Christine Feehan - Conspiracy Game

He swore under his breath and reached for her, hauling her into his arms. His mouth came down on hers, his kiss rougher than he’d intended when her scent drifted around him and her taste drove him right to the edge of control. He shifted her into his arms, pulling her close, fitting her smaller body into his larger frame, his mouth moving with urgent demands.

She gave the briefest of hesitation, a slight resistance, and then her arms crept around his neck, and she leaned her body into his, and her tongue, soft as velvet, slid over his in a hot tango. He captured her soft little sigh, and tasted spice and honey, her mouth a dark mystery of heat and passion. He could feel the soft weight of her breasts pressing into his chest. The familiar rush of heat raced through his veins, to settle into a terrible ache in the center of his groin, so that he was full and tight, but along with the physical need, he felt as if he had come home-as if he belonged.

Taking his time, Jack gentled his kiss, savoring the moment and every separate sensation. The full, painful ache of his body, the beating of his heart, her soft skin and heady scent, the potent combination of sex and something far, far deeper.

Briony slid her hands to his chest and over the thin barrier of his shirt and traced the letters carved into his body. “I dreamt about you last night.” But it hadn’t been a dream. She’d been aware of him as she lay drifting, his body wrapped closely around hers, so protective. He’d held her close, one hand over their child as if he could keep all monsters at bay while they dozed. Briony rarely slept, and never with anyone close, yet she had gone straight out, Jack’s scent surrounding her, his body next to hers, and it had felt so right-as if, for the first time in her life, she belonged.

“I dreamt about you too, but I don’t think our dreams were quite the same,” he said, his voice rueful.

She caught a glimpse of desperate relief in the shower, a mind filled with lust and need and awakening emotions all jumbled together. Briony pulled away from his memories, feeling like a voyeur.

“I don’t care if you know, Briony,” Jack said softly. “I’m not going to hide the fact that it’s difficult to be around you and not want you. We’re in this together. I don’t want you to be influenced by what I feel. I can take it as long as you can.” He didn’t know if that were true, but he was going to do his best to respect her wishes and do a little old-fashioned courting-whatever that entailed. His thumb slid over her full lower lip in a small caress. “I can wait a long time if I have to.”

Her heart jumped again. Maybe she didn’t want him to wait. Maybe she needed him to make the decision for them. Ashamed of her cowardly thoughts, Briony busied herself with looking at the clothes spread out on the table. “How are we going to get past it, Jack?” She glanced at him and was caught and held by the strange look on his face as he watched her folding a pair of soft black cotton pants. “What is it?”

“You. Watching you do the smallest, most ordinary things makes me happy.” He crossed to the sink and poured himself a cup of coffee. “You have no idea how strange that is.”

“What? Feeling happy?”

“Feeling anything at all. You make me feel, Briony, and that is a fucking miracle.”

Her heart nearly stopped beating, then jumped in her chest, accelerating until her pulse was pounding. “Jack.” She said his name softly, wanting it to be the truth-afraid of believing they had a chance. This man could hurt her where no other had ever come close. He’d rip out her heart and she’d never recover.

“It’s the simple truth, Briony.”

Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t know what to say-how to react-afraid to take the next step and trust him all the way. To cover her reaction, she held up a pair of designer jeans. “All of these clothes are so beautiful, but nothing I can work in.”

Jack didn’t pressure her, choosing to give her some room. “Work? What are talking about?”

“I’m going to help Ken tile the bathroom.”

“No, you’re not.” He leaned one hip lazily against the sink. “You don’t need to be crawling around on your knees and breathing in chemicals.”

“It isn’t that bad, and it will be fun. I’ve always wanted to learn to tile.” She didn’t look at him, keeping her voice light and cheerful as she carefully put the purchases back in the bags. She wasn’t going to argue with him, even though he was using his drill sergeant voice. She’d overlook it and stay in a great mood.

“Nevertheless, you aren’t tiling the bathroom. If you want to learn, I’ll teach you after the baby’s born.”

Briony’s hands stilled and she turned to face him, holding on to her smile. “Jack. This isn’t a dictatorship. I’m quite capable of deciding what I can or can’t do. While I appreciate your concern, it isn’t necessary to make my decisions for me.”

He nodded his head, his features as always expressionless. He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, baby, do me a favor and decide not to tile the bathroom right now. That way there won’t be a problem, will there? Would you like me to help you carry those things to our room?”

Briony drew her breath in sharply, smelled blood, and whirled around to stare at Ken as he stood in the doorway cradling his bloody arm.

“Give it up, Bri,” Ken advised, casually walking to the sink without looking at his brother. Blood dripped down his arm. “Jack’s a mule, stubborn as hell, and you’re not going to be tiling the bathroom.”

Jack moved fast to Ken’s side, taking his arm and turning it over to inspect the cut. The wound was over a particularly rigid scar. “You didn’t feel it until it was too late, did you?” he asked his brother.

Ken shrugged and flashed Briony a small, humorless grin. “You probably should wait until you go to the doctor. You can ask him what you can and can’t do and what you can drink or eat, so if jughead starts with the orders you have some ammunition.” His eyes begged her not to notice the blood dripping down his arm, to continue their conversation as if Jack wasn’t washing the wound and treating it with antiseptic.

Briony tipped her head back to meet Jack’s unfathomable gaze. His expression was unreadable. She winked at Ken as Jack dried the cut and bandaged it. “And if I decide I’m going to do it anyway, what kind of temper tantrum does he throw?”

A sudden wisp of a smile softened Jack’s hard jaw and relaxed his mouth for a fleeting moment. The approval in his eyes warmed her and sent little flutters of excitement to her stomach.

“I throw a caveman tantrum,” Jack answered and swooped her up, lifting her into his arms, caging her against him. “Brute strength, baby. It works when all else fails.”

Ken gathered the packages and piled them high in Briony’s lap. “I’ve never seen an actual temper tantrum,” he admitted. “Just do what he says; it’s so much easier.”

“We’re going to head into town,” Jack reminded his brother. “I’ll need you to go with us. Another hour and we’ll take off. You’ll need to be ready for combat, Ken.”

Ken shrugged. “I’m always ready.”

Jack carried Briony through the house toward the bedroom. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. “It happens sometimes. The scarring makes it difficult for him to feel anything until it’s too late. The scars are all over him-everywhere.”

Briony felt his pain like a knife stabbing through her heart. It took a moment to realize she was in his mind. “He doesn’t want pity.”

“Hell no, he doesn’t. He’d shoot me first. He insists on doing the tiling, though.”

“He needs to do it, Jack,” Briony said, recalling the desperation in Ken’s eyes.