He wheeled around and did what passed for running on crutches until he reached the living room, where he came to a halt so abruptly that he nearly sent himself sprawling.
The room was dark except for the moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains on the open windows. They billowed into the room, filled like sails with a cool breeze, which was probably what Kendall had been seeking.
She was sitting in the rocking chair, holding Kevin in her arms. The shoulder strap of her nightgown had been lowered so she could nurse him. His tiny mouth was fastened to her nipple. Every few seconds he made suckling motions, his plump cheeks working like a bellows, then his mouth would relax again.
Both were asleep.
Now, in retrospect, John conceded that his ogling had been totally inappropriate, a gross invasion of her privacy, but damned if he could force himself to silently retreat and return to the bedroom. He had been transfixed by lust.
Even the wretched haircut didn't detract from the beautiful picture she made, her head resting against the back of the chair. Illuminated by moonlight was the intriguing arch of her throat and the shallow depression at the base of her neck.
The cleavage between her breasts was shadowed and mysterious. He wanted to explore that entrancing valley. He imagined nuzzling her there, and the fantasy caused a surge of sexual desire so strong he involuntarily groaned.
He instantly muted it, afraid that he might awaken her.
He was too old to be sneaking peeks at a woman's bared breast.
Getting secretly turned on from a room's width away was silly, immature, and as one-sided as masturbating.
Disgusted with himself, he had wanted to turn away, but hadn't been able to. Focusing on her lips, those full, pouty lips that had driven him to distraction, he'd had an intense desire to devour them. He had wanted to sample the lushness of her breasts, explore the exotic terrain of her lap, and collect her taste on his tongue. He had wanted Suddenly a shrill whistle had pierced the silence.
She was startled awake.
He nearly jumped out of his skin; one of his crutches clattered to the floor.
For several seconds they remained frozen in that tableau.
He was aroused, and embarrassed and angry that she had caught him.
"What the hell is that?"
"The teakettle," she answered breathlessly. Hastily she re placed the shoulder strap of her nightgown. The baby winced and made a fretful sound as she removed him from her breast and raised him to her shoulder. "I put the kettle on before I sat down to feed Kevin. What are you doing up?"
"It's too damn hot to sleep."
"I noticed that you were restless tonight. Would you like some tea?" The kettle was still whistling furiously. "Herbal tea. No caffeine."'
"No thanks."
She came toward him. "Then hold Kevin for me while I brew myself a cup."
As she moved past, she thrust the kid at him, then sashayed down the hallway and disappeared into the kitchen. For several moments he did nothing. He forced his mind into neutral, refusing to let it register any sensations. Then, gradually, he allowed a few sensory impulses to seep through the dual barriers of aversion and terror.
Kevin was a plump baby. Consequently, it came as a surprise that he was incredibly light. Also amazing was the softness of his skin. Or maybe it had just seemed soft in contrast to his hairy chest.
He had finally worked up enough nerve to look down at the child. Disconcertingly, the baby's eyes were focused on him. He held his breath. The kid was sure to start squalling when he failed to recognize the person holding him.
Instead, Kevin's pink mouth stretched open in a wide yawn, exposing his toothless gums and small tongue. Then he re leased three little farts, a trio of tiny expulsions that could be felt through his diaper.
In spite of himself, he chuckled.
"I had a hunch the two of you would get along well if you ever let down your guard."
He hadn't noticed Kendall's return until she spoke. He looked up and saw her watching him over a steaming cup of tea that smelled like oranges.
"He's okay, I guess."
"He's wonderful and you know it. He likes you."
"How do you know?"
"He's blowing bubbles. Whenever he's happy, he blows bubbles."
The baby was in fact sputtering drool all over his chin and happily waving his arms. He appeared content, but John was still unsure. "You'd better take him now."
She seemed amused but said nothing as she set her cup of tea on the end table, took the baby, and carried him into his bedroom. "He dropped right off to sleep again, " she remarked when she came back. "Why can't adults be so lucky?"
"We have too much on our minds."
"Have you got something on your mind?"
He listened for underlying mockery in her tone but heard none. She had posed the question seriously, so he answered in kind. "Yes, I've got something on my mind. In fact, it stays.
He didn't need to elaborate. Her eyes grew misty and her voice husky. "It's never far from my mind either."
He didn't think he could survive another rejection, but after she said that, there was no way he could keep from reaching for her. She landed softly against his chest. Her fingers curled through his chest hair as she tilted her face up to his. He let go of his crutch. As it fell, he dug his fingers into her cropped hair and held her head tightly.
Her lips were waiting and pliant. Because of the tea, the inside of her mouth was hot. He dipped his tongue into it, again and again, kissing her with such total possession that when he finally stopped, she rested her cheek against his chest.
"Slower, John. I can hardly breathe."
"Fine," he said in a growling voice. "Breathing's optional."
Laughing softly, she ran her hands across his shoulders. "I can't believe I'm touching you. I've wanted to so badly, so many times."
"Touch your fill."
The most he had hoped for was one long, uninterrupted kiss to slake his hunger. One taste of her to get him through the night. So her responses, verbal and physical, had surpassed his expectations. The reality was more mind-blowing than any fantasies he had entertained. She felt so damn good as cool as alabaster on the surface, but raging hot within.
As his mouth continued to sip at hers, her arms went around his neck. He cupped her armpits in his palms, then slid his hands down her rib cage, pressing the sides of her breasts.
They made firm impressions against his chest, and the contact inflamed him.
He lowered his head and rubbed his scratchy cheek against the pale slope of her breasts. He kissed them through the soft cloth of her nightgown, then impatiently pulled at it until she was beneath his lips, inside his mouth, against his tongue.
Milky and musky, the taste of her infused and intoxicated him. He held her nipple secure against the roof of his mouth and tugged strongly.
"Oh, God." The catch in her throat and her sigh were the sexiest sounds he could imagine. He kissed her neck. With his teeth he affectionately nipped the back of her neck beneath the jagged hairline.
She continued to turn, moving against the wall until she was facing it, her forehead grinding into the rose-patterned wallpaper. He positioned her arms slightly above her head, flattening her forearms against the wall from elbows to finger tips.
Taking a handful of her nightgown, he began gathering up the fabric, bunching it into his fist. He pushed his hands into the waistband of her panties and kneaded her buttocks. Then one hand reached around her and cupped her breast, while the other slid down her belly, over her pubic hair, and between her thighs.
Sh e was very wet. The discovery made him dizzy with desire.
He fondled her with two fingers, gently working them between the folds of her sex, then into her.
And he knew that as long as he lived, he would never forget the sensation of being sheathed so snugly and intimately.
He tilted his hips forward and nestled his erection in the cleft of her bottom. He feathered her taut nipple, teased it, while his fingers gently moved inside her. Soon she began pushing her hips forward against his hand, until he could keep it entirely still and all the movements came from the eager motion of her hips. Against the rose-patterned wallpaper, her hands closed into small, drumming fists.
She came silently but violently. As soon as the shudders subsided, he withdrew his hand and, turning her to face him, enveloped her in his arms. She rested against him weakly, damply, her breath raspy as she moaned through his chest hair.
After a while, he placed his finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up. "I'd carry you to bed if I could."
She understood. She picked up his crutches and handed them to him, then led him down the hall to the bedroom.
He slipped off his underwear and got into bed.
Then suddenly she had hesitated. Even after the incredibly sensual experience they had just shared, she had looked virginal and unsure standing beside the bed.
This morning, he understood why she had hesitated. For the last couple of weeks they had spent nearly every waking hour in each other's company, but essentially they were strangers. He wasn't her husband. He was a first-time lover.
Somewhere deep within himself, he had known that.
But he had ignored that nagging inner voice. He had turned a deaf ear to-his affronted conscience. Disregarding the intuition that had told him this was very wrong, he had taken her hand and pulled her down onto the bed beside him.
"Lie down."
"Can you . . . with your cast .
"No problem."
He eased her onto her back. He removed nightgown and tossed it to the floor, then his hands Caressed her breasts and abdomen, which were still flushed from her orgasm.
Watching her face for reaction, John guided her hand to his crotch. For an infinitesimal speck of time, she hesitated.
Then she stroked him from root to tip. And again.
Swearing beneath his breath, he parted her thighs and lowered himself between them. He noticed the hint pink cesarean scar running laterally beneath her light pubic hair. Frowning, he traced it with the tip of his finger, as he had that first night in this house. "Are you sure it's okay if eve . . . ?"
She smiled and laid her hands on his chest. "It's okay."
Because of the cast on his leg, he had to support himself entirely on his arms. His eyes were locked with hers when he entered her with deliberate slowness.
He sank into her until it was impossible to go any deeper.
Holding her head between his hands, he kissed her mouth.
When at last they pulled apart, he whispered, "You've lied to me, Kendall."
She gave him a quick, startled look.
He began to move, thrusting and withdrawing in perfect rhythm with the undulation of her hips. "I've never been with you this way before." He spoke rapidly, crying to hold on to his slipping control. "I couldn't have forgotten this."
She hugged him tighter, shifted beneath him. "Just don't stop."
"I would remember you. I would remember this. Who the hell are you?" he grated through clenched teeth.
Her back arched. "Please, don't stop."'
He couldn't have anyway. They rocked each other toward a tumultuous orgasm, their bodies communing in a way he knew he had never experienced before.
When he rolled off her, she reversed their positions and flung herself across his chest. "Hold me," she whispered. "Tightly."
He had done so gladly. For weeks he had fantasized touching what he could see.
Replete, her voice drowsy, she had murmured, "John, why wasn't I shy with you?"
"You weren't supposed to be shy with me. I'm your husband."
She had said nothing in response because she had fallen asleep. He wondered now if she realized she had spoken aloud her thoughts. She had given vent to her sensuality with a man she had never been with before, and she had wanted to know why.
John wanted to know that himself.
But he couldn't allow himself to dwell on personal considerations. He had to think only of the overwhelming fact that he'd had sex with a material witness placed in his charge.
Traumatic amnesia was no excuse. He had known. Dammit, he had known that she was lying to him all along.
But he'd slept with her anyway. And it had been bloody great, so electrically charged that it had jump-started his memory. He now remembered that he was a federal officer. Federal officers weren't supposed to have carnal knowledge of the women in their custody. Everybody from Uncle Sam on down frowned on that.
So what the hell was he going to do?
None of his training as a psychologist, an FBI agent, or as a U.S. marshal had prepared him for this kind of situation.
He had no identification or credentials to prove who he was.
And who was around to prove it to? He didn't even know exactly where they were.
On top of all that, he had a broken leg. How far could he expect to get on a pair of crutches? She wasn't about to let him get his hands on the car key. If he managed to sneak it away from her and take the car, he had no doubt that she would be gone by the time he returned. She certainly had enough motivation to want to disappear again, and she was incredibly resourceful. She would find a way for her and Kevin to vanish.
Where the hell was his revolver? She had said he wouldn't find the hiding place this time, and so far she had been right.
While she wasn't around, he had looked everywhere for it.
She was very proud of herself for leaving nothing to chance and always planning ahead. Until now, she'd had a fairly easy time of it because of his confusion. Well, he told himself, Marshal John McGrath may have been helplessly out of his mind and flat on his back the last couple of weeks, but as of now he was back in commission.