Truth and Consequences (15 page)

“You look like hell.” Kathleen held the rental car’s passenger door open. Jason collapsed in the seat with a muffled groan.

“Sugar, I feel like hell.”

She didn’t close the door, although the urge to slam it itched along her palm. “A barbed wire fence?”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Jason.” He opened one eye and Kathleen glared at him. “Layla knows what a knife wound looks like.”

“Layla?”

“The physician’s assistant who stitched you up. She’s Altee’s cousin.”

His eyelid drooped shut again. “So that’s why she looked familiar.”

She slammed the door. Muttering curses, she walked to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. Before starting the car, she surveyed him. “What about your face, then?”

“What about it?”

Red patches of irritation highlighted his cheekbones and surrounded his eyes. “You’ve been hit with pepper spray, haven’t you?”

“Training.”

Liar.
She jerked the car into gear and shot out of the parking lot, hitting a speed bump too fast. He yelped and grabbed at his side. She glared at him. “Why wouldn’t you let Layla give you something for the pain?”

“Didn’t need it.”

Lord, he had a stubborn streak deeper than Tick’s. She hadn’t seen the wound, but Layla’s description had been enough. A five-inch gash, not caused by a barbed wire fence. A cut that could have been fatal if his bulletproof vest hadn’t taken the brunt of it. And pepper spray. Scratches on his hands, a huge bruise on his back. What the hell had he been up to?

She slowed for a stoplight and glanced at him again. He frowned, his lips tight, the skin around them pale. Damn it, men were so stupid when it came to pain.

“She gave you a prescription painkiller, right?”

He lifted the small brown bottle and rattled the contents.

“Did you take one?”

A negative shake of his head.

“Good Lord, Harding.” She pulled into the parking lot of the convenience store on the next corner. She left the car running and jogged in to purchase a bottle of water. When she returned, she dropped it in his lap.

He jerked upright. “Damn it, Kathleen.”

“Take the pill.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Take it.” His eyebrows dropped into a scowl and she glowered back. “We can sit here all night, Harding.”

“Fine.” Still scowling, he juggled the bottles and shook a tiny white pill out in his palm. He tossed it in his mouth and chased it with water. He set the water bottle in the cupholder. “Happy now?”

“Immensely.”

Silence descended on the car as she navigated out of town and onto the rural highway. The tension eased in his face, and his body relaxed into the bucket seat.

Kathleen cast quick, furtive glances at him. He could have been killed. The realization sat in her stomach like a lump of cold lead. His expressive eyes closed forever. No more opportunities to feel his touch on her skin, his mouth on hers.

Too many missed chances. Life could be gone so quickly, and she’d played it safe so long now. Maybe too long.

A shiver traveled down her spine at the thought of him gone forever, before she had the chance to experience loving him.

Loving him? Whoa, Palmer, where did that come from?

Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She was on the verge of falling in love with Jason Harding. Fear coursed through her, followed by determination.

She’d lived in fear far too long.

The setting sun painted his trailer in orange and gold. Kathleen parked as close to the steps as possible and walked around to open the passenger door. His head thrown back, he slept, soft snores escaping between parted lips.

She smiled, her earlier irritation gone. He was here, warm and alive. She nudged his knee. “Jason. We’re home.”

He opened bleary eyes and stared at the trailer. “Kathleen? What are you doing here?”

“Taking care of you.” She brushed his ruffled hair back from his forehead.

His eyes drifted closed again. “Good.”

The lazy satisfaction in his voice made her laugh. “Come on. You can’t sleep in the car.”

Moving with drugged slowness, he sat up and swung his legs out. Hands between his knees, he shook his head, like a dog shaking off water. He reached out for the car door.

“Here. Let me help.” Kathleen slid her hand under his arm and pulled him to his feet. He swayed and she wrapped an arm around his waist, careful to avoid his wound.

The steps creaked under their weight. She pulled the screen door open. “Where are your keys?”

“S’not locked,” he mumbled into her hair. He chuckled. “Nothing to steal.”

Still supporting him, she pushed the door open and fumbled for a light switch. A ceiling fan creaked to life and light spilled over a tiny combination living room-kitchen area. The musty scent of a long-abandoned house washed over her.

Standing just inside the door, her arm around his waist, she studied his home for the first time. The room was military spotless and Spartan. A small television sat on a table, a single couch in the room. No pictures, no books, nothing to indicate who lived here.

Her heart stuttered at the thought of him coming home to this emptiness every night.

He muttered something under his breath and rubbed his face against her hair. Kathleen smiled, warmed by the affectionate gesture. “Let’s get you to bed. Where’s your room?”

“First room. Left.” He pointed toward the narrow hall, a half-hearted gesture. She turned that way and he stumbled, cursing. “S’why I don’t drink hard liquor or take pain meds. Hits me too hard.”

“Come on.” Through his T-shirt, she stroked his ribs above the bandage, loving the solid strength of his body against hers.

As bare as the rest of the house, his room held nothing besides a double bed, a small table, and his alarm clock. She lowered him to sit on beige sheets patterned with cabins and bears.

His motions uncoordinated, he tugged at the shirt, trying to pull it over his head. Kathleen grasped the hem and helped him. The white bandage stood out in stark contrast to his tanned skin, and the muscled indention of his abs dried her mouth. Her fingers itched to trace those muscles, tangle in the hair on his chest, stroke over his shoulders and arms.

He fumbled with his belt. Heat flashed through her. Oh, Lord. She wanted him, aching and ready all at once, and he was out of his mind with pain meds.

“Here.” She brushed his clumsy hands out of the way and unfastened his belt, her face burning the entire time.

“Got it.” He managed the button and zipper, pushing the brown uniform slacks down. Snug gray boxer-briefs hugged his thighs. He fell back on the pillows and groaned, one hand going to clasp his side.

Kathleen pulled his shoes and socks off, followed by the slacks. She avoided looking at what else his boxer-briefs hugged. Wanting pounded with her pulse and she fought the urge to climb into bed with him.

Oh, she’d definitely gone too long without sex. She was tempted to take advantage of a drugged, injured man. Altee would die laughing.

No, she wouldn’t, because of who this drugged, injured man was.

With a restless movement, he pulled the sheet to his waist. He opened one eye and smiled an adorable goofy smile, crooking a finger at her. “C’mere, sugar.”

Desire tugging at her stomach, she leaned over him. “Call all the girls that, do you?”

“Just you.” He grasped her wrist, his grip surprising in its strength, and pulled her down beside him. His arm draped over her waist, the length of his body pressed to hers. “S’better.”

Kathleen tensed, fighting the urges sweeping her body. “Jason…”

His fingers slipped under the edge of her shirt and he rested his face against her throat. He sighed, a rush of hot breath against her skin. “S’not like this.”

She gave in and stroked her hand down his side, muscles hard under her palm. “What?”

His mouth moved against her. A smile. “Wanna make love on pretty white sheets.”

He meant
her
sheets. His tanned skin against all that white, his body making her writhe on soft Egyptian cotton. That image slammed into her, heat spearing out from her belly. She laughed, trying to gain control of desires that didn’t want to be corralled. “Right now, you’re not going to make love to me on these sheets either, Deputy Harding.”

He stiffened and rolled away, eyes closed, a frown tightening his face. “Not deputy. Agent.”

She stilled, breath freezing in her lungs. “What?”

A self-satisfied grin curved the edges of his mouth and he sighed again. “Calvert’s not th’ only one.” He threw an arm over his eyes, his body appearing boneless, and he lifted his free hand to his lips in a shushing motion. “Sshh. Don’t tell, ‘kay?”

Kathleen struggled free of his hold and sat up. Hope trembled in her throat. “Jason. What are you talking about?”

A soft snore interrupted her. Frustrated, Kathleen lay down beside him. He needed the rest.

And they’d have plenty of time for a little game of truth and consequences later.

Long legs intertwined with his and he tilted his hips, pressing his aching erection against the heat settled tightly over him.

He nuzzled at her neck, pushing soft cotton up and out of the way, baring her breasts. When he didn’t encounter a bra, he growled his approval and nibbled along the curves. He brushed his mouth against a nipple, a butterfly caress.

She jerked, tangling her fingers in his hair. “Oh, Jason.”

His eyes snapped open, awareness returning in a rush. Darkness shrouded the room, but there was no doubt where he was or who was in his arms.
Kathleen
. In his bed. Touching him, writhing against him, pressing against his arousal.

Talk about a dream come true.

She wore way too many clothes. He stroked from her torso to her hips, oft-washed denim soft under his fingers. He pulled her closer against him, the thick cotton fabric doing little to weaken the heat pulsing against him.

The tip of his tongue stroked the line of her cleavage. The tang of soap rested on his mouth, made sweeter by her skin’s smoothness. He sucked her other nipple, rolling the stony bud into his mouth.

Her fingers dug into his hair, nails scoring his scalp, and her hips pushed harder against him. Sharp pain stabbed at his side and his bruised back ached, but he wasn’t moving for hell. Not with the hottest, sweetest woman he’d ever known in his arms, moaning and surging against him like he was going to make her climax from a little foreplay.

She rubbed against him again and he groaned at the pleasure spreading out along his veins. He ached to be inside her, to have the wet silk of her body closing around him. Her nipple slipped from his lips and he buried his mouth between her breasts.

“Keep that up, sugar, and I won’t last.”

“There’s something to be said for hot and fast,” she said, pushing him to his back and sitting up to pull the camisole top over her head. Filtered moonlight silvered her curves.

Still wearing her jeans, she straddled his thighs, her hands stroking his ribs and stomach. She brushed the bandage with gentle fingers. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Yeah, we should.” Knees cradling her bottom, he sat up, his side screaming at him to stop. He ignored it, more focused on other parts of his anatomy demanding release. That part of his body nestled nicely between her thighs. He brushed his nose against hers and kissed her.

“You’re hurt.” Her tongue danced at the corner of his mouth. “And under the influence. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“I’ll hurt worse if you don’t. The drugs have worn off. And I hope to hell you
really
take advantage of me.”

She laughed, the sound shimmering through him. Her hands roved over his torso, shaping muscles, and her pelvis tilted into his. “Mmm. You feel so good.”

He grabbed her hips, holding her to him. “Shimmy out of those jeans,” he whispered near her ear, “and I’ll show you how good.”

“Convince me.”

She was a tease and he loved it. He trailed his mouth down her neck, sucking at the curve of her shoulder. He rubbed the back of his hand across her stomach. Muscles jumped against his touch and he chuckled, skimming a finger along her waistband, relishing the softness of her skin.

Her response to him fired his desire, made him want to linger over her. He’d waited forever to have her in his arms and he never wanted it to end.

Her scent, warm and clean, wrapped around him. While he unbuttoned her jeans and slid down the zipper, he peppered light kisses over the swell of her breast. He encountered tiny silk panties over pulsing heat and she gasped into his hair. Her grip tightened on his shoulders, nails biting into his skin.

He cupped her, stroking, teasing, testing. She moaned, breath coming hard and fast, her hips pushing into his hand. “Wait. It’s been a while, and—”

“Want me to stop?” He muttered the words against her throat, his own body aching in response to the building tension in hers. He steeled himself to let her go, if that’s what she desired.

“Yes. No.” Her head lolled back and he grazed her neck with his teeth, wringing another smothered sigh from her lips. “I want you.”

“Sugar, I’m yours.”

Denim rubbed against his thighs, her movements increasing in tempo and intensity. The delicious friction urged him to thrust against her and he slid his fingers beneath the hem of that little silk triangle.

“Jason.” The breathy way she said his name threatened to send him over the edge. “I can’t…you have to…”

Her words morphed into a strangled cry, her wet core contracting around his fingers. Her climax trembled in his own body, supreme satisfaction thrumming through him. He kissed her, swallowing another moan, his tongue sweeping against hers.

She grabbed his wrist and pulled her mouth from his. “Too much.”

He laughed and hugged her to him, reaching to brush back her damp hair. She buried her face against his neck, her voice muffled. “Oh, God.”

“What?” His lips caressed her temple.

“I’m not usually like that.” Embarrassment colored her small voice. “It usually takes me forever to…”

Pure male pride made it hard to breathe. He was never letting her go. Cradling her head in his hands, he tilted her face up. Moonlight glittered in her eyes. “I like you like that, Palmer. Believe me.”

He liked her like this, too, shy and her skin hot with a flush of embarrassment and lingering pleasure. Nothing like the women he’d known before, the soldier groupies who hung out in bars near the bases.

And she was incredible—hot, responsive, yielding. Who the hell had she been with for it to take forever? Whatever. He wasn’t asking—he wanted her mind totally on him. On them. On what he had planned for them. Making the fantasies that had plagued him for days come true.

Those white sheets popped into his mind and he sighed, rubbing her back. “You deserve better. I wanted—”

With her mouth, she cut off his words, her tongue darting between his teeth. She kissed him until he could hardly remember his own name. “This is perfect.
You’re
perfect.”

His arousal jerked and she laughed, skimming her hands down to delve beneath his waistband. She scored her nails lightly across his hips and buttocks before stroking his lower abdomen, sending wilder fire to his groin.

He rolled, ignoring his protesting side, and grinned down at her in the dark. “You’re starting things.”

Her hands shaped his jaw. “We never finished.”

“You’re right.”

With a chuckle, he dropped kisses along her chest and stomach. His fingers wrapped around the waistband of her jeans and tugged them down, taking the silk underwear with them. His nose brushed the soft patch of hair, and her thigh trembled when he feathered his mouth over her skin. The curve of her knee held a faint trace of salt.

He dropped the jeans on the floor and kicked off his boxer-briefs as well. With his thumb, he caressed the sole of her foot, the arch smooth. She giggled and jerked her foot away.

“Ticklish?” he murmured, moving back up her body, his hands and mouth lingering over curves and hollows.

“Are you?” Her finger ventured under his arm and he cringed, laughing and trying to capture her marauding hand. He ignored the aftershocks of pain running through his side.

His mouth covered hers and their laughter died, replaced by sighs and whispers in the dark.

No shyness lurked in her touch and his turn to moan came when slender fingers wrapped around his erection, stroking to the base and fanning out over his thighs. Fire building in his belly, he turned his attention to her breasts again. He shaped them with his hands, her skin like hot satin. The nipples hardened further against his tongue, the rippled surface a sharp contrast to the smooth curves.

She gave a long, sighing moan and moved restlessly beneath him, her damp core rubbing along his erection. “Jason?”

“Say it again,” he muttered, loving the sound of his name on her lips. His teeth grazed a distended nipple before he enveloped the aureole.

She flexed strong fingers into his buttocks, bumping her pelvis against him. “Jason. I want you. Inside me.”

He dropped a last caress on her left breast and slid to the end of the bed. He felt for his uniform pants, seeking his wallet. “Watch your eyes. Gotta turn on the light.”

Light flooded the tiny room and he blinked. He grabbed the slacks from the floor, pulled out his wallet and extracted the condoms he’d bought earlier in the day, just in case. He tossed two on the table and pulled the wrapper free on the third. She laughed. “Feeling ambitious?”

“Ambition is my middle name,” he said and glanced at the bed. His lungs shut down and the condom dropped from numb fingers.

She lay against his pillows, watching him with passion-dark eyes. The Botticelli nudes he’d seen in Europe had nothing on the vision lying in his bed.

Creamy skin and cinnamon nipples still damp from his mouth. A perfect curve to her waist that would have made Michelangelo’s sculptures jealous. Fiery curls nestled between long legs.

She laughed, a quick, nervous sound, one hand covering her lower abdomen. “Quit staring, Harding.”

He shook his head and reached for the dropped condom. His fingers trembled, taking twice as long as it should to get the protection in place. “My God, you’re beautiful.”

With a sultry laugh, she crooked a finger at him. “Come show me how ambitious you are.”

“Very.” He crawled up the bed, dropping a kiss on her stomach. The muscles quivered under his lips. “Very.” Using his knee, he nudged her thighs apart, nuzzling her neck. Her thighs hugged his hips, her body arching under him. “Very ambitious.”

Her wetness welcomed him and closed around him. Entering her was like sliding into a hot, tight haven. He growled low in his throat and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He thrust, slow and deep, her moan vibrating through him. Pleasure spiked low in his gut and he ground his teeth, determined to make this the most intense experience of her life.

She was already his. For the rest of his life, her scent, her voice, the feel of her, would be imprinted on him.

Her head tilted back, his gaze on the tiny pulse thundering at the base of her neck. Her eyes closed, long lashes shadowing her cheeks. He leaned forward, bringing their bodies even closer, and brushed her parted lips with his. “Look at me.”

Those lashes trembled and lifted. He stared into brown depths flecked with gold and saw himself. Connection. He’d never in his life been this connected to anyone.

Her hips rose to meet his thrusts, her breasts rubbing his chest. She massaged his back, the occasional bite of her nails making the passion stronger. Every nerve sensitized to her, he experienced every tremor, every sigh, every moan deep within. He was lost.

She
owned
him. He was hers, body, soul, whatever she wanted, for as long as she wanted.

This was the woman for whom he’d walk any line, brave any circle of fire, do anything.

Her eyes drifted closed again, her breathing coming in short pants, her body moving faster against his. This time, the contractions of her climax started deep within, traveling all along the length of his arousal. Her nails pierced the skin of his buttocks and her long, slow moan slid over his senses, jolting pleasure through him.

He could hold on to this reality.

No lies here, just him and her and the sensations exploding between them.

He had to tell her, had to let her know how much this meant.

But the words wouldn’t come. His muscles bunched, the desire taking over completely. The climax barreled over him, wringing her name from his throat. He collapsed, her arms around him.