Juliet's Law (12 page)

He raised his head and looked her in the eye. “It would be a lot more fun to just show you.”

Juliet stood. “Okay.”

Josh threw a ten-dollar bill on the bar and raised a hand at Tam. “Let's go.”

She laughed softly and put her jacket on, tossing the long locks out of her collar and down her back, and headed for the door.

He knew the exact instant her flashback seized her. Her shoulders went rigid and she had a faint vacant-ness to her face. With an unnerving speed, she bolted through the door.

Damn. Josh bolted after her, catching up just as she skidded in the snow outside and fell flat on her belly, hitting hard enough he heard bones jar.

“Juliet!” He knelt at her side, tried to help her up.

But she fought him, her arms flailing, a dark noise coming from her throat. She gasped for breath, and he realized the wind had been knocked out of her. He blew in her face, as he did when Glory was a baby and cried so hard she lost her breath.

It didn't help immediately, and it was hard to hold on to her. The sidewalk was slippery with the slowly piling snow, and he skidded twice, feeling as if he was holding on to a fish that didn't want to be caught, or a wild horse. She bucked and flipped and twisted, fighting as if for her life. Blood came from her nose, and her hands were skinned raw, and she didn't seem to even notice.

Finally he grabbed a handful of snow and aimed for her face. She dodged and the bulk of it landed against her neck and chest, and for whatever reason, it did the trick. With a gasp, she caught her breath and her eyes focused on the moment. This moment.

“Hey,” he said, sinking down against the wall. The street was deserted, the air filled with tiny steady pellets of snow. She was draped across his lap, blinking.

“Hey,” she said, and swallowed. The tension in her body eased. “Sorry. I did it again.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah. It's all mental, not physical.” She stood up, brushed herself off, felt the blood on her face and looked at her glove. “Is it bad?”

Blood smeared from her nose and a cut above her eyebrow. He took snow from the window ledge and offered it to her. “We're only a few blocks away. Let's go get you cleaned up.”

“Okay,” she said. It seemed impossible it was the same word she'd uttered in such a saucy tone a few minutes before.

With as much gentleness as he could offer, Josh reached out and took her hand. She didn't pull away.

 

Juliet felt the stinging in her hands more acutely than anything. The palms were skinned raw, in a way she hadn't done since she was a child and had fallen on roller skates.

Depression crept in as they walked back, a sense of things going wrong, to never be put right again. Her sister rotting in jail, her own mind claimed by some wretched moment in the past. She felt doomed and defeated.

When they got to the house, the dogs rushed forward, sniffing her hands curiously. Josh's dog licked the stinging palms helpfully, and when the other dogs slumped by the fire, Jack padded behind the humans when they went to the bathroom.

It was a wonderfully old-fashioned room, with glass brick and tiny, art-deco era tiles on the walls. Jack trailed in after them, sniffed a corner, then the edge of her shoe, and settled in the hallway just outside the door as if keeping watch.

Juliet avoided looking at herself in the mirror, and turned on the water in the sink. “I can do it,” she said.

“I know you
can,
” Josh replied. “Why don't you let me help you? I'd really like to.”

Embarrassed, she lowered her eyes and plopped down on the toilet. “Okay.”

A smile edged his voice. “You say okay a lot.” He dipped a wash cloth in warm water. “Lift your chin.”

She did, but still managed not to look at his face, instead focusing on the buttons traveling up his shirt. Off-white buttons in a green corduroy shirt. “So is the pub guy a friend of yours?”

“Acquaintance, I'd say. He was with a crew of smoke jumpers who were fighting the Hayman fire a few years back. You remember the Hayman fire?”

“No.”

“It was a bad forest fire, the worst we've had in Colorado in decades. They were fighting it for weeks, and it took a lot of manpower.” Gently, he wiped blood from her face. “Tam and another guy had a bad landing—he broke his leg and his friend died. Don't move.”

He ran cold water over the cloth and pressed it to her eyebrow. “This one is bleeding pretty good. You might need a stitch.”

She didn't say anything, remembering another night,
another time her face was gently wiped clean of blood. Her throat felt tight.

“It might be a good idea to talk about this,” Josh said. “Maybe tell me what happened?”

A half hour ago, she'd been thinking only about how it would feel to have Josh's arms around her, taste his mouth, feel his hands. She'd been thinking about what his body would look like without clothes and how it might feel to have the attention he promised—
an evening on your breasts
—and then, some wretched something had yanked her back in time again, and it had been bad, this time, a sense of panic so acute and overwhelming that she'd barely been able to breathe.

“I feel so cheated,” she said dully.

He sank down on the bathtub, putting their faces on the same level, and brushed hair away from her forehead. “Cheated how?”

His eyes were that soft deer-brown, the lashes so very long and childlike, softening the hard lines of cheekbone and jaw. His hands, brushing that hair away, were gentle as feathers. “I haven't been able to feel much of anything for a long time, and there I was, wanting you in a real way, wanting to kiss you and—” She lifted a shoulder. “And then something in my brain or memory kicks in and it's like I've made no progress at all.”

“Were you raped?”

She bowed her head, ashamed. It was so humiliating, every time, to have to admit it. “A little more than a year ago.” With exasperation, she said, “I don't know why I can't seem to get over it, process it, be done with
it. I mean, he barely even hurt me. As these things go, it wasn't that bad.”

“Oh, Juliet,” he said, taking her hand and carrying her knuckles to his lips. “That's like saying you were only murdered with a single gunshot instead of knifed. It's horrible.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

He pressed the cloth to her eyebrow again. “Have you had any counseling for PTSD? They have some better techniques these days.”

“I've had counseling. I really think I'm doing okay. It's just that a couple of times lately, I've had some bad moments.”

“Right. I can see that you're pretty functional. Smart. All that stuff.” He smiled. “But you're also having some pretty serious flashbacks and that's going to make life tough to manage.”

“Have you had some training in PTSD or something?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I studied it on my own. In case Glory had symptoms, I'd know what to do.”

“I see.”

“Tell you what,” he said. “Let's go make some hot chocolate and look through the video collection and see what looks good. What do you say?”

“I'm not an invalid,” Juliet said with some irritation. “I don't need special treatment.”

“Okay, Hop-A-Long.”

She scowled at him. “What does that mean?”

He stood and held out a hand. “Come on. Let's go make something good and watch television and let the
rest of the world go by for a couple of hours. How does that sound?”

For a moment, she hesitated, then put her hand in his and let herself be hauled to her feet. “Pretty damned good.”

The dogs, excited, ran for the back door, looking over their backs to make sure the humans were getting the message. Juliet let herself laugh, let the day shake free from her shoulders. “Think they might want to get out?”

They all traipsed down the hall, into the kitchen, and Josh opened the back door. He whistled. “Well, it's coming down now. Look at that.”

She peeked out over his shoulder. “Dinner plate snow!” she cried. “It's so pretty.”

“It is. Now don't you think hot chocolate seems like the right idea?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It does.”

As she stood there, she thought of her sister, out in the darkness last night. “I am so worried about Desi,” she said quietly.

“So am I,” he said.

“We have to find out who did this,” Juliet said. “I keep worrying that it looks bad for her. That if
I
can think the worst—”

“The worst?”

Juliet raised her eyes. “That she killed him.” There, she'd said it.

He took a breath. “We have to find out the truth.”

“Are you afraid of what you might find?”

“Maybe a little,” he said, and brushed a lock of hair off her cheek, tucked it behind her ear. “But it's always better to know the real truth of a thing.”

“Is it?” she asked. A fierceness rose in her. “I'd lie to protect her, Josh.”

His smile quirked sideways. “So would I. So would my mother and her cronies. So would a lot of people. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, huh?” He took her hand. “Come on, let's get some refreshments.”

J
osh built a fire and made a tray with cookies, cups, a fat pot for the hot chocolate, even some marshmallows. While he was getting it ready, Juliet dutifully flipped through his extensive DVD collection. It contained a fair number of race-car and football movies, along with what appeared to be every James Bond ever made, and all the original
Mission: Impossible
television series. There were Disney cartoons she assumed belonged to Glory.

But Juliet was also delighted to discover her favorite kind of movie: big dramas, not the usual black-and-white comedies so many people seemed to collect these days, but war movies and tragedies. She saw
The English Patient
and
Dangerous Liaisons
and— “
Dr. Zhivago!
You have actually seen this movie?”

“Oh, yeah. My mother loves it. I've watched it with her a million times.” Kneeling by the fire, Josh grinned over his shoulder. “Julie Christie is hot.”

Juliet grinned. “She's blond, right?”

The lights flickered suddenly. Went out. “Uh-oh,” Josh said. “I forgot to mention the power is a little wonky during heavy snows. The lines are still all overhead in this part of town.”

Juliet leaned back on her heels. As always, the quiet left behind by a power outage always amazed her. The hush filled the rooms, and then the lights blinked back on. They wavered, then held.

“I'm going to get some candles,” Josh said. “Go ahead and put the movie in if you want.”

“Really? You'll watch
Dr. Zhivago?
”

“Sure, why not? We might lose power, but we might not.”

“That's not what I meant.” Juliet handed him the case. “I am
so
not going to argue with you. Pop that baby in before you change your mind.”

He chuckled. “I won't change my mind.” He headed into the kitchen, and came back with three fat candles on saucers.

Settling on the couch in her socks, Juliet plucked a marshmallow off the tray. “If I ever told my friends that a guy watched
Dr. Zhivago
with me there would be a line of women from your door around the block.”

“Yeah?” He put the DVD in and came around the coffee table to sit next to her. “All this time, that was all I had to do? Tell women I loved sappy old movies?”

Juliet thought about it. “Yes. Pretty much.”

“Damn. Somebody should have told me.” He held the remote control in his hand, put his other hand on her leg. “Are you okay now?”

“Yes. Play the movie.”

He did.

 

She knew it was just a distraction, a way to keep her mind off Desi, but Juliet loved
Dr. Zhivago.
Loved everything about it—the music, the costumes, the handsome, tortured face of Omar Sharif, the beautiful landscapes, the sad, sad story.

It was delicious to be curled up on the couch in front of a fire, watching it with Josh, too. They nibbled cookies and popcorn, drank hot chocolate. At one point, he put his arm around her, and Juliet did not object. She snuggled into his broad side and let the smell of him fill her, enjoyed the pleasure of his body next to her own, so warm and real. It was both comfortable and arousing to be so close.

It felt wonderful, and she tried to remember a time she simply watched a movie on video with a guy.

When the movie ended, so tragically and so poignantly, Juliet was wiping tears away surreptitiously when Josh handed her a tissue and stood up. “I'll be back with your pillows. Do you want anything to drink?”

Disappointed that he was headed off to bed so abruptly, Juliet shook her head. The lights flickered, and she suddenly wanted them to go out, for the room to be plunged into blackness only lit with the embers of the fire and candles. She wanted to kiss him, to explore his mouth and those broad shoulders and—

Well, whatever else.

And really, what was stopping her from taking the initiative?

Did she dare? She did. Standing up, she turned off the lamp, then lit the candles on the coffee table. The fire had gone low, and she padded over to it in her stocking feet to see if she could figure out how to feed some more wood to the flames.

“This is nice,” Josh said, coming back into the room with pillows and blankets. He had to step around and over dogs, who groaned in pleased ways when he nudged them, and dumped the linens on a chair. “Does this mean you might not be ready to go right to sleep?”

Juliet smiled over her shoulder. “Maybe. I just kept wishing for the lights to go out and I decided maybe it would be okay if I just turned them off.” She held a smallish log in her hands. “Is this the right size to feed it right now?”

“Perfect.” He came around the coffee table and knelt next to her, picked up the poker and sent sparks sailing up the chimney. “Put another one on, too, in case we do lose power.”

Juliet felt a low singing pleasure rising through her veins as she put the log on the fire. Flames began to lick the new wood and heated her skin on the front of her body, and she leaned back on her heels, putting her hands on her thighs. “Beautiful, isn't it?” Juliet said.

Kneeling next to her, Josh brushed hair away from her face. “Yes,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her.

Juliet met his lips eagerly, and they kissed for a long time, just that. Lips weaving together, sliding, sipping.
Tongues dashing out, dipping in, lacing together. Just lips, his and hers, and the languorous rise of sap in her blood, delicious and almost forgotten. The rush of sensation over her spine, the softening of her thighs, the catch in her breath as she imagined his hands on her. She shifted, raising a hand to his jaw and he made a low, pleased noise, and tumbled her sideways to the floor. They laughed a little as they landed.

“If we're going to make out in front of the fire, maybe we ought to get a blanket,” Juliet said, amazed at the throatiness of her tone.

“I just happen to have one right over here,” he said, and leapt up, grabbing the thick down comforter from the chair and spreading it in front of the fire, then kneeling down and pulling Juliet onto it with him. He tossed a pillow down and Juliet nabbed it, smiling up at him.

For one minute, he looked demolished and overwhelmed. “Juliet, you are so beautiful.”

“Am I?”

“Oh, yeah.” He kissed her lips, lightly, and her chin. “Can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you have any issues with sex? I mean, not that we have to do anything but lie here and kiss, but if there are things I should know, maybe you should tell me?”

Juliet gazed up at him. “I don't have any that I know of. All I know is that I feel something when you touch me, and that's new.”

His eyelids grew sleepy. “Yeah? What do you feel?”

“Kiss me again and let me see if I can tell you.”

He made a soft noise and covered her mouth with his own, a hot tongue and hot lips lighting tiny explosions of peppermint fire over her brow, and a smoky surprise at the base of her throat, and an electric zing down her spine. “Oh,” she whispered, “I feel like kissing you for about a hundred years.”

“We can do that,” Josh said, and kissed her again. “And if I kiss you here?” he said, pressing his lips to her throat. “How is that?”

“Oh, I don't know,” she said, her breath coming a little higher in her throat. “You might have to do it again.”

“I can do that,” he said, and opened his mouth and dragged his tongue down the column of her throat, lingering in a circle over the hollow between her collarbones. Slowly, slowly, he made his way back up, his tongue making lazy circles on her flesh, his mouth pausing to take little sharp sucks. Juliet closed her eyes and luxuriated in the pleasure he gave, letting her hands move on his broad shoulders. The fire warmed her feet and lent a quiet counterpoint to the sound of their breath and the little exclamations of surprise and discovery.

He worked his way back to her mouth and plunged this time with barely concealed passion, his tongue thrusting, his body hard against hers, his hands on her shoulders.

Juliet ached to feel his chest, taste his skin, and she pushed away enough to put her hands on his shirt. “I need this off,” she said. “I want to see.”

He rose on his knees and stripped the shirt off, his eyes fixed on her face. Pale orange firelight spilled over his naked torso, illuminating his broad shoulders, his lean waist. She lifted a hand and traced the round
of his navel, and the silky hair against her finger sent a shock wave through her body, straight between her legs. With a boldness that was unlike her, she sat up and kissed his belly there.

“Now you,” he said.

Juliet knelt, too, and started to unbutton her blouse. “Let me do it,” he said, and she dropped her hands. He reached up to unfasten the first buttons, then the next, the next, and spread the cloth open to show her belly, her bra. He did not move fast, seeming to relish every moment of revelation, and Juliet felt a wild wave of desire washing over her, wave after wave making her dizzy and hungry. “Touch me,” she whispered.

His smile was very small. “All in good time.” His hand glided beneath the fabric of her blouse, across her shoulders, then down her sides, skimming the shirt off of her. The bra was a back closure, and he reached around and undid that, too. Juliet arched her back and held her arms down so he could take it off, feeling her breasts spill into freedom, into firelight.

He tossed the scrap of fabric aside and put his hands on his thighs, simply looking at her toplessness, at her eyes, then her shoulders and neck, then her breasts. She gazed back at him, at the black crown of his head, the beauty of his well-formed shoulders, the sleek nakedness of skin just inches away, and thought she would faint dead away of desire. It buzzed through her mind, through her forehead, her groin, pearled in perfect, beaming lights at the tips of her breasts which wanted—

He bent and opened his mouth around her right
nipple and suckled lightly. Juliet cried out softly. He raised his head. “Is that okay?”

“Yes.” The word was a breathy whisper.

He bent and did it again, opened his hot, wet mouth and settled it with no hurry and great skill on her nipple. He sucked lightly, and wound his tongue around it, and let go, and started again on the other side. At just the moment she felt she would fly away if he didn't somehow ground her, capture her, he raised his hands and cupped her flesh in his big palms and kissed them all over.

“Your breasts are beautiful, too,” he said with a raw sound, “as beautiful as your hair and your eyes and your mouth.” He gathered her up into his lap and kissed her lips, and Juliet cried out at the explosion of feelings that brought, flinging her arms around his shoulders, pressing them close together. He pulled her hips down and into his aroused member, thrusting slightly upward. His hands skimmed up and down her back, buried themselves in her hair, and Juliet felt as if she was a being of pure light, radiating heat and desire and relief.

His hair. Heavy and cool, like the skirt of a bridesmaid's dress she'd worn once. Juliet lifted her arms so she could feel it on her skin and kissed him, over and over.

A huge noise slammed into the placid moment, and both of them grabbed on to the other, looking to see what happened. The lights did go off.

“What was that?” Juliet cried.

Josh grabbed the quilt and tugged it around her shoulders, wrapping them up closely. “I don't know.” He was still, listening, and Juliet listened, too, hearing only the fire and the wind outside. “I should go look around,” he said.

She nodded, climbing reluctantly off his lap. He kissed her head and moved away in his bare feet. Juliet watched him go round the house, beautiful and strong and gigantic, a man she could fall in love with.

But with a rush of disorientation, she thought,
how did I get here?
With a man she hadn't even known existed a few weeks ago, taking off her clothes with him, getting ready to—as they used to say to each other—go all the way?

One of the dogs got up, Jack, and wandered over to sit with her, falling down beside her with a great, wuffling sigh. Juliet put a hand in his fur and stared at the leaping, crackling flames, feeling suddenly dizzy. She'd broken up with her fiancé. Her sister had been arrested. Claude, who had been her brother-in-law for more than ten years, was murdered.

“A tree fell over in the street,” Josh said, coming back into the room.

Juliet looked up at him. Nodded.

He sat down beside her. “You okay?” He put a hand on her back, just one flat hand.

It was enough. As if someone flipped a switch, Juliet felt the panic rise up in her, the unreasoning need to flee, and she gripped the dog's fur more tightly than she intended. He yelped and gave her a wounded look, and Juliet, horrified, let go. Blindly, she reached for Josh. “Help!” she whispered.

He grabbed her hand and held on tightly. “It's all right, Juliet. I'm here. I'm right here.”

And this time, it faded fast. She took a breath. “You must really think I'm wacko.”

He put his arms around her, the blanket between them. “No. I wish I knew how to help.”

Juliet didn't speak for a moment, letting herself rest against his broad chest, feeling the solid strength of his arms around her. She raised her arms and put her hands on his wrists, and they stared into the orange-and-yellow fire. “I feel safe with you,” she said finally, and pressed her lips to his wrists. “But in general, I'm
so
afraid, all the time, and I'm so tired of it. It's exhausting.”

“I know.” He nestled his head close to hers, kissed her shoulder. “Do you want to tell me about what happened?”

Juliet paused. “People don't really want to hear about it, Josh. You think you do, but then the reality is boring and ugly and it changes the way you look at me.”

“That might be true of some people,” he said, “but I'm a cop, remember? It won't shock me and it won't make me think differently about you.” He made his legs into a diamond that fit around her knees, so she was entirely protected with his body. “All that said, if you don't like or don't want to talk, it's okay. It just kinda seems like maybe you've got a boil that needs lancing.”