Tara Quinn - The First Wife

Brad couldn’t let that happen. Not to Jane. And he knew he could help her. Just like that.

“Then you haven’t tried hard enough,” he told her. He wasn’t going to let her give up on herself.

“I have. I—”

“Listen.” He cut her off. “I’m going to do something, and when I’m done, you’ll know that you’re all right. And then we’re going to forget it ever happened. Okay?”

She watched him with her eyes wide. And while he stopped breathing, she nodded.

“We will never mention this…interlude. We will never repeat it.”

She nodded again.

He could do this. No problem. He was the perfect choice because he wouldn’t take advantage of her.

Brad was confident until he really looked at the woman sitting next to him. Her dark brown eyes. Perfect skin. Breasts that were so much more than they should be if he was going to not be attracted to them. Why had he never noticed them before?

His fingers brushed her face, her neck, slowly gliding over the softness.

“What are you doing?” Jane stared at him, but didn’t pull back. If she had he would have stopped.

“I’m going to show you what you can feel.” He was strangely unembarrassed by the hoarseness in his voice.

His body was hard and straining against his zipper. He knew how to ignore it.

“Are you game?”

“You’re wasting your time.” The near whisper sounded like a challenge to him.

“I don’t think so.”

“Brad?”

“Shh.” He traced her lips with the pad of his thumb and they parted.

This wouldn’t take long. The rational thought comforted him. One kiss should do it.

He leaned in, touched his lips to hers and lost himself to the burst of fire that shot clear down to his feet.

Brad had had enough women to appreciate when the sex was hot.

And yet when he felt Jane’s lips against his he experienced a jolt so shocking, he felt like a first-timer.

Her eyes were still open, so he deepened the kiss, taking her lips fully with his. And when she didn’t moan with need, he pushed a little further, opening her lips with his tongue.

She tasted of salt and strawberry. And something unknown, but very, very good. He played with her tongue. Teasing it. Exploring.

Alone.

She didn’t resist, but she didn’t join him, either.

Brad pulled away, not sure what he was going to do, and got a glimpse of Jane’s face. Her eyes were almost closed, her features more relaxed than he’d ever seen them.

And yet not. Her mouth was slightly open. Waiting.

She might not be there yet, but she was getting there.

He kissed her again. And when her tongue still remained uninvolved, Brad moved his hand under the hem of her T-shirt, sliding his hand slowly up along the slender curve of her waist, lightly brushing the side of her breast. He thought she jerked a bit at his touch, but he couldn’t be sure.

He couldn’t stop, either. Not until he’d slid a finger inside her bra. Touched her nipple, made it hard and…

It was already hard.

So they were done. He’d aroused her.

He kissed her once more, just to seal the deal with a response from her tongue.

It still didn’t dance with him and he doubted himself. He knew a lot about women. He knew, for instance, that arousal wasn’t the only reason nipples hardened.

And he knew that there was one sure way to tell if a woman was turned on. Brad reached for the button on Jane’s jeans with only one thought in mind. Turn her on and get out.

He had to hand it to her. She was trying as hard as he was. She lifted her body, giving him easier access. And when it became obvious that it wasn’t enough, she lifted her butt off the blanket and let him pull the pants down to her ankles. He took her panties, too, just for the sake of getting the task done quickly.

And when he started to salivate at the sight of her, he ignored the sensation. He had a job to do for his friend.

This wasn’t about him or his needs. His body wasn’t involved. Wasn’t going to do anything. At least not now and never with Jane.

He was simply helping his friend.

At his urging, she spread her legs and his fingers went to work, knowing exactly what to do.

He found his mark on the first try. And discovered that she was already wet.

He could stop.

As soon as he made certain that Jane knew, without a doubt, what she was capable of feeling.

He didn’t look at her face. Couldn’t meet her eyes. He just focused on making her feel good.

And as soon as she’d climaxed, he’d get up and walk away. Let her put herself back together.

That’s what he intended. That’s what he told himself was going to happen.

It didn’t.

MONDAY MORNING Jane was up, showered, had fed Petunia, her delicate and fragile rescue bird, and was on her way into the city from her Chicago suburb home before she was usually out of bed. She had a nine-thirty meeting with her art people and needed to stop at Durango on the way. She’d promised Josie Barker, one of the shelter’s current residents, that she’d help her with her résumé that morning. Josie was applying for a job that could change her life.

And no matter how Jane managed to mess up her own life, she was going to make sure other women had a chance to improve theirs.

Josie was a lucky one. She’d gotten out of her abusive marriage early, before there were children. And before her self-esteem had been irreparably damaged.

“Jane?” Stopping on the steps up to Durango—a nondescript home close to Chicago’s downtown with absolutely no signage or other giveaway characteristics to alert anyone to its true purpose—Jane glanced over her shoulder as she heard her name. Spinning, she recognized the woman coming up the street.

“Kim! What are you doing here?” And then, with a sick feeling in her stomach, she asked, “You aren’t staying here again, are you?”

“No! Don’t worry, I’m fine.” The redheaded, freckle-faced woman stopped at the bottom of the three cement stairs, her hand on the black wrought-iron railing. “I was just coming to drop this off for Josie.” She held up a hanger covered in dry-cleaning wrap. “For her interview. I’m early, actually, but Jason spent the night with my mom and I had way too much time on my hands this morning.” Kim’s cheer seemed forced, a state Jane knew well from her work with damaged women.

“I’m a little early, too,” she said now, her own troubles fading. “Tell me how things are going.”

“Good.” Kim’s red ponytail bobbed. “Really good. Brad’s fantastic, just like you said he would be. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for setting me up with him.”

“Brad volunteers here regularly,” Jane reminded her. “You’d have met up with him eventually if I hadn’t called him.”

Brad. She’d spent all of yesterday trying not to think about him. And all of last night, too.

“But who knows where I’d have been by the time he made his next visit.” Kim shrugged self-consciously. “Anyway, I know he thinks he can’t discuss my case with you, even though I told him he could, so I wanted you to know that I hired a second attorney, Christine Ryan, just to represent Jason.”

“Why?”

The young woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Because I’m too messed up where Shawn’s concerned to know if I’m doing right by my son, or just knee-jerking. And I need Brad to be looking out for me.”

Shawn. The husband. Whose actions had driven his wife to call the domestic abuse hotline and, with their young son, seek shelter at Durango.

“So he’s still trying to get shared custody?”

“At the moment, I think he’d settle for visitation rights. And I don’t know, Jane. I mean, he never hurt Jason. He really loves him. And Jason misses him so much…”