The Pursuit of Jesse (19 page)

At that moment, an attractive woman, a brunette with piercing brown eyes, came slowly out into the hall, her eyes boring into Jesse. Sarah reached for Jesse’s hand.

Jesse clenched Sarah’s hand, but held the woman’s gaze. “Mrs. Bowman,” he whispered, his eyes misting. “I know this doesn’t mean much, but I’m so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you and your husband.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your apology means nothing to me. You ruined my husband’s life—you ruined my life.” Resolutely, she shook her head. “I don’t know how Hank has been able to forgive you, but I guarantee you that won’t be happening with me.” Then she walked down the hall, clearly not willing to listen to the program.

Hank sighed. “Sorry about that.”

“Are you kidding? She’s right.”

“Actually, what she is, is bitter. Angry. And damned hard to live with.”

“So I can add ruining a marriage to my list of offenses,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Jesse.
That
is definitely not your fault. This kind of stress has a way of either cementing together all the fissures in a relationship or…deepening them. I think you can guess which way we went.” Hank tipped his head toward the rear of the room. “My parents and siblings are there in the back row. They don’t want to meet you, just yet. But I think that’ll come. In time.”

“I don’t blame them. I still haven’t forgiven myself. Why should they?”

“Because it’s better that way.” Hank glanced back at Jesse. “Well, I’m up next. You ready for this?”

“Not even close, but I’ll do my best.”

Hank rolled back into the room. A moment later, the same MADD volunteer who’d introduced the last speaker, announced Hank’s name. He went to the front and introduced himself.

Sarah felt Jesse’s hand trembling in hers. She tightened her grip around his fingers. “You can do this.” Lame again, but it was all she had.

As if looking at her might be too much for him, he kept his gaze on Hank and said, “Thank you for being here, Sarah.” Then he let go of her hand and went to the front of the room.

Sarah slid into an empty seat in the back row, clasped her hands tightly in her lap and prayed that her urging him to come here hadn’t been one hell of a big mistake.

“My name is Jesse Taylor,” he said, glancing out over the audience. For a second, he caught her gaze. Then he took a deep breath and began. “On a Saturday night in October…about four years ago, I drove…drunk…for the first time. I almost killed a man that night. That
man was Hank Bowman. I hit him with my truck.” He paused to gather himself. “I hit a human being with the front of my truck. Slammed his body right into a brick building.”

Tears gathered in Sarah’s eyes as she tried to imagine the courage it took for Jesse to humbly pour out his heart and soul to this group. To stand up and face Hank’s family.

“You can all sit there and say to yourselves…well, that wasn’t me,” Jesse went on. “But the truth is that it could’ve been. I’m here to tell you that once—
once
—is all it takes to forever change not only the course of your life, but ruin someone else’s…”

A
THUNDERSTORM WAS HEADING
their way. As they approached Mirabelle’s shores in the water taxi, the wind gusted, and the surface of the water turned choppier by the second. Jesse glanced behind him. Nothing short of a fantastic light display, courtesy of Mother Nature, thunder rumbled miles away, and lightning crackled down from the dark purplish-black night sky.

“Sorry, man,” he said to the taxi driver as the man docked his boat in the marina. “Looks like you might get wet.”

The man chuckled. “You folks, too, if you don’t hurry home.”

Jesse hopped onto the dock, took Sarah’s hand and helped her up beside him and then paid the driver his fare along with a healthy tip. “Stay safe, and thanks.”

“You betcha.”

In silence, Jesse walked beside Sarah away from the marina. He felt exhausted and drained, as if adrenaline had been pumping through his veins and his emotions had been on overdrive for hours. Most of him felt just plain heavy with the weight of all that had been said and shared and exposed tonight, but there was a part of him that felt damned close to free. It was a tentative feeling, kind of like stepping through that prison gate and out into the real world all those months ago. It was
a feeling he didn’t want to put too much hope in, but it was there all the same.

He wasn’t fool enough to believe that tonight’s admissions in front of that crowd and his commitment to continue to speak about once a month with Hank had taken away his guilt. There were still tough moments awaiting him in his future, moments where he knew he’d hate himself as much as he did that first morning after discovering Hank’s spine had been severed. But this was a start, a few steps down a path that with any luck would lead to him being able to look at himself in the mirror again without entirely hating his reflection.

He and Sarah reached Main Street, and he hesitated. “I’ll walk you to your apartment.”

Nervously, she crossed her arms in front of her as if she were cold and glanced into the sky. A gust of wind whipped her hair into her face. “You don’t have—”

“I know.” He didn’t want her to be alone. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to tell her how much it meant to him that she came tonight. In no time, they reached the stairs leading to the second floor of her building and they both stopped.

Sarah should’ve started up the steps, or he should’ve turned. Instead, neither of them moved. He took a deep breath of cool, sweet spring air, and whispered, “Thank you for urging me to go tonight. For driving. For sticking around. For holding my hand.”

“I’m glad I went.”

“Good night, Sarah.”

She reached up, gently ran her hand down the side of his cheek and then turned and went up the steps.

He wished he could explain to her how much she’d
come to mean to him. He wished… “Sarah, I couldn’t have done that tonight without you.”

“You’d have managed,” she said, looking down at him from the landing above.

Before he realized what he was doing, he was walking up the steps, following her. She’d put the key in the lock and had opened the door. He went to her, not really understanding, but feeling drawn to her all the same. “I wouldn’t have managed. Not without you…tonight…having you there…”

“Shh.” She touched her fingertips to his lips.

As if God had turned on a faucet in the sky, rain suddenly poured straight down outside in sheets. If they hadn’t been under the roofed walkway outside her apartment, they would’ve been soaked in seconds.

“Do you think He’s trying to tell us something?” Jesse grinned as he glanced at Sarah. The moment the worried expression on her face registered, he sobered. “You okay?”

“Sure.” She rubbed her arms up and down. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Honestly? I hate thunderstorms.”

She didn’t just hate them, she was downright scared.

Lightning flashed over the water, not far off shore, and Sarah started shaking. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“No need to be,” he whispered. He could think of only one thing that would take both their minds completely off the storm, but that would spell disaster. Instead, he reached for her hand. “It’s all right.”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Sarah, I don’t think—”

“Please?”

“All right, but just until the storm clears.”
And keep your hands to yourself.

They went into her apartment. She closed the door and locked it. “I feel so silly.”

“Everyone’s afraid of something,” he said, trying to make light of the situation.

“Yeah?” She turned. “What are you afraid of?”

You. How I feel when I’m around you. More than anything else, leaving Mirabelle.
But he couldn’t say any of those things. “June bugs,” he said with a smile. “Give me the creeps.” He pretended to shiver. “Those big, brown bodies. Those spiny, jagged legs.”

She swatted his arm. “That’s not the same.”

“Like hell. You want to see a grown man scream like a little girl just throw one of those buggers at me sometime.”

She chuckled. “I can see you.” Then she was laughing and tears started streaming from the corners of her eyes, but within seconds, her tears of laughter clearly turned to tears of sadness.

“Hey,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?”

“One fall, right at the end of the harvest, my dad and I were in an orchard picking apples.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I was about Brian’s age. Without warning, a bad thunderstorm came on us. We were drenched in no time. I’ve never been as cold as I was that day.”

She paused, as if remembering. “We ran to the nearest woods for shelter, and my dad pulled me under a tree,” she went on. “Lightning seemed to be hitting all around us. He took the brunt of the weather by snuggling me in front of him and hunching over me.” She took a deep breath and a new round of tears fell. “About a week later, he died from pneumonia.”

“Oh, Sarah.” Without thought to the consequences, he pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry.”

“I know it wasn’t the storm that killed him, but I’ve always felt as if it was my fault that he died.” Full of emotions that ran the gamut, she looked into his eyes. “I’d like a reason to no longer hate thunderstorms.”

He kissed her palm. As he took her face in his hands, she pulled him toward her. Their lips met in the softest kiss he’d ever known. Their tongues touched and gently explored. Their breath sweetly mingled. For a moment, they clung together as if time had been suspended.

Then, like a wave rolling, cresting to completion, everything changed. Soft turned to hard, sweet to urgent, and gentle to frantic as they tripped sideways down the hallway. She pushed him back against the wall. He ran his hands under her shirt, cupped her breasts over her bra.

He knew it was wrong. He knew it was about as unfair to Sarah as unfair got, but, God help him, he wanted her—needed her—so badly that his insides ached.

When she pulled back for a moment and looked up at him, her eyes so clearly saying she felt the same as him, he simply couldn’t find the strength to leave. She needed him tonight as much as he needed her.

“Brian?” he whispered, the air puffing from his chest. “Where’s Brian?”

“He’s staying at Zach’s.”

The last barrier fell away.

For her sake he had to try to put a stop to this. Didn’t he? “Sarah, this—”

“Oh, no, you don’t. You started this. We’re finishing it.” She tugged his shirt over his head and kissed him, first on his mouth, then on his neck, then down his
chest, all the while working on the button and fly on his shorts. She licked the edges of his tattoo, twirled her tongue along the swirling lines and then finally nipped at his nipple.

He sucked in a breath, trying to hold on to his sanity. Then she pushed his shorts over his hips, dipped her hands beneath his boxers and that was all she wrote.

He groaned as her fingers moved over him, pleasure and pain all rolled into one sweet caress. “Sarah, careful.” Quickly, he gripped her wrists and drew her hands away. “Condoms?” He sure as hell didn’t have any. “Please say you’ve got protection.”

“In my bedroom.”

Her room was a surprise, the decor as soft and feminine as the rest of her apartment was bold and brazen. At the moment, though, he didn’t care that muted greens and blues mixed with soft whites and pale yellows to create a haven of relaxation. There was only one thing he wanted.

She went to her bedside table, pulled out an unopened box and chuckled. “Wishful thinking.”

“About who?”

“You.” Her eyes darkened. “I haven’t…since Bobby.”

Damn. He’d forgotten. “Sarah, are you sure…”

“As sure as I’ve ever been about anything.”

As she walked toward him, she drew her shirt over her head, unzipped her jeans and shrugged out of them. Her bra was a wild pattern of purples, hot pink and black. Her thong, what little there was of the scrap of fabric, was solid black. Like her hair. A bad girl masquerading as a good girl. Every man’s dream.

Jesse turned as hard as a rock. When she reached behind her back to unsnap her bra, he reached out.
“No. Let me.” He ran his hand along her arm, intent on making the last nine years of her waiting worth every second.

Then he touched her, everywhere, ran his fingers lightly over her cheeks, down her neck, her chest, her belly, wanting to know every inch of her. Her skin was soft and her smell, that ever-present scent of flowers, filled his senses.

He pushed down one bra strap, then the other and freed two dusky pink-tipped breasts. For a moment, he simply gazed at her. Her mouth slightly parted, her eyes heavy-lidded. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Touch me,” she breathed.

“If you say so.” Smiling, he cupped her breasts in his hands, bent and took one nipple and then the other into his mouth, laving his tongue back and forth. Then he dipped the fingers of one hand beneath her thong and slid deeply between her thighs. Swollen and wet, she arched to meet him, tilted her head back and groaned.

He wanted nothing more in that moment that to bury himself deeply inside her, but he held back. For her.

She touched him and he jerked back and away. “No, Sarah. I’m already too close. You first.”

He kissed her as he laid her back on the bed, unsnapped her bra and dragged off her thong. He spread her thighs with his knee and moved down her body, biting, kissing and licking the whole way.

His heart raced and his hands trembled as he parted her sweet, swollen folds and stroked her tight center with his tongue. She cried out and bucked against him. The instant he slipped two fingers inside her, she came,
pulsing violently against him, and he could wait no longer.

He slid back up her body and entered her in time to feel her grip him in the rhythms of her release. “Sarah.” He kissed her mouth as he rocked against her. “Sarah!” As he came it was as if his body released in one fell swoop every tense and tight moment of the past four years. He was finally a free man. Free of prison. Free of guilt. If only for a few moments.

T
HE WEAK RAYS OF SUNRISE
filtered through Sarah’s bedroom windows as she lay on her side, facing Jesse. His head was on his own pillow, but his arm was wrapped around her side and his legs were entangled in hers. All night, they’d slept in variations of this same pose, always touching, always holding. It’d been the most magical night of her life. Jesse had brought her body to life in a way she’d never dreamed possible. He’d made love to her over and over until they’d both collapsed in sleep, exhausted.

Watching him speak in front of that MADD group had changed everything for her. Everything. The sincerity in Jesse’s eyes, the meaning in his voice, the moments his throat had closed with emotion had all worked at softening her heart more than she’d ever expected. Even Hank’s parents and siblings had seemed to soften toward Jesse last night. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the entire Bowman group.

Jesse had, indeed, paid a price for his mistake. One he’d carry with him for the rest of his life, but he deserved to move on as much as was possible. The Bowman family believed it. Sarah believed it. The only person who didn’t was Jesse himself.

This man lying in bed with her was nothing like
Bobby Coleman, nothing like any of the bad boys she’d met in Miami. If any one of them had been in Jesse’s shoes that day Hank showed up on Mirabelle, they would’ve patted Hank on the back and thrown a party in the man’s honor. Then they would’ve turned around and done a line of coke.

Jesse may have thrown himself into work, instead, but at least it was a more productive escape, and he’d come around. He’d faced what he’d needed to do. Jesse was a good man who’d made one terrible mistake, and because he was a good man a piece of him would suffer for that mistake the rest of his life.

There was nothing wrong with her judgment in men. Not anymore. These many years raising Brian on her own had brought reason and clarity. She was attracted to Jesse for damned good reasons. He had all the wonderful bad-boy traits she loved, an easy smile and a zest for life. He knew how to have fun and sought joy—real joy—in life, but Jesse was responsible, dependable and sensitive. He had none of the bad-boy faults, save one. He still believed he was a rolling stone. He still planned on leaving Mirabelle.

She stared at his profile, at his dark lashes fanning out over his cheeks, and sucked in a sharp breath. Good Lord, what had she done? How could she have let this go so far? Now more than ever she knew she would never be happy without Jesse in her life. Well, she wasn’t going to let him leave without a fight. If making love with him was playing dirty, then so be it.

In a few hours Megan and Brandon would arrive on Mirabelle, kicking off the first wedding of her busy season, and Sarah wouldn’t be coming up for air for
several days. But she and Jesse still had this morning, and Sarah planned on making the most of it.

Reaching out, she ran her hand along his muscular chest, down the center of his warm stomach and buried her fingers in the thick curly hair at his groin. His penis, flaccid in deep sleep, didn’t stay that way for long.

“Mmm,” he murmured, the sound coming from deep in his chest. He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Sarah,” he groaned, his voice raspy with sleep. “What are you doing?”