The Wedding Gift (5 page)

“Why wouldn't they be?”

“He's a doctor, and Julie hates doctors.”

He dropped his gaze to her, finally. “They're in love. That should take care of it.”

“You think love conquers all?”

“It should conquer stupid shit like what somebody does for a paycheck.”

His eyes were so blue, she could get lost in them.

She focused on the ceiling instead. “My mother wants me to marry a doctor. Or a lawyer, or an accountant. Someone who doesn't put his life on the line.”

“Makes sense,” he said. “She doesn't want you to grieve like she did.” He turned back to the TV. Sipped his beer. “You feel the same way about it?”

Good question. Her mother had drilled it into her head for so long, she hadn't considered other options.

But then, she hadn't considered a bikini either.

What if the field was wide-open and she could marry anyone, no matter what he did for a paycheck? She thought about it.

“Depends on the guy,” she said at last. “If I love him, I'll want him to do what makes him happy. If it turns out I can't live with whatever that is, well, that'll be my problem.”

“If you left him, it would be his problem too.” He brought his gaze back to hers, dark and intense. “You'd break his heart.”

Suddenly, the room got warm again.

His gaze dropped to her lips. She swallowed. So did he, and the working of his throat held her spellbound.

Then he rolled up on one elbow, his weight dipping the mattress so his face was above hers. He looked down at her from hooded eyes, his cheek close enough to touch if she dared.

“You're a heartbreaker,” he said, his voice softer than a whisper, “and you don't even know it.”

A
S
J
AN DISAPPE
ARED
into the bathroom, red-faced, Mick rolled back onto his pillows and groaned at his own idiocy.

Shoot me now, before I make an even bigger ass of myself.

He rubbed the back of his neck, as tight as a spring. Damn it, this shouldn't be so hard. He and Jan had dozed off together hundreds of times, on his couch or hers.

The only difference—and apparently it was a big one—was that one of them always got up and went home. That wouldn't be happening tonight. His brain knew it, and his dick was all over it too.

He stared at the TV as minutes passed. Michonne lopped off some heads. Daryl crossbowed a walker.

Finally, Jan tiptoed from the bathroom, probably hoping he'd fallen asleep.

Not gonna happen.

He took a stab at normal. “Getcha another beer?” A question he'd asked her five thousand times since tenth grade.

“No, thanks.” She turned off the light without meeting his eyes. “I'm sleepy. G'night.” She rolled away from him onto her side.

Which lured him into breaking the no-looking rule again.

He shouldn't do it. Guilt sat like an anvil on his chest. But it was worth suffocating to admire her silhouette in the TV's flickering light. The dip of her waist. The mound of her hip.

Instinctively, he reached out to smooth his hand over those curves. To draw her against him so he could curl his body around her slender back, tuck her ass into his aching groin.

He made a fist instead and knocked it against his forehead.

No. Touching.

And no more looking either. She could probably feel his eyes burning holes in the sheet.

Tearing his gaze away, he turned off the tube and slid down on his back, welcoming the darkness. Darkness was good. He couldn't see her, so he wouldn't be tempted to look.

Meanwhile, puppies and kittens. So fuzzy, so soft—

The problem was, he could hear Jan's breathing. It sounded as ragged as his own. But not for the same reason. Not because she wanted him the way he wanted her, with every cell, every sinew, every thought, every breath.

No, she was hyperventilating because he'd all but jumped her. She was probably terrified he'd try it again.

He should leave. Go out and walk the streets until dawn.

But ironically, if he made for the door, Jan would fret about him and blame herself for chasing him out. She'd tell herself she'd overreacted when, in fact, she was right to worry about the animal in her bed.

Christ, if she knew the state he was in, she'd
really
freak out. His overactive dick was hard as a wrecking bar. Again. He couldn't help wrapping his hand around it. Not stroking. He hadn't lost his mind completely.

Just holding on. Holding onto his sanity.

M
ICK WOULD
TELL
me if he was having a heart attack, wouldn't he?

His breathing was ragged, and Jan would have sworn his heart pounded out loud.

Could it be anxiety? He'd been jumpy since the fire. He tried to pretend the whole episode was just another day at the office, but that was baloney. His best buddy in the department had given her the skinny. Mick escaped being crushed by seconds. Her blood had run cold at the thought.

Ironic that another collapsed ceiling had landed them in this bed tonight. And now her blood was running hot. Sizzling, in fact.

Damn it, she could've kept a cork in things if only Mick hadn't slipped into seduction mode.

Oh, she knew he hadn't really intended to seduce her. For him, it was a knee-jerk reaction to being prone with a woman.

But to her, it was devastating. When he'd gazed down at her with bedroom eyes, whispered words she'd never expected to hear, doors burst open that had long been nailed shut.

Her whole being had reacted, instantly and instinctively. Desire stormed through her body, soaking her. Love exploded in her heart, stealing her breath.

Now there was no pretending to herself that she was okay with “just friends.” The genie was out of the bottle, and she had to face up to her own bullshit. Face up to wanting more.

To wanting it all.

Not that she'd ever tell Mick. The poor guy really
would
have a heart attack.

But the sad truth—since she was all about the truth tonight—was that she'd never given any other guy a chance. There'd been no point. Who could measure up to Mick?

It was no coincidence that her only sexual experience came while Mick was away at Penn State and she was a day student at Boston College. After he moved home, she'd kept her evenings open, and he filled enough of them that she was never really lonely.

Sure, he spent lots of nights with other women. But it wasn't like any of them were around for more than a few days, or maybe a week.

He always came back to her.

Because she was easy. Familiar. They had fun together, made no demands on each other. Even though he'd gotten an apartment around the corner from her mom's house in Dorchester, the only strings that tied him to her were friendship, loyalty, and affection.

That was Mick in a nutshell, friendly, loyal, and affectionate. For years, Jan had taken that for granted. He'd kept the bullies at bay when she was a gawky preteen. Been her hall pass through high school. Given her a patina of cool when nobody would have noticed her otherwise.

Everyone in school had known that Mick had her back. And if they also knew she was simply his sidekick, that a guy like him would never want more from a girl like her, well, so what? She'd taken what she could get.

Until tonight, it had been enough. But not anymore.

Everything in her had shifted. Laying here beside him, she was completely attuned to him. His heartbeat pulsed in her veins. He shifted, and her DNA shifted with him, toward him—

Mick sat bolt upright, startling a gasp from her.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Didn't mean to wake you.”

“I wasn't asleep,” she whispered back. Her heart raced. She might never sleep again. “Are you okay?”

Silence. She knew he was tunneling fingers through his hair. Then, “Just a stomachache.”

Stomachache, ragged breathing. Anxiety for sure.

But he'd never ‘fess up to it. Mick could charge fearlessly into a burning building, but acknowledging weakness terrified him.

“I . . .” She swallowed hard. “I can rub your back.”

It wouldn't be the first time. Last winter when the flu flattened him and he'd been too exhausted to sleep, she'd sat at his bedside and stroked his back until he drifted off.

Touching him then had been no big deal, with a force field of denial shimmering between them. But now that she'd accepted her feelings for him? Much harder.

Still, it was the least she could do. He was suffering. She couldn't bear it.

So she waited. She could feel him thinking about it. Probably wondering if it would give her the wrong idea. She would have told him not to worry, but her throat had narrowed. A pipe cleaner might slide through the opening, but no words could get out.

Her breath backed up in her lungs. Tension hummed in the air.

Then, without a word, he lay down and rolled onto his stomach, gathering his pillow under his cheek.

I
T MIGHT HELP
if she touches me.

Mick knew it was a lie if ever he'd told himself one. It wouldn't help one bit.

Honestly, though, how much could it hurt? He was already insane. And as long as he was lying on his stomach, he wouldn't be able to see her, or reach for her. He'd have to make do with the touch of her hand.

Her hand. Feather light, satin soft. She skimmed it over his ribs, but his damn T-shirt was in the way.

Levering up on one arm, he peeled it over his head. If he was doing this—damn his black soul to hell—he might as well do it right.

Settling down again, he curled his arms around his pillow. His hard-on beat a guilty tattoo against the mattress.

He hated himself for taking advantage of her. But her hand.
Oh God.
It smoothed over the small of his back, skated softly up his spine, stroked over his shoulders.

Her fingertips scratched his neck lightly, threaded into his hair, kneading his scalp. Then down they glided, her palm flattening as it passed between his shoulder blades, the barest sweep of warm skin.

Her touch was silk, now skimming up his side like a scarf, tickling under his arm, then floating down again, dipping in at his waist, tracing the edge of his shorts.

Everything he loved about Jan he felt in her fingertips. She gave herself freely, loved him so purely.

Emotion clawed at his throat. He choked it down silently. Buried his face in the pillow.

“It's okay, Mick, I'm here.” Her voice was as soft as her hand, as if she knew he was hanging on by a thread. “Relax,” she whispered as tension rippled through his shoulders.

And somehow he did. That was the miracle of Jan. She got through to him when no one else could, soothed him even when she was what ailed him.

She was everything he wanted and didn't deserve. He'd nearly scared her away. He wouldn't do that again. He'd be careful with her, so careful, and when daylight came, he'd pull his shit back together and push her away where she'd be safe from him.

But tonight he didn't have the strength for that. Tonight all he could do was lay still and soak up her touch.

And somehow keep himself from falling asleep . . .

 

Chapter 5

H
OT.
H
OLY
J
ESUS,
it was so fucking hot.

Inside his turnout gear, sweat drenched Mick's skin as he pushed deeper into the basement. The fire's roar filled his head, drowning the child's thin cries. He knew she was in here, but where? Was she even still alive?

The large room was windowless, dark except for the flames sheeting one wall, snaking across the floor toward his boots. Moving quickly, he searched the clutter, his headlamp slicing through the smoke, glinting off stacks of paint cans, picking out a pair of rusty barrels and an ancient gas can.

The place was a time bomb, ticking down fast.

But still he went deeper, ducking into storerooms, tripping on junk that was years overdue for the landfill, until he reached the end of the line, the last room, less smoky but miles from the exit. That's where he found her, huddled in a corner with a death grip on the pup she'd chased into the basement, terror widening her eyes so they consumed her whole face.

Scooping her up, Mick crushed the girl to his chest and pivoted for the door. The puppy squirted loose, racing ahead, and he followed, moving faster now that he had the girl, adrenaline pushing him into a dangerous trot.

But visibility was nil. The floor was a minefield, each step a blind leap of faith. He stumbled, nearly losing his grip on the girl, squeezing her tighter, holding her harder.

Smoke billowed around them, raked his lungs like acid. Coughs racked him, racked both of them. Only fresh air drove him onward, the thought of it, the need for it. The certain knowledge that they'd die without it.

He wouldn't let her die.

Across the vast, smoky basement, daylight made a bright spot, pouring through the Bilco doors. He aimed for it, miles away across the surface of the sun, but getting closer, closer—

Then above him, a thunder crack, and a jet engine's roar. And down came the ceiling, blanketing them in flaming Sheetrock. A falling timber ripped the girl from his arms. Her shriek rang in his ears—

“Mick!”

He fell on the screaming girl, covering her with his body as fire rained down on his back—

“Mick! It's me!”

Her voice was muffled now as he mashed her to his chest—

“Mick! Wake up!”

He came out of the nightmare the way he always did, suddenly, with a massive gasp and a shudder, adrenaline pumping like a fire hose.

“You're crushing me!” Jan's voice beneath him.

He managed to roll onto his back, arms still locked around her, pulling her over onto his chest. Sweat drenched his T-shirt, soaked the sheets.

“Mick.” She sounded calmer now. “It's Jan. I'm okay. You can let me go.”

He shook his head. The dream was still too real, the child too vulnerable. He had to keep her close. Keep her safe.

Jan quit struggling. She rested her cheek on his chest.

Long minutes passed. Gradually his heart stopped battering his ribs. He took a deep breath, let it out. Another, let it out.

The AC kicked on, chilling him, and he started to shiver. Jan pulled the sheet up, covering them both. He kept shivering, and she wrapped herself around him, sharing her body heat.

He loosened his grip a notch but held onto her. So delicate. So warm.

Her palm cupped his neck, her thumb stroking his jaw. “Every night?” she asked.

He nodded, his defenses in ruins.

“Have you told anyone? Your chief?”

“No.” His throat was raw. “Did I . . . Did I scream?”

“It was more of a howl.” She rolled off his chest onto her side, but she didn't move away. Her hand slid down to his chest, her sympathy expressed through her touch instead of her tone, which made it easier to accept. “I take it the dream doesn't end as well as the real-life rescue.”

He shook his head, found his voice. “The ceiling collapsed right behind us, but in the dream we're still under it.” He couldn't believe he'd told her, but his chest eased with the telling. “The fire lands on top of us. She gets ripped from my arms.”

“Just a dream,” Jan said, smoothing her hand over his pec. “You're okay. So is she. Even the puppy got out.”

“I know.” He swallowed, tasting smoke. The dream was that real. And it wasn't the worst of what plagued him. “I—I'm afraid next time I won't be able to go in. I'm afraid I'll chicken out.”

He waited for her to roll away from him, to be as revolted by his cowardice as he was. But her leg wrapped more securely around his. Her hand curved around his shoulder and she hugged him tight. As if he wasn't repulsive.

“You shouldn't have gone in the first time,” she said matter-of-factly. “It was reckless, against protocol, and it defied common sense. But you didn't think about any of that. You just reacted.”

She sighed. “I'd like to believe that next time you'll think twice. But you won't. This nightmare will fade. You'll go back to thinking you're invincible. And your wife, whoever that poor woman may be, will go gray before her time.”

He drank in her words, trying to believe them. “But what if it doesn't fade?” he said at last. “What if I have this dream every night for the rest of my life?”

“If that happens, you'll figure it out.” She spoke calmly, like it wasn't the end of the world. Because she believed in him utterly. She always had.

Then she said, “I'll help you.” Three simple words that took his breath away. She'd stand by him unshakably. She always had.

It was no wonder he loved her.

Then she touched her lips to his skin, directly over his heart. Just a kiss, nothing sexual, and without thinking, just as recklessly as he'd charged into that burning building, he rolled her over, bracketing her head with his forearms.

By the light that leaked around the window shade, he looked down into her beloved face, into eyes that had gone wide with surprise.

And he kissed her. God, he kissed her with all the love he'd held back for a lifetime.

And miracle of miracles, she kissed him back, parting her lips, giving him her tongue. He took it like a gift and went deeper, eating her up, devouring her sweetness.

It wasn't enough. Her body was under him, acres of satin skin and silky hair, and he hungered for all of it. He wanted inside of her clothes. Inside of her.

But this was Jan, so he kept it above the neck, working her lips, pouring everything he had into his kiss. Chaining his body, jailing the animal that raged inside of him—

And then she moaned.

Oh God, she moaned like a woman who wanted more, and his blood ignited. He threw off his chains. Pushing his fingers into her hair, he captured her head, controlling it, controlling the kiss. Spreading her legs with his knee, he slotted his hips between them, letting her feel his hard-on, stiff as a spike. She rubbed herself on it, and he took control of that too, dropping a hand to her thigh, curling her leg around his waist.

A faint voice in his head said,
Slow down! This is Jan!
But that was exactly why he couldn't. At last, he had Jan underneath him.

The animal was uncaged.

Balling her shirt in his fist, he caught hold with his teeth, used them to shred it from neck to hem. Pushing it aside, he palmed her breast, the sweet handful he'd always known it would be. He couldn't live another minute without tasting it, sucking her nipple into his mouth.

Her body jerked when he scraped the hard peak with his teeth, and he pulled back.
If I hurt her . . .
But she fisted his hair and yanked him down again, lifting her chest, feeding her breast to him. Feeding the animal.

And still he wanted more. Shoving his hand down her boxers, he dragged his fingers through slick heat, her back arching as she groaned low in her throat. Again he stroked her, and she swiveled her hips, reaching for more.

God, she was into it. He could make her come so easily, all over his hand, his face. And he would, he would, later. After he fucked her. After he took the edge off his hunger. Then he'd handle her until she didn't know her own name.

Shoving her boxers down, he kicked them away. Kicked off his own shorts and hooked an arm under her knee. Her scent filled his nose, fogging his mind as he opened her wide.

With one thrust he filled her, as deep as he could go. And she cried out, freezing his muscles, his blood.

Oh God, if I hurt her. . .

Then her nails raked his shoulders. “Don't stop.” It came out on a pant.

Relief flooded his chest. He pulled back, and plunged.

M
ICK, OH
G
OD,
it was Mick inside her. Jan's head swam. Her heart sang.

He hovered above her, arms holding his weight, muscles corded and straining. Sweat dripped from his cheek, dotting her breast. His dark eyes never left her face as he pumped her.

It was better than she'd dreamed, better than anything. Raw power surged up her arms as she grasped his hips, pulling him deeper on each thrust. Taking all of him, his laughter and his worries along with his cock.

He dropped down and lapped her lips with his tongue. She opened to him and then he was inside her mouth too, kissing her roughly, invading her fully.

“More,” he moaned, lips dragging over her cheek, and she gave him more, lifting her hips, meeting thrust with thrust. And still he wanted “More,” scraping his teeth down her throat, burning her skin with his beard.

“Take it,” she offered from the bottom of her soul. “Take me.”

He took her, wilder, rougher, until the bed slammed the wall, until her heart exploded. What more could she give him? He had all of her. He always had.

Then he reached down between them and threw a switch she hadn't even known was there. Her head flew back, her thighs clamped his waist, and—
holy shit!
—her mind broke like an egg.

With a jerk of his hips, he pulled out and came everywhere but inside her.

“Jesus,” he gasped. His arms buckled and he rolled off her onto his side, lungs sawing like he'd just run the race of his life.

She was gasping too, gulping down tears before they could boil over. Her heart swelled with joy. Her skin tingled everywhere.

Her whole body floated on a sea of endorphins.

Mick curved his palm around her cheek, a tender touch. Traced her jaw with his fingertips, a fiery trail. “You're so beautiful,” he breathed, and she didn't have it in her to argue. She felt beautiful. She felt loved.

He laid his palm on her chest. Her heart beat against it.

“I'm sorry,” he began. Then, “No, that's a lie. The only thing I'm sorry about is that I didn't use protection. I swear to you it's the first time in my life. I just . . . lost my mind. It won't happen again.”

She laid her hand over his. “What won't happen again? The no-protection or the sex? Because I'm okay with using condoms, but I'd kinda like to have sex again.”

“You would?” He sounded surprised. “I wasn't too . . . ?”

“Amazing?”

“I was gonna say rough. Quick. Selfish.”

She pretended to think about it. “No, I'll stick with amazing.”

“You're too easy on me,” he said. She heard the smile in his voice. “I'll make it better for you next time.”

“If it gets any better, I'm done for.”

He laughed. “We'll see what you say when I'm finished with you.”

Finished with me.

The words hit Jan like a slap, an unwitting reminder of where this escapade was headed. After years of waiting in the wings, it was finally her turn for a hot weekend with Mick McKenna. And when he was “finished with her,” he'd walk away, just as he'd walked away from prettier, sexier girls without looking back.

So, yeah, more irony. New Jan was getting exactly what she'd wished for—a crash course in sex education from a master, with no strings attached.

But instead of being thrilled, she was crushed. Her heart sank to the bottom of her chest, the ache spreading through her body like a fast-moving virus, the anguish of impending loss so deep it could swallow her.

Sitting up, she said, “You know, a quick shower couldn't hurt.”

“Sounds good.” He pushed up on his hands. “I made the mess, I'll wash you off.”

That was code for shower sex. Tempting, but not what she needed.

What she needed was a minute away from Mick to collect her thoughts and figure out how to extract herself from the situation before she got in any deeper.

She mustered a chuckle. “Two Chihuahuas might fit in that nanoshower. Not two adults.”

He chuckled too, very low, very sexy. “We'll make it work. Trust me.” His warm hand stroked a trail of fire down her back. Goose bumps shivered up her arms. Her nipples pulled tight, while everything inside her went warm and wet.

Clearly, her mind might wish for some distance from Mick.

But her body wanted to wrap around him like duct tape.

M
ICK HAD ALWAY
S
known Jan was passionate. Passionate about animal rights, gay rights, women's rights, children's rights.

Now he knew she was just plain passionate, totally into it, her back to the tile, his cock pounding into her, and ecstasy all over her face.

His fingers dug into her thighs, marking her. She'd be black and blue, and he was good with that. Any man who saw his fingerprints would know how they got there and he'd back the fuck off, or Mick would back him off.

Her nails scraped his neck, scoring his shoulders. She was marking him too, and that was fine with him. He'd bleed for her, gladly. He bit her lip hard enough to make her gasp, dragged his mouth to her throat and sucked a big hickey under her ear. She was his and everyone would know it.

“Mick.” Her breath heaved. “Mick, I need . . .”

She needed to come all over him, that's what she needed. He pinned her with his shoulder, freed up a hand and shoved it down between them into the slippery mess they had going.