Surrender the Dark (9 page)

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have come out here,” he said. Time to back off, he told himself. To retreat and regroup. “I only wanted to make sure you were okay.” He turned to leave.

He’d gone two steps when she asked, “Why did you stay?”

He looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“You looked in, saw me working. Obviously I was okay. Why did you stay?”

He faced her, hating the tiny seed of hope her question spawned inside him. God, he was pathetic. He should make some vague response and get the hell out. Instead he answered her with complete honesty. “I told you, your work fascinates me.”
You fascinate me.
“It only took a minute to see how close this is to you. So I watched, and wondered how you got into it.”

She stared at him for a long moment. Jarrett felt as if she was testing him, searching for some clue in his manner
or expression before passing judgment. His muscles tensed, his skin grew hot and itchy under her scrutiny. Never in his life had he wanted to succeed as he did now. And he didn’t even know what in the hell he was being judged for.

“In therapy,” she said finally.

“Therapy?” he repeated, already knowing he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“After I left JMI, I was in physical therapy for several months.” She waved him silent when he opened his mouth to speak. “I know JMI would have willingly covered it. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want or need your help—especially then.”

Jarrett swallowed that blunt statement without flinching, but he felt a distinct tearing sensation in the vicinity of his heart. Even as he stared at her now, strong and solid and in control, he still saw that beaten and betrayed woman who’d stood defiantly in the doorway to his office two years ago.

“Anyway,” she went on, “while they healed my body, they also worked on my mind. Not much of it helped. Except the art classes they talked me into. The creative outlet … I don’t know, it helped me vent more of what was inside me than a hundred hours of lying on a couch could have.”

Jarrett sensed the desperation underlying her words and wished he’d never brought up the subject. He really hated the feelings of helplessness she consistently aroused in him. “I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that you didn’t stop at simple watercolors,” he said, awkwardly
trying to lighten the moment, to give her a graceful out. He should have known better.

“What I was working out wasn’t exactly simple.”

“No,” he said, his tone more than a bit rough. “It wasn’t.” He turned, intending again to leave. He should never have come out there. He’d already invaded far too much of her sanctuary.

Before he could take a step, Rae walked over to a small safe tucked under one of the corner workbenches. A minute later she crossed to the table beside him. He stood riveted to the spot as she unfolded a soft black velvet square and laid it out in front of him.

The small pendant attached to a pounded silver chain captured his eye and held it like a magnet. Strands of what looked like brass and steel had been woven into a loosely shaped, three-dimensional heart. Wedged in the center of it was a rough, uncut ruby. The stone looked too raw and wild to be caged inside something so impossibly shiny and pure.

Jarrett looked up at her, and would have sworn he caught a glimpse of fear in her eyes before she masked it with indifference.

“I finished this a few weeks ago. It was supposed to go to a shop in Utah that carries my work.”

“What, you didn’t think it was good enough?” Jarrett’s tone made it clear he didn’t agree.

“Of course not,” she said instantly, indignant.

This time he gave in to the urge and let the corners of his mouth kick up in a small smile. “And so modest too.”

She made a face, then said, “I know it will sell. If that’s being immodest, then I can’t help it.”

“If you know it will sell, then why is it still here?”

His question brought an abrupt end to their little conversation.

Saying nothing, she averted her face, then bundled the pendant back up.

Jarrett refused to let her shut him out this time. “Do you sell your work all over the country?”

She nodded. “Enough to pay the bills, anyway.”

“Is that a problem?”

Her black expression made it clear she thought the subject was anything but his business, but she answered him anyway. “If you mean do I need to work, then the answer is no. As you well know, risking your life pays well. I work now because I want to.”

The subject apparently closed, she started to step away from the table and out of his reach. Again. Jarrett grasped her arm.

“Rae, wait.” She didn’t tug herself free, but she didn’t look at him. “Your work … it’s …” He swore softly. “Ah hell, I’m not good at describing stuff.”

She looked up then, a hint of a smile on her lips. It was so unexpected, his breath left him in a rush. Then, to complete his amazement, the corners of his own mouth lifted in an answering grin.

He heard her breath catch, watched her eyes darken as they focused on his mouth. His grasp on her arm tightened and his blood roared. Their smiles faded simultaneously. Neither made a move to break away.

“Your work is beautiful,” he said roughly.
Like you.

The silence spun out. “Thank you,” she said finally, her voice soft and breathless in a way he’d never heard before.

He instinctively moved to pull her closer, not caring to examine the needs driving him, only wanting to assuage them before he lost what was left of his sanity. The wide table thwarted his efforts before she could.

Damn
, he swore silently, although at the table or at himself he didn’t know. Or care to know. It took more discipline than he’d expected to let her go.

She crossed swiftly to the gem safe. Jarrett started toward the door, his leg not the only thing throbbing now. He only hoped he could make it out of the shop before she saw the obvious. Sweatpants weren’t big on camouflage.

He heard her coming up behind him and cursed under his breath. Without turning, he reached for the doorknob and said, “I can make it back. I’ve kept you from your work long enough.”

“I didn’t realize how late it was. I’ll head back and fix us a bite to eat.”

“I think I can manage that,” he said sharply, hoping she’d let it drop, wishing that just the feel of her heat near him didn’t send his pulse skyrocketing.

“You’ve already pushed further than you should have today. I want you to rest, or you’ll—”

His control snapped and he turned on her, bracing his weight against the door frame. “I know you want me well and out of your life, Rae. You’ve made that more than clear. Trust me when I say I’m not too thrilled with being trapped up here either right at the moment.”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise, but anger came quickly on its heels. “Well, that makes two of us, McCullough.” She stabbed a finger into his chest. “But you
are
here. And as much as you behave like one, you’re not a machine. Believe me, I know how frustrating it is, but you need to give yourself a chance to heal.” She jabbed again. “And as soon as you have, you couldn’t leave fast enough to suit me.”

As if suddenly realizing her finger was pressed into his chest, she yanked it back. Jarrett was quicker, though. He caught her hand in his fist and held it tight between them.

He leaned his head toward her, every muscle tight. “You’re right, it
is
frustrating. Damn frustrating. But not just for the reason you think.”

Defiance sparked in her eyes, and the only sound louder than the pounding of his heart was the rushing of his blood.

“Well, I’m sorry you find the company lacking,” she retorted. “I didn’t move fifty miles away to the middle of nowhere because I wanted uninvited guests!”

“That’s just it,” he said, his voice dark and rough. “I don’t find you lacking. Not at all. In fact, under different circumstances, I could think of nothing I’d like better than being stuck with you fifty miles from nowhere.”

Her lips parted on a gasp, and Jarrett groaned in defeat. He leaned in closer. “Rae, if I were the kind of man who could let himself want, you’d be just about perfect.”

“Hardly perfect,” she said on a choked whisper.

He tugged her up against him, pressing his bandaged
hand to the small of her back, molding her hips to his. “Feels that way to me.”

He watched her as he lowered his mouth toward hers. The answering heat in her eyes made him wonder if he was about to be burned alive. If so, he welcomed her touch of fire. God knew he’d been cold long enough.

“And I’m anything but a machine,” he murmured.

“McCullough—”

He pulled back an inch and found her looking hungrily at his mouth. His groan came from deep in his chest. “For God’s sake, Rae, just this once, call me Jarrett.”

She dragged her gaze from his lips to his eyes. The tension left her and she leaned into him. “Jarrett,” she said on a soft sigh.

Then he kissed her.

Her mouth was the most dangerous of narcotics. One taste and Jarrett knew he could become a lifetime addict.

The smoky smell of the torch lingered on her skin, mixing with the tantalizing traces of whatever fragrance she wore, drugging him further. He wanted more.

He skimmed his hand over her hip, cupping her buttocks, pressing her closer, reveling in the way her soft contours and the not-so-soft ones melded into his. When her fingers crept along his neck and pushed into his hair, his body automatically tightened against the shiver of pleasure that drove down his spine. God, the high she gave him was as much torture as pleasure. He quickly realized he wasn’t satisfied with sustaining it. He wanted to go higher, much higher.

“Open your mouth for me, Rae,” he urged. He closed his teeth over her lower lip, then pressed the tip of his tongue against the warm, damp seam just above it. His lips rubbed hers as he spoke. “Let me in.”

She stilled a moment, then ducked her chin, pulling her mouth out of his reach. He’d half lifted his hand to grip her chin and force her back to him, but caught the action at the last moment. Despite the driving need to push, to demand, to take, he knew that was the last thing she needed. But knowing and doing weren’t nearly the same thing.

With more restraint than he’d needed in a long while, he loosened his hold on her, sliding his hand back up to her waist. He tugged at their joined hands, trapped between them, using them to push her chin up gently, then brought her work-roughened knuckles to his mouth.

She was trembling. Or maybe it was him. God knew he’d never felt so completely shaken. When she finally looked up at him, he fought like hell not to close his own eyes, to avoid what he might find there.

Challenge, confusion, desire, fear. That’s what he saw. He wondered if he was doing any better at masking those same feelings. He doubted it. That he didn’t care scared the hell out of him, but there didn’t seem to be any turning back. He’d started down this path the moment he’d opened his eyes and found himself in her bed.

“I’ve got to taste you.” He held her gaze as he lowered his lips to her knuckles, kissing one scarred joint, then another. She gasped at each wet touch. Desire began to eclipse the other emotions in her eyes. He damn well knew it had in his own.

He silently challenged her not to look away as he nudged her hand open and slowly slid his lips over her
forefinger. Her eyes widened, her throat worked convulsively.

Jarrett pulled her finger deep into his mouth and sucked, then released it, only to take it and her middle finger back into his mouth for the same treatment. Her soft cry and the sudden dip in her knees made stopping an impossibility. He tightened his hold on her waist, his own knees a bit wobbly at the sweet torture of her pelvic bones rubbing between his.

He worked hard not to rock against her, despite his body’s insistent demands. She’d had enough force in her life. This had to be an equal give-and-take, even if it killed him.

His restraint had him sucking harder and deeper on her fingers. In. Out. Once. Twice. She moaned, and he could no longer keep his hips from mirroring the actions of his mouth. With great reluctance he let her fingers slide away before he lost it and dragged her to the floor of her shop.

She rested her fingers in the hollow at the base of his throat. He felt the cool dampness from his own mouth against the pounding pulse under her fingertips.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked hoarsely.

It was a valid question. A brave one. One he had no answer for. “I don’t want to do anything
to
you,” he said.

“I want you to stop.” She didn’t move so much as an eyelash.

He would have smiled if he hadn’t been struggling so hard to maintain his control. Sweet Lord, the look in her eyes made the muscles in his thighs tremble with the
need to thrust into her. He lifted her hand from his throat. “I just needed to taste you, Rae,” he said, knowing his words fell far short of explaining what she made him feel, what she made him want. “I don’t know why.” He pressed her damp fingertips to her own mouth. “Taste me.” He held them there, against her closed lips. “If you won’t trust me enough to let me in—and God knows I can’t blame you—take this much.” He pressed harder. “Taste me, Rae. Then tell me you want me to stop.”

The world might have spun to a halt, for all the next few moments seemed an eternity to him. Then the tip of her tongue peeked from between her lips and touched her fingers.

He felt like someone had kicked him in the back of the knees. When she pulled her two fingertips into her mouth, he thought he just might explode right there against her. Lord, it was the most erotic thing, the most intimate thing, he’d ever experienced. Or maybe it just felt that way because it was Rae.

He couldn’t look away, didn’t want to, as he pulled her fingers from her mouth and replaced them with his lips. This kiss wasn’t mindless and seeking, it was direct and to the point. It was hot, hard, and demanding. He didn’t ask this time, and found, to his intense pleasure, he didn’t have to. When he pressed his tongue to her lips, she opened for him. The pleasure was knife-sharp as he plunged into her over and over.