Healing Hearts (The Challenge Series) (7 page)

He broke from her, stared into her eyes. “Yes.”

***

The short ride back to his cabin passed with the comfortable silence that comes when two people have a clear grasp on the evening’s agenda. He jumped out and ran around to open her door and started to help her down. “Hang on,” he said, then tugged her right over his shoulder, making her yelp and laugh as he carried her across the muddy front lawn, putting her down when the door opened and the dog barked an excited welcome.

“I still don’t have any protection,” he whispered, as he kissed the side of her neck, making her sigh and thread her fingers in his hair.

“I’m on the pill. No worries there. And I’m clean, but if you want we could go get…oh, God….” He unbuttoned her shirt, slid the silk down to the floor, and had her bra off in an eye blink. Dropping to his knees, he sighed and slid her skirt down then kissed his way up from her bare sex to her breasts, giving each of them a gentle laving.

“You are perfect,” he said as she shut out everything but the feel of his lips and touch. “Leave on the shoes. I wanna fuck you while you wear them.”

She grinned at him, helped him out of his clothes, and turned around, propping against the back of the couch. “Take me this way, Jay. I want it.”

He slid his hands up her hips to her waist, cupping her breasts and kissing her neck, making her arch her back. “Yes.” She exhaled as the orgasm glimmered on her horizon. “Oh, Jay…please.”

He groaned, shifted his hips, and filled her so completely she gasped at the stretching sensation. Last time, she’d been so blind with lust. But the exquisite combination of pressures against her nipple, clit, and the fullness he gave her as he thrust deep made her cry out. Her body pulsed in a burst of erotic energy. He moaned and gripped both her hips, pounding into her hard, dragging the orgasm out to lengths she’d never thought possible.

“Gonna come, baby, oh, Christ.” He grunted and shuddered then draped himself over her back, holding her tight as they completed the ancient dance together, shivering and trying to catch their collective breath.

“Wow.” He slipped out of her and pulled her up and around to face him. “Talk about a personal space bubble violation, huh?” He ran a finger down her face and laid one of those tongue-tangling, mind-bending kisses on her, the light sheen of sweat on their skin drying under the breeze from the ceiling fan.

“No lie.” She stepped into the bathroom. “I’d take some water, or something,” she called over her shoulder. He stood, watching her, hands on his hips, his shaft still hard, slick-looking against his belly.

When she emerged, he held a cup of something that smelled delicious and an oxford cloth shirt. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and sipped the rich hot chocolate. “Wow, this is—”

“Doctored up with alcohol, but not too bad.” He patted the couch next to him. She snuggled into his side. They sat, sipping, in total quiet for a few minutes. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered at the exact moment she said, “I should go.”

She laughed and got to her feet, pulling him with her. “Tell you what, Longmire, you show me a little more of your orgasmic magic and I’ll stay. Maybe after a nap.”

“Just friends, right?” He tilted his head, his eyes dark and face full of a different message.

She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Absolutely. It’s like a sleepover. Only with sex. And real sleep.”

He frowned and shook his head, but she ignored the conversation they should have, and he followed her into the bedroom where she dropped into a doze.

Chapter Ten

The smell of blood—coppery, slippery, metallic—filled his nose. A horrific sound clogged his ears. Pleading, begging, and the harsh laughter of the men he never got a decent look at, then silence. And his daughter, his baby girl, screaming for him to help her as the rhythmic thumping went on over his head. Then more quiet. He yelled for her. But he couldn’t move, exactly like he’d been that day.

“Jay!” He heard her, saw her.

“No,” he yelled, his throat aching and his voice hoarse.

“Jay, honey, wake up.”

“Stop!” He sat up, striking out. Until he realized who held him. “Fuck.” He shivered, in the grasp of the normal evening visit from the faithful nightmare that would not let him go.

“Shh, Jay, I’ve got you. It’s okay. It’s over.” Her voice soothed and he gripped her, letting the tears come, let the dry, horrible sobbing take him until he was spent. He struggled away, mortified, and climbed out of bed, pulling on a pair of fleece pants against the cool August evening air. “Jay, it’s fine,” she insisted, but he wouldn’t look at her. He had to get out.

He took a breath. “I need a minute,” he muttered, before stalking into the kitchen and downing two glasses of water. In the early days of his journey through this horror story, it had been bourbon he’d use to lubricate the nightmarish hours. Until he realized he’d drunk an entire fifth of the stuff in two days. He’d broken the bottle against the hotel room wall and passed out, waking up with the sour, disgusting taste only bourbon leaves behind. And vowed never to touch the stuff again. And he had not, because Jefferson Taylor Longmire was a man of his word, a man who took care of things, ran businesses, his household, and protected those he loved. Oh, maybe not that last thing.
Fuck
.

He dropped his head. He had been weak, without a doubt, and he’d found an outlet for that. Like a fucking pig, he’d taken her, used her. Jesus help him.

“Hey.” She stepped up beside him, her glorious hair a haze of curls around her head and shoulders. “Got any food in here?”

“As a matter of fact,” he mumbled.

“Ah ha!” She pulled a container out and popped it in the microwave, filling the small kitchen with a rich cumin and chicken scent. Jay’s mouth watered—yet another once familiar but forgotten sensation. He was famished.

She found some forks and napkins and put the dish on the table, gesturing for him to take a seat across from her. He dropped into it, ran a hand down his face, and tried to figure out how this could end well. She held out an orangey, delicious smelling morsel. He opened his mouth and took it.

“Not bad, for week-old frozen food.” She smiled as she fed him another bite.

“Huh, Christy used to be the most obsessive about leftovers. If they weren’t eaten in a day, they got thrown out, no questions asked.”

“Really?” Abigail chewed, swallowed, then speared another piece and held it to his lips. “I won’t kill you with food poisoning, but I’m pretty sure one of the things cumin does is cover up putrid meat.”

Jay smiled and took a bite, then another. “Can I ask you something?” he mumbled around the delectable food.

“Might as well. You’ve been at it all night.”

“How did your parents come up with such an old fashioned name? I mean Abigail…I love it, but it’s kind of….please tell me your middle name is not Adams. Or Van Buren.”

She cocked her head at him and sipped from a water bottle he handed her. “Uh, no. It’s Elizabeth. Sorry.”

“Thank God,” he muttered, taking a drink then opening his mouth for another helping. The threatening, migraine-like headache had retreated now that he had rebalanced his blood sugar, thanks to her midnight snack save. “My parents were both American history professors—one at U of M, the other at Eastern Michigan. They had a thing about presidents.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Hence the Jefferson Taylor name.”

“Yep, and my sister is Madison Eleanor.”

“Eleanor was never….”

“You would not want to get my mother started on how she would have been a better leader than her husband.”

Abigail giggled, which made him smile. “I’d like to ask her,” she said, looking away from him. He tilted her chin up and leaned across the small table.

“Sorry, she died right after Jason was born. I’m glad she didn’t have to live through….” He gulped. “And my dad died before that, before Jason.”

“Oh,” she said, poking through the stew of sauce and rice for more chicken.

“You know what I love about you?” He leaned back, taking in her startled gaze at his words. “You are so matter of fact. So to the point. So….”

“Unemotional?” She put the fork down and leaned on her elbows.

“No, not that exactly. But whatever it is, it’s refreshing.”

“I’m told that it will help me, as a nurse. I’m empathetic, but not sympathetic. Helps me stay objective. That’s what I claimed on my entrance essay anyway.” She shrugged. “I do wish….”

“What, Abigail. What do you wish?” Because at that moment, if it were in his capability, he would make it happen, poof, like a wizard. Anything, to keep her smiling.

“Never mind. I should go.”

“No, you said you’d stay.” He rose, and pulled her close, all of a sudden panicked at the thought of being alone after the intense time they’d shared.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her nose in his bare chest. He loved the feel of her so much so it flat out scared him. “I wish I’d get the acceptance letter from U of M. They were supposed to go out last week. I haven’t gotten anything.”

He smiled into her hair. He could check into that, if not fix it, without a doubt. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom. And after bringing her to operatic orgasm two more times, he allowed himself his own release inside her once more, safe, happy, and content. The five hours of sleep he had in her arms was the longest stretch he’d gone since waking from the coma.

Chapter Eleven

Abby sailed through the next two weeks on a cloud of near constant sex with Jay. They’d given up the whole “personal bubble” facade entirely, entering each other’s with gusto and often. But she kept her emotional distance, considering his plan to stay in Traverse City for the rest of the year while she had every intention of going to Ann Arbor and starting school the day after Labor Day, something she didn’t want to touch her, hurt her in any way. She leaned on the coffee counter during a lull toward the end of the week, her body sore in places that would be embarrassing were she not so sated yet revved up and ready for more at the same time. She grinned when she caught sight of his blond hair and familiar face at the door at three o’clock on the nose. A punctual bastard, and a little OCD about other stuff but she didn’t care. He knew how to fuck like nobody’s business and had found and tripped all her erotic buttons and levers within days, using them with alacrity to the point he could almost glance at her a certain way and make her come.

He had his hands behind his back, and she rolled her eyes, anticipating another bouquet of roses or something as extravagant and unnecessary. But he held out a simple light cream-colored envelope, with the words University of Michigan School of Nursing in the upper left hand corner. She frowned, her face flushed, but she took it with a shaking hand. Turning it over once, she glanced at it long enough to realize it had no postage. “Where did you get this?”

“Where do you think I got it?” He leaned in, smiling. “Open it, already.”

She shook, put it down, and backed away from it. “What if it’s—”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” He took it, and pulled out a two-page letter welcoming her to the nursing class that would begin Tuesday, September sixth. “Congratulations, Abigail. You did it.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth. Worries about her mother sprang up but she pushed them aside in favor of climbing over the counter to let him hold her, kiss her, and whisper in her ear. “I can think of a great way to celebrate.”

She blushed, pushed him away, and grabbed the letter again, amazed at the heft of it and the way it would put her life on the track she’d envisioned. She picked up the mysterious, un-stamped envelope. “Seriously, Jay, where did you get this? You called your sister didn’t you?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, and she tried to resist the adorable, sheepish grin on his face. “Abigail I just asked the right questions of the right people is all. It’s something you gotta do sometimes.”

“Well, okay but—”

Lynn burst out of the back room at that moment, her eyes wild. “Abby, oh shit. Honey—” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Abby stared at her, confused. “Uh, yeah, I got my acceptance to….”

“Hey, um, Jay, would you excuse us a minute?” Lynn tugged her into the back room.

“What the hell is your problem?” Abby yanked her arm out of her friend’s grip. “You’re scaring me.”

“You need to get down to the hospital. It’s…oh fuck, Abs your mom…she….”

Abby stepped back, tripped and fell over a stack of boxes. “What about my mom?” Her voice rose to a scary decibel level. Jay pulled the curtain separating the back room from the service bar aside. She barely registered him.

“Jay.” Lynn shot him a look. “Can you take her down to the hospital? I’ll be right behind you once I get somebody to cover here.”

He nodded without asking why and tugged her out, dazed and terrified, stuffed her in his SUV, and drove like a mad man, pulling up with a screech in front of the small emergency room. He sat, gripping the wheel, breathing heavily. Dread settling in her gut like a fifty-pound rock. Something very bad had happened to her mother. She already sensed it. And her…boyfriend? Fuck buddy? Grieving widower pal with amazing lips? He looked like he could hyperventilate at the thought of entering the hospital. The utter absurdity of her own stupid fantasy hit her square between the eyes. She had no business with this man, involving him and his already tragic life any deeper in her mess. She put a hand on his arm. “Go on, I don’t need you to come in with me.”

He glared at her, making her jerk back. “I’ll support you, Abby,” he declared through clenched teeth.

She crossed her arms, anger, fear, and dismay making tears spring to her eyes. She’d been a fool—a romantic idiot—thinking she could heal this man in any way. And his certain meddling with the nursing school thing bothered her more than she thought possible. “I don’t want you here, Jay. I don’t need or want your support. Okay? You manipulated that whole fucking nursing school thing somehow, but now I’ve got a crappy life dilemma you can’t sweet talk or politic your way through. So go. I’m fine without you.”