Pieces of Sky (42 page)

He tossed back the last sip, then slapped the cup onto the desktop.

How had it all gone so wrong? It had started out straightforward enough—protect the family, protect RosaRoja, build something he and his brothers could take pride in, then find a strong healthy woman and breed sons to hold it. Simple. But now everything was turning to crap in his hands and he didn’t know how to stop it. What was it all for if there was nobody left but him?

In a sudden burst of frustration, he threw the cup out the porch doorway. An instant later he fired the bottle after it.

 

 

JESSICA JUMPED BACK AS A TIN CUP BOUNCED OFF THE PORCH railing. Before it hit the floor, a whiskey bottle sailed by, tumbling end over end into the rose bed. She glanced at the office doorway then back at the cup slowly spinning to a stop at her feet. In a temper, was he? Perversely, she found that more amusing than frightening.

When she deemed there would be no more missiles, she picked up the cup. She smiled. Hopefully, if she didn’t lose courage and bolt for cover, and if he wasn’t in one of those uncommunicative moods that made talking to him such a chore, she might find a way to put the dear man in a better mood.

She pressed a hand to her fluttering stomach, took a bracing breath, then walked into the office.

Brady was staring morosely down at the desk between his propped elbows, the heels of his hands pressed against his throbbing temples, when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He jerked his head up.

Jessica stood in the doorway, the tin cup swinging from one long, graceful finger. “Cleaning out your office, are you?”

He blinked, wondering if he could possibly be drunk on just two sips of whiskey. Her hair was down and she wore a satiny pink robe, and little pink slippers, and not a whole helluva lot else.

Drunk or dreaming.

“Not feeling talkative?” she prodded.

He sat back, watching her move toward him, captivated by the way lamplight played over the shiny cloth like a slow fall of water, highlighting every curve, every dimple and pucker.

What would he do if this woman walked out of his life?

“I left the bottle in the roses.”

He saw the slight tremble in her fingers as she carefully set the cup on the edge of the desk, and wondered if it was because of him. He resolved to keep his mouth shut, to do nothing to scare her off. Swiveling the chair, he watched her move around the desk to peruse the bookcases along the back wall, leaving in her wake a gentle drift of flowery soap and woman.

Her hair hung in silky disarray down her long slim back. Thick chestnut curls swayed with every movement, brushing against gently rounded hips, drawing his eyes to that pear-shaped bottom he’d admired down at the creek. He imagined moving up behind her, sliding the robe off her shoulders, kissing every coppery freckle on that sleek, smooth skin.

His mouth went dry.

Clasping his hands in his lap to hide the effect of his own randy thoughts, he cast about for something to say, something that might intrigue or amuse her, and maybe entice her to take a seat and stay awhile.

“What do you want, Jessica?” he said instead, like a bumbling thirteen-year-old.

She turned. She no longer smiled but wore an expression close to desperation. Even in the lamplight, he could see her color was high, her eyes bright and wide. With fear?

“You.”

He blinked, confused, not sure he’d heard right.

His silence seemed to egg her on. “What happened at the creek was . . . unfortunate. I thought perhaps—if you—if you and I—perhaps we might try again.”

“Like a test?” he asked guardedly, still not sure what she was up to.

“Not precisely.”

“What then? We have a go at it, and if we can get through it without you clawing my face off, then everything’s fine? If not, we’ll know it’s a mistake?” It sounded funnier in his head than it did spoken aloud.

She didn’t seem to find it amusing either. “I can see this was a bad idea.” She swung toward the hall doorway.

“Wait,” he said, bringing her to a stop. “What changed your mind?”

Slowly she turned, her body still poised for flight.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me anymore?” he asked.

An odd look crossed her face. “I was never afraid of you, Brady. How could you think such a thing?”

He couldn’t even respond to that. Had she forgotten what happened at the creek? “You were afraid of something. If not me, then what?”

“Of being smothered. You were on top of me. I couldn’t breathe.”

He frowned, even more confused. Other than one knee over her thighs, he hadn’t been on top of her. Knowing he probably outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, he’d been careful not to put his full weight on her. How had he smothered her?

Something didn’t add up. He studied her, watched her rub her wrists like she did at the creek, as if spiders were crawling along her arm. “What did he do to you, Jessica? Did he tie you?” In light of his own aversion to confinement, he couldn’t image many things worse than being tied and helpless.

As if realizing her hands had betrayed her, she quickly clasped them together, her fingers laced so tight, her knuckles lost color. “Why are we discussing this?”

“He did, didn’t he?”

“Fine. Yes. He tied me then climbed on top of me and raped me. Satisfied?”

Silence. She stared down at her pink slippers. He stared at her, while pictures formed in his head—terrible, awful pictures that sent fury pounding through his veins. He wished Crawford was still here so he could beat him until bones shattered under his hands, then revive him and do it again.

“Why are you doing this, Brady? Why do we have to talk about this now?”

When she lifted her head, her eyes glistened in the lamplight, filled with that never-forgotten terror he had stupidly forced her to relive again. It shamed him. He looked away, tried to bring his anger under control. “You’re right. I’m sorry. We won’t talk about it again.” He didn’t think he could bear to hear more anyway. He took a deep breath, then held out his hand. “Come here.” He put on a smile to reassure her.

Hesitantly—reluctantly—she came toward him until she was close enough that he could reach out and take her hand. From there it was just a tug to get her onto his lap. After the stiffness left her shoulders and she allowed herself to lean against him, he kissed her temple and said, “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. You were propositioning me.”

“I was not propositioning you.”

“Seducing, then.”

She sat up. “If you’re going to be difficult . . .”

“Difficult?” He had to laugh. “Hell, I’m so easy it’s embarrassing.” He pulled her back down. “Okay. I’m seduced. Now what?”

She didn’t respond.

But his cock did, opportunistic bastard that he was. There were only a few things sweeter to a man than having a woman’s soft bottom nestled in his lap, and Brady planned to enjoy them all before this night ended. “So what’s the plan?”

“I have no plan.”

“No? Well, maybe I can come up with one.” He had several in mind, in fact. He started by nuzzling her neck. She seemed to like that, so he kept at it, improvising as he went until his heart thundered in his ears and the back of his neck started to sweat. “It’s stuffy in here,” he said, finally coming up for air. “Don’t you want to take off that hot robe?”

“No.”

“You feel hot.”

“I feel fine.”

“I wouldn’t want you to get overheated.”

“Can we please not talk anymore and just . . . do . . . whatever?”

Music to a man’s ear. Without giving her a chance to change her mind, he leaned forward to blow out the lamp, then gathered her in his arms and stood.

Suddenly the enormity of what was about to happen unnerved him. She had placed all her fear and trust and hope in his hands. A wrong move would be ruinous. It was enough to shrivel a man’s resolve.

He looked down at her, trying to read in her face what she was feeling.

She stared back, so pale her eyes looked like two drops of dark rye whiskey in a bowl of strawberry-tinted cream.

“You sure this is what you want?” he asked, wondering what he would do if she changed her mind.

“It’s what I want.” To prove it, she slid her arms around his neck.

Trying not to run, Brady carried her out the door and down the hall.

Twenty-one

“BE CAREFUL NOT TO WAKE ADRIAN,” JESSICA WARNED AS Brady lifted a foot to kick open the door to his-her-their bedroom.

He let his foot drop. “Ben’s in there?”

“Where else would he be?” She tilted her head back to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want him watching us.”

“He’s asleep.”

“What if he wakes up?”

“He’s a baby.”

“Still.”

“You dolt. He’s in the corner behind a screen.”

“That’s different.” But he was careful not to make too much noise. Luckily she’d left a lamp burning. After he lowered her onto the bed, he gave her a quick kiss then straightened. “I just hope you don’t wake him with all your carrying on.” He unbuttoned his shirt.

“I do not carry on,” she said, staring—not unhappily, he thought—at his chest.

“You will.” As he tossed the shirt aside, he noticed she hadn’t started on her robe. “Need help with those buttons?” he asked, loosening his belt buckle.

“Um, no.”

Reminding himself that in all the ways that mattered Jessica was still an innocent, he turned his back as he finished stripping. Behind him he heard furtive rustlings and muttering, and by the time he slid under the sheet, her robe hung over the foot rail and she had the sheet, blanket, and counterpane pulled to her chin.

Rolling onto his side, he propped his head on the heel of his hand, careful to keep some distance between them, but still close enough to see her clearly in the dim light. She had never looked more beautiful to him, her face pale and anxious, but her eyes full of trust and her chestnut hair spilling across the pillows like liquid fire.

“Aren’t you going to put out the lamp?” she asked in a tinny voice.

He shook his head, almost overwhelmed by the feelings she roused in him. It would be difficult to hold himself back, but he knew this would go better if he let her set the pace. “I want to see you,” he said, smoothing a curl across the pillow with his fingertip. “I want you to see me and know it’s me and not him.”

“Oh.” She gave him a martyr’s brave smile.

He almost laughed aloud. She had no idea how grand this was going to be. “I won’t force you to do anything, Jessica.” As he spoke, he wound the silky curl around his index finger. It was so fine it caught on the roughness of his skin. “But I need you to tell me what you like and what you don’t. Will you do that?”

She nodded, as solemn as a pallbearer at her own funeral.

“Good.” Careful to keep his body from touching hers, he leaned over, brushed a kiss across the tight seam of her mouth, then worked his way down her jaw to the hollow of her throat. He could feel the little puffs of her quickened breathing against his hair and sensed that, beneath the fear, she was a passionate woman. In fact, he planned on it.

“You can thrash around all you want.” He pressed his lips against that butterfly pulsebeat in her throat then lifted his head and grinned. “But keep the ‘hallelujahs’ to a minimum so we don’t wake Ben. I’ll do the same.”

“You’re making a joke, right?”

He just smiled and slid his hand under the covers.

Moving slowly, gentling her as he might a frightened colt, he ran his open hand from her throat, over her breast, and down to her hip. He felt a slight dampness on his fingertips and realized it was milk leaking from her breasts. It felt alien and mysterious and so profoundly feminine, it aroused within him an almost desperate need to shelter and protect this fragile woman. His woman.

Smiling down at her, he stroked her again. By the third pass, she quivered beneath his touch. “Do you like that?” he asked softly, watching her reactions play across her expressive face.

“Ah-no-yes.”

“And this?”

“Oh.” Her eyes closed.

He could feel her heart pounding beneath his palm and wondered if it was from fear or desire. “Think about me, not him.” He kept his movements gentle and slow. “Think about this. And what’s happening now . . . in this room . . . just you and me.” She arched against his hand like a cat.

“Say my name.”

“B-Brady.”

He ran his tongue over the seam of her lips. “Again.”

“Brady.” With a sigh, Jessica surrendered to sensation, her body coming alive under his touch, her mind soothed by his voice. It was remarkable and frightening and wonderful. For such a powerful man, he had the gentlest hands she’d ever known.