Travis Justice (13 page)

His breaths were painful now, and she compulsively watched the slower and slower rise and fall of his chest. When the movement stopped, a second passed, and then all the monitors sounded shrill alarms.

When doctors and nurses burst back into the room, she stepped back, the sword still in her hand. Tears fell hotly on the shining blade, but she didn't notice. The doctors made a cursory effort to revive Jiji, but then they disappeared one by one. Only the cancer doctor was left. He looked from Hana's ravaged face to the blade in her hand, and then he exited again to give her privacy.

This time, Hana felt no movement at all when she knelt and rested her cheek on Jiji's form. He was still warm, but Hana felt the loss of his spirit and goodness so acutely that the sword pricked her hand as it slithered off her lap to the floor, clattering.

Then she was sobbing, so loud she didn't even feel another presence until a tender hand stroked down over her hair.

“Sweet Hana, I'm so sorry,” said a deep, husky voice.

She looked up and Zach was there. She didn't question how or why. She knew only that she needed the comfort of his arms and his strength. She stood and took that tiny step to bridge the last gap between them, unabashed and unafraid in her weakness.

And he was there, arms wide and welcoming.

She buried her face against him and cried, the sword for once forgotten at their feet.

A
n hour later, when they came for Jiji's body, Zach looped his arm in Hana's and led her to the door. She found her car missing and realized she'd probably been towed because she'd been there too long for the short-term lot.

Her senses were so dull that she didn't care. While Zach got the information on where to get the car out of impound, she stood near the entrance, feeling chilled despite the growing warmth of the day. So many plans to make . . . Jiji had a small life-insurance policy he'd taken out years ago, enough to bury him. And Takeo? How could she get word to him? She couldn't, because she had to be there to tell him herself.

Zach came back astride his motorcycle and put his spare helmet over her head, latching it securely. “Where do you want to go, Hana?”

Her eyes swollen with tears, she said huskily, “Ernie's. I want a bath in his big tub.” Once she was astride his powerful Harley, though, and he'd easily maneuvered them through heavy traffic toward the freeway, she added in his ear, “The long way around.”

And so Zach drove them along Route 360 through Austin's colorful hills, popping out now in April with mantles of blue, yellow, and red. Gorgeous native wildflowers, bluebonnet, Indian paintbrush, and sunflowers, decorated major highways throughout Texas, a legacy of Lady Bird Johnson's 1965 beautification project.

Zach seemed to sense her need for speed and they roared across the 360 bridge. He stopped at a scenic overlook that displayed the downtown skyline. They sat there idling, and slowly the sights and sounds softened Hana's grief to melancholy. She wrapped her arms tightly around Zach's waist and rested her cheek, as best she could in the helmet, against his back. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He made to turn, but she caught him more tightly. “Take me to Ernie's. Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.” She felt as much as heard his murmur vibrate in his strong back.

Not since Kai had Hana trusted a man's strength, because it could so often be turned against her. But somehow she knew that Zachary Travis would never hurt her. She gave herself into his hands, not watching the road, just moving as he moved for the short trip to Ernie's.

When they arrived, he looked around curiously at the oddly elegant structure, but inside he only opened cabinet doors until he found a can of chicken-noodle soup. “Consuela's would be better, but this will do in a pinch,” he said. “Go take your bath and I'll have this waiting for you.”

She felt his gaze follow her as she went into Ernie's luxurious master bath with its sunken, jetted tub. But as she put in foaming bath salts and made the water as hot as she could stand, she thought of Zach, the sweet caring in his eyes and touch, and the last of her bitter, self-imposed shackles fell away.

She would never be a fitting match for the rich and powerful Travis family. She had not put her heart in the care and keeping of any man but Kai, and his betrayal had hurt so much it had warped her perception of men for too long. Zachary had grown up privileged in a way she couldn't even imagine, and she'd seen firsthand the love his entire family bestowed on him. Yet he seemed unspoiled, independent, with a wild streak that relished life in a way she fully understood. As she scrubbed her flesh until it was pink, she peered inward at a nakedness more revealing than her nudity. It was as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes by his kindness toward a person who'd entered his life as a prime suspect of heinous acts.

He'd risked a lot to help her: His father's respect, his job, even his standing in the elite circles he traveled if he chose her for a mate. She began to see not their differences of stature and wealth, but their similarities in temperament and ambition. To protect hearth and home, most especially those they loved. To stay strong and independent, to follow their own path whether it was sloped uphill or down.

As she stroked a soft brush over her breasts and waist, she remembered their kiss. And she knew he'd felt then what she was feeling now: a lust more than carnal, a need to take and give in equal measure. As she drained the scented water, she watched it whirl away, faster and faster, and with it went the last of her inhibitions.

She didn't know what the future held, she reflected as she dried herself in the soft, oversized towel. She didn't know if she'd kill her former lover or he'd kill her, though she was pretty sure one of those fates awaited her. But she could take Jiji's training to heart and make the most of every day she had until then. Jiji would approve of her choice.

Hana stepped out of the tub and went in search of the short silk robe Ernie had loaned her.

* * *

In the kitchen, Zach puttered around, trying to ignore the sounds of splashing he could just hear through the thin walls. His heart had begun that tappety-tap, like a drummer calling soldiers to battle. No matter how he told himself to can it, now wasn't the time, his erection grew full and needful as he imagined Hana in the bath. He so longed to go to her and tend her, not for sex, but to smooth soap into her silken skin, to massage her, to comfort her.

But he had no right for that degree of intimacy, especially when she'd just lost the man who meant the most to her. So he cut a couple of wildflowers off Ernie's patio and put them in a crystal bud vase he'd found. He set out an embroidered place mat and even found one of those napkin thingamajigs to wrap around the matching linen napkin. He opened a good bottle of white wine and had to pour a glass to be sure it was OK. The longer her bath took, the more he decided he'd better test the vintage one more time. And once more, until he saw with surprise there was only one glass left. He put that back in the fridge to chill for Hana.

Since he hadn't eaten all day, the wine felt a bit warm all the way to his fingertips. When he heard a sound at the door between the kitchen and what he assumed was the master suite, he was embarrassed to feel his cheeks turning red. He wasn't usually so free with alcohol, but holy hell, this indomitable woman made him nervous.

When he saw her, standing there in a brilliant-blue silk robe that barely reached her knees, her nipples thrusting against the damp silk over her bosom, he inhaled sharply and took a huge, compulsive stride forward before he reined in his urges. Composing himself and feeling like a randy teenager confronted with the prom queen, he only managed a brusque nod. He fled to the stove to pour out her steaming soup, glad to have an excuse to turn around.

Her movements were quiet even in shoes; in her bare feet she might have glided, rather than walked over the floor. He didn't hear a thing over the ring of utensils as he stirred the soup. The next he knew, she'd clasped her arms about his waist and snugged her torso against his back.

He'd reached for the pot handle to pour the soup, and he froze for such a long moment that his hand began to burn. He released the handle, very carefully setting the pot back down, at the same time as he managed a garbled, “Soup's on—let me pour it for you.”

“I'm hungry,” she said softly, with a purr in her voice he'd never heard, only fantasized about. “But not for soup.”

What would he do now? If he turned around she'd feel his hard-on. If he stayed turned away like this, she'd think he wasn't interested. He compromised by pulling her arms closer around his waist: “Hana, I didn't come here for that,” he said sincerely. “I'm here for emotional support. I didn't know him well at all, but it's obvious your grandfather was your rock and I'd never take advantage of your grief—”

“I know that,” she interrupted huskily. “This is my choice, isn't it? Besides, Jiji would be the first one to tell me to celebrate his passing with joy, not sorrow.” She lifted slightly on her toes to reach the back of his neck. She kissed her way from one throbbing pulse on the side of his neck to the other.

Every hair in his body stood on end. Between kisses, she murmured into his skin so softly that he had to strain to hear, “Love me, Zach. I know we don't have tomorrow, because your father will never accept me. But Ernie and Jiji both would be thrilled to know I've finally learned to appreciate what I have today.”

Unable to resist any longer, Zach whirled and engulfed her in a bear hug so hard she gasped. He caught the breath with his kiss, but the minute he felt her sweet lips, his desperation eased to tenderness. He relaxed his hold, pushing his hips into her abdomen so she'd feel what she did to him. He was half-afraid she'd bolt, but instead, she pushed back, moving her abdomen from side to side to show her response.

With one supple twist, she opened her robe and let it fall to the floor. “I want you. For now, that's enough.”

His gaze ran over her compulsively. She was so fit that she didn't have any fat, only muscle. Her arms, her legs, her flat stomach testified to a workout schedule he suspected must be even more rigorous than his own. No wonder she moved so fluidly and quietly. No wonder she'd twice escaped him in hand-to-hand fighting.

And then the analytical part of his brain that admired her physique was subsumed by a rush of pure, primitive need. He knew only one goal: to touch her, to feel her skin against his. Everywhere.

The roaring in his ears made him clumsy, but when he pulled off his shirt, her adept hands were there to assist. When he unzipped his trousers, she helped with the stubborn button. When he'd kicked them off and reached for his white jockey shorts, she'd already tucked her fingers in his waistband and pulled them down. He kicked them off, clasping her wrist to pull her toward the bedroom, but she pulled back. “No, here. The chair. I want to see your eyes.”

His need flared hotter as she led him to the large, overstuffed chair in Ernie's living room. She had presence of mind enough to spread an afghan over the leather. Then she stepped back from him several paces, put her hands on her hips, spread her legs, and cocked her head to the side as she examined him, head to toe.

It took all his dwindling control to stand there and let her look, for while she appraised him, he absorbed every sexy inch. Her damp hair shielded and then bared her small, pert breasts with every movement. The black thatch at the apex of her legs hid but could not disguise her own arousal, for he saw it in her dilated eyes and hard-tipped nipples. Her skin was white, untouched by the sun, and if it was as soft as it looked, he wondered if he'd finish too soon. It felt like he'd been fantasizing about his ninja chick forever.

He was so busy absorbing every inch of her that he didn't realize how much he aroused her too, until she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms to pull him close so she could rub every silken inch against him. This time, she could reach his mouth, and she took full advantage, kissing him with tongue and teeth, not a rebellious young woman, not even his sexy ninja chick.

She was a woman grown who knew exactly what she wanted.

And when she caught his hand to bring it to the V of her body, he could no longer doubt how very badly she wanted him too. With her other hand, she caught his erection, gently moving her palm up and down. He felt the floodgates rising and clasped her hand to pull it away. His eyes were literally unfocussed now, his 20-10 vision blurry and filled with one image: Hana's face.

Her mouth was half open with her quick breaths. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled his scent. Her tongue, pink and enticing, rimmed the mouth already reddened from their passionate kisses. And her eyes—never had he seen them so huge and velvety black. He could not tell where her irises ended and her pupils began. He felt himself falling into them and wishing himself well lost.

Here he belonged, he knew instinctively. For a long moment, their gazes met and held, his own that azure color of the Mediterranean at its sunniest, hers black as mink, and equally soft and warm. He knew then why his reactions to her had been so extreme. They were a match in every way: physically, mentally, emotionally. By her own choice, no matter what followed, she'd chosen to bend her indomitable spirit to his. She offered herself to him to mold and to cherish. To open to him in that way of all women that made her vulnerable, yet simultaneously the most powerful force on earth. For the first time in his life he knew what the Bible meant when it bade a man to cleave to his mate. He wanted to pull her into himself, to possess her utterly. Then they'd be as they truly were: With no physical boundaries of man and woman, but instead love personified, both carnal and sublime, one powerful force, in the best way that few couples ever find.

Tears came to his eyes and he buried his face in the scented hollow of her neck, kissing it softly, with a tenderness he'd never felt, nor showed, to another woman. His throat was so tight with emotion that he couldn't speak. He pulled her back with him, groping for the edge of the chair. Finally, he felt it pressing against the backs of his knees. He fell into it with none of his usual athleticism, his desire so acute he was clumsy with it.

Then she was straddling him, touching him, torso to torso, her hair caressing every inch of him as she bent her head to suck one of his erect nipples into her mouth. The hot moisture at his chest allied with the silken warmth of her hair tickling him from his shoulders to his testicles, scattered the last of his tenuous control.

With a sigh that was part torment and part her name, he lifted her until he felt the moist gate of her body opening to his need. That first touch made his eyes flutter closed, so divine was the warm, snug welcome. He tried to push her down, but she was poised on her knees beside his hips, and she resisted.

“No,” she said, her voice so deep and shaky he scarcely recognized it. “Let me.”

Zach had always been masterful in bed, but his eyes fluttered open at her demand. He had to blink to focus, and when he saw the utter sensuality in her face, the need she suppressed by biting her lip, his hands at her waist became caressing rather than demanding. By letting her set the pace, his mastery became hers, but in capitulating, he won her total fealty.