Texas Pride (11 page)

Jessica took her time exploring the hard planes and valleys of Dylan's back with her fingertips. A fine sheen of perspiration covered his body—both their bodies—and her hands slid smoothly over his damp skin. Dylan's lips moved insistently over hers, and she answered the kiss with equal persuasion.

She knew she should be embarrassed by her lack of inhibition, but she was too thoroughly content to care at the moment. She'd save her shyness for the light, for the morning that was sure to come, bringing with it regret. The thought gave her a sharp pain in her chest, but she quickly pushed it away. She wouldn't think about the morning. She wanted only to think about now, about the man who held her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.

His chin scraped over her cheek, her neck, her shoulder. Her fingers slid over his shoulders, his waist, his hips. As his mouth moved lower, so did her hands. Skin that had begun to cool, heated again. There was a gentleness in his touch that surprised her, a slow tenderness that picked her up and pulled her along like a leaf in the breeze.

The urgency rose, but still he moved with precision, slowly, sensuously. She began to squirm, then writhe, and still he moved as leisurely if he was taking a Sunday stroll. She wanted to curse him, to shout at him. Her body ached, and his unhurried pace became a sweet torture. An unbearable torture.

She dug her hands in his hair and arched her body upward.

“Dylan!”

Was this really possible? So soon? She cried out again and he met her fully, completely, dragging her tightly to him with a deep groan. She clung to him, gasping as the shudders overtook her.

And in the quiet afterward, she curled into Dylan's arms and drew the darkness around her as she would a blanket, wishing that morning would never come.

* * *

Lucas and Meggie sat on the steps of the church, looking up at the stars. Hannibal lay beside them, head on his paws, dozing intermittently. The moon glowed silver, illuminating Meggie's slender form.

Strange, Lucas thought, how Meggie still made his breath catch and his heart beat faster. Who would have thought that a ghost had such feelings? It was torture to be able to feel all the emotions of a living man, but unable to do anything about them. Still, he would rather experience the pain of the feelings than have no feelings at all.

Meggie glanced over at the hotel and sighed. “Are they up there together?” she asked.

He nodded. Meggie had been in the church, but he'd been in the hotel, waiting with Dylan for Jessica to get home tonight. He'd rather enjoyed the argument, but when Dylan kissed Jessica, Lucas, as any gentleman would, had left. A man and a woman about to make love certainly did not need company, not even a ghost's. Hannibal had thought it best to come along with him.

“Are they making love?”

Lucas shifted uncomfortably. He and Meggie rarely talked of things like this. Until now, there'd really been no reason to. “It would seem likely.”

Her expression grew pensive. “I wish we had made love, Lucas. I want so much to know how it would have felt to be with you like that. How I wish we hadn't waited.”

“We were from another time, Meggie. Opinions of things like that were quite different, if you remember.”

She shook her head sadly. “We were wrong. I can't imagine anything more beautiful than making love with someone you love.” Meggie sighed and glanced up at the hotel, then back to Lucas. “Do you think we'll ever know that kind of love?”

“Perhaps,” he said quietly. “Or perhaps we will experience a greater love, a joining that reaches far beyond that of the physical.”

Meggie smiled at the thought and held up her hand. He brought up his hand, as well, matching his fingers to hers. He felt an energy he'd never felt before, almost a sensation of skin touching skin. Stunned, he looked at Meggie, whose eyes had grown wide. She felt it, also. Was it possible?

They stared in amazement at each other, then smiled slowly.

S
omething woke him.

Dylan opened his eyes and squinted at the sunlight pouring through the window. He blinked several times and listened.

There it was again. Sort of a high-pitched whine. In fact, it
was
a high-pitched whine. Just outside the bedroom door. He rose on one elbow, then realized what it was.

Hannibal.

Shaking his head, he smiled and lay back down. His smile slowly faded as he stared at the woman lying beside him. His breath caught in his throat.

She slept on her side with one hand curled under her chin. Her hair, tousled from sleep, lay in wisps around her face, and her lips were rosy and swollen from their lovemaking. Looking at her aroused him instantly; his entire body ached with wanting her.

Dammit, anyway! What the hell have I done?

He moved the covers slowly, intending to slip out of bed, but she stirred, then looked at him from beneath sleep-heavy lids. Her eyes, deep, deep blue, held him like velvet chains. When she reached out and lightly traced her fingers over his shoulder, he groaned silently, knowing he was trapped. She'd hate him soon enough, he thought as he slid back down under the covers and gathered her close. Too soon. He'd deal with his conscience later.

“Mornin',” she said huskily.

“Morning.”

Hannibal whined again.

“I've spoiled him,” Jessica said, skimming her fingernails over Dylan's chest. “He's used to sleeping by my bed every night.”

It would be easy to let himself be spoiled by Jessica, Dylan thought, though sleeping
in
her bed every night, rather than by it, would be more to his liking. “Should we let him in?”

With a soft sigh, Jessica slid one long silken leg over his. “Not just yet,” she murmured.

That was all it took. One touch, and the madness came over him again. He pulled her roughly beneath him, whispering her name, holding her gaze with his own as he entered her. Cheeks flushed, lips parted, she eagerly responded until the madness came over them both.

And as the beating of their hearts slowed, Jessica knew with painful clarity the instant reality took hold of Dylan. She sensed his sudden awkwardness, his hesitation. As if he wanted to say something, to explain, but hadn't the words.

She'd thought last night she could handle morning regrets. That she was a mature, reasonable woman who could deal with whatever the new day brought. But what it had brought was so unexpected, so earth-shattering, that all she wanted to do was crawl under the covers and wail like a baby.

She wasn't going to make a fool of herself. At least, no more than she already had. She'd make it easy on him. On both of them. She forced a smile and slid out of Dylan's arms.

“So, how about some breakfast?” She sat on the edge of the bed and searched frantically for something to cover herself with. Anything to feel less vulnerable. Her dress was out of reach so she grabbed for his shirt and tugged it on. “Eggs or pancakes? The sausage is frozen, but I could—”

“Jessica.”

The somber tone of his voice only tightened the knot in her heart. He took her arm and pulled her closer.

“Jess,” he said more softly, using a nickname only her family ever used, “look at me.”

She didn't want to. She already heard the regret in his voice. She couldn't stand to see it in his eyes, as well. “Dylan, it's all right. It's the wedding. Everyone just sort of gets caught up in the excitement, you know. It happens all the time.”

“Not to me,” he said. “And I don't think to you, either. Last night was special to me, I want you to believe that.
You
are special.”

“I don't need a line, Dylan. There's no one standing here with a shotgun. Not even my brothers, though I doubt they'd be thrilled.”

She saw that look in his eyes again. A strange mixture of anger and guilt at the mention of Jake and Jared. Frowning, she turned and faced him in disbelief. “Is that what your sudden remorse is all about? My brothers?”

“This is ridiculous.” Jaw tight, he sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed for his jeans.

She turned away as he tugged on his pants. But he hadn't answered her question. “What, did they threaten you or something?”

He rolled his eyes and swore. “Nobody threatened me. And I told you, I'm not afraid of your brothers.”

Arms folded, she stood and faced him. “Then what are you afraid of? We spend one night together, one simple night, and you act as if I've got the preacher man standing on the other side of the door.”

Eyes narrowed, he took hold of her shoulders and hauled her against him. “You can believe what you want, Jessica, but believe this. There was nothing,
nothing,
simple about last night. And as far as your brothers go, there is one thing we agree on. None of us wants to see you get hurt.”

Too late,
she thought, refusing to give in to the threatening tears. She pushed away from him, and her skin burned where he'd touched her. “You don't have to worry about me, Dylan,” she said with slow precision. “You aren't the only one who learns from mistakes. I think we can both view this as an educational experience.”

She gathered her clothing and headed for the door on legs the consistency of warm molasses. “I'll return your shirt later,” she said as casually as if they were friends borrowing clothes. When she opened the door, Hannibal bounded in with a loud bark.

“On second thought—” she tugged the garment from her shoulders and tossed it on the floor “—you can keep it.”

His mouth was still open when she quietly closed the door.

* * *

“Son of a bitch!”

Dylan continued to swear as the pain ricocheted up his hand and through his arm. Jaws clenched, he turned away from the window frame he'd been nailing in the church and kicked his toolbox.

Jessica, who was painting the frames, glanced over, but never missed a stroke with her brush. The rest of the crew paused, then continued with their work. They'd grown accustomed to Dylan's irascible temper the past few days.

He had good reason to be angry, he told himself. Everything that
could
have gone wrong since the week started
had
gone wrong. The lumber company lost a shipping order of studs that Dylan needed three days ago, there was an electrical short somewhere in the church wiring that had yet to be found, and the brand-new plumbing had mysteriously backed up. Everything was taking longer than it should and costing more.

And now his thumb hurt like hell.

He'd been thinking about Jessica when the hammer had slipped. But then, it was rare he
wasn't
thinking about Jessica. Not just that incredible night they'd spent together, but that provocative manner she'd left him in the morning. If she'd intended revenge, it had certainly worked. Not a minute went by that he didn't think about her. Her scent still lingered on his pillow, in his room, even on the shirt she'd so casually shrugged out of as she'd walked out. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since.

He was glad he hit his thumb. It was a hell of a lot easier to deal with an aching thumb than the other part of his anatomy that was in pain.

But what really got him, he thought as he ground his back teeth, was her casual dismissal of that night. She'd never mentioned it once and had acted as if nothing at all had happened. They still had their meals together, worked together. They'd even ridden into town together to pick up some supplies.

She was making him crazy.

Just for good measure he kicked his toolbox again.

Temporarily appeased, he let out a long breath and glanced around the church. It was almost finished. They would install the windows today and put a final coat of paint on the walls. Then all he had to do was find that damn short in the wiring and they were done here. He knew how much Jessica wanted the church ready for Christmas, and he was determined it would be.

He watched as Dean sneaked in the back door of the church. He had on a cowboy hat and kept his head down as he took over for one of the other kids nailing frames. Last week he'd been the most eager and experienced worker on the crew; Dylan had even put him in charge. But he hadn't shown up yesterday, or called, and now he was late.

Even seventeen-year-olds needed to find out what the real workplace was like, Dylan thought as he headed for the young man. If the kid couldn't cut it, then he'd better hit the road.

“Have a hard time getting yourself out of bed the past couple of days?” Arms folded, Dylan stood behind the latecomer.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered, but didn't turn around.

“A job is a responsibility. If you aren't here, we all have to work harder.” Dylan knew he was preaching, the same way his bosses had preached at him when he'd done something stupid.

“I said I was sorry.” Dean's shoulders were stiff as he swung the hammer.

Dylan frowned. Dean had always been cool, but never rude. Dylan put a hand on his arm. “Look, Dean—”

The kid swung around then, his mouth tight as he raised the hammer. “Don't touch me.”

Dylan stared at the young man and froze. His face was black-and-blue, one eye nearly swollen shut. “Good Lord, what happened?”

Dean lowered his gaze and the hammer at the same time. His shoulders slumped. “Nothing.”

When Dylan touched his shoulder, Dean jerked away, but Dylan wouldn't be put off. He nodded to the back door. “Let's go.”

Resigned to his fate, Dean trudged outside, Dylan behind him. “Have you seen a doctor?” he asked.

Dean shook his head. “I haven't got money for that.”

“What about your parents?”

A dry laugh caught in Dean's throat. “My mom's been dead for three years. My dad only has money for booze.”

A sick feeling twisted Dylan's gut. “And this is what happens when he has too much of that?”

The teenager shrugged. “It don't matter ‘bout me. I could leave. But I got a kid brother who's gonna get it next if I can't get the money to get us both out of there.” Dean looked down at the ground. “Don't fire me,” he said. “Please.”

White-hot anger filled Dylan, a furious rage that any man could do this to his own child, or to any child. He'd like to pay the man a call, let the coward face someone who could defend himself. “Who the hell said anything about firing you? You've got the most experience of the crew, and I need every man I have.”

Relief eased Dean's shoulders. “I'll stay late tonight to make up time. My brother's with a neighbor while school's out.”

“Tomorrow. Right now I want you to get back into town and see the doctor. Have the bill sent here in my name. We have a medical account that'll cover it, plus any time lost at work. If you can, be here in the morning.”

Dean nodded and started to leave. Then he turned back and stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Dylan,” he said quietly. “You're okay.”

Surprised at the swelling he felt in his chest, Dylan shook the young man's hand. “Now get out of here. I've got to get back to work.”

Dean grinned, then drove off in his battered pickup. Dylan stared after the truck until all he saw was dust. When he turned, Jessica stood at the back door of the church, watching him intently.

“Since when do we have a medical or time-lost account?” she asked, lifting one brow.

“Take it out of my pay.”

“Better watch out, Dylan,” she said with a smile. “I think ‘do-gooder' just crept onto your application. Before you know it, ‘volunteer' will be right next to it.”

He frowned at her.

Would she ever figure this man out? Jessica wondered, trying to deal with the emotions skittering through her at the moment. She'd spent the past four days convincing herself he was a complete cad and she was glad nothing had developed from their making love.

Then she had to witness that one brief exchange between him and Dean. He hadn't embarrassed the teenager. He'd treated the young man with respect and kindness. A lot of men would have backed away, closed their eyes and their minds. He hadn't.

And the wall she'd so carefully built came tumbling down.

Damn you, Dylan Grant!

He moved toward her and gestured in the direction Dean had left. “How long has that been going on?”

“Mostly since his mother died. I was in Dallas working in social services at the time, but I understand his dad started drinking heavily, and there was no one to take his anger out on except Dean. So far he hasn't hit Troy, Dean's nine-year-old brother, but it's just a matter of time.”

“A matter of time?” Dylan stared at her in disbelief. “Why the hell hasn't anyone put the bastard away?”

She sighed heavily. “Dean would deny it if it went to court. It might be hard to believe, but he still loves his dad. He understands that's his father's way of dealing with his grief.”

“By hitting his own kid?”

“I've seen worse.” She stared blankly past him. “Every one of these kids here, and the rest in town, has his, or her, own story. If I can help even one of them, then every penny spent here on Makeshift—” she glanced down at his hand and smiled “—and every smashed thumb is worth it.”

Dylan felt as if he'd lived his entire life in a closed-up house, and suddenly, for the first time, all the windows and doors were thrown open. He understood now why she wanted to help these kids. Give them a chance no one else had. “What can I do?”

Her gaze flicked to his. “You mean help?”

Why did she have to look so damn surprised? he thought irritably. “Yes.”

“You just did,” she said quietly. “You listened to Dean, but you made no judgment, gave no lecture. He'll trust you now. There's nothing more important than that.”

Trust.
The word stuck like a rock in Dylan's throat. When had all this gotten so complicated? If the road to hell was truly paved with good intentions, he was well on his way.