Secrets and Lies: He's a Bad Boy\He's Just a Cowboy (21 page)

Because you’re a fool, girl. A romantic fool!

A small smile crept over her lips, for, despite the pain, the heartache, the bitterness she felt for him, a tiny part of her still treasured those few tender hours they’d shared as lovers. Even now, years later, there was still a fondness—a cozy feeling in her heart—when she remembered his lovemaking. Their passion had been explosive, but there had been a tenderness to him, as well, a gentle side, that few had been allowed to see. She’d often wondered if anyone but she had gotten a glimpse of that inner part of him.

The idea was ridiculous, she supposed. He could have made love to dozens of women and each of his lovers might well think that she held the exclusive hold on his heart, that she alone was witness to his pain, that she had helped balm his wounds, that she, and she only, had caught a glimmer of the kinder man beneath his hard and calloused exterior.

To her horror, she looked at the wall surrounding the estate again, and there he was, on the other side of the gate, fiddling with some gadget—the controls no doubt. Within minutes, the huge gates began to swing, creaking open. Jackson ran to the bike, hopped on and—plucking the keys from her fingers—winked. He started the bike and drove onto the grounds.

“You are out of your mind,” she whispered, but she clung to him, her arms snug across his abdomen.

He shot her a dangerous look over his shoulder. “Maybe.”

“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it.”

The lane was dark, the asphalt chipped and cracked. Jackson drove slowly and Rachelle’s insides squeezed together. This was a mistake, a horrid mistake, she thought as he parked near the house.

The house was as she remembered it—three stories with a sharply pitched roof complete with dormers. She wondered if the furniture was the same, if the old couch was positioned near the fireplace.

“Looks like no one’s been here for years,” she said, eyeing the overgrown grounds.

“I don’t think the Monroes come up here any longer.” He got out of the car and stared up at the house. “I never could figure out how the sheriff’s department found us,” he said. “I decided they must’ve done a house-to-house search once they found my bike and learned that Roy and I had been in a fight.” He walked to the front door and tried to open it, but the latch was securely fastened.

He took her hand and they walked toward the lake. The moon cast shadows in the trees and the overgrown shrubbery snagged their jeans as they passed. The air was warm, but still, and the sounds of the night were soft—the gentle lapping of the lake, the rumble of a distant train rattling on ancient tracks, the splash of a trout as it jumped for an unseen insect in Whitefire Lake.

“I made a lot of mistakes, Rachelle,” he said as they reached the shore. Across the lake, the lights of the marina winked on the water, and cabin windows glowed a warm gold.

“What is this? An apology?”

He paused, glancing down at her. “An explanation. That’s all. Take it any way you want. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just did what I thought was best at the time.”

He stood at the shoreline, his jaw hard, his proud expression etched upon uncompromising features. He hadn’t mellowed in the decade since she’d seen him last; if anything, he’d become more jaded and cynical than she remembered. His tender side was buried deeper than ever.

“I waited,” she said softly as a tiny breeze teased her hair. She thought she saw pain in his eyes, but the shadows were probably induced by the night. “I kept telling myself that you’d come back for me.”

His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t make any promises—”

She touched his lips, surprised at the warmth of his skin. “I know. I knew it then, but I was young enough, naive enough to believe that we’d shared something special, something sacred.”

“And now?” he asked. “What do you believe now?”

She met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. “That spending the night with you was the single biggest mistake of my life,” she said, her admission tearing her in two. “I was a fool—a schoolgirl who lived in a dream world. You taught me a lot about reality, Jackson. For that, I suppose, I should thank you.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her words. “I trusted you, slept with you, lied for you.”

“You didn’t lie.”

“And you weren’t with me for all of the night.”

His teeth flashed white as he bit out an oath. “You didn’t trust me.”

“I didn’t know you.”

“I did go back to the Fitzpatrick place,” he admitted, his voice low. “I wanted to get my bike—either drive it or push it—but by the time I got there, the party had broken up and my cycle was gone. You know, I never saw it after that night.”

Her pulse was hammering in her head; she remembered that the bike had been stolen, but she hadn’t really thought Jackson had returned to the party. Why? Just for his bike? Or to settle a score with Roy? Her tongue froze and her throat worked; surely he hadn’t…

“Hell, Rachelle. You don’t believe me. You think I killed Roy!” He muttered another string of oaths.

“I do believe you. I…I just wonder why you never told me before.”

“So that the story was simple.”

“But it wasn’t the truth.”

“It was,” he said. “I never saw Roy again.”

Her heart turned to stone. He’d lied—and caused her to perjure herself. To save his hide. Her stomach rolled over, and for a second she thought she might be sick. Her voice, when she spoke, quavered. “I thought more of you than this,” she whispered, her disappointment a gaping wound.

“It was a mistake. I should have told you everything.”

He reached for her, but she backed away, her ankle twisting on a rock near the shore, but she didn’t notice. “God, what a fool I was. I’d half convinced myself that you were some knight in shining armor, saving me from Roy. I’d even imagined that I was in love with you—”

“I never said anything about love!” he cut in, his eyes glittering ominously.

“I know. But I was naive enough to believe that sex and love went together. I know better now.”

“Do you?” He eyed her speculatively and her breath stopped at the base of her throat.

“Oh, Jackson, no—” She pushed him away, but there was no stopping him.

Gathering her in his arms, he kissed her, long and hard, his lips molding expertly over her mouth, his body pressed intimately against her softer contours. Her blood began to pound at her temples and she told herself that kissing him was madness, would surely lead to the same torment she’d suffered in the past, but she couldn’t stop.

“You lied,” she choked out when he finally lifted his head. “I trusted you and you lied!” Tears drizzled down her cheeks, and he slowly brushed them aside.

“If I could change anything, Rachelle, I would. But I can’t. God knows I’ve regretted a lot of things in my life, but I should never have kept my silence. I didn’t know you knew I left and I…I should have explained everything to you. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Oh, Jackson…” Her cold heart melted and she wanted to believe him, to trust him again, but the pain of the past was real and agonizing and she wondered if she
ever
could trust him again.

“Believe in me,” he whispered, and kissed her again, this time so chastely that her heart nearly shattered into a thousand brittle pieces. Yielding, she wrapped her arms around his neck and told herself to forget about the past, ignore the future and live for the moment. She was here, alone with Jackson, in his arms on the shores of Whitefire Lake.

The night surrounded them, and the smell of pine and musk and moist earth mingled as his weight dragged her toward the sandy beach. She felt herself being pulled to the ground and tried to utter a protest, but her words came out as a moan. Cold sand pressed against her back and Jackson was lying atop her, his face close to hers, his breath soft as a midnight breeze. “I don’t know what it is between us,” he admitted, his breathing labored, his gaze as tortured as her own. “But it’s something I can’t control.” His lips twisted into a line of torment. “I want you, Rachelle. More than I’ve ever wanted a woman, any woman.”

She understood. Gazing into his eyes, she felt the same emotional magnetism that she was powerless to fight. Her body craved his. Even now her hips were pressing upward, silently begging him to stroke and caress her, to strip her of her clothes and take her as if she were his first and only lover. And yet her mind told her this was wrong—so very wrong. Just because pure animal lust existed was no reason to give into it.

He kissed her again, and his hand gently cupped her breast. Heat seared through her blood. Desire pulsed in hot, demanding waves as his mouth moved, his lips grinding against hers in imitation of his hips, which were locked to hers.

The hard swelling in his loins pressed hard against her abdomen and she ached inside for the feel of him. His tongue explored her mouth, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more, more—all of him.

She began to move and he rocked with her, his hands moving beneath her sweater to scale her ribs and grasp both breasts in anxious hunger. “Let me make love to you,” he whispered against her ear, and she only moaned in response.

He shifted suddenly, straddling her abdomen with his knees. Slowly he lifted her sweater over her head, baring her torso except for her scanty bra. In the cool night, her nipples turned to hard buttons and her skin was blue-white in the light from a slice of moon.

Licking one finger lazily, he watched her as he placed that wet finger against her breast. She groaned and writhed, the ache within her growing and pulsing. Sweat collected on her skin, a reflection of the drops she saw on his forehead. Her fingers worked at the waistband of his jeans and soon he’d discarded his shirt so that she could touch the thin wall of muscles that surrounded his navel. Her fingers inched upward and she explored the swirling hairs that hid the muscles of his chest.

“This is dangerous,” he whispered, unhooking her bra and letting her breasts fall free.

“Everything with you is dangerous,” she whispered, hardly able to breathe. He rubbed the inside of his legs against her bare ribs and she bucked against him. She couldn’t think, wouldn’t reason, and as he fell down upon her, covering her hungry lips with his own, she arched upward.

His hand slipped to the small of her back, pressing her up against him, making her all the more aware of the urgency of his need. He kissed her face, her throat, her shoulders, and swept lower to brush her nipples with his lips.

Rachelle was melting inside and she needed his sweet rhythm to end her agony. She clung to him and ran her tongue across his chest. Groaning, he unsnapped her jeans, tore them from her and disposed of his own. He hesitated for only a second, his naked body poised over hers in the moonlight, his eyes searching hers for answers to questions he couldn’t voice.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, anxious hands running down his sides. She felt the scar on his shoulder, a reminder of Roy’s wicked knife. “You don’t have to love me,” she said, though she felt that they were bound by the threads of fate that wove their lives together. “Just make love to me.”

“Oh, Rachelle, this isn’t right.” But he couldn’t stop, and he plunged into her with a fevered thrust that caused her breath to stop in her throat. She closed her eyes as he began to move in a rhythm that melded with the night. Fighting tears, caught in an emotional maelstrom that tossed her backward in time, Rachelle clung to him. There was a desperation to his lovemaking, as if he never expected to hold her in his arms again and she, too, was desperate, feeling his body move within her, slowly at first and more quickly as his resistance gave way.

“Rachelle, Rachelle,” he whispered hoarsely. “I can’t stop… . Oh, oh, please, baby…” She barely heard his words over the sounds of her own breathing and the pounding of her heart. Her body bucked and arched and she cried out. The world spun faster and Jackson stiffened, shuddered and let out a primal cry that echoed off the lake. With a final tremor, he fell against her and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his throat.

I love you,
she thought and tears collected at the devastating reality of it.
Damn it, I love you.
Her tears slid from the corners of her eyes and a cloud of afterglow caught her in its misty folds. If she could just stay here forever with this one special man.

She heard him sigh, not happily, but as if a great weight had settled upon his shoulders. Lying beside her, his hands smoothing the hair from her face, he whispered, “What am I going to do with you?”

Swallowing back a sob, she said, “You’re not going to do anything with me, Counselor. It’s what I’m going to do with you that’s the problem.”

He laughed at that and she smiled through her tears. Their lovemaking had to happen. They’d been on a collision course since returning to Gold Creek and the questions of their sexual involvement when they were barely more than children had begged to be answered. Unfortunately, she had responded to him as she had twelve years before. The physical chemistry was just as raw and electric as it had been. The bad boy of Gold Creek was as good a lover as she remembered. Maybe better.

And you love him!

Oh, Lord, what a mess. He was the one man in the world she couldn’t afford to love, the one man who could shred her heart into a million tiny pieces. She had to get away from him, to clear her head, before she did something even more foolish than she just had by making love to him.

In the dark she reached for her clothes, but a male hand clamped over hers. His expression was dark. “Things haven’t changed,” he said, studying her in the weak light from the moon. “I still haven’t made any promises.”

“Neither have I,” she shot back, determined to hide her feelings. “I’ve grown up a lot, Jackson,” she lied, still groping for her jeans. If only she could find her clothes and get dressed, she wouldn’t feel so damned vulnerable. Her fingers came in contact with her belt and she snagged it. “Look, I don’t expect a proposal just because we made love. I don’t even expect you to try and see me again.”

His jaw worked. “This is easy for you?”

“No.” She wasn’t going to lie. She found her jeans. Good. Her underwear was certainly nearby… . “I’ve lowered my expectations over the years.”