The Wedding Gift (6 page)

She gasped when he touched her. Her skull cracked the wall. He felt the pain like it was his own. “Easy, baby. Just come for me.”

“I . . . Yes. Yes.” Panting. Gouging his back. Then shuddering, shuddering.

Christ, he'd never seen anything as sexy as Jan coming. It blew his mind. His body went rigid. His cock went off like a rocket, exploding inside her as she contracted around him, drawing everything out of him, including the last ounce of his strength.

His knees folded and he did a controlled slide to the floor. Jan's head flopped forward onto his shoulder. She was limp as a noodle. Totally out of it.

He shifted around in the impossibly small space, so the warm water hammered his back instead of Jan's. Resting his cheek against her hair, he let his heart pound itself out until his pulse approached normal.

His hand stroked her skin, slick and warm and softer than anything. Happiness pulsed with his heartbeat, spreading out through his veins into every cell.

Jan shifted slightly, and he remembered the condom he'd put on. No way could he pull out of her in this position. He could hardly believe he'd managed to get inside her in this shoe box, but where there was a will . . . And Jan was definitely willing.

She let out a weak groan, wiping the smug smile off his face. Guilt swamped him. Christ, what was he thinking, treating her this way? For fuck's sake, he'd
ravaged
her, an ancient word but terrifyingly accurate, because he was a fucking barbarian.

Forget the fingerprints on her thighs; she'd be bruised head to toe.

“Shit,” he squeezed out through his tightening throat. “I'm so sorry—”

Her knuckle dug into his ribs. “Quit apologizing, dummy.”

Even her voice was weak. His stomach turned over. He had to get her to the bed. She needed water, maybe a doctor—

“That was awesome,” she said. He felt her lips curve against his skin, then her tongue lapped along his collarbone. “Mmm, yummy. I want to lick you. Everywhere.”

Christ, he wanted her mouth on him more than he wanted his next breath. But, “One thing at a time,” he said, locking down his dick. “Did I hurt you?”

She pulled back until he could see her eyes, hooded and sultry. “Do I
look
like I'm in pain?”

She looked like she was freshly fucked. And nowhere near ready to call it a night.

She wriggled, putting the condom in peril. He shifted to damage control. “Hang on, babe, let's get rid of this one before we think about the next one.”

But when he tried to uncouple, he got nowhere fast. His back was against one wall, his shoulders sandwiched between two others. He couldn't spread his elbows. He tried to straighten his legs, but that was out too. The damn stall couldn't be more than three-by-three.

Watching his contortions, Jan started to giggle.

“You won't be laughing,” he said, “when they need the Jaws of Life to get us out of here.”

“Maybe we should soap up.” She bobbed her brows.

“Babe, if we soap up, we're not going anywhere.”

“So either way, we're stuck.” She leaned back, smiling. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. Only the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

She raised her arms, pulling her hair back in a ponytail. Water sluiced down her body, so lovely it stilled him.

“Beautiful,” he said softly. His eyes followed the flow, down her long, slender neck, over her breasts. The tips were swollen too, pebbled and pink from his lips.

She reached out, took his cheeks in her palms. “You're looking at me like you've never seen me before.”

“I haven't, not like this.” She was delicate and lush at once. Innocent and sensual. Sweet and so fucking sexy. Everything he'd always loved about her, and so much more.

He wanted to come clean, to tell her he'd loved her forever. That he always would.

But the timing was wrong, while he was eyeing her naked body like he could eat it for breakfast. She'd think putting out had changed his feelings about her. Or worse, that he was bullshitting her because he wanted to stick his dick in her again.

It would kill him if she thought either of those things.

So he'd bide his time, and when the moment presented itself, he'd show her how he felt, and he'd do it right. Because for the first time, he was picturing a future with Jan.

After all, there was no question they were compatible. And amazingly, she seemed to be okay with his kind of sex. Meaning lots of it. Hard, and rough around the edges. He'd tossed her around, nailed her to the wall, given her a taste of how he liked it. And damned if she wasn't ready to go again, right now, judging by the look in her eye.

Which meant getting out of this mousetrap, grabbing a handful of rubbers, and hitting the sheets until the sun came up.

The problem was, looking at her had gotten him good and hard again. He'd have to deflate before they could unpretzel themselves.

Reaching up over his head, he twisted the knob to cold.

“Aghh!” Jan flapped her hands frantically, like she could wave the water away. Her feet scrabbled against the floor, the walls, finally getting traction against his stomach.

Slapping the door open, she crawled out of the shower. Then she slapped it closed again and sat back against it, trapping him inside. “You're a jerk.” Her pissed-for-life voice.

He shut off the water. Mission accomplished; he'd shriveled like a balloon and captured the condom as she made her getaway. “That's what I get for taking one for the team,” he muttered.

“No more shower sex,” she decreed, which was okay for now, since she hadn't ruled out any other kind of sex.

“Until we get home,” he added.

She snorted. “I won't hold my breath.”

What does that mean?

Before he could ask, she stood and wrapped herself in a towel. “Tell me you brought snacks,” she said, heading into the bedroom.

He trailed her, tracking water to his suitcase. “Cheez-Its.” He tossed two snack bags on the bed, followed by a fistful of condoms.

She grabbed the Cheez-Its, smirked at the condoms. “You came prepared.”

“Better to have 'em and not need 'em than need 'em and not have 'em.” He reached out and snagged her towel.

“Hey,” she got out around a mouthful of Cheez-Its.

He wrapped the towel around his hips. “You look better naked than I do.”

“Cut it out.” Color climbed her neck, so bright he could watch its march by the light spilling from the bathroom.

“Get used to it.” He hooked her waist with one hand and pulled her tight against him, damp skin to damp skin, making all kinds of heat. “Your body's gorgeous. I could eat you alive.”

Her breath hitched, but she said, “Yeah, right. I know what you're after.” She held her Cheez-Its behind her back.

“What I'm after,” he said, cupping her cheek with his free hand, “is a lot more of what I just got.” He laid his lips over hers, holding her gaze. Stroked his fingers down her slender neck, over her shoulder, down the back of her slim arm.

Then he grabbed her bag and tipped it over his mouth.

Nothing but Cheez-It dust.

She stuck out her tongue, coated with orange.

God, he loved this woman.

T
HE RUMORS WERE
true: Mick was a sex machine.

Resting her cheek in the notch of his sweaty shoulder, Jan laid her palm over his galloping heart. “Time out,” she said on a pant.

“Rookie.”

“Not a rookie,” she said, justifiably defensive. “I've just been benched for a few . . . okay, a
lot
of years.”

Mick curled his arm more tightly around her shoulders. “You're back in the game now, babe. How's it feel?”

Great. Amazing. Fantastic. For the rest of her life, nothing would compare to sex with Mick.

“It's okay,” she said. “I'm sure you're doing the best you can.”

He laughed, not fooled for a minute.

Then he yawned, a jaw cracker. They'd been going at it for two hours and it was his first sign of fatigue. Which was particularly impressive given that he'd hardly slept in the past month.

Honestly, the poor guy was exhausted. How had she missed the smudges under his eyes?

She moved her palm in slow circles, a front rub instead of a back rub. On cue, his lids grew heavy, his blinks got longer, and longer . . .

Then he pulled out of it, shaking his head as if clearing cobwebs. He glanced at the clock.

She kept on rubbing, gently. “You should talk to the chief.”

He shook his head, not bothering to play dumb. “If I tell him, he'll sideline me. Make me see a shrink.”

“Isn't that mandatory? It should be.”

He shrugged. “I got through the required interview.”

“In other words, you faked it.”

“I need to get back on the horse, not sit around making myself crazier.”

There was some sense in that, especially knowing Mick as she did. But, “Is it safe? For everyone else, I mean.”

He forked a hand through his hair. “I'll let you know on Tuesday.” He paused. “I won't put the crew at risk. If my nerve's shot, I'll . . .” He sighed miserably. “I can always go to law school.” He rubbed her arm. “You'd be happier that way anyhow.”

“Why would I be happier?”

“You know. The whole dangerous job thing.”

To the extent New Jan was still hung up on that, it applied to potential husbands, not to friends, even friends with benefits. “Mick, I want you to do what you love, and you love firefighting.”

“So it wouldn't matter to you? I mean, assuming I can get past this stupid nightmare and I'm not a wuss who can't hold up my end, you'd be okay with me staying on the job?”

As if he needed her approval. “First of all, you're not a wuss, except about spiders.” She spider-walked two fingers around his side. He flinched like a girl.

“And second of all”—she smoothed her palm over the spider tracks—“you
will
get past this nightmare, you
will
hold up your end, and—for better or worse—you
will
go on and risk your life every day. If you're looking for my blessing, you've got it. You always have.”

He pulled in a deep breath, let it out on a long sigh. “I love you, Jan.”

Her heart leaped and swelled, filling every inch of space in her chest.

Then she talked herself down. Of course Mick loved her. He always had. God knew how many beat-downs he'd handed out on her behalf, warning off the bullies who were drawn like flies to a pale, skinny girl with no father to watch her back.

She owed Mick for that. For her peaceful childhood, for years of friendship, for always having her back. So if in the dark of this night the tables had suddenly turned and he needed her more than she needed him, she wouldn't hold back the words of comfort that assured him he wasn't alone. He never had to know that they meant so much more to her than they did to him.

“I love you too, Mick.”

His hand came up to cup her cheek. His thumb stroked over her lips, a sensuous slide.

She closed her eyes, drank it in. She might come to regret it, but for now she indulged. Lived out the fantasy of a life with Mick, his warm body in her bed every night, his laughter in her kitchen. His children at her table.

Corny!
If he could read her mind, he'd fake a finger down his throat. But it was her dream, unacknowledged until today. Buried again by tomorrow.

For tonight, she pulled his thumb into her mouth and sucked it.

J
AN TIPTO
ED FROM
the bathroom to the bed, climbing on gently, crawling across gingerly, as if it was a minefield.

Mick had fallen asleep—finally—after wearing her out.

Slowly, carefully, she stretched out along his body, head on his shoulder, leg curled over his thigh. Her hand rested on the side of his neck, where his pulse thudded evenly against her palm. If it sped up or he showed other signs of falling into his nightmare, she'd do what she could to ease him. Wake him if she had to. Love him if he needed it.

But she doubted he'd dream anymore tonight, not if he was as used up as she was. A smile crept up and curved her lips. She'd come off the bench for the first time in eight years, and the game had gone into double overtime.

Now her body yearned for sleep, but her brain wanted to stay awake to savor these once-in-a-lifetime feelings; Mick's muscular thigh between hers, his broad chest under her arm.

His even breathing lulled her. She let herself wonder . . . what if she felt as good to him as he did to her? What if he'd wanted her before but been afraid to show her until tonight?

She laughed at herself. Talk about corny. He was Mick McKenna. If he wanted a woman, he had only to lift an eyebrow. He could have lifted one at her anytime, but he hadn't.

Now he shifted in his sleep, cuddling her closer, rubbing his stubble against her hair. It felt great, but at the same time it hurt like a line drive to the chest. Because Mick wouldn't even be aware of who he was holding.

She was just the girl of the night.

But he was the love of her life.

A single tear leaked out and dripped onto his chest. Then she screwed the cap back onto that bottle, and fast. She'd be damned if he paid for this night with a crying jag. He didn't deserve that. She'd laid down the first kiss. And when he took it a step up, she hadn't stopped him. She'd egged him on.

The truth was, she'd been a hundred percent on board, a thousand percent into it. And her eyes had been—and still were—wide-open.

Mick wouldn't know that, though, so he'd be riddled with guilt. He might even try to pretend he felt more for her than he did.

So instead of putting him in the position of faking it, or of letting her down gently, she'd pull back first, let him know it was fun but nothing serious. That she didn't expect anything more from him, didn't
want
anything more.