Page 26 of Risk of a Lifetime
His arm folded around her curves, pulling her tight against his rock-solid body. Nuzzling his face against her hair, he softly groaned. “You feel so good. I’ve missed you, Marcy.”
The words and the heat from his skin against her own rekindled her desire. She fought to control the urge to push his promise to be good aside. Roughness from the branding mark on his left, upper chest caressed her fingers with each breath he took, and without thinking, she softly kissed the spot. She leaned closer, sliding her knee between his thighs, moving her cheek to rest against the mark.
She didn’t feel the sharp, jarring worry of sympathy-pain she had felt all the times before when he’d been wounded. This time, she felt strong and proud to be the woman lying by this man who had suffered so much, yet held her with such tenderness. She brushed her lips across the mark again, then laid back against his chest.
Still, she couldn’t go back to the way things had been before. She couldn’t.
He sighed heavy, yet peacefully. “Goodnight, Marcy.”
“Goodnight, JB. Sweet dreams.”
Chapter Nine
JB opened his eyes to a symphony of aches and pains, plus a dingy white ceiling that needed a fresh coat of paint. Foggy from the restless night, he was still all-too aware of the softness snuggled against his side. He smiled. Marcy had stayed. No, the last thing he remembered before falling asleep was her walking out of the bedroom. So how come she was here now?
The medicine. The nightmare. Now, he remembered. The promise.
He stroked her arm, then let his palm slide down her side. Would be so easy to move his fingers to all the places that were sure to bring her even closer. His body ached, throbbing with memories of other times, other mornings. He took a chance and circled his fingers on her hip.
“Ummmmm.” She sleepily eased his hand aside, keeping her fingers between his and her body. “No…you said…”
Even though she pushed him away, her lips still tickled against his skin as she drifted back to sleep. Damn that promise he made not to try anything. Never mind the one he made himself before he came to Crayton.
He’d played out the scenario of what would happen if they happened to see each other and she wanted to get back together. There’d be a serious talk. Lots of listening on both sides. Even then, he doubted they’d ever be back together. Nonetheless, if any of that talking and listening ever transpired, it needed to be accomplished with their clothes on.
All the soft mewy sounds she made in her sleep, coupled with her jasmine-scented hair, were more than he could take at the moment. He slid his arm from beneath her and rolled out of bed. They had to stop acting on emotion, because sooner or later, they wouldn’t stop.
He damn sure needed to stop making promises. And not just to her. Now he’d agreed to hang around Crayton until the sheriff got back in town. Of course, he’d planned to do that anyhow seeing that two coincidences involving Marcy were too much for him to turn and walk away.
She moved only enough to wiggle into the vacated warmth of his spot and burrow into the covers. The sheet slipped a little, and the rise and fall of her breasts with each breath worked to his core, pushed his resistance to the edge.
Hell, they’d both feel better if they got this out of the way. Might even stop jabbing at each other so much, if they could part as lovers. If she nudged him away again, no problem, he’d head for the shower. He reached for the covers to slide back in beside her, then stopped.
No.
They were divorced. Plain and simple. There’d be no sex. No pretends. No for-old-times-sake hook-up. A good, cold shower, that’s what he needed. Of course, his body would feel better with heat. Maybe he’d flip from hot to cold and back again until his brain centered in his head.
Stepping into the shower stall brought back memories of him and Marcy up against those same beige, ceramic and glass tiles. More memories than he needed right now.
He turned and braced his hands against the shower wall. As the water beat a rhythm on his back, his muscles loosened, and he did his damnedest to concentrate on the past days’ events. He wasn’t sure the two cases were tied together, but he planned to find out.
His mind walked through the evidence. Leon likely hadn’t targeted Marcy when he’d decided to rob the bank. The man probably hadn’t even realized the seriousness of his actions. He’d gotten juiced, needed money, and had gone to the bank to make a withdrawal…sort of. Of course, the gun jumped the incident to a felony. Conclusion…Marcy and the robbery were purely accidental in JB’s way of thinking.
The shooting was another story. Why hadn’t the shooter finished the job as Leon lay exposed on the ground three feet away from her? Instead, the bullets had veered closer to her with each shot, the last one grazing JB to get to her. Out-of-line rifle scope or expert marksmanship?
After toweling off, he glanced at her sleeping form in the bed as he headed to what had been his side of the closet for a shirt and jeans. Her long leg looped around the edge of the sheet. A tiny bit of hot pink panty peeked from beneath her sleep shirt. His groin sprung to life, and his towel tented. The cold shower effects hadn’t lasted long.
He grabbed his boots from beside the bed, then focused straight ahead until he got out of the room. He needed a distraction, along with some cool, morning air.
Thirty minutes later, he walked back into the bedroom. “You gonna sleep all day or what?”
Smiling, she lazily stretched like a woman waking up to tease the man beside her. A woman ready for some morning love. A woman who’d forgotten whose bed she’d slept in.
Her eyes popped open, hands pulling the sheet to her neckline. She pushed herself upright and inched back in the bed. Her hand slid beneath the covers and, from what he could tell from its movement beneath the sheet, she checked to see what she still had on.
“A promise is a promise, sugar. Everything’s just the way it was when you went to sleep. Shouldn’t have asked you to stay with me last night, but I was feeling none too good at the moment.” He sat the drink carrier on the nightstand, along with a bag of donuts fresh from Art’s Bakery via the local convenience mart. “Large coffee, three creams, three sugars. Right?”
“Right.” She peeked into the sack.
