Shrouded in Darkness (Shrouded Series) (13 page)

It had been so long. Gritting her teeth, she fought against the hunger. Self-control. She needed self-control. Oh, but how her body screamed for Jake’s touch, a brush of his lips against her skin, the feel of his palm against her naked flesh, the caress of his breath against her hair as he moved inside her.

Then she felt Jake’s hand on her hip, branding her through the thick material of her jeans, sliding up over the fabric to her waist.

For a brief second she fought against the pressure of his palm, but only for a second. She turned and looked up into his face.

Shadows clung to his rugged features. Then there were his glasses. Those stupid glasses. They shielded his thoughts, his emotions.

Yet...

She sensed his desire, the hunger in the pressure of his fingers at the small of her back as he nudged her closer. She parted her lips in anticipation. Then she was completely blinded by shadows as his head dipped and he claimed her mouth.

His lips, firm, supple, warm, against her own, weakened her legs yet further. The touch of his tongue, experienced, hot, knowing, wrenched open the last of her restraint. Wanting more, so much more, she inched closer, clutching his arms and pressing her hips against his own. His biceps bunched beneath her grasp as he slid his hands down to cup her butt.

The heat of his arousal against her belly ripped the breath from her lungs and played with an already wildly beating heart. He wanted her, really wanted her. The tremble in his hand, the roughness of his touch did more to her than any practiced lover’s. He felt exactly what a man should feel like. Hard. Rugged yet gentle. So very gentle, she realized, as his lips slid over the line of her jaw to trail inch by silken inch down the slope of her neck.

Closing her eyes, Margot arched her neck to give him freer access. She slipped her hands up around his waist, and up under his sweater to his back where she ran her fingers across tight skin over hard, taunt sinew and muscle. He felt so right.

“Perfect,” she sighed, awash in sensation as she slipped her fingers from beneath his sweater and reached up to play with the silky strands of his hair at the nape of his neck. Margot stilled. The hair entwined between her fingers wasn’t natural.

“Your hair,” she said in a thick, husky whisper. “Is it brown or something else? And your glasses. Your eyes. I don’t know their color.”

“It’s blond,” he replied, his voice uneven and just as thick with desire. “And my eyes—my eyes are blue.”

Abruptly, Jake broke away from her embrace, grasped her wrists and pulled them from around his neck. Before she had time to react, he’d drawn away completely and pivoted on his heel. With shaky fingers, she touched her lips where the imprint of his mouth still lingered and stared at his back in shock. She leaned against the desk for support. Her legs were far too weak to hold her weight right now.

She lowered her fingers and asked between short, ragged breaths, “Why?”

Jake stuffed his hands in his pockets and continued to face the empty shelves. He might have his back to her, but the way he was inhaling and exhaling large chunks of air told her he was having just as hard a time recovering.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

She blinked and could actually feel the skin around her face tighten at his lack of explanation. “You shouldn’t have? Then why did you? Can you tell me that?”

He’d wanted her. She knew that even if he decided to lie. She wasn’t so inexperienced to confuse an act and something genuine. Yet he’d turned away from her and the sexual chemistry burning between them.

“Is there someone else?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

His silence was answer enough.

“Then if you can’t—no—if you won’t tell me why, then stay away from me. I can’t take this—being turned on and off.” She took a deep breath, hating the raw emotion in her voice, but unable to keep the truth to herself. “It’s been a long time since a man made me feel the way you have. But I’m not going to subject myself to one rejection after another. So don’t come near me again if you have every intention of stopping things.”

Pride in shreds, not about to wait around for yet another rejection, Margot rushed from the room. When she didn’t hear Jake behind her, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or disheartened. Some sliver of hope had her imagining him following her, sweeping her up into his arms and—

It didn’t matter. She’d stopped believing in Prince Charming years ago. Or fairy tales for that matter. They were all wild imaginings of a lonely little girl.

She climbed the stairs, leaving Jake and his silence behind. She was walking away from one disaster and into another. Her bedroom along with the den had been the only rooms she hadn’t had the stomach to clean. But now she couldn’t wait any longer.

Margot had to face her room and put some order into it so she could sleep. Stepping past the threshold, she hit the light switch. As the room flooded with light, she inhaled sharply.

She’d expected clothing on the floor, her items flung this way and that, the mattress upended. But that wasn’t what she found.

The hard wood floor lay empty of clothing, while the mattress again rested on top of the box spring. Her sheets and comforter, once pulled from the bed and tossed aside were replaced with light pink and cream printed bedding. The dresser drawers, having been upended with their contents scattered about the room, now sat back in their slots. The room was warm and inviting, just as it had been before the vandalism.

Someone or something had gone through and systematically cleaned and straightened her room.

Jake. It had to be. Who else but him? Johnny? No. Impossible. No, it was Jake. Jake was the one who’d slipped into her room.

Not her brother’s ghost. Jake was the one who’d carefully restored her room to its original condition.

Surprisingly, she wasn’t upset. Not really. She did feel a little vulnerable and exposed, having him see such a personal side of her. Yet, at the same time she felt oddly touched that he’d come up here to restore her room while she’d slept downstairs. He must have known how much it would bother her to do it herself.

That is, unless—it was his excuse to look for the disk.

No. Slowly, she backed from the room. She didn’t want to think that of him, but the thought wouldn’t go away. She didn’t trust him. God knows, she wanted to. It would take more than words to sway her. It would take actions—and time. She’d learned her lesson with Malcolm. Glib words wouldn’t blind her to everything else around her.

With every intention of confronting Jake, she turned to go into the hall and downstairs. At the bedroom’s threshold, she faltered, grasping the doorjamb. No. She couldn’t go down there now. Not after the things she’d said, the demands she’d made of him. Her face burned at the memory. She’d actually told him not to touch her again unless he planned on sleeping with her. Maybe not in so many words, but the implication had been there. They’d both known it.

Margot closed the door. She didn’t have the stomach to face him right now. Not when she still hurt from his rejection. Maybe tomorrow, when her feelings weren’t so raw and the memory of his touch no longer lingered in her thoughts.

With an index finger, she followed the contour of her bottom lip. She could still feel his mouth there, could still remember the taste of him and the smell of his cologne. She changed into her nightgown, slipped beneath the covers, and closed her eyes, all the while trying not to think of being all alone in her big bed while Jake slept one floor below, or of the way he’d made her hunger for him.

The gown slithered across her skin as she twisted to get a more comfortable position. After a moment, she kicked off the sheets and buried her face into the feather pillow. The air cooled her skin but not her thoughts. God, she burned. She burned for the heat of his skin against her palms, for his touch on every inch of her body, for him to make her experience every blessed sensual sensation her imagination could envision.

She didn’t know she’d fallen asleep until she woke. With her knees tucked close to her chest and her hands cushioning her head beneath her pillow, she lay on her side. Breathing slowly, she listened and watched the red glow of her clock on the nightstand turn to 3:14.

She lay under the cover of night, cloaked in a thick, deep blanket of blackness. Nothing stirred from outside. At least nothing that she could readily hear, while inside, the house was just as deathly silent. But she continued to listen. And wait.

She gripped the pillow beneath her. As she strained to hear, her breathing quickened. Nothing. Yet...she knew. Somehow she knew. Jake. The man she couldn’t get out of her mind. The man that made her blood hum with desire and longing. He was coming to her on silent feet, through the darkness, climbing the stairs to her room and bed.

And God help her, she wanted him to.

The metal doorknob, probably as old as the house itself, was cool against Jake’s palm as he turned it beneath his grasp and eased the door open. He shouldn’t be here, creeping through the house like some sick pervert with no self-control. He should be in his room, in his bed downstairs, attempting to sleep. Lust, need and loneliness all mingled and shredded together, compelling him up the stairs and across the threshold to her bedroom.

Margot. Her name was a soft sigh on his lips. He didn’t want just any woman. He wanted—her—with an inexplicable, driving need. He had since she’d first tumbled into his arms that moonless night. And like the selfish bastard he was, he was going to see if he could take her and damn the consequences. He licked dry lips. It was the perfect night for it. Totally black. Thick, impenetrable clouds obliterated any light from the moon and stars.

Dragging in a lungful of air, he paused. Even though he couldn’t see her bed, he knew its exact location. He’d been in here many a night as she slept. Those first couple of times, frustrated, angry at Miracell, Malcolm, Miltronics-—the whole situation—he’d come up here to brood, but somehow, every single time her sleeping form, so serene, so ethereal would calm him.

As he crossed the room with sure, bare feet, the hardwood floor creaked beneath his weight.

The sound cracked loudly in the room—at least to Margot’s ears.

She shivered. Any second, and Jake would be alongside her bed. She didn’t know what to do—turn and acknowledge him or pretend to sleep. She couldn’t remember having a man, single and oh so very male come to her bed in the dead of night. Other than Malcolm, there’d been only one other in college, and that experience didn’t even compare to the emotions churning inside her.

Was he naked?

Lying frozen, her back to him and the door, she forced the air in and out of her lungs in as natural a rhythm as she could manage. The thought of him touching, stroking her with sure, experienced hands left her heart rate at a distinct disadvantage and her limbs all weak and tingly. And her breasts. They ached already for his hands.

She was wet, throbbing, ready for him when she heard the soft sigh of sheets. The mattress dipped as he slipped in behind her.

It had been so long since she’d had a man touch her, caress her. She turned at the waist, but he cupped her shoulder with a hand.

“Don’t,” he whispered, gently but firmly holding her so her back faced him as he slid up against her and wrapped his heat along the length of her body. “I tried but I couldn’t stay away.”

Oh, God. He was naked. Absolutely every hard and sleek part of him. He brushed a muscled thigh over her hip while curling her closer to his body. His arousal, hot, hard, burned through the sheer fabric of her nightgown and into her butt.

This time, she lost control of her breathing. She drew in air with short, sharp pants as his hands roamed over her body and he nibbled at the sensitive skin below her ear, his breath mingling with the downy wisps of her hair. Goose flesh rose along her arms and the nape of her neck.

“Jake—” She twisted beneath his hold, desperate to touch and taste him.

“Shhh,” he whispered into her ear while holding her firm. “Relax.”

How could she relax when he had a hand cupping her breast and was brushing a thumb over her nipple? How could she be calm when he was using his other hand to brush her hair from her nape so he could play his tongue and mouth along the curve of her spine?

“Jake,” she breathed, turning her neck so she could see him, but the night blinded her. With the loss of that one sense, all her others heightened to an almost painful clarity. She reached behind to touch his hair-roughened thigh and up over the silken skin of his pelvic bone. The movement pressed her breast deeper in to his palm. She clutched his hand, a hand minus gloves, a long-fingered, seemingly flawless hand that was doing beautiful things to her nipple. “Jake. Your hands. They feel perfect. Your gloves.

Why—˝

Cupping her chin in a gentle hand, he shifted over her and quieted her this time by molding his lips over her own, delving inside, pantomiming what he would do later with another part of his body. She forgot everything but the kiss. It was hungry, filled with passion and longing.

He broke the kiss with apparent reluctance. The heat of his mouth then trailed over the line of her jaw and down the side of her neck to nip lightly at the curve between her neck and shoulder. His breath whispered just below her hairline behind her ear, sending delicious shivers down Margot’s spine. Oh, God. He knew exactly what to do with that mouth of his.

Nudging her legs apart with his knee, he wrapped an arm around her waist to splay his fingers briefly against her stomach before lowering his palm, then caressing her thigh with feather-light finger tips, circling ever higher, teasing, tormenting until he touched her...there. Exquisite longing shattered what little thought she had left. She caved into the sensation, letting it wrap itself around every pore of her body. She throbbed for him, ached for him. She’d do anything to him, with him...