My Heart's Desire (32 page)

Jarret's touch was light as he smoothed away the damp rivulets of hair that uncurled along her temple and cheek. The backs of his fingers were tender as they brushed the discoloration along her jaw. His thumb was a whisper touch across the spiky edge of her lashes. He sifted through her damp, silky hair as he rinsed it, then laid it over her shoulder. The dark ends of red and chestnut floated on the water and clung to the curve of her breast.

He set the pot aside when the last of the water trickled out. Rennie's face was still raised toward him, close enough now that he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. She hadn't opened her eyes.

"Is that all?" she whispered.

He stared at her. The velvet lashes. The sheen of her skin. The damp mouth. "No," he said huskily. "I don't think it is."

His mouth lowered over hers.

Chapter 9

The first touch was tentative. The second less so. When Jarret's mouth settled over Rennie's a third time, all hint of hesitation had vanished. His lips captured her sweet response. The kiss deepened.

Ribbons of mist rose from the surface of the water. Rennie raised her hand. Water lapped gently against the side of the tub. She touched her fingertips to the damp curling ends of Jarret's hair at his nape. Water trickled beneath his collar. A droplet traced the length of his spine. It was as if Rennie had touched him there.

He needed her to touch him everywhere.

Jarret cupped the side of her face. His thumb whispered along the arched line of her throat. Beneath it he could feel her pulse, first the steadiness, then the racing. His lips moved to the corner of her mouth and slid lower, along her jaw to her ear. Her breath caught as he teased the lobe with his teeth and the curve with his tongue.

Rennie felt the heat of Jarret's touch against her skin. His thumb seemed to fire her pulse. His fingers trailed slowly down her neck to her shoulder, then passed lightly back and forth across her collarbone. His mouth was at her temple and then the corner of her closed eyes. His hand was beneath the water, sliding along the slope of her breast. Her skin flushed. The rose tip of her nipple hardened. His hand moved between her breasts and held her heartbeat in the heart of his palm.

Hot tears stung the back of Rennie's lids. Her cry was small, panicked. She sat up, pushing Jarret's hand away, and turned her face so that his kiss had no target. Water splashed over the side of the tub as Rennie drew her knees protectively toward her chest. She hunched forward. Rennie didn't have to see Jarret to know that he was withdrawing. She felt it.

Jarret stood. He looked down at her bent head for a long moment, at her hunched shoulders, and at the dark hair swirling on the surface of the water. "It seemed like you were willing," he said lowly.

She nodded, her cheek against her knees. She couldn't look at him, afraid to let him touch her, afraid not to. Her confusion only added to her fears. She tried to speak, tried to tell him what she was thinking, but her mouth was dry. She remembered other hands, less gentle hands, and she remembered how once before Jarret's loving comfort had turned to fury and how the fury had been turned on her. Cruel memories made her shudder.

The folded towel Rennie had used as a neck rest slipped into the water. Jarret reached for it, careful not to touch her. In spite of that he saw her flinch. Angry for reasons he could not clearly define, Jarret pitched the sodden towel. It slapped the floor and sprayed droplets of water on his boots. He found a dry one for her, tossed it on the nearby chair, and then slammed out of the cabin.

Rennie did not immediately reach for the towel. She remained in the tub until the water was cold and her skin was colder, until the heat of Jarret's touch seeped out of her. The sensation was only temporary. Picking up the towel, she discovered it was dry, but not fresh. Jarret's scent lingered. The fragrance of his shaving soap remained. She used it, not because there was no other choice, but because she
wanted
him to cover her. Rennie's stomach knotted as she fought another rising wave of panic.

Keeping busy helped her not think about it. She emptied the tub, tossing buckets of water out the back door. She mopped the trail of puddles on the floor, then put away the pots Jarret had used to heat the water. When he still hadn't returned, Rennie straightened things in the cabin that didn't need straightening. She poked at the fire, carried in wood, and trimmed the wicks in all the oil lamps. For a few minutes she stood barefoot on the small front porch in her nightshirt, looking and listening for some sign of Jarret. Snow flurried as wind soughed through the trees, but there was no other movement. Finally she went to bed.

Jarret entered the cabin with infinitely more care than he had left it. He was quiet as he shrugged out of his coat and boots. He padded across the floor and stoked the fire before he climbed the ladder to the loft. Stepping over the mound of blankets that bundled Rennie, Jarret stripped to his drawers and then lay down on the feather tick. He sighed when blankets were pushed in his direction.

"I thought you were sleeping," he said. It was what he had wanted to believe. He drew the blankets around him carelessly.

"You went to Bender's," she said. She despised the fact that her tone was faintly accusing. He had a right to go wherever he wished, whenever he wished. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"Yes, you did."

"You're right," she said after a moment. "I did."

"What I do is my business."

Still curled fetally, Rennie turned on her side toward him. She could have stretched out her arm and not been able to touch him, but it seemed that more than a physical distance separated them. "Yes, I know that. I was worried."

"About me?" he asked. "Or about yourself?"

Rennie would not let herself be riled. "Both," she said. "But mostly about you."

His voice was sharp. "What did you think I was going to do? Get drunk again?"

She nodded, realized he couldn't see that, and said, "Yes, I thought you might get drunk."

"I didn't."

"No," she said. There was a hard, aching lump in her throat. It was difficult to speak. "No, you didn't. You were with Jolene."

Jarret didn't answer immediately. He stared straight ahead in the darkness and wondered what he should say. He knew what she thought, and he knew the truth. The two were not the same thing. "How did you know?" he asked finally.

Rennie closed her eyes briefly. "I can smell her on you."

"I see."

"She favors rose-scented soap."

"That's true."

Rennie's hand curled around one corner of her pillow. Her fist clenched as did everything else inside her. "You're not denying it, then."

"No," he said quietly, tiredly. "I'm not denying it."

It shouldn't have hurt so much, Rennie thought. She shouldn't have felt betrayed. Telling herself that changed nothing. The feeling remained. "Are you taking me to the Jump tomorrow?"

"I haven't decided."

Rennie wondered if that was really the truth or if he simply didn't want to go another round about it. "When will you know?" she asked.

"When I know."

It wasn't a satisfactory answer. Rennie folded her pillow under her head and blinked back burning tears that seemed to well up from nowhere. She spoke haltingly. "When you kissed me before... I wanted you to—I... I liked it when you kissed me."

"I don't want to talk about it. Go to sleep."

"No, not yet. You've been gone, with someone. I've been alone here with only my thoughts. I tried to keep busy, tried not to think, but then I came up here and it was either sleep or think. I couldn't sleep and I couldn't
not
think."

Jarret said impatiently, "What is it you want to tell me?"

His tone stung her, but Rennie went on in a voice that was barely audible. "I wish I had let you do more to me."

"Shut up, Rennie."

"I wish I hadn't stopped you."

Jarret's arm snaked out in the darkness and unerringly found her wrist. He yanked her hard across the space that had separated them and trapped her other hand. He held them firmly on either side of her face.

It happened so quickly that her surprise was after the fact. She stared up at him, searching his shadowed profile. She felt his angry tension in the tightness of his grip and in the hard leg that lay diagonally across both of hers. His taut and raspy voice was merely an extension of that same tension. She flinched at the harshness of it.

"What the hell do you want from me, Rennie?" he demanded. "Are you naive or spiteful? Or can't you make up your mind?" He pressed his groin against her hip and let her feel the hardness of him that was all angry desire and tense need. "Don't talk to me about what you wished happened unless you wish it now. Do you, Rennie? Is that what you want?"

"I don't," she said at first. Then, "I don't know."

He swore softly and gave her wrists a little shake. "Why did you start this? I came back here tonight perfectly willing to pretend you were sleeping. Why the hell didn't you give me the chance?"

"I only meant to—"

Jarret let her go and sat up. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. "What you meant," he said caustically, "was to influence me to take you to the Jump."

Now Rennie sat up. "Take it back," she said quietly.

"Take what back?"

"I'm not a whore," she said. "Take it back."

He shook his head. "I've been with practiced whores who were less skillful than you."

The cruelty of his remark simply took Rennie's breath away. Her chest hurt and her throat seemed to close. She held herself stiffly, as far away from him as she was able. When she could finally speak her voice was brittle. "You've changed," she said without inflection. It was not an accusation, merely a statement of fact. "It doesn't take whiskey to ruin your vision. You're so full of hate and anger and sheer cussed meanness that you can't see straight even when you're sober. If I can't get you to take me to the Jump for the right reasons, then I don't want your help for the wrong ones."

A long silence followed her words. Jarret lay back on the tick and turned toward the wall. "I don't always know about right and wrong around you." It was all the admission he was prepared to make. "Go to sleep, Rennie."

* * *

It wasn't a long sleep. Jarret woke her at dawn. He was already shaved and dressed. A bedroll lay at his feet, and elsewhere in the loft their packed bags were stacked. His arms were braced on the beams on either side of the sloping ceiling. He stared down at her while she stretched sleepily and pushed wayward strands of hair from her face. She smiled up at him.

The rare and beautiful smile, the unguarded pleasure in her face, nearly rocked Jarret back on his heels. He realized it meant nothing, that she was hardly awake, but he could not let her see the same vulnerability in him. He stared back stonily. "If you want to go to the Jump, be ready in thirty minutes."

Rennie watched him turn and take the ladder. She had no awareness of her fading smile, just as she had no awareness that it had been radiant and welcoming a moment before. She stared at the point where Jarret had disappeared over the edge of the loft and tried to imagine the hard journey ahead with a man who hated her above everything else.

Jarret had their mares saddled and the third horse strapped with their supplies by the time Rennie joined him. Beneath her redingote she was wearing the clothes he had set out for her. She felt his eyes run up and down her swiftly, making his own assessment.

"Everything fits?" he asked. "The trousers? The shirt?"

She nodded. "These clothes belong to Jolene."

"Belonged," he said, emphasizing the past tense.

"She gave them to you?"

"She sold them to me." There was no rancor in his voice.

"They're comfortable."

He handed her Albion's reins and held her gaze for a moment. "But you're not comfortable."

Her eyes darted away. She mounted without assistance. "Not entirely," she said. "I'm not used to—"

"Wearing a whore's clothes?"

Rennie understood then that Jarret, for whatever reasons, was spoiling for a fight. She refused to be provoked.