Surrender in Silk (17 page)

“Nothing. It’s beautiful. Curl it.”

Jamie stared blankly. “How?”

Monique was a professional. Not even by a flicker of a lash did she let on that the question was strange. “Electric curlers. The drugstore on the corner will have them.” She mentioned a brand to look for. “Don’t worry about getting fancy. Brush your hair, then start rolling it up. You’ll love the look, I promise. Do you wear makeup?”

Jamie thought about her failed efforts at the cabin. “I’m not very good at it.”

Monique pulled a small pad from a pocket in her dress. She wrote for a few minutes, then tore off the sheet. “This will get you started. You’re going to knock his socks off.”

“I hope so.”

“Trust me.”

Jamie smiled. “I do.” Monique merely nodded as if this wasn’t unexpected, but for Jamie it was a moment of revelation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been willing to trust a stranger. Okay, this was shopping and not a matter of life or death, but she felt as if she’d taken a giant step on the journey to normal. She turned back to her reflection and grinned. Why had she ever thought shopping was a problem? She hadn’t even needed her gun.

Jamie stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like one of those “before” pictures in the magazines. Curlers hung to
her neck. The hot edges kept touching her skin. She’d finally had to drape a towel around her shoulders to protect herself from the heat. It had taken her about a dozen tries to get all the curlers to stay in her hair, but she’d finally managed.

She glanced at the bottle of foundation, then at the streaky mess on her face. Okay, so that wasn’t going to work. At least the color had been better than the one she’d bought on her own.

She wiped her face clean with a damp washcloth and figured Zach had seen her bare skin enough to not be offended by it. She picked up a smoky gray eye shadow. The label proclaimed it to be foolproof. She wasn’t convinced.

A diagram on the back showed where to apply the shadow. She closed her right eye and squinted with her left. The sponge applicator was made for small leprechauns with short fingers. She could barely hold on to it. But she managed to get a streak of the cosmetic across her eyelid, right at the crease. It looked a little stark, so she smudged it with her finger, then opened her eye.

Amazing. She couldn’t really see the shadow, but her right eye looked bigger and mysterious.

“Cool,” she said, then repeated the procedure on the other eye. She skipped the eyeliner. It looked way too dangerous. Next came mascara. She only clumped her lashes twice, but she’d bought a lash brush, which corrected the problem. She dabbed her nose, forehead and chin with face powder, then used a neutral shade of rosewood lipstick on her mouth.

She stared at her reflection. Not fashion-model beautiful, but not a half-bad job, either. She was quite pleased with herself. Next came the stockings. She got the first pair on with no mishaps. The teddy went over the stockings. The dress slipped on easily, although she had to shimmy to reach behind herself to zip it up. She pulled and tugged until it was in place. Last she uncoiled the curlers from her hair.

She’d never done anything but trim it or pull it back in a braid, so she wasn’t sure if it would even curl. Amazingly it did. Monique had told her to bend over at her waist and brush her hair from the underside, making that smooth but leaving the rest of it alone. The advice had sounded stupid, but Jamie did as she was told.

When she tossed her head back, curls tumbled onto her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes widened as she stared at herself. She looked great. She looked better than great. She looked fabulous.

Curls were everywhere. The slight disarray made her look sexy. The tight-fitting dress and abundance of curves added to the image.

Jamie fluffed her bangs, then grabbed the bottle of hair spray. She spritzed her curls in place, then slipped into her shoes. Where an inept thirty-year-old tomboy had been, stood a stunning, elegant woman. If Monique had been there, Jamie would have hugged her close and probably broken down in tears.

“Zach,” she said through the door, then had to clear her throat because her voice had gone all husky. She tried again. “Zach, I’m ready.”

She heard the rustling of plastic.

“Give me a second.”

Nerves fluttered in her stomach. She couldn’t believe what they were doing. When she’d come out of the dressing room prepared to buy the dress, Zach hadn’t been around. He’d shown up a few minutes later with a plastic garment bag over one shoulder. He’d told her if she was willing to get all dressed up for him, he was willing to do the same for her.

“Okay, come on out,” he said.

She put her hand on the doorknob, then paused as she fought a wave of shyness. She’d never gone to all this trouble with her appearance before. What if—?

Forget the “what ifs,” she told herself firmly. Just enjoy
the moment. With that, she opened the door and stepped into the bedroom.

The sun had barely set. She could see the faint colors of the sky through the sheers at the window. Zach had already put on the lamps, so the room was flooded with light.

“Jamie, I got you—” he said, and turned toward her. He held a gold box in his hands.

But it wasn’t the present that captured her attention. It was the stunned silence and the look on his face. His eyes widened in shock, and his mouth dropped open, just like in the movies. He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. As if he really liked what he was seeing this time.

“You’re incredible,” he said as his gaze dropped to her feet, then made a leisurely journey back to her face. “I always knew you were beautiful, but this—” He motioned to her dress, then her legs.

“You like it?”

His eyes got smoky with desire. “I like it a lot.”

She did a little looking of her own. He’d rented a black tux with a plain white shirt. His cummerbund emphasized his trim waist, while the cut of his jacket made him look even broader across the shoulders.

“You look great, too,” she said.

“Yeah?” He grinned. “Here’s the first surprise.”

He opened the top of the gold box and pulled out a delicate corsage. Baby red roses formed an elongated diamond pattern. He slipped the flowers over her hand and settled them on her wrist. Then he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

“What are these for?” she asked, equally touched and confused by the gift.

“For all those proms and dances you never went to. Tonight is going to make up for them.”

“I don’t understand. I really don’t mind that I missed them.” The lie was automatic. Zach knew her too well to believe it.

“Of course you mind. But you’re about to go to your first dance.”

The tightness in her chest made it hard to breathe. Love filled her, warming her from the inside out. This was the reason she cared for this man. He was so in tune with her—he knew what she was thinking almost before she did. He understood about the hurts of the past and cared enough to do something about them.

A confession of her feelings hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back. She didn’t want to tell him before he was ready. For a long time, she thought he might never want to hear a declaration from her. But after this, she was starting to hope.

“Ready?” he asked, and held out his arm.

She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and allowed him to lead her to the door.

The restaurant was one of the elegant, old-fashioned places with lots of wood and a small combo group in front of a postage-stamp dance floor.

They were shown to a table by the window. The city glowed beneath them, all bright lights and electric beauty. The night air was crisp, although the restaurant was pleasantly warm.

Jamie ran her fingers across the thick linen tablecloth, then touched the heavy silverware and delicate glasses.

“I adore this place,” she said. “I want to live here.”

“Wait until you try the food. It’s even better than you’d expect.”

A waiter approached and handed them heavy menus. He left with their drink orders.

Zach growled something under his breath.

“What was that?” she asked.

“I want a different waiter.”

She glanced after the departing man. There wasn’t anything extraordinary about him. “What did he do wrong?”

“He tried to look down the front of your dress.”

She looked at the cleavage curving out of the deep neckline and laughed. “You’re the one who wanted me to get all dressed up. So it’s your own fault.”

She didn’t really think the waiter had been inspecting her, but it was nice that Zach thought so. She wanted to be special for him. For the first time in her life, she felt attractive and feminine. Maybe her goal of balance wasn’t going to be as difficult as she’d thought. Maybe there was hope.

When the waiter returned with their drinks, they ordered, then sat back in their chairs and talked about their plans for the rest of their time in Denver.

“I’d like to see the Colorado History Museum,” Zach said. “I’ve always liked the Old West.”

“Me, too.”

“Maybe we could do some more shopping.”

She glanced at him over her wineglass. “Maybe.”

“So it wasn’t horrible?”

She shook her head. “Monique was great. I wouldn’t mind going back to her store again. They had some more-casual stuff. As much as I love this dress, I can’t wear it all the time.”

“Too bad.”

Their salads came and they ate. Later, after they’d finished their main course, Zach pushed back his chair and rose. “Come on,” he said. “You owe me a dance.”

“I couldn’t.” She tucked her hands behind the small of her back. “I’ve already told you I don’t know how.”

“It’s a slow song. All we have to do is sway to the music. I promise I won’t let you mess up.”

She wasn’t sure if she believed him, but he didn’t look as if he was going to give up. A couple of people had turned to
stare at them. Sighing, she got to her feet and let him lead her to the tiny dance floor.

Three other couples were already there. As promised, Zach didn’t try anything fancy. He simply pulled her close and started swaying. His hands held her back firmly so she didn’t feel like she was going to do something foolish. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her cheek against his chest.

“This is nice,” she said, absorbing his heat and the hard strength of his body.

“Hmm.”

She raised her head. “What’s wrong?”

“Look around the room.”

There was a bar against the far wall. Several men were there without dates. A few of them caught her eye and smiled.

What on earth?

Then she realized what was happening.

“They’re looking at me,” she said, half pleased, half stunned. “At my legs.”

“Not to mention other things. I want to rip all their hearts out.”

She glanced up at him. Passion flared in his dark eyes. Passion and possessiveness. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

“I mean it, Jamie. I wouldn’t mind a little bloodshed right behind the bar.”

She giggled, then leaned against his shoulder again. He pulled her closer. They touched from shoulder to thigh. Something hard brushed against her hip. She moved slowly back and forth, then pressed her lips against his neck.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered against her ear.

“And here I was trying to turn you on.”

“That, too.”

Someone tapped on her arm. Jamie turned and saw an older couple next to them. They were both short—the man was
maybe five-six, and the woman barely came to his chin. They had gray hair and matching sets of wrinkles around their eyes as if they’d spent a lifetime sharing the same jokes.

“My wife and I were noticing the two of you,” the elderly man said. “We think you’re a happy couple and obviously very much in love. We’re celebrating fifty years together this year.”

“Congratulations,” Zach said.

The woman smiled. “How long have you two been together?”

Jamie didn’t know what to say.

“We met seven years ago,” Zach said smoothly.

“So you’re just beginning. I remember that.” She patted Jamie’s arm. “Don’t let this one get away, dearie. The old saying is true. Good men
are
hard to find.”

“I know. Thank you.”

The older couple waved, then danced to the other side of the floor. Jamie felt a whisper of envy. What would it feel like to be them fifty years from now? They’d lived a normal life, laughing, loving. They might never have spent a night apart from each other.

“What are you thinking?” Zach asked.

“Just that they’re very lucky.”

“I’m lucky, too. After all, you’re here.” He tightened his arms around her.

“When did you get to be such a charmer?”

“I have a lot of secrets.”

She laughed. “I’ll just bet you do. Want to hear one of mine?”

“Sure.”

She leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “I wouldn’t mind if we skipped dessert and went straight back to the room.”

His hands tightened on her back. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Z
ach unlocked the door to their suite, and they stepped into the darkness. Before he’d done much more than move into the parlor, Jamie was on him, her arms around his neck, her mouth searching for his. He gasped at the heat of her, the hunger in her kiss as she plunged into his mouth, then he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. Passion exploded. He would die if he didn’t have this woman now.

He managed to close the door and bolt it. The key dropped to the floor, but he didn’t care. Jamie stepped out of her shoes. He tugged off his jacket. Their mouths pressed together again, open this time, damp, tongues searching, finding points of pleasure, pleasing.

He wrapped his arms around her and urged her in the general direction of the bedroom. The drapes were open with only the sheers pulled against the darkness of the night. Light from the street filtered in, allowing him to make out large pieces of furniture in the room.

Between kisses, between moans of pleasure, gasps of lost
air, between lips pressing and hands caressing, they made it to the bedroom.

She’d drawn the drapes in here before they’d left, so the room was completely dark. He felt along the wall and found the switch. When he pressed it, the lamps on either side of the large bed sprang to life.

Jamie stood before him, a pagan, barefoot goddess with her slinky black dress and tumbling curls. Her eyes were huge, passion making them brighter. Her mouth—already damp from his kisses—parted slightly. He could see the rapid rising and falling of her chest.

He took her hand in his and led her over to the bed. But instead of pushing her onto the mattress, he left her standing there. He brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed each sensitive pad. She tasted faintly salty with a hint of something sweet and forbidden.

He wanted her. Desire pulsed through him with every heartbeat. Between his legs, pressure built until he wanted to explode. He held back. He could no more rush this moment than he could force one of the nearby mountains to move. Their joining was inevitable—like the cycle of the moon. He wanted to enjoy every moment they had together, feel every caress, linger over every touch, every kiss. Something heady filled the night air, something that told him he was about to be shaken down to his soul.

He sucked on her fingers, one by one, then traced a damp circle on her palm. Her fingers curled in and stroked his cheek. She braced herself by placing her free hand on his chest.

He moved his mouth to the pad of skin at the base of her thumb. He nibbled there, making her catch her breath. Then he slipped lower, to her wrist. He could feel the rapid fluttering of her heart as blood flowed through her delicate veins.

When he released her hand, she swayed. He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her so she was facing the
bed with her back to him. The room was silent, yet he could hear music. It was similar to what they’d danced to at the restaurant. As if their physical dance was a mere continuation of what had gone before.

He gathered her hair in his hands, savoring the silky feel against his skin. He buried his face in the curls, inhaling the scent of her, then he tucked it all over one shoulder. As he slowly lowered the zipper, he leaned forward and kissed the side of her neck. She tilted her head to give him more room.

When the dress was unfastened, he pushed it down her arms, then over her hips. It pooled at her feet. With a quick kick, she tossed it to the side.

He rested his hands on her waist and studied her back. She was tall for a woman, with a medium bone structure. From here he could see the muscles she worked so hard to build and maintain.

They rippled as a shudder raced through her. He supposed there were some men who wouldn’t find them feminine. Some people would experience her strength and be intimidated.

He reveled in her abilities. They were as much a part of her as the color of her eyes and the taste of her mouth. He alone knew the price she paid to be strong. He respected her determination, admired her dedication and ached for her pain. To him she was the perfect woman.

Contrasting with the honed body was a silky black wisp of lingerie. He pushed one of the shoulder straps down, then wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. When she leaned against him, he rested his head against hers.

“You looked great tonight,” he murmured.

“Thanks.”

“All those other men wanted you.”

She laughed quietly. “I think
all
is a slight exaggeration.”

“Almost all.”

“I might even believe that. I guess I have the dress to thank for that.”

“It wasn’t the dress, it was you.”

She gave a snort of disbelief. “Then why haven’t they been falling all over themselves for the past thirty years?”

“Because you haven’t had the right attitude. It wasn’t what you wore, it was how you wore it.”

“It was the dress.”

He turned his head and pressed his mouth against the sensitive skin below her ear. “I can see I’m going to have to find some way to convince you of the truth.”

She reached her arms up behind her and touched his head. “I might prove to be a stubborn subject, but don’t give up.”

“I can be as stubborn as you.”

“No one’s that stubborn,” she said.

She wove her fingers through his hair. Her position raised her breasts as if she were offering them to him. He cupped them in his palms and teased the taut peaks.

There was a contrast of textures and colors. Her pale breasts, the black lingerie, his tanned hands. The smooth skin of her breasts, the perfectly formed nubs of her nipples, the silk cupping her curves, the harder pads of his fingers.

He nibbled on her neck, then drew her earlobe into his mouth. Her fingers tunneled deeper, and she tightened her hold on his head. Using just his index fingers, he stroked the undersides of her breasts, feeling both the smooth fabric and her heat.

He pushed down the other strap. She dropped her arms, and the teddy fell to her waist. Now he could see, as well as touch. The creamy curves invited him to explore. He covered her with his hands, squeezing gently, watching her pale, plump breasts spill out of his grasp. He circled his palms over her nipples, moving quickly and lightly until her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath.

He turned her toward him and, as he did so, he sank to his knees. He raised his hands and continued to stroke her breasts while he nipped at her belly, her hipbone and the top of her
thigh. He moved closer and gently bit the mound at the apex of her thighs. She sagged slightly, then braced her hands on his shoulders.

He glanced up. She watched him. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, half revealing, half concealing her breasts. His fingers continued to toy with her nipples. He enjoyed feeling the tight skin and the erotic stroking of her hair against the backs of his hands. Within him blood heated as the need grew more insistent.

He dropped his hands to her buttocks and squeezed hard. She arched against him. He bit her again, frustrated that he couldn’t see her and taste her there.

When he released her, she sank to the edge of the bed. He reached for her teddy and drew it off in one long motion, then pulled off her panty hose.

She was bare before him.

She half sat up, her weight resting on her elbows. Her eyes were the color of smoke, her lips pink and parted. She gave him a sultry smile that made him want to rip off his clothes and take her right there.

Instead, he settled between her thighs and used his fingers to part the delicate folds of skin that concealed her most sensitive place.

She was already swollen and ready. At the first touch of his tongue, she nearly came off the bed. Her knees drew back, exposing more of her to him. He cupped her hips, urging her to move in time with his strokes.

She tasted sweet. He circled that tiny point, then brushed it with the flat part of his tongue. She whimpered. Despite his need, despite the urge to plunge inside of her and find his own release, he focused on her and what he was doing to make her writhe on the bed.

It wasn’t going to take long. He could tell from her increased breathing and the heat radiating from her skin. He
could tell from her tensed muscles and a connection between them that defied explanation.

She tossed her head restlessly, murmuring sounds that might have been his name or pleas for him to continue. If he hadn’t been otherwise occupied, he would have told her he had no intention of stopping until she’d reached fulfillment.

He concentrated on that small part of her body. He lavished it with attention, he adored it and circled it and forced her to the edge of surrender. Then he flicked faster, easing her into paradise, stroking her long legs as they trembled uncontrollably, continuing to please her until her gasps became whimpers and she was at last still.

It took them both a couple of seconds to catch their breath. Her feet settled on the floor. He bent over and kissed her belly. She sat up and pulled him to her. While they kissed, she reached for the buttons on his shirt.

Minutes later he was naked, stretched out on the bed. She knelt over him, brushing her mouth against his before moving lower to his neck, then his chest. His eyes drifted closed as he absorbed the sensations she created. The heat, the tingling, the passion-thickened blood coursing through him.

His erection throbbed in time with his heartbeat. One of her hands strayed down toward his thighs. He thrust his hips toward her. She held him gently, exploring him with delicate fingertips before grasping him and starting an up-and-down motion designed to drive him mad.

The pleasure between his thighs was so intense, it took him a minute to figure out what she was doing with her mouth. She moved across his chest in a seemingly random pattern, kissing one spot before moving on to another. A splash of hot moisture hit his skin.

“Jamie?”

She didn’t respond. The hand between his legs slipped lower to cup him. He almost gave in to the pleasure and relaxed, but something teased at the back of his mind.

She moved to another spot on his chest, and he felt another splash.

He reached out and touched her under her chin. She ducked her head away. He raised himself into a sitting position and tugged on the end of her hair. She was finally forced to look at him.

Her face was still flushed and her lips were parted, but this time it wasn’t from pleasure. Tears swam in her eyes. They slipped past her lower lashes and spilled onto her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, confused by her reaction to their lovemaking. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Everything is fine. Really.”

“Why are you crying?”

She shook her head. “I can’t explain. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She bit her lower lip. “I can’t.” Her voice was a whisper.

He stroked her cheek. He hated seeing her like this. “Please, Jamie. Tell me. I want to know what’s hurt you. I want to make it better.”

She touched a mark on his chest. He glanced down. It was an old scar. Another tear slipped free. She brushed it away, then placed her damp finger against the scar.

“I wish I could make that go away. I want to make them all go away. I know what they are. I know what they felt like. This one—” she pointed to a slender line by his ribs “—this is from a knife. There’s a burn mark on your back. This is a bullet wound.” She placed her hand on his thigh.

He stared into her eyes and wondered what he’d done to deserve her in his life. Why did she think he was worth even one of her tears? Other women had commented on his scars. They’d asked where he got them, if they still hurt. Sometimes he told the truth, and sometimes he lied. But Jamie didn’t have to ask. She knew.

She knew that a knife wound didn’t hurt at all. A sharp
blade slipped through flesh as if it were thick cream. She knew how much blood there was, how the shock was the worst of it until you woke up in the hospital. Then it hurt like a son of a bitch. She knew that the pain of a bullet didn’t come from the metal piercing flesh, but from the powder burn. She knew that bleeding from the inside wasn’t especially frightening because you became disoriented quickly. She knew about staring at exposed flesh and watching the blood pump out in time with your heartbeat.

She knew everything.

He shifted her until she was straddling him. He pushed her hair back over her shoulders so he could stare at her body.

A thin white line stretched from the center of her chest, just below her breasts, around to her side. “Knife wound,” he said. “Not very deep, but I bet it bled a bunch.”

She nodded.

He touched a puckered oval on her thigh. “Bullet.”

“Just missed the bone.”

“Good thing.” Flesh could survive a bullet; bone usually shattered.

She sniffed.

He cupped her face and brushed his thumbs under her eyes.

“Don’t cry for me. I’m not worth it.”

She bent forward and clung to him. “You are to me.”

He swallowed hard. She knew too much. How was he supposed to hide from someone who could see into his very soul? The urge to run away was strong, but he forced himself to hug her close and murmur her name.

She rocked against him, reminding him parts of his body were growing impatient. She shifted slightly, rising up, then coming down on him, taking all of him in one liquid movement. He arched toward her and swore violently. She smiled her pleasure.

She rode him like a rodeo queen. Head back, hair flying, breasts bouncing, body alternately yielding and pushing him
to completion as her paleness slipped up and down over his engorged organ.

She reached forward and they locked hands, fingers squeezing tight. He could feel her collecting herself again. He held back, wanting to watch her, wanting to see the flush of pleasure rise from her breasts to her face.

But at the first ripple of her climax, he found himself forced to follow with her. He thrust up and exploded, ripped apart by the pleasure, caught up in a moment of intimacy so intense, so purifying, he knew he would never be the same again.