Loves Me, Loves Me Knot (17 page)

Without letting her know, of course. If Jenna found out he was still acting like an invisible commando bodyguard where she was concerned, she’d have his biscuits in a bag hanging from her belt . . . or attached to the ends of one of those fluffy boas she liked to wear.

So he didn’t let her catch on. He remained at a distance, pretending he was a-okay with the divorce, and far removed from anything that had to do with her.

And whenever they bumped into each other or were forced to spend time together because of their mutual circle of friends, he played it cool, pretended she meant no more to him than any other woman he might pass on the street. He hoped he was pulling it off, because it was about as easy as sucking on a lemon and
not
making a face.

Still, he figured anyone, cop or not, would get the willies from being told they’d died in a dream. He only hoped her vision was the result of a vivid imagination and a spicy midnight snack, rather than any fortune-telling genes she may have inherited from the slightly wacky Langan side of her family.

“I’m fine,” he told her, running his fingers through the short, black hair at her temples. He kept stroking her face and hair until she looked at him fully and the
panicked, glazed expression started to fade from her eyes. “See. Flesh and bone and very much alive.”

At that, her eyes began to water again and the petal-soft bow of her lips quivered. “I couldn’t find you, and I couldn’t find the baby, and then I did find you, and . . .”

He tensed at her mention of a baby. She hadn’t said anything about that before, but apparently her dream had also contained an infant. Not so surprising, considering they both had baby on the brain these days.

“I was afraid I was going to find the baby dead, too, and I just couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t lose you both,” she finished on a sob.

He grabbed her up and cradled her tight at the same time she threw herself against him. “Shh, it’s okay. Nobody’s going to die.”

“You don’t know that,” she mumbled into his neck. “You always used to say that, but you don’t know nothing’s going to happen. You can’t be sure.”

His brows crossed at her sudden assertion. They weren’t just talking about her dream now. They were talking about his job, and their failed marriage, and any number of thoughts and feelings and conversations that had passed between them over the years.

“Why are you worried about me now?” he asked softly. “We aren’t even married anymore.”

Jerking back, she fixed him with a hot, angry glare. And then she smacked him. Open hand, right across the bare chest.

“That doesn’t mean I stopped loving you, you big lug. Or that I don’t still care.”

Her eyes blazed fire, and color was coming back to her face.

“I worry about you every day, on the job and off.
Why do you think it was so important to me that we start a family?” Her voice was still sharp, but now it was tinged with emotion, as well. “I want children, yes, but I also wanted a part of you growing inside of me. A little boy with dark hair, quiet intensity, and a dimple in his right cheek just like you have when you smile. A little girl with brown eyes, a sharp mind, and a stubborn streak two miles wide.”

Something clenched tight in the area of his heart.

Maybe it was everything all rolled together and thrown at him out of the blue that caused his conscience to pinch, his chest to throb, and a knot of what he thought might be regret to grow in his gut.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his raw, dry throat. He had to swallow and lick his lips before trying again.

“You never said you worried about me.”

Jenna rolled her eyes as though he were at the head of a class of dunces. “Of course I worried. Your job is dangerous, and it kept you away for weeks on end. Weeks when I never knew where you were or what you were doing. How could I
not
be concerned about you? How could I
not
have nightmares when you were away from me?”

“You’ve had this kind of nightmare before?” he asked, truly perplexed.

He’d never known her to have nightmares; not often, anyway, and not over anything more substantial than a scary movie they stayed up too late to watch. Then again, she was right about his undercover work taking him away from home for long stretches of time. How was he supposed to know how she slept when he wasn’t in bed beside her?

It broke his heart to think of her crying out in the middle of the night, with no one there to comfort her.

Without
him
there to comfort her.

Dammit, he should have been.

He should
be
.

He’d always had regrets about their ruined relationship. But if he’d been sorry before, he now felt like a first-class heel.

He’d thought the reason for their breakup was based mainly on her desire for children and his refusal to give them to her. On the slow detachment that the recurring quarrel had caused.

Had he missed the bigger picture? Had there been more going on beneath the surface that he’d never seen, never known was there?

How many nights had she stayed up, wondering if he was all right and fretting over his safety?

How many times had he come home from an extended undercover case and
not
sat down to talk to her? Not hugged her, kissed her, filled her in on what he’d been up to or asked how she’d spent the days he’d been away?

On his part, he hadn’t wanted her to know some of the specifics of what his job entailed. She didn’t need to know that he’d just spent a month living in a crack den, peddling meth or heroin or cocaine to junkies on the street. Or that he’d spent days on end picking up prostitutes in sting operations and tracking down killers.

But it probably wouldn’t have hurt for him to tell her that everything had gone fine and the bad guys they’d been after were now behind bars.

She’d married a cop, so she knew the basics of what being on the force entailed. Sharing some of the lessgory
details wouldn’t have been so bad. It wouldn’t have scarred her any more than hearing about one of her students stuffing glitter up his nose or throwing up macaroni and cheese after lunch had scarred him.

Great. He’d been an idiot, and now that he’d figured that out—not his proudest moment ever—it was too late to do anything about it.

With a sigh, he ran his hand over her hair, kissed the side of her face, and then scooped her off the sofa and into his arms. Cradling her against his chest, he got to his feet and started across the room, back the way he’d come.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice still sounding thick and slightly hoarse from her crying jag.

“Taking you to bed,” he said, and he didn’t intend to take
no
for an answer.

The cold fear that had wrapped itself around Jenna’s heart only moments before melted and turned into a pool of uncertain longing low in her belly.

Did she want this? Was she ready for it?

Tricking Gage into coming over and seducing him in a no-strings-attached effort to get pregnant was one thing. Sleeping with him when they were both alert and willing, with no ulterior motives, was something else entirely.

Rather than struggle or insist he put her down, she let him carry her up the stairs, enjoying the gentle sway and bounce as she rested against his chest and he took the steps carefully one by one. She told herself she was buying time to decide what to do.

Stay or go? Argue or capitulate? Be strong or give in just for this one night?

Spending the rest of the night in Gage’s arms would certainly drive away the last vestiges of a nightmare she never wanted to experience again.

At the memory, a shiver of alarm trickled down her spine. She hated dreaming bad things about Gage.
Hated it when her subconscious created all kinds of terrible, horrific images that she wouldn’t let herself think about during her waking hours.

Seeing him shot and bleeding to death in some dark alley. Seeing him surrounded by nameless, faceless lowlifes who obviously meant him harm.

And yes, even after they separated and divorced, she still experienced the occasional nightmare about his well-being.

Jenna closed her eyes where her head rested against Gage’s strong, hard shoulder, and bit the inside of her lip to keep from groaning aloud.

She was such a mess! How did a woman her age, with her level of education and what she thought was a normal, decent amount of common sense, end up at the center of such a soap opera?

Oh, Lord. Her life was like a chapter out of some Latin-American
telenovela
. Maybe she should throw her head back, put a hand to her forehead, and start speaking in rapid Spanish. A good swoon definitely couldn’t hurt.

Gage rounded the corner into the small guest bedroom, careful not to bump her into the doorjamb.

She was no closer to knowing whether or not she should go through with this, but it seemed the decision was being taken out of her hands. There was the small, narrow bed, covers thrown back and rumpled from his own few hours of sleep. The room was dark, with only a faint trace of moonlight spilling through the open curtains on the lone window.

And God help her, she actually found it romantic. Alone with her ex-husband in this tiny, cramped room,
him carrying her up the stairs to bed like some medieval knight.

Sigh.
If she hadn’t slaked her lust with him multiple times only last night, she would definitely be thinking that she needed to get laid.

And maybe she did. Maybe she was like a plant gone too long without water. It had been so long since she’d had sex that last night had barely made a dent. She might need to do it again and again and again before her thirst would be assuaged and the color would start to come back to her leaves.

It was simple biology, really, and who was she to go against the laws of nature?

Mind made up, Jenna relaxed, let her body go slack, and breathed out a soft sigh as Gage leaned over to place her gently on the bed. Her eyes fluttered closed and she waited, taut with expectation, for him to follow her down, for the solid weight of his large frame to cover her, press her into the mattress, and for his lips to lightly touch hers.

Breathlessly, she waited.

And waited.

And . . .

What the heck was taking so long?

She let one eye open a crack and found him standing in the doorway, hand resting lightly on the jamb, his broad, bare back facing her instead of his . . . well, instead of his face.

“ ’Night,” he murmured, and started to walk away. “Sleep well.”

Sleep well?
Sleep well?
What had happened to serving her a plate of piping-hot sex to drive away her bad dreams?

Hmph.

She sat up,
this close
to saying,
Hey, where the heck do you think you’re going?! Get over here and make me scream, darn you!
but caught herself just in time. In a calm tone, she called his name instead.

He turned, arm still raised against the doorway. “Yeah?”

“Will you stay with me?”

It wasn’t what she’d planned to say. But it slipped out all the same, and as soon as the words passed her lips, she knew they were right, that it was what she wanted.

He considered her request for a long, drawn-out moment, his chest yielding slightly as he seemed to make up his mind—possibly against his better judgment, if she was reading his body language correctly.

His arm dropped from the doorjamb and he turned back toward her. “Sure.”

He slowly crossed the room, and she took the opportunity to admire his amazing physique, regardless of the silent message it might be sending. If attraction alone could have kept their marriage afloat, they’d have been celebrating their golden anniversary eons before she’d have ever considered leaving him. Because his body was, quite simply, beautiful.

Every line, every plane, every firm muscle and smooth expanse of skin. And the tattoos were sexy as hell.

The vine around his left bicep bulged when he moved. Even with the slightest motion, like crossing a room the way he was doing now. He didn’t have to flex or posture for the black tribal cuff to come alive.

And lower, just above the waistband of his black boxer briefs, along his left side, were the colorful scales of a portion of the dragon’s tail. Bright green, but with
shades of other colors mixed in to give the illusion of iridescence and sharp black outlining.

She wanted to reach out and touch, the way she had last night, whether he knew it or not. She’d trailed her fingers over the bright orange flames gracing his right shoulder and down the narrowing end of the dragon’s tail where it hugged his hip and pelvic bone and led directly to the portion of his anatomy that made him a most impressive male specimen, indeed.

Given his apparent reluctance at the moment, however, she wasn’t sure he’d appreciate her pouncing on him and stroking him from head to groin. Not just yet, anyway, but with luck that would come.

So instead, she curled her fingers into her palm where they rested atop her thigh and scooted to the far side of the bed as he approached. He paused for a second, as though contemplating the wisdom of his next move, then fluffed the pillow against the headboard and stretched out beside her.

Even with as little room as the bed provided, they didn’t touch. Jenna didn’t know if it was by happenstance or design, but she didn’t intend to let it pass for long.

Once he’d settled in and seemed to relax a bit, she shifted back and stretched out beside him. Very close beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and her calf over his lower thigh.

Reluctantly, he brought an arm up to brace her in place, his heat scorching down her back and around her waist. She draped her own arm lightly across his flat stomach and let her eyes drift shut on a sigh.

Oh, how she’d missed moments like this with this man.

Divorce definitely wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Everyone talked about how freeing it was. How great it was to be away from a bad situation, to start over, to experience true independence again.