Authors: Christine Glover
Tags: #romance, #Springs, #Entangled, #Sweetbriar, #Indulgence
Chapter Seven
The day after Christmas, Jessie looked down at Blake’s handsome face, wanting to remain connected to him, but also aware of the LED display on the alarm clock next to his bed. Outside, the glimmer of moonlight reflected off the snow covering the resort’s expansive lawns.
“You’re fantastic,” Blake said.
She caressed his jaw, felt the rough early morning stubble, and remembered the decadent feel of it against her skin as he’d brought her to the heights of ecstasy moments ago. How quickly he’d become more than a fantasy and such an integral part of her life. Their six days and nights together had imprinted him in her mind, and a little in her heart, if she was completely honest with herself.
That he’d joined her family for Christmas dinner yesterday had made him far more real than the movie icon she’d once fan-girled over. But this was casual. “And you scored a ten out of ten in the sex department.” Jessie reluctantly eased off him.
Blake caught her waist, rolled her over, pinning her. “How about we shoot for one more stellar round of awesome sex?”
“Seriously, Blake, wild sex is not a replacement for working out.” She wiggled in a halfhearted attempt to escape him. “Mom outdid herself with dinner yesterday. I feel like I’ve gained ten pounds overnight. I’ve got to hit the gym.” And she really had to forget how adorable he’d looked when he’d washed her mother’s roasting pan.
He nibbled her lower lip, his green eyes filled with humor. “You know you want to,” he said.
A thrill thrummed through her veins. How could anyone resist that dimple? Or the teasing light in his eyes? No wonder he had hundreds of thousands of adoring fans. But she had seen other sides to Blake, sides that revealed more about his character. Sides that made her wish for more.
He imprisoned her with his body, his skin on hers, brushing against her sensitive breasts. Everything inside her vibrated with anticipation, longing to keep him there.
“I do,” Jessie conceded with a laugh, then yielded to his possession of her body, one he’d developed to an amazing degree in six days. It was as if he could read her body’s instinctual responses.
And after he’d read her body twice more, she stepped into the shower feeling sexy, satisfied, and extremely satiated. An hour and a half later, she’d worked up another layer of sweat with Blake guiding her through his rigorous training session.
“How’s your leg holding up?” he asked.
Her thigh ached, but she no longer shied away from Blake’s concern. “It’s a little sore,” she admitted.
He picked up a bottle of her sister’s homemade lotion. “The sauna and a rubdown should loosen the tension.”
Again, she felt the tug for something more than sex pull deep. Blake had arranged for the wedding guests to receive free samples of Hannah’s products at his cost. He was an honorable man. And yet, he’d told her he wasn’t worthy of her.
She wanted to know why he felt that way. But as much as she wanted to chip away at the armor guarding his heart, she’d didn’t dare cross that boundary. “You offering?” she asked, keeping her voice light. She’d signed on for temporary duty, not permanent detail.
“You bet.” He tilted his head toward the cedar-planked room as he finished racking their weights. “Let’s go.”
She lifted two towels from the shelf next to the glass door and minutes later, gave herself over to his touch.
He kneaded the knots in her leg. “How does that feel?” he asked.
“Better.”
She’d been so afraid that Blake would be turned off by her scars, but he hadn’t flinched when he’d seen the jagged line after their frenzied lovemaking the first night they’d been together. Nor had he been repulsed by the puckering of her skin—the raw evidence of the doctors’ efforts to give her a functioning leg.
There was only heat in his emerald eyes as he relieved the cramps stabbing her thigh. And the passion flaring between them as she lay naked on the oversized bath towel made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.
A strange hollow feeling moved into her chest. Christmas had come and gone. New Year’s Eve loomed. Soon after that, Blake would return to California. She didn’t want to think about him leaving. But with their fling coming to an end, she wondered how she’d ever find another man like him.
He’d given her the key to reenter her family faster than any of the head doctors’ attempts to reintegrate her. Somehow, being with him, she belonged to her people again. She ached for him and for the young man who had been given so much responsibility at such a young age. He’d wanted the very thing she had tried to run away from—supportive parents.
He was so much more than the persona he showed the world. The Quinn Sawyer movies only revealed a hint of Blake’s strength. Strength on which she’d become accustomed to relying on.
And that was dangerous.
Jessie stomped on the confusion muddling her thoughts, buried it under her hunger for the simplicity of pure sex without all the messy emotional entanglements. Neither one of them needed the complications. “My leg feels much better, but I’ve got a twinge somewhere else,” she said.
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Show me where it hurts.” He caressed the swell of her hips. “I’ll do my best to take care of you.”
She touched her taut nipple with her index finger. “Here.”
He caressed the bud. “Definitely needs help.” He lowered his head to draw it into his hot mouth.
“Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.” She twisted her fingers in his hair, riding the crest of exquisite spasms each sweep of his tongue created.
Blake cupped her other breast, teasing the sensitized tip, driving her closer to the brink. A moist, exquisite ache settled between her thighs. Jessie lifted her hips, felt his shaft against her pelvis. She longed to feel him plunge deep inside her again, to bring her over the abyss.
He flashed her a look, feral and sexy as hell, as he stroked the length of her torso, circling closer to her sensitized core. She spread her legs and hitched higher to meet his touch. Sobbed with relief when he probed into her slick folds and rubbed her swollen nub of nerves.
“I want you to come for me,” he said, sliding his finger into her, grazing her clitoris with his thumb pad.
She convulsed, raising her hips higher. Ripples of sheer pleasure pulsed through her center. No man had ever had this kind of exhilarating dominion over her, and she loved being at his mercy. “Blake,” she cried.
“It’s all for you, Jessie,” he promised, then licked the underside of her breasts, nibbling lower and lower still.
She followed his movement, her hands in his hair, until his mouth replaced his fingers. “You can’t.”
He gave her another sexy glance. “Oh yes I can.”
Her body throbbed. Every cell she possessed was charged, every breath a challenge. The thundering sound of her heartbeat was so intense, she heard it roaring in her ears.
Magic.
What he made her feel was intoxicating. Over and over he feasted on her with his mouth, his finger rhythmically mimicking his intimate possession. And she lost herself to the waves building deep inside her until stars burst behind her eyes.
…
Blake burned for Jessie, wanting her in ways he’d never wanted another woman. Hours after their supercharged sexual encounter in the sauna, he kept thinking about her sweet surrender.
Now he checked out her beautiful bottom as she bent to pick up the remote control. “You sure you’re okay with me being here while you work?” she asked. “’Cause you don’t usually get much done when I’m in the room.”
A slight edge underscored her voice, as if she expected him to tell her to leave. The wounded woman behind the sexy mask gave him pause. He poured mental ice on the pressure building in his groin. “True, but I’m on a roll,” he said.
The days and nights he’d spent with Jessie had given him greater insight about the emotional impact a soldier suffered long after the physical wounds had healed. Hearing her story, knowing the guilt and grief that haunted her every day, infused his screenplay with depth. Made the interactions more personal and real.
She switched on the flat screen. “Then roll away.”
A chick flick played as he layered the final polish into his screenplay before he pressed the send
button on the email to his agent, the franchise’s director, and the studio’s producers.
He’d come dangerously close to telling Jessie about his story this morning. But she’d maintained an emotional distance by using her tantalizing, sexy body as a distraction to put him off.
Though the sex had been hot, he thought he’d read more than lust in her eyes before she’d tempted him with her body. But now he knew she wasn’t interested in having more than a fling with him. And that dredged up memories he didn’t want to revisit.
Blake shut down his laptop. He’d tell her about the project if the studio gave him the thumbs up. “I’m done. You want me to get you a drink?”
She shot him a sassy look. “I’m good, but I’d love some company.”
His cell phone beeped. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Tell those dudes in Hollywood to quit interrupting us.” She stretched out her long legs, giving him a perfect view of her luscious thighs.
“This is important.”
“I can wait.”
He checked the text message from Constanza. He’d asked about the day the bomb had gone off, hoping the gunnery sergeant could provide information that would relieve Jessie’s survivor guilt. After reading Constanza’s reply, Blake responded with his thanks. This intel, along with their staff sergeant’s recollections, would prove that Jessie wasn’t responsible for the blast.
Another message beeped. Blake checked the incoming text from his director. They would read the script, but there was no guarantee of the studio’s approval. Gritting his jaw, feeling a headache form at the base of his skull, he zipped off a terse reply. A “no” to the script would be “no” to him continuing to act for the franchise. And he wanted to clock serious time as a director.
If they wanted their sex symbol to get in front of the camera, they would have to adjust their thinking.
He pushed away from the desk, then walked to his window to watch the sun set, the brilliant blue sky transforming to orange, pink, and red hues.
Time was running out.
Blake went to the bar. “Chardonnay or sparkling water?” he asked as he poured a stiff single-malt scotch neat.
“Better stick with the water. O’dark thirty comes awful early after a night with you.”
He laughed. He’d miss Jessie’s snarky sense of humor along with her hot body. A body that might have been made only for him—she was his equal in so many ways.
“You could cut me some slack.” He cracked open the water bottle. “Let me sleep in.”
She smiled. “Then we’d have less time in the sauna. And you give the
best
massages.”
Heat flashed. Hell, he’d miss her more than a lot. When he first met Jessie, she’d stubbornly refused help and pushed everyone who loved her away with a force born out of despair. Now sparkles lighted in her slate blue eyes. The spunky, all-American kid that Shannon Sullivan had raised was back.
He filled her glass and carried both drinks to the living area. “How about I give you another massage?” He sat and passed her the glass.
“Please.”
He pulled her legs onto his lap and caressed the taut muscular thighs. “It’ll have to be a quickie.”
“I like your massages any way you want to give them.”
Later, after they’d massaged their way back into the bedroom and Jessie had fallen asleep, Blake slipped out of bed. He gazed at her, memorizing the slant of her fine nose and the lush sweep of dark lashes on her high cheeks. Damn it. He liked Jessie. He liked her family. He even liked her family’s friends. He cared. That scared the hell out of him. Caring too much could lead to wanting something neither of them could give.
Why did the idea put a cold feeling in his lungs? Blake resisted the urge to crawl back into bed and hold her. Instead, he went to the living room window. Moonlight illuminated the smoky mountains, giving them a ghostly veil. He didn’t want to leave her with a shallow memory.
He wanted to give Jessie something more tangible to hang onto after he left.
They’d talked once about the day she’d been injured. Blake mulled over the scenarios that Constanza and Woodall had remembered. Something didn’t add up…and then the dots connected. He rushed to his desk and opened his laptop to switch on another program. If he was right, this program would give Jessie what she needed to grab the life she deserved.
Even if it was without him.
Chapter Eight
After she finished working out with Blake on Monday morning, Jessie hurried to double-check the state of the ladies’ lounge off the main dining hall. Two of the women she’d met at Maisey’s wedding sat in front of the mirrors chatting until they caught sight of her.
The way the practically-perfect-in-every-way models looked at her made Jessie’s skin crawl. Still, they’d been pleasant enough to her during the wedding. “Good seeing you again,” she said. “Hope you’re enjoying the resort’s amenities.”
One, a brunette linked to some other hottie in Hollywood, nodded. “It’s a bit rustic, but when Blake Johnston wants something, he gets it.”
The other woman stifled a laugh. “He doesn’t want anything for long.” She applied another coat of bright lipstick.
Jessie’s heart punched against her ribcage. Their snub had been deliberate and cruel. “I hope the rest of your stay is pleasant,” she said before going to the bathrooms to check the stall area.
Jessie straightened the fancy paper towel dispensers and made note of the supplies the room needed. She’d never fit into Blake’s world based upon what the wanna-be Hollywood Housewives said. Not that she’d signed on for more than a casual fling, but the snide remarks stung.
She heard the women leave and swiped her palms down her jeans, telling herself that as long as Blake wanted her, she should hold her head high. No one had the right to pour mental acid on her newfound sense of self. With that thought in mind, she went to find her mother and sister, who had arranged a shopping spree to get ready for the New Year’s Eve gala in three days.
Several hours later, Jessie walked into the lobby with her mother and Hannah. Her equilibrium had been restored, and she had dozens of new items to wear that gave her confidence a mini-boost.
She took in the resort’s decorating changes. The lodge’s Christmas garlands and holly berries had been replaced by tinsel, glitter, and silver stars. Even the resort’s Christmas tree had been retrimmed with matching balls and stars and crystal lights.
“Wow,” she said. “The staff has turned this place into a winter wonderland.”
Jessie put her shopping bags behind the front desk, then hooked her arms into her sister’s and mother’s. They walked to the ballroom where oversized custom-designed snowflakes hung from the ceiling at varying lengths. Strings of white bulbs looped from the high pine beams. White, silver, and frosted branches had been arranged in tall crystal vases, which the lodge’s staff placed on the silver-linen-covered tables circling the dance floor.
Blake stood in the center of the room, holding a ladder while Maisey adjusted the length of an invisible string.
Yummy couldn’t begin to describe the way Blake made her tummy flippity-flop. His black T-shirt molded to his torso, defining his broad shoulders, muscled chest, and ten-pack abs. And the way those jeans molded across his athletic thighs and chiseled bottom did all kinds of wonderful things to her lady parts.
Beside her, Hannah giggled. “Sis, you’ve got it so bad.”
“Hello? Mother in the room,” her mom cautioned.
Jessie’s face heated. “Sorry,” she said. “He’s just so…”
“Delicious,” her sister said.
“Definitely Grade A, all man,” her mom agreed.
“Mommm,” Jessie and Hannah groaned. “You’re married.”
“Just because I’m on a diet doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu,” her mom said. “But your dad’s my number one dish.”
Maisey stepped off the ladder. “Perfect.”
“You sure? Because this is the hundredth time I’ve had to stand here.” Blake tilted his head toward Jessie. “Andrew’s hiding in the bar with your brother and some of the guests, but Maisey roped me into this before I could escape.”
Jessie laughed. He talked tough, but deep down Jessie knew how much Blake adored his sister. Seeing him in the ballroom, he seemed like he belonged in her world. Part of her became wistful. But the memory of the women who had dissed her kick-started a platoon of ants under her skin. How could she blame the models for questioning Blake’s taste when she couldn’t wrap her own brain around it?
“The room looks great,” Jessie said, shoving the thought aside.
“Thanks,” Maisey said.
Her mother asked, “Why are you doing all the work? You’re supposed to relax.”
“Relax is not in my vocabulary,” Maisey said.
“Control freak is,” Blake muttered.
“I prefer the term detail-oriented.” She tucked her long brown hair behind her ears. “I’m going upstairs to get ready for the bonfire tonight. You coming?”
“We’re looking forward to it,” her mom said.
“We’ve got other plans,” Blake said before Jessie answered.
“We do?” she asked.
“I’ve got something I want to show you.”
He reached out and she took his hand. “Sounds good,” Jessie said, but the mysterious tone in his voice lifted the hair on the back of her neck.
…
Minutes later, they sat next to each other on the couch in Blake’s suite of rooms. “Tell me about the day of the accident.”
Something coiled around her lungs, squeezing. “I got the blasting cap under control, but something was off. Before I could get a fix on the situation, Rodriguez took the hit. I lived. He died.” She crossed her arms. “And I don’t know if I’m the one who should be six feet under.”
“Let’s check the data.” Blake leaned forward, opened his laptop, and clicked a video icon. “There were four of you at the site. You, Constanza, Woodall, and Rodriguez. Have the three of you ever put your heads together to piece together the missing details?”
“We don’t talk about that shit. We want to forget that damn day.”
“You haven’t forgotten.” Blake entered a set of commands, and four computerized people appeared on the screen’s display. “You’ve given yourself a serious case of survivor guilt. I’ve spoken with Constanza and Skyped with Woodall. None of you have the same set of information rattling around in your brains. You need to give me your version and determine what happened that day.”
That Blake had taken the time to communicate with her team caught her off guard. And touched her in places she’d tried to shield. “You talked with Constanza? Woodall, too? And they didn’t mind?”
“They’re your teammates, and they want to help. None of you has the same set of information. Constanza’s memories have holes in them. Woodall’s got good recall up until after the explosion. Then he went into serve-and-protect mode, focusing on getting all of you to the JERRV, containing your injuries, and radioing for help.”
Curiosity warred with uncertainty. “What did Constanza and Woodall tell you about the explosive device?”
“That you’d driven into dangerous territory to dismantle it.” Blake added a standard issue military vehicle to the computerized scene. “After everyone exited the JERRV, Rodriguez hauled the explosive materials back to the truck.”
“Rodriguez was about ten feet from the truck. Constanza and Woodall were in charge of putting the rest of the device’s components back on the truck.”
“Did you see them?”
Jessie tasted metal. “No. I was focused on neutralizing the explosive device’s cap. It was over a foot wide and a routine dismantling. But…” She couldn’t remember what had happened afterward.
“Take a breath,” Blake said. “You’re focusing on what you couldn’t see. My director usually films Quinn Sawyer’s scenes from below, giving the moviegoers the impression that I’m the most powerful, dominant character. I’m not always aware of the other people in the scene or the extras.”
“So?”
Blake zeroed in on her computer-simulated counterpart as she steadied the cap. Jessie’s attention was riveted on the device. “When you dismantled the rest of the device, you only had your point of view. Do you remember where your team members were as you finished the job?”
“Woodall was next to the truck, scouting the desert for enemies.” She pointed. “Here.”
Blake repositioned the digitized person. “That’s what he said. Constanza was walking toward you, ribbing Rodriguez about letting a little girl do all the work. Go on.”
Though she hated revisiting the memory, something jogged loose as Blake recreated the landscape of that day. “Rodriguez had loaded the other components on the truck, and I heard him call that I could handle it. The canister tipped. I steadied it, brought the blasting cap under control, but I must have screwed up.” Her throat closed around the fear resurrecting in her heart. She’d remained calm on the surface when she’d worked that day, but thinking about what had gone wrong brought back the surge of adrenaline spiking along her nerves. She could feel the rapid beating of her heart—the months between then and now evaporating, transporting her back to those moments of horror.
She willed the fire burning behind her eyes to turn to ice. “I told you that I want to forget the little I remember.”
“You can’t move on until you know all the facts,” Blake said. “Look at the camera angle I’ve created based on Woodall and Constanza’s info.”
She zeroed her vision on the screen’s characters. “Constanza’s too close to me. So is Woodall.” She shook her head.
“Where’s Rodriguez?”
The force of the memory shoved against the guilt clouding her mind. “Behind me.”
“No. According to Woodall, Rodriguez was next to you the minute you fixed the blasting cap.” Blake moved the digitized version of her team leader to her side. “He went over to get the device, maybe to help you solve the problem.”
“That’s not…”
“Sweetheart, you blocked out a lot of what happened and mixed up the order of events. That’s normal. You should know that. Constanza knows it. And so does Woodall.”
“Rodriguez was next to me?” Jessie struggled to bring that day’s worst moments back to the surface of her brain. She went cold the moment the truth broke through her mind’s protective barrier. “I heard him shout to the others that it was a double bluff booby trap, and he shoved me aside. The damn thing was trapped to trigger after I fixed the blasting cap. Rodriguez must have… Oh God.”
“Jessie.” Blake’s voice broke through the haze of the explosion, the resulting blood coating her uniform, the screams of her team reverberating through her brain. “What if Tony Rodriguez hadn’t pushed you away?”
She swiped her brow. “I’d be dead. He’d be alive.”
“I’ve reenacted the scene without Tony’s interference. Watch it.”
She stared at the computer images. Her movements, the proximity of her team to the device, and Rodriguez no longer in the picture. Scattershot burst across the scene. And four bodies, not one, lay wasted on the desert sand.
“Master Staff Sergeant Tony Rodriguez did what any Marine would do in this situation.” Blake closed the screen. “He acted without regard for his personal safety, exposing himself to the bomb’s explosion. Rodriguez sacrificed himself for the team, taking the hit to save you all.”