Almost Dead (16 page)

But then, she intended to.

As she drove off the bridge and toward the city, the traffic snarling at some of the stop lights, Elyse stared at the taillights of the minivan in front of her and imagined Cissy’s frustration when she realized the phone was missing. She wouldn’t cancel her service immediately; she would expect the damned thing to turn up, probably lost when someone at the gathering had inadvertently moved it.

How perfect was that?

You’re in for the shock of your pathetic, spoiled life, bitch.

Cissy Cahill Holt didn’t know the meaning of the word
fear.

Not yet.

But she was going to learn.

Soon.

And, better yet, so was her mother.

Cissy yawned and rolled over.

And bumped right into something solid and warm and snoring.

Her eyes flew open, and in the early hours of dawn she saw Jack lying beside her.

“What are you doing here?” she said, shaking him awake. “You can’t be here, you can’t be…Oh God…” What had she done last night? She didn’t remember, and the headache behind her eyes told her that she’d had a lot, maybe too much, to drink.

Jack opened one eye. “’Mornin’ beautiful,” he said, one side of his mouth lifting into a sexy grin.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing sneaking into bed with me when I’m asleep?”

His grin widened. “I thought I might get lucky.”

She stared at him as if he truly had gone round the bend. “We’re separated, remember?”

“So you keep reminding me.”

“We do
not
sleep together.”

“I wasn’t thinking about sleeping,” he admitted, and something deep inside of her responded.

She started to fling the covers off, and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her back, so that her pajama-clad body was touching his, which of course was naked.

“I thought we had a truce,” he murmured.

Cissy could feel his warmth where their bodies touched. “It was for yesterday and didn’t include the bedroom,” she said, trying not to notice how her body yearned for his. It was semidark in the room, the only light coming from a nightlight that gave off a soft white, luminous glow, enough that she could see his features, catch shadowy glimpses of his expressions but not read what he was thinking.

“Cissy,” he said in a voice that sounded an octave lower than usual. “I—”

“Don’t say it,” she said and placed a finger over his lips. She didn’t want to hear any apologies or mention of the word
love
. Here, in bed with him, under thick, downy blankets, in a room where they’d made love more often than not, she didn’t want to be emotionally ambushed. “Just don’t.”

He kissed her finger, and she felt a tingle deep inside.

She should have removed her hand, but didn’t, and he wrapped his lips around that finger. The warm wetness of his mouth sent a shot of desire to her core. And that desire, deep inside, in the most feminine part of her, grew in intensity. Memories of making love to Jack cut through her mind, quicksilver images of him staring down at her, levered on his elbows, his blue eyes intense, or of him kissing her breasts, his tongue teasing at her nipples, or of the feel of him as he nudged her legs apart, then held himself for a few moments, just touching her, rubbing against her, making her writhe with want before he actually…Oh God.

She slowly pulled her finger out of his mouth. “This is not going to happen, Jack.” Her voice was raspy, her heart tripping expectantly.

“We need to start over.”

“We’re past that.”

“Are we?”

Damn the man, he had the nerve to slip his arms around her and kiss her.

Hard.

Warm lips found hers, and she closed her eyes.
Stop this, Cissy, stop it now! Before it goes any further. You do not want to make love to Jack, do not!

But she moaned softly, and Jack’s big hands seemed to envelop her, pulling her tight against him, fingers sliding beneath the hem of her pajama top to splay against her back as he slowly moved downward, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat.

Don’t let him…Oh God, he’s doing it, isn’t he?

Her back arched of its own accord as he began working the buttons of her pajamas, opening each with his tongue, a trick that amazed and seduced her. Warm breath, wet tongue, the click of the button against his teeth as each pearly little disc was slowly released.

It would have been easier and faster to just jerk the damned piece of cotton over her head, or for either of them to unbutton the fabric with their eager fingers, but this slow method, where his hot breath seeped through the cotton, the fabric parting, his lips and tongue skimming her breastbone, moving ever lower, was magical and sexy and turned her on to incredible heights. His hands were free, and he used them to hold her tight, one across the small of her back, the other, as he eased himself down, cupping her buttocks and holding her fast as the pajama top parted from the pants. With his teeth, he pulled her bottoms down, exposing her, leaving her partially dressed as his mouth scraped lower, past her abdomen and belly button, his breathing hotter now, faster.

Desire pounded through her veins. Her throat was dry, her hands entwined in his hair as he began to kiss her between her legs, his lips and tongue touching, flicking, toying with her as sweat sheened her body and the wanting deep inside began to throb.

Moaning, she began to move with him. A quick tug on her pajama bottoms took them off, and he gained closer access, his tongue working magic, his hands on her buttocks.

“Oh God,” she whispered and was undone. “Jack…” Hot need thrummed through her. She wanted more. So much more. Just when she thought she would go mad with the yearning, he came to her, sliding up her body more quickly now, hands at her breasts, lips skimming her nipples.

All denial fled. She didn’t care about the ramifications, didn’t think about tomorrow, just wanted him. All of him. Now.

He kissed her again, his mouth clamping over hers as his legs pushed hers apart. She arched upward, her fingers digging into the smooth muscles of his back. “Jack,” she whispered when he lifted his head to gaze at her.

“I hate to tell you this, Cissy,” he said, “but I love you. I
love
you.”

As the words left his lips, he thrust into her. Any argument that might have been forming in her mind quickly fell away. Her body met his eagerly. Hungrily. She wanted so much more from him,
so much….
Her thoughts fled, her breath came in short gasps, her blood thundered through her ears as he made love to her. Faster and faster. Harder and harder. Pressure building. She was sweating, gasping. She saw the veins bulging in his forehead. Her entire body centered on the joining of his body to hers.

“Cissy…”

A jolt rocked through her. A soft scream erupted from her throat. Spasm after spasm. She clung to him, felt him tense, and then in one instant he let go, pouring himself into her, whispering her name. “Cissy…oh…damn…Cissy.”

He collapsed atop her, his body as covered in perspiration as hers, his own heart echoing the frantic beat of hers.

She was gasping, but managed a smile.

“And you thought this was a bad idea,” he murmured.

“I still do.”

He lifted his head and cocked a skeptical eyebrow. She laughed.

“Okay…I think it was a bad idea, but I’m glad it happened.”

“Are you?”

Sighing, she wound her arms around his neck. “You are still my husband, for a few more weeks.” His grin widened, and she almost gave in to trusting him again. Almost.

“That’s not set in stone either,” he reminded her, kissing her forehead.

“Let’s not ruin this morning talking about the divorce. I’m going to shower, and you go downstairs and make coffee, and about the time we’re on our second cup, Beej will wake up and we’ll have a perfectly pleasant morning.”

“It could be that way every morning,” he said softly, then, as if realizing he was overplaying his hand, said, “Okay…coffee it is. And I’ll take care of the dog.”

“Coco!” she cried.

“Relax, B.J. and I took her out of the crate last night, walked her, and played with her. Surprise, surprise, she didn’t bite me.”

“How could I have forgotten?” She felt horrible.

“You had a lot on your mind. I think she’ll forgive you.”

“Where is she?”

“Downstairs in her bed, I think.”

“I’m a terrible dog owner,” she said guiltily.

“You’ll get the hang of it. Besides, no harm, no foul.”

“Yeah, right.”

He rolled off her. The cold air in the room touched her skin, and she wondered why it was she couldn’t get enough of him. Why couldn’t she just throw him out and be done with it? True, she thought, as she pulled up her pajama bottoms and walked into the bathroom, she’d used the excuse of her grandmother’s violent death to let Jack back into her life. Twisting on the faucets, waiting for the water to heat, she admitted to herself that it had seemed petty and selfish to keep the divorce front and center when people were being killed. But by putting the divorce on the back burner, she’d sent out mixed signals to her estranged husband.

Was that what she wanted?

So what’s the big deal?
her mind taunted as she stepped out of her pajamas and into the shower.
Another week or two? Who cares? You’re separated…well, kind of.
Allowing the hot needles of water to wash away her anxiety, she picked up a bottle of shampoo, poured a dab in her hand, and worked it through her wet hair. Steam rolled through the room, and she felt her mind clear and her body relax.
You’re on no timetable, no schedule; you can do this any time you want.
She’d been outraged, of course, when she’d seen Jack coming out of Larissa’s and had told her attorneys she wanted the fastest divorce possible, but her anger had tempered a little over the past few weeks, and Jack, damn him, had been incredibly charming.

But you know that about him.

From the first time you met, he got to you.

All-blue eyes, athletic body, irreverent bad-boy smile, and maverick appeal.

From the moment he turned his attention your way, you were had. Don’t be played again, Cissy. Do not!

Damn it all.

She rinsed and lathered, hot spray running down her face and neck.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

He was knocking?

“What?” she called over the glass door and heard the door to the bathroom creak open. This wasn’t a good idea.

“Coffee,” Jack announced through the steam. “Geez, it’s like a cloud bank in here.”

She smelled the rich aroma, heard the clink of a cup being set on tile.

“And that’s all? You came in just to bring me coffee?” The lather had drained away.

“Well, that’s up to you.”

“That sounds like a bad line from a B movie, Jack. A real bad one.” She clicked open the shower door, reached for her towel, and stepped into the small, foggy room. Jack was there, of course, standing naked as the day he was born. “For the love of God.” She wrapped the terry towel quickly around her. “Did you make the coffee that way?”

He glanced down at his nude body, unconcerned. “Gave Coco a thrill.”

“You’ll scandalize the neighbors.”

“I hope so.”

She thought he’d pull her into his arms, force her back into the shower and do all kinds of incredible things to her body while the water cascaded over them and the soap made their skin slick and pliable. Instead, his blue eyes sparkling, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, he eased around her and stepped into the shower. “It’s big enough for two,” he said pointedly.

She gazed at him, knowing if she wanted him, he was ready. But he wanted her to come to him.

“I’ll see you downstairs,” she said after a long moment.

“Tease.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

She toweled her body and rubbed the water from her hair, then tossed on her robe. Quickly she reached for her brush, but it wasn’t in its usual spot in the drawer. What? She searched, but came up empty-handed. Rather than worry about it, she found a wide-toothed comb and ran it through her hair, pulling water out. Then she picked up her cup of coffee and, after peeking into B.J.’s room and finding him sleeping soundly, headed down the hall.

Jack had to go. He
had
to. For her sanity. He couldn’t just hang out here, she thought, walking downstairs.

It’s the weekend. Let it go for now.

At the base of the steps, she saw Coco, lying in her little bed near the couch in the living room, her scruffy white head propped on the bed’s edge. Dark button eyes blinked. At the sight of Cissy, her little tail wagged, and she yawned, stretching, then shot to her feet, trotting over to be picked up.

“I’m sorry,” Cissy said as she scratched Coco behind her ears. The little dog grunted in pleasure. “I should have let you out last night.”

Thank God for Jack.

Wait. No. Strike that! She didn’t like the turn of her thoughts. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” Carrying the little white scruff and her cup into the kitchen, she set the dog down, then opened the refrigerator. She found a few scraps of chicken left over from the gathering and, tearing off a couple of small bites, hand-fed them to the dog. She then took Coco outside, where dawn was streaking the sky in shades of magenta and gold. The air was cold and brisk but, for once this winter, there were no clouds scudding across the sky, no fog wisping through the spires of the skyscrapers visible above the trees.

She rubbed her arms and told herself she’d been six kinds of a fool for letting Jack spend the night.

You didn’t let him stay; he crawled into bed with you while you were sleeping.

But she could have stopped him from making love to her. This morning, when she discovered him all warm and hard-bodied beside her, she could have pushed him away. Sleep hadn’t clouded her mind. Grief hadn’t devastated her willpower. Too much wine the night before hadn’t clouded her judgment. Oh, no. She’d wanted to make love to Jack as much as he apparently had wanted to make love to her.