Aftershock (18 page)

Pushing up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, she motioned for him
to come forward. He did, leaning his hip against the side of the car as she
helped him out of his T-shirt. Although she was gentle, he clenched his jaw in
discomfort. She got the impression that he felt weak or helpless, like a victim.
But that was hardly the case, from her perspective. She had to smother a gasp as
she revealed his upper body.

Good Lord. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Just muscle. He
radiated power, from his large hands and strong forearms, to his bulging biceps
and the hard wall of his chest. His stomach was flat and subtly ridged.

Lauren had known he was built. She’d felt his torso against
hers, and bandaged his impressive biceps just a few hours ago. But real life was
even better than her imagination. She drank him in greedily, her gaze drifting
lower.

Moistening her lips, she brought a trembling hand to his
fly.

He caught her wrist. “Leave it.”

Walking toward the water, he stuck his head in the stream,
letting it flow over his neck and down his good arm. He made a sound of relief,
as if the cold felt soothing. When he looked sufficiently wet, she approached
with the soap.

He glanced over his shoulder warily. Wearing a guarded
expression, he allowed her to shampoo his hair. While he rinsed, ducking his
head forward once again, she studied the slick expanse of his back,
mesmerized.

He turned, catching her in the act.

She tried to focus on the task, instead of his amazing
physique. Squeezing more soap into her palm, she applied it to his chest. Oh
mama, he felt good. She lathered his armpits, which were dense with hair, and
his smooth, hard pecs. His nipples were tight. His stomach was tight. Everything
was tight.

He had more hair on his belly, a sexy strip that led into his
waistband. His jeans were soaked, hanging dangerously low on his hips. His
internal obliques were amazing. As was his erection, straining the wet
denim.

Jesus. How could he, in this cold?

Her startled gaze flew up to his face.

“I’ll take care of the rest.”

Heart racing, she gave him the soap. “I can untie your boots,
if you want. That way you can just...finish up.”

A muscle in his jaw clenched. “Go ahead.”

She dropped to her knees before him. The cold concrete bit into
her tender skin, and her fingertips trembled as she worked on the laces. She was
intensely aware of her suggestive pose, the heat of his body and his aroused
state.

It was easy to imagine him unbuttoning his fly and threading
his fingers through her hair, bringing her forward.

She wouldn’t need coaxing.

Her face flamed as she struggled with a knot in the shoelace.
When it was free, she loosened the slack so he could kick off his boots. His
jeans weren’t snug, so she didn’t think he’d have a problem stepping out of
them.

Finished, she sat back on her heels and glanced up. He was
watching her intently. His face was so taut it looked like it might break. Of
their own volition, her eyes traveled back down his torso, settling on his
distended fly. He seemed to swell further under her half-lidded gaze. She
moistened her lips, smothering a moan.

Although she hadn’t made a conscious decision to cross the line
with him, she was ready, at that moment, to do whatever he wanted. He was
visibly in need. She would take pleasure in pleasing him.

Her morals and standards went out the window. The vow of
abstinence just evaporated, like the moisture rising from his jeans.

Instead of taking advantage of her unspoken offer, he pulled
her to her feet. Their gazes locked and her heart thumped wildly inside her
chest. What did he think of her? If he found her unappealing, or lacking shame,
he didn’t say. He just stared at her mouth, breathing hard, his face just inches
from hers.

Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t,” he said, cupping her chin.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t feel bad. You know how much I want you.”

She had a pretty good idea, if the size of his erection was any
indication. He was close enough that she could feel the warring sensations of
cold denim on hot skin. Behind him, the water continued to rush down the
wall.

He traced her mouth with his thumb, brushing back and forth.
She parted her lips, trying to draw him in. Groaning, he dropped his hand and
stepped away, shoving his head under the stream to drown his desire.

She retreated, her pulse heavy. He hadn’t watched her shower,
so she turned her back, giving him the same courtesy. After a few minutes, she
heard him step out of the water. When he cleared his throat, indicating that he
was ready, she glanced over her shoulder. He’d managed to pull up the coveralls
to his waist. Bending down, he removed a few items from the pocket of his wet
jeans.

She was still shivering, from cold and uncertainty. She’d
practically begged him for sex, and he’d declined.

This was humiliating.

He looked into the backseat of the car before opening the door.
It was the same one Owen had camped out in, and relatively clean inside. “Will
you let me hold you?”

Nodding, she grabbed the blanket and climbed into the backseat
with him. He put his good arm around her and she covered them with the blanket.
They cuddled together, generating body heat. She pressed her face to his throat
and tried not to cry.

“Are you warm now?”

She lifted her head. “Yes.”

He cupped her face again, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. His
gaze was on her mouth. It hadn’t escaped her attention that he was still
aroused. Need for her radiated from him. She felt a matching sensation, curling
in her belly. After a short hesitation, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to
hers.

She was too numb to respond, at first. He kissed her slack
lips, the corner of her mouth. A tendril of wet hair clung to her chin. He
brushed it aside, tasting the track of moisture there. When his mouth returned
to hers, she moaned, parting her lips. His tongue swept in and his thumb pressed
to her cheek. She kissed him back tentatively, lifting her hands to his damp
head. The wet heat of his mouth felt delicious. Life affirming.

He broke the kiss, panting. “I want to make love to you.”

“You do?” It seemed obvious, with his hard length prodding her
hip. But he’d refused her just moments ago.

“I want it to be good for you, too,” he explained.

“You didn’t want—”

“Of course I did. But I want this more.” He put his hand on her
thigh, stroking. “I want to touch you and kiss you and make you come.”

She groaned, bringing his mouth back to hers. Their tongues
met, tangling together, seeking heat. His hand flexed on her thigh, sliding from
her knee to the hem of her sweatshirt and down again. Although she hadn’t shaved
her legs in a few days, he didn’t seem to mind. “Your skin is so soft,” he said,
between kisses.

She’d never been this turned on in her life, and they’d barely
started. Even so, she needed to ask him something before they continued. “Wait,”
she said, moving her hands from his hair to his face. His coarse stubble
prickled against her fingertips. The light from the lantern, still on the back
hood, made his green eyes gleam.

“Tell me this,” she said, searching his gaze. “Do you love
her?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

G
ARRETT
REMOVED
HIS
HAND
from her thigh:
a bad sign.

His throat worked with agitation as he considered his answer.
“It’s not that simple,” he said finally.

She recoiled in shock. “Are you going to break up?”

“No.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not free,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I can’t have a
relationship with you. When...if...we get out of here, it’s over.”

Her arms dropped to her sides and her shoulders slumped. Well,
that was bald honesty. She’d asked for it.

“I don’t blame you for hating me,” he said. “I hate
myself.
But I have to tell you that I’ve never felt
this way before. I’m crazy about you, Lauren. I love the way you smell, the
sound of your voice, the taste of your mouth and how sexy you look on your
knees. I’m amazed by your strength and kindness and dedication. Despite this
fucked-up situation, I’ve loved every moment I’ve spent with you.”

Tears flooded her eyes, because she believed him.

“I have nothing to offer you and I don’t expect anything in
return,” he continued. “Even if you say no, I’ll remember this night for the
rest of my life.”

Lauren didn’t know why she let him kiss her again. Maybe
because his words soothed her bruised ego. Or maybe she was just too far gone to
stop. Her body hummed with desire, and he was the only man who could satisfy
her. When he buried a hand in her hair and plundered her mouth with his tongue,
she surrendered completely.

“Yes?” he asked, pausing to make sure.

“Yes,” she said against his lips. Desperate for him to
continue, before she changed her mind, she grasped his wrist and moved his hand
to her breast. “Touch me,” she said, licking his mouth.

Discussion time was over.

With a strangled sound of approval, he squeezed her soft flesh
and curled his tongue around hers. The kiss was so erotically charged, it felt
like sex. He seemed enthralled by her taste, in love with her mouth. Her nipple
tightened in his palm, and he swept his thumb back and forth over the beaded
tip.

A pulse throbbed between her legs, heavy and hot.

She reached for the zipper of her sweatshirt, wanting no
barriers between his hand and her flesh. The soft rasp of metal caught his
attention. He lifted his head, watching with hungry fascination as she revealed
a strip of bare skin along the center of her body. She paused at her belly
button, unsure how far to go. He covered his fingertips with hers and pulled the
zipper all the way down.

The sweatshirt fell open, exposing...everything.

His jaw went slack.

She let him look, fighting the urge to cover herself.

“Unh,” he said, staring at her breasts, her stomach, between
her legs. He must have liked what he saw, because he crushed his mouth over
hers, using a lot less finesse than before. Thrilled by his urgency, she wrapped
her arms around his neck and slid her thigh over his, straining to get closer.
They both gasped when her bare breasts met the hard wall of his chest. He
trailed his hand down her back until he reached her squirming bottom. With a low
groan, he cupped her buttocks, kissing her harder.

She wanted to touch him, too. Sinking her teeth into his lower
lip, she skimmed her palms along his taut abdomen. The coarse hair on his belly
made her fingertips tingle. His coveralls were still unfastened, his erection
tenting the fabric. She wrapped her hand around him, testing his thickness.

Oh,
yes
.

He let out a hissing breath as she stroked him up and down. Her
inner muscles clenched in response, eager to try him on for size.

“Stop,” he said with a grimace, stilling her motions.

“Do you have a condom?”

He pulled her hand away from his lap and pushed her back
against the seat, giving her a rough kiss. “Yes,” he said, panting. He removed a
square package from his pocket.

Instead of suiting up for the main event, he tossed the condom
aside and filled his hand with her breast, trapping her nipple between his thumb
and forefinger. She arched her back, gasping as he dipped his head to suck the
pebbled tip. When both of her nipples were red and puckered, he changed focus,
smoothing his palm along the inside of her thigh. She spread her legs on
instinct, giving him greater access. Her sex tingled with sensation.

When his fingertips made contact with her, he went still. She
was plump and swollen, soaking wet. His breathing grew ragged as he traced her
slippery cleft.

Splaying her hands on the seat, she parted her thighs wider.
His nostrils flared as if he could smell her arousal. He circled her opening
with his forefinger and slid it inside. She groaned, welcoming the
intrusion.

“Feel good?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. God, yes.

Moistening his lips, as if hungry for a taste, he slid his
blunt finger in and out of her. He had to know she was ready, but he repeated
the motion again and again. Her nipples were tight, her sex aching. When he
withdrew his finger, it was slick.

He moved higher, circling her clitoris. “And this?”

Beyond words, she groaned and let her head fall back against
the seat. He watched her face while he stroked her, his eyes hooded. It didn’t
take long. The orgasm rushed through her, fluttering inside her belly, making
her cry out in pleasure.

His touch gentled and she slumped against his shoulder,
panting. When she glanced up at him, he kissed her relaxed mouth. He didn’t seem
in any hurry to put on the condom, so she picked up the package and tore it open
with her teeth. She rolled the latex over him, with some difficulty. It was a
snug fit.

The touch of his callused fingertips was delicious, but she
needed more. She longed to be filled by him. She wanted to watch
him
come.

He pushed the coveralls down to his ankles and she climbed
aboard, straddling his lap. When she enveloped him, inch by inch, he made a
strangled sound and grasped her hips, impaling her completely.

If she wasn’t so wet, he’d have been hard to handle. As it was,
he stretched her to the limits, creating a delicious sense of fullness. Pausing
to let her body adjust, she studied his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, his
forehead dotted with perspiration.

“Feel good?” she asked.

“Fuck,” he ground out, his teeth clenched. “Yes.”

She wriggled upward and slid back down slowly, teasingly,
making him slick with her moisture. “Like this?”

He groaned in agony. “I can’t last.”

“It’s okay,” she said, brushing her lips over his. Instead of
torturing him further, she braced her palms on his shoulders and moved her hips
in sinuous motions. He felt huge and hot inside her. Her breasts jostled against
his hard-muscled chest.

Steam rose up between them, fogging up the windows in the
backseat.

He was right about not lasting, but she found it endearing, and
desperately sexy. When he stiffened and shuddered, his body jerking against
hers, she cradled his head to her breasts, muffling his hoarse shout.

After a long moment, he moved her off his lap and went to
dispose of the condom. She zipped up her sweatshirt and snuggled into the
blanket. When he returned, he wrapped his good arm around her, pressing his lips
to her head. She rested her head against his chest, drowsy with
satisfaction.

Although she hadn’t forgotten what he’d said earlier, she
didn’t dwell on it. They’d been through too much together. She couldn’t fight
her emotions anymore. Right now, she needed to feel close to someone.

She could pretend he was hers, for just one night.

“‘Tell me of your homeworld, Usul.’”

He laughed at the
Dune
quote.
“Nebraska, you mean?”

She nodded against his chest.

“There’s not much to tell. It’s flat, and boring, and full of
cows. I couldn’t wait to get out.”

“What did you do for fun?”

“Jump hay bales.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Shooting guns was also popular.”

“Did you have a girlfriend?”

“Sure. Cindy Myers.”

“Was she cute?”

“God, yeah. Her dad owned the soybean mill, so she was town
royalty. All the boys liked her. I never got past first base, though.”

Lauren smiled at the description. “What did your dad do?”

“He worked at the mill. Still does.”

“Was he proud when you joined the military?”

“No. He was against it. Said that the government took advantage
of poor boys while rich men made money off war.”

“Did you believe him?”

“Of course not. I was eighteen.”

“And now?”

He sighed, stroking her back. “I don’t know. I can’t say I’m
happy about my experiences in Iraq. There were times I felt good about what we
were doing. Helping people. Toward the end, I was too numb to feel
anything.”

“What did your mother think?”

“She was worried I wouldn’t come back.”

And he hadn’t been back. Not for a long time, he’d said.

“What does your mother think about you being a paramedic?” he
asked.

“She thinks blood is gross, and that I need a rich husband, a
big house and a baby.”

He smiled crookedly. “Just one? My mother was hoping for a half
dozen.”

“Are you an only child, too?”

“Yes. The burden of procreation falls on me.”

“Don’t you want children?”

“Maybe someday,” he said. “You?”

“Yes. Someday.”

She fell silent, trying not to imagine a shared future between
them. Reality was too painful to contemplate. They didn’t talk about his
relationship status, or her broken engagement. Michael’s betrayal had faded into
insignificance.

The outside world seemed so far away.

There was only this time, this place. Nothing mattered now but
Garrett’s strong arm around her, his heartbeat beneath her cheek. Escape was a
double-edged sword, too terrible to contemplate, too wonderful to hope for.

* * *

C
RUZ
WAS
MORE
ALERT
this evening.

He cried more, squirmed more, ate more and dirtied more
diapers. If he kept this up, Penny would run out of sanitary pads by tomorrow.
She was glad they finally had enough water for washing. Owen warmed up enough
for her to bathe the baby. Setting him on a blanket, she soaped his little body
and wiped him with a wet cloth.

Then she tucked a maxi pad around him and tied on a cloth
“diaper.” She’d torn some of the baby blankets into squares, which added another
layer of protection. Together, the pads and fabric squares kept him dry.

That done, she settled down to feed him again. The suction felt
stronger now, and she could see whitish fluid at the corner of his mouth.

Owen averted his gaze while she nursed the baby. Maybe he was
grossed out. She’d thought it would be nauseating or embarrassing to have boobs
full of milk. But it wasn’t. Breast-feeding felt...peaceful.

When Cruz fell asleep, satisfied, she eased away from him,
buttoning up her dress.

“How are you doing, little mama?”

She glanced at Owen, surprised by the question. Her focus had
shifted from taking care of herself to taking care of the baby. It was almost as
if nothing else existed, not even the Penny she’d once been. “Better,” she said,
rising from the bed.

Instead of throwing out Cruz’s bathwater, she headed to the
bathroom to wash with it. She slipped out of her dress, scrubbing her face and
body. Feeling much cleaner, she put on fresh panties with the same old dress.
There was nothing else to wear. She wished her stomach didn’t pooch out like she
was still pregnant. Ugh.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Owen was sitting at the
table with some first-aid supplies. He’d removed his sweatshirt. The back of his
wife-beater was smeared with tar and dotted with blood.

She frowned at the sight. Although she knew he’d been hurt, she
hadn’t asked him what happened. She suspected that he’d fought with Mickey this
morning. His lip was swollen and his pants leg was torn.

“Let me see,” she said, coming closer to him. When he stripped
off his stained undershirt, exposing the cuts on his back, she stifled a gasp of
dismay. “Why didn’t Lauren take care of this for you?”

“She had more important things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Like bandage Garrett’s gunshot wound, for one.”

She ripped open an alcohol swab. “You could have asked her
before she went to bed.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“She walked away with Garrett.”

“To do what?”

“Never mind.”

Penny didn’t know what he was talking about, but his smirk
annoyed her. When she started cleaning his cuts, he sucked in a sharp breath.
Most of the wounds were minor scratches, and none were bleeding heavily. As she
wiped the last one, her hand stilled. “You mean they went somewhere
private?”

“Yes.”

“You think they’re
hooking up?
”

He looked over his shoulder at her, arching a brow. “You say
that like there’s something wrong with it.”

Penny realized she sounded prudish, which was ridiculous. Last
night, she’d given birth to a child out of wedlock. She had no room to judge
others. “I’m just surprised. I guess I haven’t been paying attention.”

“You’ve been busy.”

She smeared a bit of antibiotic ointment on the cuts and
applied bandage strips. He had only one tattoo on his back, a four-leaf clover
with the letters
AB
in the middle. It wasn’t as ugly
as the rest. “What does this mean?” she asked, touching his shoulder.

“Aryan Brotherhood.”

She dropped her hand. “Oh.”

“Are you done?”

“Yes.”

He rose from the table and opened a drawer. Finding another
clean undershirt, he donned it with hasty motions. His neck was ruddy.