Run Among Thorns (34 page)

“Excuse me? Are you Bill?”

“Yup.”

“Oh. I’m, er … I’m looking for a man named McAllister. Kier McAllister. Is he here?”

“Was. He left.”

“He … he left?”

“Yup. Hey, lady! You okay?”

“Yes. No. I … I think I’m going to be …”

“But, son,” said his dad, worry creasing his face, “she was here.”

“What?”
Hope rose in him so fast it made him dizzy. “Wha … why?”

His mother caught at his elbow as if to support him. From somewhere he conjured up a reassuring smile, although his stomach was roiling. “She said she was looking for you. She said …” his mom glanced at his dad, and he finished the sentence for her. “She said she was going to make things right. She told us she loved you.”

Surely she wouldn’t have said that if she was just going to … surely she wouldn’t have said that and just walked away, would she?

“Kier, why didn’t you tell us about you two? You should have—”

“Mom! I can’t … where did she go? Where is she?”

“Let him be, Barb.” His dad tucked an arm around his wife’s waist and held on. “She went to look for you. Out to Bill’s.”

“I have to go!” he said, spinning on his heel and making for the pickup. He skidded to a halt and ran back up the path, grabbing his mom to kiss her soundly, and giving his dad a swift hug.

“Thanks, Mom, Dad. I’ll be back soon, okay? I’ll be in touch.”

And it was only when he saw the tears in his mother’s eyes he understood how long they’d been waiting to hear him say that.

“Bill! Bill, was there a woman here, small, crazy dark hair?”

“Jenny, you mean?”

“She was here?”

“Well, duh.”

“Where. Is. She.”

“I dunno. She left. Put me down, will you.”

“Hell
. Where’d she go, Bill?”

“How the hell should I know? She mentioned home, I think.”

“Home?”

“You deaf?”

‘Oh, shut up.”

‘She’s, er … she’s a tidy piece, eh?”

“Touch … no,
think
about her, and you die, okay?”

“O-kaaaay.”

Jenny sat on the plane, thinking about despair.

This was the second time she’d flown out of the US in despair. But it was like an iridescent fabric, changing colour in the light. This despair was a different colour from the last, she thought.

There was still the gleam of hope in there, this time. He couldn’t stay invisible for long. He had to go back to his parents sometime soon. When she’d phoned them, there had just been an answering machine to talk to.

Maybe she was giving up too soon, but her courage was woefully overdrawn, as was her bank account. She simply couldn’t afford to stay another day. As it was, she’d had to phone Alan to get him to buy her a ticket home.

She was so tired, too, which would be attributable to McAllister Junior, she supposed. She hadn’t been sick again. Well, not much, and Bill had been so nice about it. Said it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in his bar. Well, he hadn’t put it quite like that. A diamond in the rough, that one.

And she wasn’t giving up, not really, no way.

She needed to rest and regroup, but it wasn’t over.

McAllister was a hunted man.

McAllister was a hunted man.

He was reasonably certain they’d only produced a seat for him on the next flight because a six-foot-four, wild-eyed McAllister was hard to argue with.

The reason for finding her had become blurred somehow, and now only the need was distinct. He had to find her,
he had to
. It was becoming the only drive in his life, the one thing keeping him breathing.

Well, bloody hell, was there anything, really, that he had wanted to do that he hadn’t achieved somehow? Apart from make Jenny love him, that was.

He’d find her, track her down. Then he’d say he was sorry.

And then he’d set her free.

When she came through the door, lugging her case, her brother was in the hall, shrugging into a coat.

“Alan?” she said, a little hurt he wasn’t staying to welcome her.

He grinned at her, took the case from her, and swept her into a bone-crunching hug.

“Gotta go!” he said, still grinning like an idiot, and skipped out the door before she could protest.

“Well, thanks, bro,” she muttered to the empty hall. Ditching her coat, she went through to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

He was there.

Kier.

Right there, sitting at the round table in the far corner of the kitchen. He sat at ease, chair back to the wall, and there were a couple of empty bottles of mineral water on the table in front of him, and a glass.

“Kier?” she wavered, mind barely grasping that he was really there, really here. In the flesh.

She tottered a few steps towards him and stopped. “I was looking for you,” she said.

“I know.”

She almost closed her eyes at the sound of his voice. She’d been longing to hear it so much.

“I was looking for you, too.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Two reasons. First, I wanted to apologise. I should be flogged for how I treated you, and I’m sorry.”

“Kier, it—”

“Second, you said it was over. You said there was no reason to—”

“Kier, don’t…”

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “—no reason to stay together. Well, I’ve been thinking, sitting here. It is not over, and I found a reason.”

She swallowed, taking another step closer to him. His hands, resting on his thighs, moved a little. “What reason, Kier?”

“I love you. And, correct me if I’m wrong, you love me, too.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

And it really was that simple.

That wonderfully, fabulously, beautifully simple. She covered the last distance between them.

His hands shot out to grasp her round the waist, dragging her off her feet and on top of him. Her hip struck the table and sent it over, glass smashing, bottles rolling on the floor. His chair rocked back on two legs and collided with the wall, jolting them both.

But they were oblivious.

One of his hands shifted to fist in her hair, holding her for his kiss. Lips collided, teeth grated, and she felt the bold thrust of his tongue, responded by wriggling closer to him, opening for him. How did she ever think she could exist without him?

She felt the groan that shook him, tasted his soul in it.

He dragged his mouth away from hers for a moment.

“It has to be real,” he said. “You have to be sure.” His voice shook, those beautiful blue-grey eyes glazed with desire. Had she once thought them cold?

Jenny took his face in her hands and held his eyes with hers.

“Darling. Beloved,” she said to him. “I am sure that nothing in this world would be real to me without you.”

Kier slid his hands up over hers, twisted his head to kiss her palms. He stroked his fingers down her arms, around her ribs, cupped her breasts. Her nipples peaked against his fingers.

“But you said—”

Jenny interrupted. “I was wrong. Just … I was wrong, love.”

He kissed her again, over and over. Claiming her mouth, taking it. Kisses that said,
mine, and none other’s
.

Everything in her responded, screaming,
Yes! All yours, all mine
. She spread her legs, straddling him, getting as close to his heat, his hardness as she could, felt the press of that hardness and her answering rush of wet heat.

By the time he lifted his head again, Jenny wasn’t even sure she could stay upright without his arms around her.

“Upstairs,” he grated, “Now.”

She didn’t even try to answer, just scrabbled to her feet, leant into the arm he wrapped about her waist.

He’d already unpacked his things in the white room that was hers. That was all Jenny had time to register, before he tipped her onto the bed, coming down beside her.

In the half darkness she clung to his strength like a beacon, half-afraid of the aching need of her own body. Between them, they got naked in record time, kissing where skin was unveiled, whispering commands, wishes, and benedictions. He rolled her on top of him, grasping her hips and easing her down until she sheathed him fully. Then he urged her to move, thrusting in counterpoint beneath her, muttering half-incoherent words of praise.

And it was then that the tears started to come, flowing down her cheeks, dropping on his chest, choking her cries of pleasure. He groaned and curled off the bed, cradled her face in his hands and kissed her, drank away the saltwater from her skin. She felt his mouth on her throat, his tongue on her breast.

“Jenny,” he moaned, “Jenny, don’t cry. I’m here. It’s okay. I have you.”

She rocked against him helplessly, rising and falling, drawing away and letting him fill her again. She couldn’t get close enough, wanted more, more. At the same time it was too much, frightening her with the intensity of the emotion she felt when she saw his eyes, loving her, watched his hands, caressing her, felt his body, filling her.

He fell back down to the bed, filled his hands with her breasts, plucking at the nipples with shaking fingers.

Then he reached between them, to where she was pushing desperately against him.

Touched her, stroked her, broke her apart. And put the pieces back together, even as he found his own release.

Lying in his arms, still shaken by tremors, she could feel that healing, piece by piece. Felt her heart become whole again when he stroked his rough hand down her back, felt her mind find peace when he gathered her close and told her how much he loved her, felt her soul heal, because she loved, and was loved.

She slept, rejoicing.