In the Arms of a Stranger (Entangled Ignite) (22 page)

He looked up at her and she almost dropped the glass. The heat in his eyes was now an inferno. Or was she projecting her own needs? Her own wants?

“Put it on the table,” he ordered softly.

She nearly spilled the water. Nearly. But JP jumped up quickly and grabbed the glass. And her wrist.

She’d read books that described a lover’s touch as an electrical current. She’d always considered them overdramatic and silly. But here, in a motel, in a place she’d never been, in a situation that had her stomach in a knot and her emotions riding the surface of desperation, she felt it for the very first time.
Electricity in his touch
.

He put the glass down and straightened, standing so close she could see his pupils in the dimness of the single light. He released her wrist, but his eyes, shadowed by his thick, dark lashes, still held her.

She should turn away. She really should. It was the safe thing to do. The smart thing.

But she didn’t.

He reached up and touched her cheek, as he had before. Only, this time she lacked the control she needed, and she leaned into the caress. His hand brushed down her cheek, to her chin, to her neck. She was sure sparks were flying from the contact.

He bent and she felt a puff of his breath on her lips an instant before he captured her mouth in a tender kiss. Soft, exploratory. Seething with constraint. With fire.

When he straightened, he rubbed his thumb across her damp lower lip and asked, “Do you want me, Abby? Do you want this?”

God help her, she did
.

She nodded, not sure she’d moved her head at all. “Yes,” she whispered.

He pulled her against him, molding their bodies together, thigh to thigh, stomach to stomach, chest to chest. She wanted to burrow into his warmth, into his strength.

He pulled back just enough to gaze down at her, one hand on her lower back, still anchoring her to him, the other cupping the back of her head, tilting it back so their eyes met. “Be sure.”

Sure?
She hadn’t been sure of anything in so long. In forever. Her life choices thus far had been made rationally, with great forethought. She found she didn’t like where that sort of decision-making had left her.

But this. This was an emotional choice. Not even a choice.
A desperate need
.

“I’m sure,” she murmured.

He kissed her then, his face tilted to one side, his mouth hot and demanding. As before, in the woods, but unlike that. Beyond that. He explored, savored. Asked her to do the same, with gentle guidance, one hand holding her face, the other holding her tight against his body.

A cauldron of bubbling desire rose up inside her. Nothing existed beyond him. Tall and strong and, oh, so tender. His scent, his touch surrounded her. Tempted her.

To want
. To let go of what she’d held back. From fear. But there was nothing to fear now. Just JP Blackmon and the riot of emotions he inspired.

Heart racing, she opened her mouth, took his lower lip between hers and tasted, her tongue sweeping across the tender flesh.

A moan, deep and male, rumbled from his chest, against her breasts. The sound of him, the way he clutched her to him, emboldened her. She deepened her exploration of his mouth.

After long moments, he pulled back, gasping. “What you do to me…,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

She knew. She could feel it. His erection, thick and constrained by his jeans, pressed against her stomach. She relished the hardness.

He was smiling down at her. That beautiful mouth tilted upward, his dark brown eyes intense. “Can I leave the light on?”

The light.
Oh, God, she’d had a baby. He’d see…

No. She wanted the light, too. She wanted to see him. She could do this.
She wanted this
.

All she could manage was a nod. He tightened his hold, kissing her again, taking her beyond reason with firm pressure, his hands sliding under her T-shirt, calloused fingers brushing up and down her back. Sensitizing her.

Her own hands left the relative safety of the waistband of his jeans and rubbed up the powerful muscles of his back, smooth, flexing as she touched him. He pulled her T-shirt away, pressing her to him, and cupped her bottom.

“God, how I want you.”

…

JP never imagined how turned on he could be. Never like this. He’d been hard from the moment he walked into the hotel room and seen the bed—and Abby’s face when she’d looked at it, too. He should have known right then that this was where they’d end up. Where he’d lead her.

Only it wasn’t just him. She was with him every step of the way. He’d resisted at first, knowing she was vulnerable, especially now. Then he realized he could give her this respite. This pleasure. A moment suspended in time that would let her forget. And, selfish bastard that he was, that moment would give him this woman to cherish.

The woman he loved.
Loved!

The gods were laughing. Really loud.

That caring made him pull away from the heat of her mouth. “I don’t have a condom, but I’m safe. I’ll be careful, I promise.” This was way too important to him.
She
was way too important to him to be careless with her.

She looked dazed in the dim lamplight, her lips swollen and damp. “There hasn’t been anyone since—” she said in a whisper. Then, “I’m on the pill.”

Irrational disappointment drilled into him. He didn’t want her on the damn pill. But it was insane to feel that way, to risk her getting pregnant. To risk anything between them. Especially now.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

She smiled and whispered, “Oh, yes.”

With those words, he knew there would be no turning back. He couldn’t anyway. Her full breasts, soft and rounded, her nipples pebbled, pressed against his bare chest. She had to know how hard he was, how ready. But he wanted this to last forever, to give her pleasure. To love her.

He bent to her breasts, taking first one pink nipple into his mouth, then the other. Her fingers clutched his head. He straightened. When she opened her eyes, they were unfocused.

“Look at me, honey,” he said, wanting her with so much more than just his body.

She did, and traced her index finger across his brow, down his cheek, to his lips, then rose up on tiptoes to lightly run her tongue across his lower lip, to kiss him, while her hand continued downward in a gentle caress. To his neck, across his collarbone to his shoulder, touching the familiar scars, down again, through the hair on his chest, barely rubbing his flat nipple. Further, to his stomach. She pressed her palm against his cock, where he most wanted it, released his mouth, and kissed her way down the same path her hand had followed. Her tongue moistened his nipple, then cut a path to his stomach.

He felt scorched, ready to burst into flames. To incinerate.

Then she straightened, both hands on the front of his jeans. She fumbled with the button, her fingers bumping against oversensitive flesh.

“Slow down,” he said, clutching her hands. “There’s no rush.”

…

Yes there is
, Abby wanted to cry out. There was this molten need, this urgency, in her. But he’d already raised her hands, placing them on his shoulders. He bent slightly and lifted her, buried his head between her breasts, and swung around.

The room spun. She loved the roughness of his unshaven chin against her skin, his strong arms.
JP. All around
.

He eased her onto her bed, onto cool sheets, and lowered himself over her, one strong thigh on either side, before stretching out next to her. Close.
Oh, so close
. With a soft touch, he brushed the hair away from her face and leaned over to kiss her again. She was sure she’d melt straight through the mattress at any moment. The kiss raged on, her heart pounding so loudly he surely must be able to hear it.

Then he propped himself up and looked down at her, his gaze trailing from her eyes to her mouth, to her breasts, to her stomach. Unbidden, she moved her hands to cover herself.

“Don’t,” he said in a hoarse voice, pulling one of her hands back down. “You’re beautiful.”

“I—”

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated, and now his mouth was on her stomach, kissing her.

She closed her eyes and touched his hair. It was safer from behind closed lids. She didn’t have to see her flaws reflected in his eyes.

Then he began unzipping her shorts, his hand caressing, searching, as his mouth once again plundered her flesh.

She needed to touch, to move, to give him the pleasure he was giving her. Her fingers found his jeans’ zipper, but she couldn’t budge it. He moved from her breasts to her mouth, his hand rubbing gently where she most wanted pressure. She heard a sound, a moan, a whimper.
Need
. It came from her, from what she’d kept pent up for this man. She rolled toward him, pushed him back against the bed, rose, and straddled his lean hips, her knees on either side, careful of his bandaged wound.

Passion etched the angles of his face. She watched him swallow, then moved her gaze down, past his incredible chest, farther. To her hands at his zipper.

Oh, yes
. Now it was her turn to swallow.

He helped her lower his zipper. Then he was pulling his jeans and boxers off at the same time, shoving them to the end of the bed.

He was incredibly aroused.

She touched him, tentative at first, then became bolder in response to his hissed breath of pleasure. She kissed a path from his nipple to his stomach, loving the taste of him. Until he grabbed her hand, kissed her palm, and rolled her to her back. The rest of her clothes came off in a flash, whether with her help or not, she didn’t know. But he was over her, one hand again pushing her hair from her face. She should have put it back in a ponytail. The ludicrous thought resulted in a little laugh.

JP froze. “Abby?”

“I—should have put my hair in a ponytail.”

“Hell, no,” he said. “I want it spread on the pillow, just like this.” He kissed her. A quick, hard kiss. “Look at me, Abby,” he whispered. “See me.”

He moved against her, then into her, his eyes locked to hers, slowly filling her with shallow thrusts. Once buried to the hilt, he stilled, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“Okay?” he asked, watching her face.

She nodded, and he moved. Pleasure shimmered through her.

She did close her eyes finally, when he lowered his face to kiss her. Pleasure in him, in the sensations he evoked, made her hum.

He broke the kiss, once, to stare down at her. “Oh, God. Abby.”

She opened her eyes and gloried at the beauty of him, at the thrusts of his body into hers. At his strength. And she clutched him as he pulled delight, joy from her body. There was a gentle wildness to the way he loved her, a wildness she could not resist matching, meeting his thrusts until her orgasm made her moan, and her arms fell to the bed. Then, still in control of his body, he gentled his movements.

In a minute, maybe more, she wasn’t sure, he started moving again, alternating his rhythm. Her second climax pulled gasps from her—and from him. He thrust heavily into her, his head thrown back, and came with a stifled shout.

He kept his weight off her, and what seemed like a lifetime later, when they’d both recovered their breath, he rolled to her side, onto his back, pulled her close, her head on his shoulder, one of her legs over his thighs, and murmured, “Sleep, babe.”

…

Careful not to wake her, JP pulled Abby tight against him, her bottom snug against his lap, his legs against the backs of hers. All that smooth skin. One breast in his hand.

Love
. Who’d have known?

He’d made love to her again. He hadn’t said the words he so wanted to say. Because in a way, loving her was a dream. A sweet dream that would not survive his truth, even when he got Cole and her brother back for her.

And if he didn’t?

No. He wouldn’t let that thought intrude on this time.

He loved the scent of her, the texture of her hair against his cheek. He was aroused again. Hard, as if he hadn’t already had her twice. But she needed sleep. He did, too.

Because nothing would to stop him from protecting her and the child he wished were his own.

Even if it meant she would see just exactly what he was so very, very good at.

And that, he knew, would be the end of the sweet dream of having her forever.

Chapter 14

She didn’t know what woke her. Not exhaustion. No. She felt renewed. Alive. She’d woken once and felt JP behind her, his body warm and hard, one hand cupping her breast. Sleeping. But he’d rolled to his back at some point.

She glanced at the clock. They’d have to get up soon. To go to the airport. Cole would still be sleeping.

Oh, God. Please let him be all right!

Moving slowly to avoid jostling the bed and waking JP, she got up. She showered and came back into the bedroom wrapped in a towel. The bedside lamp was on. JP, awake, lay on his stomach, watching her.

“Morning,” he said, his dark brown eyes serious. He looked as satisfied as she felt. “How do you feel?”

A slow, burning heat spread up her cheeks.

He laughed, rolled over onto his back, and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Come here,” he said in a soft growl.

Unsure, her hand clutching the towel to her body, she did, her legs awkward and stiff. When she stood right in front of him, between his legs—his body so obviously aroused—he reached out and pulled her closer.

“I was going to join you in the shower,” he said, his hands on the towel where she’d tucked it between her breasts. “But it would take too long.” He pulled the towel open by slow degrees, then let it drop to the floor.

Her knees nearly gave way. He pulled her closer and pressed hot kisses on her stomach, taking tender bites upward. He nuzzled the undersides of her breasts, then rose enough to take one nipple into his mouth. With little effort, he tipped her forward, on top of him. She landed on him with a sigh and gazed down at him.

His hair was mussed and he needed to shave. He should be exhausted. But the smile he wore warmed her down to her toes. And she was very much aware of the solid heat of his erection.

“I want more, Abby,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “A lot more than this.”

God help her, so did she. But she’d made a mess of one relationship, a mess because she hadn’t demanded truths she should have known.

He seemed to understand her uncertainty and wound his hands into her hair to pull her down on top of him for a long, lingering kiss that made her burn. She pushed herself up and sank down onto him, glorying in the fullness, in his heat, and began moving, watching him. Loving him.

“What you do to me should be illegal,” he said, then groaned. He surged up, thrusting hard and fast. Over and over until he brought them both to climax. Then he rolled her onto her back, and with one fantastically athletic motion, jumped out of bed.

“I’ll get a shower,” he said, looking down at her. “Alone.” He winked at her.

She watched him walk away, his body powerful perfection, still partially aroused, and almost begged him to come back.

But her family was in danger, and she’d avoided thinking about them by taking comfort in pleasure. Time to get back to reality.

She rose and wrapped herself in the towel he’d pulled from her just a short time ago. Her movements reminded her of the things she’d done.
They’d
done. She had no regrets. None.

She picked up his jeans from the floor and took them to the chair where he’d left his shirt. When she put the jeans down, she brushed against the shirt. Something in the pocket made a noise.

The envelope Wade had sent to the Picketts for JP. She folded the jeans over the chair.

She stared at the shirt pocket.

A note with so little on it.
Framed
. Why didn’t Wade say more? Why not an explanation? One that would eliminate all questions about any supposed wrongdoing?

Why didn’t JP show it to her? Because there was more?

Because Wade had done something wrong
.

That was the only explanation.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the envelope.

She’d risked so much to learn the truth. Her son’s life. Her heart. She deserved to know all of it. Good or bad.

She reached for the pocket, then changed her mind, dropping her hand back to her side.

JP didn’t want her to see this. Being the man he was, he wanted to protect her. Just as Wade had wanted to protect her.

But she had to know the truth
.

Before she could change her mind, she plucked the envelope from JP’s pocket and opened it.

With a deep breath, she pulled out the contents.

…

A cold shower and the knowledge that lives were in the balance were enough to bring JP crashing back to reality. But what
was
reality now? He’d finally spoken aloud what had burned in him for what seemed like forever.

He wanted more than one night with Abby.

She’d said she wanted to know what had happened to Wade. Unsaid went the fact that she wanted to understand her late husband, understand how he thought, what he did, and why. Maybe, just maybe, after the pleasure he and Abby had given each other, the safe haven they’d found in each other’s arms, she wouldn’t recoil from the truth. Because hearing the truth about Wade would mean she would also know the truth about him.

Ah, the infamous truth. The one basic truth he hadn’t told her, the one Wade hadn’t told her, either. Because divulging that single truth would have driven sweet, principled Abby away.

He opened the bathroom door , expecting to see her getting dressed.

“Why didn’t you want me to see this?” She sat in the chair in front of the single table, wrapped in a towel, her knees held tight against her body.

Her words caught him off guard. What was she talking about? He crossed to her, ignoring his nudity. The bloodied receipt lay on top of the table. In front of her. Her late husband’s blood.

“I told you what it said.” But now he knew she hadn’t believed him. She’d wanted to see for herself.

“Then why keep it from me? The blood? I knew he was hurt. I knew he’d been tortured.” The last word came out on a whisper. “He was bleeding and scared, and I didn’t help him.”

“Honey, you couldn’t have helped him. And I didn’t think it was necessary for you to—”

“Be honest. You hid the truth from me,” she said flatly. “Is that what you’ll do when we find out what really happened?”

“Abby, please don’t—”

“No,” she said, “
you
don’t. Don’t keep the truth from me.” She turned from the scrap of paper. Now that it was all out on the table, figuratively and literally, it spelled the end to the insane hope he’d cradled in his arms all night long.
Her love
.

Because he now knew she didn’t trust him. She never had. She’d needed him last night, but it had only been for one night.

Her eyes settled on his. There was pain there. Pain…and something else. Longing? But he couldn’t see beyond the pain. She’d closed herself off from him.

This was exactly what he’d wanted to protect her from.

Just as Wade had.

But the truth was ugly. And deadly.

And she couldn’t handle it.

…

The tender lover had vanished.
What did you expect, Abby?
That he’d smile and actually give you an explanation?

She came out of a quick shower to his curt announcement that they would eat breakfast before going to the airport. He’d been unfailingly polite, but the easy rapport that should have existed between them after the intimacies of the night before, of this morning, had been shattered.

Because he believed she didn’t trust him.

And that was the problem. She
didn’t
trust him.

But she also did. Both at the same time.

The thing was, she trusted herself even less. Her instincts when it came to understanding Wade and JP were obviously nonexistent.

JP had called Wade a cowboy. But JP was no different. There was that ingrained…protectiveness. That chivalry that was so appealing on one level. Until she ran into the brick wall it represented.
Protect the little lady
.

Like hell.

This little lady had been protected to the point where her son and brother were in mortal danger, captured by a man who should have been trustworthy, only to discover he was capable of this horror.

Deception and lies
.

They’d surrounded her for so many years, years she’d spent blinded by what Wade thought was best. And now by what JP thought was best.

No.
Hell
, no. That would not happen again.

JP just didn’t understand. She needed full disclosure.

Dressed in jeans and the denim shirt, he sat down on the bed where they’d made love and slipped on clean socks and the scuffed cowboy boots.

“I don’t want to be protected from the truth,” she said to his back.

His motions stopped. He stared at the floor for a moment, then stood and turned toward her.

This was not the man who’d said he wanted more than a single night, not the man who’d spoken so gently to her son. This man almost scared her.

“Let’s get your son and brother back. We’ll deal with everything else after.”

Time became a mind game. The drive to the airport. Wait here for this, there for that. They were in the air before she realized that the guns in their carry-on bags had not set off any alarms.

The only way to ask was to whisper. She leaned toward him. The scent of him, the feel of his cheek against hers, his warmth, made her want to burrow into him. But they were faced with an ugly reality. “Where are the guns?”

He let out a breath and whispered his reply into her ear. “I left them. I’ll get another one when we land.”

And that was it. He was kind, he was solicitous. He was careful. He was not the JP Blackmon she’d fallen in love with.

This was the professional. The international spy.

…

In Mobile, JP bought a shotgun and a Glock from a guy who’d listed them on an online gun forum. He didn’t have time to deal with sighting in a new rifle and scope. The twelve-gauge and the Glock would have to do.

He’d managed to separate himself from Abby, or at least from the sense of betrayal he felt at her lack of trust. But then he realized that by protecting her from the blood, the tangible proof of what had happened to Wade, something she already knew after seeing his body, he’d done exactly the same thing to her that Wade had done. He hadn’t trusted that she could handle the awful ugliness of it all.

And that was what plagued his conscience—all those things she
didn’t
know, and how she’d react to them.

Trust
. Damn, but that was a two-way street. A street he hadn’t ventured onto when it came to Abby. How could he expect her to trust him fully when he hadn’t trusted her with the whole truth?

Now, sitting with her in the rental car he’d picked up at the Mobile airport, he wanted to turn back the clock. To start all over again. But it was too late to change most things.

He could, however, give her hope.

“I’ve been in touch with a man named Jonathan Ethridge.” He scribbled Ethridge’s phone number on the back of the rental agency’s card. “He worked with Wade for a long time. If things go to hell, you can trust him to protect you. Remember his name.”

She nodded, her expression unreadable.

He used a new disposable cell phone to contact Ethridge again, but the other man didn’t answer.

Abby, who’d barely said ten words to him all day, merely watched. Fine. He was on his own.

Protect Abby and save her family’s lives
.

When what he was best at was death.

…

They were back where they’d started.
Home
. But now Abby was forced to face the consequences of what she’d done.

She’d endangered her son and her brother. Put their very lives at risk.

She gave in to the childish desire that she’d wake up and the entire last five days would turn out to be nothing more than a bad dream. A nightmare.

But it hadn’t been a nightmare. She’d made bad choices, and here she was, dependent on a man she didn’t know, a man who’d cut her off totally, even after the incredible passion they’d shared.

Because you didn’t trust him.

None of it made any difference.

She told JP where to hide the car so they could search her house undetected. “Right there,” she said, pointing to an overgrown trail into the woods, off the dirt road where she’d first met him. “No one will be able to see the car.”

JP nodded and turned onto the path. Weeds brushed against the low bottom of the rental car. He stopped and turned off the ignition. “What’s the best way to get into the house without being seen?”

“From the side. I’ll show you.”

“It would be safer if I took you—”

Did he
never
learn? “No time. Now that I know Wade hid something in the house, I can find it.” She had no choice.

His lips thinned, his expression darkened. She was sure he would argue, but he didn’t.

They got out of the car, careful not to slam the doors. JP carried a deadly-looking shotgun. She didn’t see the handgun, but knew he had it. She was terrified that Ron—Boyle—was out there somewhere. Hiding. Waiting to grab them. Or kill JP. Maybe her.

Or Brooks might be. Maybe it would be Brooks who caught them. She just didn’t know what to think anymore. But she was damn sure Brooks wouldn’t help her get Cole and Steve back. Brooks wouldn’t care about her family—just about capturing JP.

They stood in the woods, which came within about twenty feet of the house on one side. The pump house was the only cover they’d have until they reached the back door.

“Have your keys in your hand,” JP ordered. He held his shotgun at the ready. “I’m going to check things out, make sure the house isn’t a trap for us.” Then he was gone, a silent shadow blending with the trees.

Abby waited in the heavy afternoon heat. She couldn’t help but remember the night when it all started. The storm. The fear. She looked up and said a silent prayer of thanks that the only clouds in the sky now were far away, over the western horizon.

JP came back so quietly she didn’t hear him. He squeezed her shoulder. “Run for the pump house when I wave at you. Wait there until I signal to run for the house.”

She nodded. He released her shoulder and ran. She felt alone. Bereft of his comfort. She’d been without it for hours. But she couldn’t afford to think about that right now and pushed those thoughts away.