She wanted to be held and loved. She wanted to be cherished, caressed,healed . She wanted to borrow his strength.

”Jeff?”

”Stop saying my name,” he demanded. ”You don't know what it does it me.”

His hands clenched into fists. Did she really affect him? She sat up on her knees, not sure she was willing to believe what was happening. All this time she'd thought he despised her. Was it possible he thought of being with her as she'd thought of being with him? Was it possible he cared? Did his anger come from guilt? Not just because she was Kray's ex-wife but because he hadn't been with another woman since Jeanne's death?

He'd said she was beautiful. So often her physical body was merely a hindrance. Something people had to get past to see the real person inside. She was a.s.sumed to be stupid, or stuck-up, or superior, when in fact she was just like everyone else, with flaws and good points.

But at this moment, she was glad he liked the way she looked. She reached behind her and pulled her braid over her shoulder. She unfastened the tie at the end, then finger-combed the strands free. When her hair was loose, she moved closer to him. She touched his shoulder.

He turned toward her. He breathed her name,then slipped his hands through her hair. ”You're incredible,” he said.

She smiled. It wasn't love, but it was about her, and that was enough for now. She hadn't felt special to a man in a very long time. Perhaps not ever.

”I want you,” he said.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned toward him. Her lips brushed his. She touched him with the faintest pressure, more teasing than pa.s.sionate, more playful than arousing.

The fingers in her hair twisted, holding her in place. He angled his head and opened his mouth. At the first touch of his tongue, fire raced through her. The flames ignited her skin, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the sweet waiting place between her thighs.

She slipped forward, falling across his lap. He released her hair and gathered her close to him. They never broke the kiss. Even as he picked her up in his arms. Even as she wiggled to get closer and held on to his neck. Even as he walked down the hallway and into his bedroom. Even when he kicked the door closed behind them, shutting out the rest of the world.

Chapter 11.

Jeff carried Andie to the king-size bed in the center of the room, then bent over and placed her on the mattress. His muscles protested, especially his shoulder where Kray's man had hit him with the rifle b.u.t.t. He ignored the pain and concentrated only on the need flooding through him. It had been too long.

Andie stared up at him with wide blue eyes. Her perfect features, her smooth skin and pouty mouth, all fueled his desire. She was every man's fantasy. The kind of woman who would stop traffic wherever she went. Yet she stared up at him as if he were all she'd ever dreamed of. Her body quivered. He could feel the slight tremors.

”Jeff,” she breathed. Her voice was low and husky, as if desire had forced her to say his name.

He'd been hard from the moment he'd sat next to her on the sofa and pulled her close. He'd managed to control himself until she'd taken her hair down and touched him. Now there was no going back.

He taunted himself. Instead of letting the fire consume them both, he waited until the heat was unbearable. He stared at her, at her long jean-clad legs, at her hair spilling over the pillow. She studied him in return, looking at his face, then his chest. Her gaze dipped lower. She flushed slightly when she saw his erection straining against his trousers, but she didn't look away. Her lips parted and her breathing increased.

He reached for the belt buckle at his waist. After unfastening it, he set it and his holster on the nightstand. Next, he pulled his s.h.i.+rt free of his trousers. His boots. .h.i.t the floor, followed by his socks. Only then did he sit on the bed next to her.

He placed one hand on her thigh. Her jeans were soft from manywas.h.i.+ngs . He could feel the heat of her body and the rippling of her muscles as he ran his palm down her long, lean leg to her ankle. He stroked her calf, her knee,then the outside of her thigh. As his fingers crossed her belly, she caught her breath. He slipped over her ribs to her shoulder, then down her right arm to her hand.

Capturing her wrist, he brought it toward his mouth. Their gazes locked. Watching her watch him, he pressed his lips against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. He felt the rapid flutter of her pulse. He opened his mouth and tasted her. Her eyes widened. She was sweet and salty. The combination made him realize how long he'd been starving for a woman's flavor. He held in a groan.

Desire swelled in his chest and groin. The fire burned hotter. Yet he held back. He knew what would happen when he gave in. He knew they would both eventually succ.u.mb to the flames. But not yet. Antic.i.p.ation would intensify the act.

Still holding her wrist, he moved his mouth to her palm and nibbled her sensitive skin. Her fingers brushed against his cheek. He circled her palm, tracing life lines, touching each of her fingertips with his tongue, memorizing the taste and feel of her. Beyond the room were the muted sounds of the night. He could hear the surf through the open window, the faint rustle of a night breeze. The scent of exotic, tropical flowers carried to him, yet no fragrance was sweeter than her.

She continued to watch him. Her eyes darkened with smoky desire. She moved her free hand to his thigh and gently squeezed his tight muscles. The silence in the room hummed in expectation. Through her s.h.i.+rt, he could see the faint puckering of her nipples. Her hips began to move slightly, offering him paradise. His blood boiled through him faster, hotter, urging him on. Yet he continued to hold back, not ready to take or give. In the back of his mind, a voice whispered of fear. There hadn't been anyone for so long. He wanted her, and yet...

She slipped her hand free of his hold and grabbed his wrist. Before he could stop her, she pulled his fingers to her mouth and touched the tips with her tongue. Electricity shot up his arm, through his chest to his groin. She drew his index finger into her mouth and suckled him. His arousal flexed hard against his belly. Had she touched him there, he would have exploded in her hand.

He growled low in his throat and reached for her. Sliding one hand behind her shoulders and the other around her waist, he hauled her up against him. She reached for his arms and clung to him. He pressed his mouth to hers.

She was already waiting for him. Her lips parted instantly, urging him to sup his fill. Moist heat surrounded him, urging him deeper, farther. He explored her mouth. Her sweet taste made him hungry for more. Even as his tongue traced hers, touched tip to tip, retreated and waited for her to follow, his hands were everywhere. He rubbed along her back and her hips. He moved his palms against her legs, up her hips over her belly to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Through the layer of her s.h.i.+rt and bra, he cupped the full curves and squeezed her taut nipples.

She moaned low in her throat. Her body arched toward him as if she, too, were as needy, as ready, as hungry for love. He angled slightly so she could recline on his lap. He buried his fingers in her long hair. It was gold silk, cool and s.e.xy. He wanted to feel it trickling against his chest. He wanted her to stroke it around the hardest part of him. He wanted her to be over him, kissing him, her hair providing a sensual curtain of privacy.

He moved his hand from her breast to the b.u.t.tons along the front of her s.h.i.+rt. They opened easily, exposing her pale skin. He raised his head and looked at her. Her bra was white cotton. Somehow he'd a.s.sumed she would wear black satin. The plain white bra made her vulnerable. Innocent.

She rolled away from him and sat up, then shrugged out of her s.h.i.+rt. Her pale midsection contrasted with the faint tan on her arms and chest. Despite her slender body, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were full. He wanted to see them bare and taste them. But before he could reach for her, she touched him.

He sat still as she unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt and drew it over his shoulders. Her movements were slow and sensual. Her fingers trailed over him, leaving him unable to do anything but feel. Her eyes- ”Oh, Jeff,” she whispered, staring at him. He glanced down and saw she was looking at the bruise on his ribs. His swollen skin had darkened, clearly showing the imprint of where he'd been hit.

”You said you were okay.”

”I'm fine. Just a few bruises.”

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