Seduced by the Enemy (Blaze, 41) (12 page)

He shifted and eased down the length of her slender curves, enjoying every inch of her skin with his tongue. He tasted her belly button just above the elastic of her pajama bottoms, then slowly pushed the fabric over her hips and down her legs.

Ever so gently, he pressed her thighs open before placing her legs over his shoulders. The musky scent of her femininity rose in the air around him. He knew from experience she'd taste as sweet as fresh cream, and she'd come hard in his mouth as he coaxed and teased an orgasm from her.

“Jared.” Her whispered plea ripped through him and settled right in his groin, making his erection blissfully painful.

“I know, baby. I know.” He wasn't about to rush this, not when it'd been three long years since he'd experienced her desire. Since he'd heard her moans of pleasure and her fierce cries of release.

Using the fingers of both hands, he opened the moist folds, exposing the very heart of her to him. In
the soft light from the bedside lamp, her skin glistened. The need to taste her, to slip his tongue inside in an erotic simulation of making love, gripped him hard. But Peyton liked it slow and hot. A buildup of pleasure that would have her begging him to take her, would have the heat pouring from her body in a generous gift of delicious surrender. A gift that would be his to treasure.

Using a finger from each hand, he slipped them into her hot core, moving them alternately inside her, reaching, teasing, and massaging deep within her body. She opened her thighs wider, giving herself to him completely. Her hands gripped the soft flannel sheets, and he watched as she flung her head back against the pillows, her mouth parted and her eyes closed. The image of her mouth slipping around the head of his cock teased him. The imagined feel of her tongue and throat as she suckled him and pulled him in deep, the glide of her lips easing down the length of him until he came in a rush that would be pure perfection, heated his blood.

He tasted the wild, heady flavor of her desire again, gently probing, licking and driving her to the brink of ultimate fulfillment. She cried out in pleasure when he lightly grazed his teeth over her swollen clitoris, her hips arching as she reached for him and silently begged for more. Slipping another finger inside her, he urged her to ride his hand while his tongue teased and probed. His mouth slipped over that swollen flesh and he sucked hard, bringing her more pleasure. Her body bowed, and she cried his name on the crest of a wave of desire that had her trembling.

The sweet agony of his own need for release tore
through him, but he held back while pushing her harder over the edge, into another orgasm that had her calling his name over and over again. Gentle aftershocks wracked her body while her moist center contracted around his fingers. Carefully, he carried her back to earth, kissing the sweat dampened skin of her tummy, her thighs, his hands gently massaging her hips until their breathing returned to a somewhat normal state.

He placed a kiss above the line of her curls. Instead of soft skin, he felt a tiny ridge. On closer inspection, he found a scar, about six inches in length, ropelike and thin, marring the perfection of her flesh. She stiffened when he traced his finger along the length of the scar.

“What happened?” he asked.

He looked up in time to see her bite her lip and turn away. The clenching of his stomach had nothing to do with desire, but the heavy weight of dread. An appendectomy scar wouldn't cause that kind of reaction.

“Sweetheart?” He moved to sit on the bed beside her, but she moved away from him as if she couldn't stand to be near him. A chill gripped his heart. “How'd you get the scar?”

She shot off the bed, found the bottoms of her pajamas, then quickly pulled on her top. Her gaze caught and held his a fraction too long for her to hide the sudden moisture making her eyes glisten.

She looked up at the ceiling, rapidly blinking against the tears, then back at him. He sat on the edge
of the bed wearing only his jeans, waiting, his heart pounding.

“It's from an emergency cesarean section.” Her voice cracked as she held back a sob. “About six months after you disappeared.”

P
AIN AND LOSS WERE NOT
new emotions to Jared. Neither was the desire to stay alive. He'd experienced them all throughout his life, several times over. When he was eighteen, the death of his parents had left him to raise his sixteen-year-old sister alone, using his wits to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. He'd felt the loneliness of the long years of separation from his sister during his stint in the navy, followed by the long hours and deep-cover assignments of his job with the bureau. During the months he'd been on the run, he'd discovered the heartache of leaving behind yet another person he loved. There was the grief and guilt that plagued him over Beth's murder. Yet as difficult as his life had been, nothing could have prepared him for the tearing of his soul upon hearing Peyton's words.

Images clouded his mind as the dark side of his imagination took hold. He shook his head, as if such an innocuous action alone held the power for him to deny the truth or clear the visions crowding his mind. There was only one truth—Peyton had been pregnant when their world had been ripped out from under them.

Had she lost the child, or given it up for adoption? Automatically, he assumed the former. With Peyton's
history, he didn't believe for a second she'd be able to allow another person to raise her child. Even if he had given her cause to hate him with every cell in her body, she'd never give a child up for adoption.

Still, he'd been to her home. There were no signs a child lived with her. There'd been no car seat in her car. No small toys left behind in the back seat or cluttering the yard. Nothing.

Which could only mean…

He looked up at her. The pain in his own heart was mirrored in her blue eyes. He had the answer. “What happened?” he asked, but he knew. God, he knew, and for the first time in his life, he didn't think he'd be able to stop the emotions from drowning him completely.

“My pregnancy was difficult. I went into premature labor, but they couldn't stop the contractions. When the baby started to show signs of distress, they performed an emergency C-section.” Her breath hitched and her eyes shone with tears. “He only survived two days.”

The ache in Jared's chest grew to epic proportions, making breathing difficult. His mind wouldn't allow him to close the door against the anguish. He'd been raised to suffer in silence, so shutting out the feelings ripping through his heart should have been as easy as breathing. Being the son of the great neurosurgeon David Romine and self-help guru Ellen Romine had taught him never to make a scene or allow anyone to see weakness. The lessons were second nature to him. So why was keeping them in check now so damned difficult?

He and Peyton had created a child, conceived from
the love they'd once held for each other. The most beautiful of life's gifts, but it had been tragically taken away from them. He didn't believe in divine punishment or any other mystical force with the power to alter lives, but for the first time he couldn't help wondering if he was receiving payback for his sins.

God, hadn't he suffered enough? Hadn't they all suffered enough?

“This isn't how I imagined telling you about our son.” With the heel of her hand, she wiped away the tears pooling in her eyes.

She could've lied to him, and for the flash of an instant, he almost wished she had, saving them both the heartache of a past they were powerless to change. Considering what they'd just done, and knowing Peyton as he did, he guessed she figured her own sins were piling up, and didn't relish the idea of adding to them by lying about something so important.

“When were you going to tell me?” The method of discovery didn't leave him feeling angry, or even hurt. It wasn't as though she'd tried to hide it from him. However, his chest felt as if a fifty-ton weight rested on it. He felt terrible that she'd had to suffer through it alone. Pregnancy. Birth. The painful loss of their son.

The vision of a tiny infant fighting for his life only added to Jared's already insurmountable guilt. Nothing could change the fact that he hadn't been there. Logically, he understood his presence would not have altered the outcome. Emotionally, he had other ideas, and he blamed the bastards that had kept him running for his life. He blamed them, and dammit, he would make them pay.

“When the timing was right.” She walked to the bed and sat beside him, lifting his hand and cradling it in her smaller, delicate one. “I'm sorry you found out this way. I know it has to be a shock.”

True, she'd dealt him a harsh blow. She'd had time to come to terms with the loss, and while losing a child was something he doubted any mother ever fully recovered from, for him the wound was fresh and raw.

He looked down at their joined hands. Had she ever been able to hold their son? he wondered miserably. Had he at least known his mother's gentle touch as he struggled to hold on to life? “I don't know if the timing would ever be right to hear news like this.”

“When you left, I didn't even know I was pregnant.” She let out a quick puff of breath that did little to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes again. “Even when all the signs were there, I still didn't realize I was going to have a baby. Maybe it was denial,” she said with a shrug. “I don't know, but I convinced myself the fatigue I was feeling was from the strain of being hounded by the men looking for you.”

Neither her voice nor her eyes held an ounce of accusation, but Jared still looked away. Romines didn't fall apart. They held it together, no matter what.

“Even my job was at risk for a while because of my involvement with you, which only added more stress,” she continued. “I think I was too wrapped up in fearing for your safety one minute, then being furious that you would turn your back on the very laws you were sworn to uphold. I'd never been particularly regular anyway, so I didn't even notice that sign. Once I figured out something wasn't right, I had my sus
picions confirmed. By then it had been just over two months since you'd left, and I was about twelve weeks pregnant.”

He lifted his head and looked at her. “I had no idea, Peyton. I'm sorry.”

Sorry for what?
his conscience taunted him. Sorry that he hadn't been there? Or sorry that he'd gotten her pregnant? If their lives hadn't been torn to shreds, would he have apologized when she'd told him she was pregnant? Or would he have celebrated the gift of life they'd created?

He didn't know the answer. He simply had no idea what his reaction would have been to news of impending fatherhood.

She gave him a teary-eyed smile. “Would it have made a difference if you'd known, Jared?”

He steadily held her gaze. She always did ask the tough questions. “I regret that I wasn't there for you, sweetheart, but I can't regret the reasons why. Phipps and someone in the bureau have reasons to see me dead. If I'd stayed, I would have endangered your life, and the life of our baby.”

The slight nod of her head told him she accepted his reply for what it was, the only truth he knew. He imagined she had her own version, but he didn't think it would differ too greatly from his. Because no matter how many times either of them mentally replayed the night he'd left, even if he
had
known she was pregnant the ending would've remained the same—with him running for his life and her left to raise their child alone.

“I've told myself over and over again that even if the circumstances had been different, it wouldn't have
changed anything, but I still have moments when I get angry.”

She didn't have to say angry at whom. Her pulling her hand from his told him more than she probably realized.

“I don't think there's anything anyone could've done to prevent what happened,” she continued. “I've replayed those days a thousand times in my mind. Each and every time I always come back to the same answer. Things happen for reasons we don't understand, and all we can do is accept them and move on with our lives.”

She could've been quoting chapter and verse from one of his mother's books, which had flooded the market during the self-improvement rage a decade or two ago. Part of him resented Peyton's easily spouted philosophical explanation for events that made no sense, while the rest of him understood the truth behind the cliché.

He scooped up his shirt when he stood, then shrugged into it, not bothering with the buttons. “You make it sound easy,” he said, more abruptly than he'd intended.

From the widening of her eyes, he guessed the sharpness of his tone took her by surprise. She had to understand the myriad emotions flowing through him. There probably weren't many that she hadn't experienced herself in coming to terms with the past. Losing a child was a wound that would never completely heal. The slightest bump caused it to open and bleed again.

“No. Never,” she said.

He looked down at her and frowned. “You said
him.
Did he have a name?”

“Adam.”

Jared didn't say anything, just turned and walked toward the door to the bathroom, where he stopped and turned around. “Adam
Douglas?
” Why it was important to him, he couldn't say, but dammit, it was. They had enough problems without him tossing male territoriality into the mix, but so be it.

He lifted his arm and rested it above his head on the doorjamb as he looked at her, waiting for an answer.

She no doubt saw where this was going, based on her long, drawn-out sigh. “I don't think this has anything to do with the name on Adam's birth certificate.”

He frowned. “Are you going to answer my question or not?”

“Yes, his last name was Douglas.” She crossed her arms and gave Jared a level stare. “I couldn't list you on the birth certificate because we weren't married and you weren't around to sign the paternity documents.”

The accusation in her tone taunted him. “Is that your problem? That I wasn't around?”

“My problem?” Her eyes flashed with irritation. “I don't think so, Jared. Your being around was
not
something I'd ever been accustomed to for any great length of time. And I'm not talking about recently, either.”

“What
are
you talking about? I seem to remember that I was always there for you.”

She laughed, the sound cold and brittle. “Physically, maybe, but not emotionally.”

He straightened. “That's bull.”

“Whenever things got the least bit sticky, you withdrew. You always have. God, you're doing it now.” She came off the bed and crossed the room toward him. “Instead of talking about what's really bothering you, you're picking a fight over a nonissue. I see that much hasn't changed. Does emotionally unavailable have a familiar ring to it, Jared?”

He crossed his arms and braced his feet apart. “That's your label, sweetheart. Not mine. Does the path of least resistance sound familiar to you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Guess that made us the perfect match then, didn't it?”

“I guess it did,” he snapped.

“What more could you ask for? I don't like to feel too much, and you don't want to feel anything. I could always tell what you were thinking, just by looking in your eyes. And I always knew the second you withdrew from me. Whenever I wanted something emotional from you, you were gone.”

He struggled to keep his anger in check, but felt control slipping away from him. The thought of walking out entered his mind.
Yeah, that's the ticket. Prove to her she's right.

When he said nothing, she lifted her hand and started using her fingers to tick off his crimes. “When I missed out on my first promotion. When I lost my first big case. Or when I received word that Sister Margaret had passed away. God, Jared. You wouldn't even attend her funeral with me, and you knew how important she was to me.”

He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “I had to work.”

She turned her back on him and bent to scoop up her socks. “I always thought it fascinating how a long-term assignment usually came your way at precise times like that.” She sat on the edge of the bed and tugged the heavy wool over her feet. “Then you'd disappear and I wouldn't hear from you for weeks.”

“It was my job,” he muttered angrily.

“It was your escape.”

The accusation was impossible to deny. Instead of admitting the truth to her, he went on the offensive. “You're a fine one to talk about escape. What do you think accepting Atwood's proposal is?”

She stood and glared at him for the length of a dozen heartbeats. “Moving on,” she said, then stalked out of the bedroom.

He relaxed his hands, then clenched them, over and over again as he counted to ten, twice. He should let her go. Should stay where he was, take a hot shower, try to relax. At the very least, keep some necessary space between them.

He did none of those. Instead he went in search of her.

He found her in the kitchen, setting a mug in the microwave oven.

“I think you're using Atwood to
hide
from life. He doesn't ask much of you, does he?”

Silence. Not even an angry expression tossed in his direction. She moved to the cabinet and withdrew a carton of instant cappuccino.

Jared stepped into the room. “You don't love him, Peyton. If you did, then what we did in that bedroom tonight never would've happened.”

She retrieved a packet, then carefully returned the
carton to the cabinet. Still she said nothing. Because he spoke the truth? Or because she wasn't ready to face it?

He narrowed the distance between them. “Would it, sweetheart?” he asked her quietly.

She braced her slender hands on the edge of the counter. The diamond ring on her finger glistened and sparkled beneath the overhead lighting.

“If that ring meant half of what you wanted it to mean, you never would have given yourself to me the way you did.”