Tempted in the Night (20 page)

He seemed impressed, but didn't say anything. Instead, he focused on finding a vein in John's arm. When he found one, he inserted the needle. Jess
marveled
at the ease with which he set up the transfusion.

"Looks like you've done this before," she observed.

"I used to be a medic in the Navy," he said, and then as if she needed further explanation, added, "I used to be a SEAL."

Alarm bells started ringing in her head. "You're Sheldon Harris." She said the name like she was testing the sound of it.

He glanced at her sharply. "My reputation precedes me."

"I've heard of you," she confirmed.

He paused what he was doing, a wary expression coming to his eyes. "Mind telling me from whom?"

She wondered where she'd left her sword and tried to look around without actually giving herself away by moving her eyes. "Beth told me that a couple of weeks ago, you saved her and Dirk."

He seemed to relax a little. "I won't take credit for that because technically, it's not true, but I'm not surprised Beth would see it that way. She's a good woman; a good person."

"Yes, she is." She paused for a millisecond. "So is
Lanie
."

The announcement seemed to deflate him because his hands stilled on the IV tubing and his head seemed to fall forward briefly. "So you heard that story as well." He looked at her then. "I won't make excuses for my role in what happened to her and Mac. It was wrong." He took a deep breath and went back to what he was doing.

When he finished, they waited in silence for the first bag to empty. As far as she was concerned, Harris was capable of both heroic and inhumane acts. Just because he was here helping to save John's life now didn't mean she trusted him. Only time—and his actions—would convince her one way or the other.

When the bag emptied, Harris hooked up a second one. When it was flowing smoothly, he turned to her. "Do you think you can finish this?"

"Yes," she said, realizing that dawn was approaching.

He nodded, gave John a last look, and then walked out the front door. Jess watched him go, wondering what his true nature might be. She'd run into a lot of vampires in her twenty-five years and so far, only one had proven himself worthy of being allowed to live. In her book, Harris had a long way to go before he could even come close to Erik's standard, but saving John's life was one hell of a good start.

Jess watched over John all through the morning, switching out each bag as it emptied and then starting a fresh one. There had only been six bags of type "O," and she prayed that would be enough. When the last bag drained, she pulled out the IV and bandaged his arm.

He seemed to be resting more peacefully now and there was
color
in his complexion. She wished she'd asked Harris to carry John to the bed where he could have more room, but she hadn't thought of it.

The best she could do now was
make
him as comfortable as she could, and to do that she'd have to get him out of his bloodied clothes. An image of the way he'd looked earlier, standing in nothing more than his jeans, came to mind and she felt her face heat at the prospect of removing his clothes.

She tried to convince herself that there was nothing sexual about what she was doing, yet her fingers trembled when she cut open his shirt and pulled it off. Next she got a bowl of warm water and a washcloth and slowly bathed him. She took special care to avoid his neck, which she had cleaned and bandaged sometime between the transfusion of bags two and three.

She ran the cloth over his body using long, upward strokes, having heard somewhere that rubbing in an upward direction stimulated circulation and produced positive energy. She didn't know if it was true or not, but figured it couldn't hurt. If she seemed to
labor
particularly long over the planes of his chest, it was only because she was being thorough and not because he had the sexiest chest she'd ever seen.

When she was finished—when the water had grown too cold for her to continue—she covered him with a blanket. There was nothing more she could do at this point. Exhausted, she took the water and cloth back to the kitchen and threw out his shirt before returning to his side. Then, she let herself collapse into a nearby chair.

She awoke with a start some time later, not sure where she was or what had awakened her. Then she heard John moan. Immediately concerned, she looked over at him and saw that he was thrashing about on the couch.

"It's okay," she soothed, moving to his side to stroke his head.
"Oh, no."
She laid her hand across his forehead, pulling it back a second later. He was burning with fever.

Rushing to the kitchen, she refilled her large bowl, with cool water this time, and again grabbed the washcloth. She carried it to his side before going to the bathroom for extra towels. She knew she had to get his fever down.

When she returned to his side, the blanket was once again on the floor. This time, she tossed it into the chair where she'd slept and was about to kneel beside him when she realized he was still wearing his jeans. The bath would be more effective if she wiped his legs as well as his arms.

Since this was not the time for modesty, she quickly undid the snap at the waist and, making the least amount of contact, pulled down the zipper. She stood at the far end of the couch, grabbed hold of the hem of each pants leg and tugged, using her own feet against the couch as leverage.

It took some effort, but finally, after much side-to-side tugging, they slid off. Tossing them to one side, she tried not to notice the black briefs hugging his hips or the contour of all that lay beneath them. She was simply grateful he'd chosen to wear briefs at all.

John's moan brought her attention back to more pressing concerns. Placing the extra towels along his side and beneath his arms and legs to catch the water as it dripped, she wet a cloth and began to bathe him.

For twenty minutes, she stroked his forehead, arms, chest, legs, hands, and feet, trying to reduce his temperature. Eventually, he fell into a peaceful sleep.

Afraid that he might chill, she covered him with the blanket and returned to the kitchen to switch out the water in her bowl. Armed with fresh water and clean towels, she went back to the living room. If his fever spiked again, she wanted to be ready.

She repeated the process three more times over the next several hours. By
midafternoon
, when his fever spiked a fourth time, his moaning barely woke her from an exhausted sleep. Functioning in a mental fog brought on from sheer fatigue, she knelt by his side, pulled the blanket back, and began bathing him. By now, her actions were routine and she half-dozed as she ran the cloth over the curve of his chest, enjoying the muscled firmness of his pectoral muscles.

When she finished bathing his upper half, she rinsed out the cloth and started at the other end. She ran the cloth across the bottoms of his feet, taking a moment to massage them. Then she stroked the cloth up legs that were strong, well-shaped, and surprisingly hairy. That made her smile because it meant that he wasn't all physical perfection.

She barely noticed that he had stopped moving on the couch as she ran the cloth up first one leg and then the other. She'd reached the top of his legs when her eyes fell on his erection, not that she could have missed it, even in her most exhausted and distracted state of mind.

Horribly embarrassed, her gaze flew to his face, but his eyes were closed and he seemed oblivious to her actions. She concluded that she was witnessing nothing more than a biological reaction to her ministrations and there was absolutely nothing sexual about it—except what lurid imaginings her own mind conjured.

Struggling to ignore it, she worked her way back down his legs and repeated the process. She'd just reached mid-thigh when John suddenly groaned aloud. He sounded as if he was in such pain that Jess tossed the cloth back into the bowl and leaned over him, afraid something was horribly wrong. "John? Can you hear me? Are you hurting?"

She didn't expect an answer, so when his eyes suddenly flew open she lurched back, but didn't get far. Instantly, John's hands were clutching her upper arms, holding her in place.

"You've got one hell of a bedside manner, princess." His voice was scratchy and rough.

Amazed to hear him talking at all, she stared into his eyes, mesmerized at the way they seemed to
glow,
unaware that he was pulling her down in a slow controlled move. Then he was kissing her, and she had neither the energy nor the desire to pull away.

The minute she hesitated, he deepened the kiss, his lips assaulting hers with gentle insistence until she opened her mouth. At the invitation, his tongue plundered her mouth. An answering hunger rose up inside her and she kissed him back with abandon. She ran her hands up his arms, enjoying the sinewy strength of him as she hadn't allowed herself to do before when she'd bathed him.

There was no longer a need to hold her down. She was barely aware of his hands moving to the front of her shirt until she heard the sound of ripping fabric and felt the cool air touch her skin. Her bra met the same fate as her shirt,
then
she felt the rough texture of John's hands covering her breasts.

Sensation shot from her breasts straight to the sweet spot between her legs and she shivered with need. Somewhere, a small sane voice screamed at her to stop. She couldn't do this. He shouldn't do this.

John pulled her down again to capture her mouth. The feel of his chest against her bare breasts drove all thought from her, and she kissed him back with enthusiasm.

The sound of the doorbell ringing slowly penetrated the fog of pure emotion whirling around inside her brain. She lifted her head and listened, trying to ignore John, who'd taken her pulling away as
an
invitation to pay homage to her breasts.

The doorbell sounded again and Jess tried to leverage herself off the couch, but as soon as she tried, John had his arm around her, holding her to him.

"Someone's at the door, John. Let me go."

"No," he growled, kissing his way up her neck. His breathing had grown harder as he opened his mouth and lightly bit at her throat. It sent shivers down her spine even as warning bells went off in her head.

"We shouldn't do this," she tried again, fighting her own reaction to what he was doing to her.

She strengthened her resolve and tried to pull away again, using more force. She thought she'd succeeded when she felt an easing of his grip, but then suddenly, her world tilted and she found herself flat on her back on the floor, her legs spread wide and John on top of her. His hips pressed into her, driving his erection against the juncture of her legs.

Surprised, she looked up into his face. Crimson-lit eyes gazed down at her with a wild intensity. John's breathing now sounded erratic as he held himself so still above her. When he moved, she felt the fullness of him against her own swollen flesh. The pressure sent a bolt of desire shooting through her and she couldn't stop the groan it pulled from her.

It seemed all the invitation he needed. Gripping the waistband of her jeans, he ripped them open.