Stunned, she looked over at Jack. “Did he just do that on purpose?”
Jack looked from her to Chinook, clearly surprised, then patted the stallion’s shoulder. “Like I always say—women and horses.”
When they reached the riding barn, Janet realized she was in for a treat. She’d never seen anyone ride a stallion before.
“Are you ready to show off for Ms. Killeen, old boy?”
The stallion whinnied, tossed his head.
She stood back against the wall near the door where she wouldn’t startle or distract the horse and watched as Jack climbed into the saddle. Having just spent the day around the other horses, she could now see how much more muscular Chinook was than the mares or even Buckwheat. The animal’s body rippled with tension, his chest broader and his neck thicker than those of the other horses. She knew Chinook was capable of hurting or even killing a person, but as Jack urged the stallion to a walk and then a lope, there was no doubt which one of the two was in control.
She could have watched for hours, the grace of rider and horse truly something to behold, a lifetime of love and skill evident in Jack’s absolute mastery of the animal, in his smooth motions, his flawless riding.
God, it turned her on.
What would he be like in bed? She couldn’t help but remember what his thighs had felt like pressed against hers when they’d ridden together on Buckwheat. It took real strength and concentration to manage an animal of this size and vigor. Would he have that same control during sex?
Okay, now she was being ridiculous.
Then he rode by at a gallop and smiled to her, and she felt her ovaries explode.
But it didn’t matter what her ovaries had to say. The situation was complicated. If she wanted to be intimate with Jack, she would have to tell him.
Somehow, she would have to tell him everything.
# # #
Jack stood in front of his mirror, adjusted his tie, studied his reflection. He’d showered, shaved, even changed his sheets. He supposed he looked decent enough for a man his age. His tails still fit, which was something.
What in the hell have you gotten yourself into, amigo?
Hell, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to retreat. He had feelings for Janet, and she had feelings for him. She was attracted to him. The kiss in the riding barn had made that clear. And God knew he was attracted to her.
There was a lot more gray in his hair than there had been the last time he’d set out to seduce a woman—and more lines on his face. He’d been eighteen then and as full of himself as any young man could be. He’d been the star quarterback, the sole heir of the Cimarron, and popular enough that he’d never lacked for male friends or female attention. He’d set his sights on Theresa, and for some reason, she’d wanted him, too.
He knew their first time hadn’t been good for her. He hadn’t known what the hell he was doing, and she’d been a virgin. It had taken Vietnam to pull his head out of his ass and teach him humility. Even so, it hadn’t been until after Nate was born that he’d learned how to love Theresa the way she deserved to be loved—and how to satisfy her fully in bed. Women were so very different from men.
Not that he and Janet were going to have sex tonight. He didn’t want to rush her, didn’t want to ruin their relationship by becoming too intimate too soon. Still, if things went in that direction, he wouldn’t mind at all.
He’d come up with this plan this morning while watching her sleep. A romantic dinner. Maybe some dancing.
“Go explore the library and then pamper yourself for a while,” he’d told her after they’d finished rubbing down Chinook. “And dress for dinner tonight.”
“Dress for dinner? You mean like on Downton Abbey?”
“Downtown what?” he’d joked. “Yeah, like that.”
Megan was obsessed with the show, so of course he’d heard of it.
“I didn’t pack anything formal.”
“I’ve taken care of that.” He’d stolen a few moments when she’d been asleep to order a gown and flowers and have them delivered, along with groceries and even condoms. “There’s a surprise waiting for you in your room.”
The delight on her face had made him smile.
Now, dinner was done. A maple cream pie was chilling in the fridge along with the wine. It was time.
He ran his hands down the panels of his dress coat, making sure every detail was correct. He wasn’t uncomfortable in suits the way some men were. He’d worn a military uniform for six years, and that’s what a suit was—a kind of uniform.
He drew a breath, tried to settle his nerves, then walked down the hallway past her closed bedroom door and got busy laying out the table. He’d almost finished setting the places, when he remembered that this was Theresa’s favorite set of china. He’d bought it for her one Christmas. They’d saved it for special occasions.
He stopped, closed his eyes.
I love you, Theresa, and I’ll never forget you. But I love her, too.
It’s okay, Jack. She’s a beautiful woman. I like her, and I want you to be happy.
He heard Theresa’s voice as if she were standing right there beside him. His throat went tight.
Ah, hell.
He hadn’t heard her voice for seven long years and had surely imagined it now. It was probably just his mind playing tricks on him. Still, any doubts he might have had about the rightness of what he was doing faded. Theresa would want him to be happy. She’d loved him that much, not a selfish bone in her body.
He got out the good silver, took down the crystal—white wine glasses, water glasses, port glasses. Then he set the bouquet of flowers in place, started the music—Bach’s cello suites—and lit the candles. He’d just carried the serving trays to the table when she appeared.
The breath left his lungs in a rush. “You look … beautiful.”
The gown fit her perfectly, its V-neck revealing a hint of cleavage, its bodice covered with beads and glittery stuff, the pale rose-colored silk suiting her dark hair and green eyes. She’d put her hair up into some kind of elegant twist and wore simple pearls on her earlobes. But it was her face Jack noticed most. She looked radiantly happy.
“The gown is so lovely. I’ve never worn anything like it. I feel like a fairytale princess.” Smiling, she slowly turned so that he could see. “How did you know my size?”
He’d done a bit of research in her closet early this morning, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “Just a lucky guess.”
“You did all of this? This is beautiful china.” She touched a finger to the platinum trim on one of the plates, then bent down to sniff a rose. “Mmm. Heavenly.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He drew out her chair. “Dinner is ready.”
“That smells incredible.”
“Chicken Saltimbocca. It’s a favorite of mine.” He served the meal, poured the wine, then sat across from her. “I’m a simple man, Janet. I say what I mean and have no talent for games. I want to show you how I feel about you so there’s no chance for misunderstanding. If you think I’m trying to romance you, you’re right. I am.”
“Oh, Jack.” She smiled, raised her glass. “It’s working. Cheers.”
# # #
Janet rested her head on Jack’s chest, her blood warmed by good food, wine and conversation, her body moving with his as they slow-danced in the broad entryway to the living room. Her cane rested against the wall, forgotten, his arms holding her steady as they swayed in time to the music. Percy Sledge had just finished “When a Man Loves a Woman,” and the Righteous Brothers were now singing “Unchained Melody.”
She barely heard the lyrics, aware only of Jack. The thrum of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. The hardness of his chest. The subtlest motions of his body. The scents that surrounded him—the spice of his skin, the starch of his shirt, the dark amber tone of his cologne.
She tilted her head, looked up at him. “When are you going to kiss me?”
“Right about now.” He brushed his lips lig
htly over hers again and again until her own lips burned and she thought she might go crazy. Then at last he claimed her mouth with a slow, deep kiss that brought their dance to a standstill, one big hand sliding slowly up her spine, the other holding her close.
Janet’s body seemed to come alive under the magic of that kiss, her pulse racing, need for him flaring inside her. She locked her arms behind his neck and kissed him back.
He moaned and slid a hand into her hair, scattering her hairpins and destroying her chignon as he tilted her head back to expose her throat, his lips pressing kisses against the sensitive skin beneath her ear. She yielded to the thrill of his touch as he licked and nipped a path over her skin, leaving goose bumps in his wake, making her shiver.
He drew back, looked down at her. “Tell me if I’m going too fast.”
“What if you’re not going fast enough?”
His blue eyes went dark, and his mouth claimed hers again, this kiss fierce and unrestrained, his mouth consuming her, one hand sliding up to cup her breast through the beaded silk of her bodice.
Janet’s knees went weak, wetness gathering between her thighs.
In one motion, he scooped her into his arms and carried her toward his bedroom. She was so swept up in her emotions, so swept up in him, that it took a moment for her to realize what she’d said and how he’d taken it.
She would have to tell him everything—now.
He set her on her feet next to his king-sized bed, letting her body slide down the length of his, the feel of his erection sending sparks through her belly.
“Jack, I’m sorry. But I … ” This wasn’t going to be easy. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
He slid his fingers through hers, led her over to the sofa that sat in front of the fireplace, and drew her down beside him. “I’m listening.”
She took a moment to prepare herself. She didn’t need to be emotional about this. She could talk about it like she did any other case, any other crime. It didn’t have to be her life she was talking about. Except that it was.
“You know I was shot, right?”
“Yes.” His thumb smoothed circles over the back of her hand.
“The bullet that hit me was a 7.62 NATO armor piercing round.”
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I didn’t know that.”
“The round entered through the back of my left hip, missing my femoral artery, but shattering my hip, severing my sciatic nerve and fracturing my pelvis before exiting in front.” She fisted her free hand in her lap, her body beginning to tremble. “That’s why I can’t control my left foot.”
“Hey, come here. You’re shaking like a leaf.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, drew her into the shelter of his embrace. “Just breathe.”
She drew a few slow, deep breaths.
“That’s better. Just take your time.”
No emotion. Just the facts.
“The shock wave of the round tore my vaginal muscles, too.”
“God.” The word was a whisper.
She wasn’t even sure he’d meant to say it aloud or meant her to hear it.
“Surgeons replaced my entire hip joint, used plates and screws to put my pelvis back together, and reconnected my sciatic nerve. They were able to stitch everything else together, too, but… ” She’d come to the really hard part now, and the words spilled out of her in a rush. “I don’t know if it all works. I don’t know how much function I have. I don’t know if I can enjoy sex. I don’t know if it will hurt. I … I just don’t know.”
Jack traced lazy lines over her shoulder with his fingertips. “Did the doctors have any advice for you?”
“They told me I’d lost muscle and would be very tight. They said that sex might be painful and that I should expect some level of dysfunction, but they weren’t specific.”
“You haven’t experimented, tried to answer those questions yourself?”
Heat rushed into her cheeks. “I … um, no. I just never… That is to say, I don’t…”
Jack shifted so that he faced her, cupped her cheek in a callused palm. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through. But I’m not Byron. I’m not going to turn away from you or pressure you into doing anything you’re not ready to do. This is about what you need. If you want my help figuring things out, seeing what works and what doesn’t, I’m ready and willing. I want you, Janet. I won’t lie about that. But I sure as hell don’t want to do anything that causes you pain or makes you unhappy.”
“Oh, Jack.” Relief flooded through her, along with a rush of tenderness for him. She knew he meant every word he’d said. “I do want you. I want you so badly.”
“That’s all I needed to hear. We’ll figure the rest of it out along the way.” Then he leaned in and kissed her.
CHAPTER TEN
Jack broke the kiss, looked down at Janet. “I think we’d both be more comfortable if we moved this to the bed.”
She smiled, her lips wet from kissing him. “I like the way you think.”
He drew her to her feet, helped her walk the short distance, willing himself to ignore his own anger and to focus only on the sweet woman who was trusting him with her body and soul tonight. He wouldn’t be any good to her if he wasted his energy hating the man who’d shot her. The bastard was dead.
He drew her onto the bed beside him, ran his knuckles over the smooth curve of her cheek, her skin so soft. “We’re going to take this nice and easy. Tell me when I’m getting it right, okay?”
She slid a hand into his hair and drew his lips toward hers. “So far, so very good.”
That was reassuring to hear. It had been seven long, lonely years since he’d held a woman, seven years since he’d kissed a woman, and he worried that being out of practice might make him clumsy. But she wasn’t complaining. Far from it.
Her fingers curled in the hair at his nape, her body arching against his as they kissed. He let himself go, tasting his way over her cheek and down the column of her throat. He felt the ragged beating of her pulse beneath his lips, watched her skin tighten into goose bumps, her responsiveness gratifying.
He slid a hand inside her gown, cupped her breast, its softness precious against his palm. He nibbled his way across her collarbone and kissed the divot at the base of her throat, his fingers plucking and teasing the petal softness of her nipple to a tight point. She gave a quick little gasp, arching into his hand.
Blood surged to his groin.
“Let’s get this out of the way.” He wanted to see, taste and touch every inch of her skin, her body so different from his.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she sat up, her dark hair spilling around her shoulders. “My zipper.”
“I’ve got it.” He reached behind her, found her zipper tab, worked it down, then tugged the gown down to her waist and unfastened her black lace bra.
A jolt of pure lust shot through him, two beautiful, natural breasts spilling into his hands, dusky pink nipples puckered into tight buds.
He rubbed his thumbs over their tips. “You are beautiful.”
She reached over, fumbled with his tie. “I want to touch you, too.”
“That seems fair.” He took over for her, making short work of the tie, tossing the dress coat over a nearby chair, then removing his waistcoat and shirt with all of its damnable buttons and cuff links.
He watched as her gaze traveled over him, gave her time to explore. She pressed her palms against his chest, caressed his pecs and abs, her dilated pupils and her rapid breathing telling him that she liked what she saw. He pressed one of her hands against the place where his heart was pounding so hard and bore her back onto the bed. Then he let himself feast, suckling first one nipple and then the other, flicking their tips with his tongue, grazing her puckered areolas with his teeth, tugging on them with his lips.
She gasped, moaned, arched upward, her nails digging into his bicep.
He kept it up until she was panting,
her eyes squeezed shut, her hips shifting on the bed. “Oh, you are sensitive, aren’t you?”
Her eyes fluttered open again, and she looked at him, confused. “Hmm?”
She was just that far gone.
Good.
He chuckled, lowering his mouth to kiss and lick the skin beneath one breast, teasing the other with his palm. While his mouth stayed busy, he let his hand wander, let it skim over her ribcage and belly, savoring the satin feel of her skin and the way her muscles tensed at his touch.
He had to get her the rest of the way out of this damned gown, but that meant venturing into sensitive territory. “I want you naked. Are you okay with that?”
“Mmm, yes! But…”
He waited for her to finish.
“I don’t wax or shave like a lot of women do these days.”
He laughed. “Good. I don’t want to feel like I’m having sex with a 10-year-old. I came of age in the seventies, when natural was sexy. I like bush.”
She laughed, watching him as he finished undressing her, tossed her gown across the chair on top of his dress coat, and tugged off her black lace panties.
And he saw. “Oh, angel.”
There was an angry red scar that ran the width of her lower belly, another that curved from her left buttock halfway down the outside of her thigh. There was a quarter-sized scar where the bullet had entered her body and a fist-sized scar in the crease of her hip in front where it had exited, taking flesh with it.
The rage he’d fought to subdue flared to life again. He reacted on instinct, sliding down to stroke and kiss his way over her scars, wanting so very much to take away the months of pain and suffering this single act of violence had brought her. He could change nothing, of course, but he could reassure her that none of this bothered him. She was nothing less than a hero in his eyes.
She sat up, a smile on her lips, a sheen of tears in her eyes. “You are so sweet.”
Then her eyes narrowed. “Hey, why are you still wearing pants?”
“A foolish oversight, I assure you.” He wrestled with his emotions, fighting back his rage once more, trying to be the man she needed tonight.
He wasn’t ashamed of his body. He undressed slowly, letting her look her fill as he took off his shoes, pulled off his socks, then unzipped his trousers and removed them together with his boxer briefs. Her gaze was fixed on his cock, which grew harder under the heat of her perusal.