Depth Perception (20 page)

He didn't like seeing her like this, laid open and raw, like a quivering nerve exposed to air and screaming with pain. There was simply no way he could stand there and do nothing while she came apart right in front of him.

"Nat."

"Don't." She raised her hand as if to stave him off, but she didn't look at him.

He reached her in two resolute steps. She jolted when he wrapped his fingers around her biceps. "
Vien ici.
" Come here.

He didn't wait for her to comply. Gently, he turned her toward him. She tried to avert her face, but he set his fingers beneath her chin and forced her gaze to his.

"I know it hurts," he said gently. "But you're going to get through this. You're going to be all right."

"I'm never going to be all right. It's been three years since my little boy died, and I still miss him so much I can't bear it."

"It gets easier. You'll have good days and bad days. This is just a bad day."

"They're all bad."

"No they're not." Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he offered a thin smile. “The ratio will improve with time.”

"Nick, I still see him. I still hear his voice, his footsteps in the house. I smell him. For God's sake, we have conversations inside my head."

For the first time he realized how profoundly bittersweet, how heartbreaking the trance writing was for her. He knew that no matter how hard she tried to heal, it would not let her move on.

"I want my baby back," she whispered.

Lifting his hand, he gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, let his fingers linger against her cheek. "You can't have him back,
chere.
He's gone. You have to let him go and move on with your life."

“I can't. Not when he talks to me.”

"He's trying to help you,
chere.
"

"It's killing me."

"Maybe you can take some comfort in that with his help we're going to make things right for him."

It was the first time Nick had spoken the words aloud, and even though he'd come to believe Nat was, indeed, psychic, they still shocked him.

"Promise me," she whispered. ''Tell me we're going to find the son of a bitch who took our children from us."

Nick stared at the pale frame of her face, aware that his chest was tight, his palms damp. He hurt for her, he realized. He could feel the pain burgeoning inside him, a silent ache that was powerful and cold and squeezed his heart like a fist.

"We'll find him,” he said. "I promise."

They were standing face-to-face, so close he could smell the sweet scent of her hair, feel the warm brush of her breath against his face. He knew better than to let the moment go on. But simmering in some shadowy place deep inside him was an attraction he could no longer deny. He knew there shouldn't have been anything sexual about the moment. The last thing she needed in her life was ex-con who couldn't offer her anything but his own troubles. But the need to feel her body against his was as powerful as his need to take his next breath.

Putting his arms around her, Nick pulled her to him. A tremor went through her on contact. The sweet ache that followed went all the way to his core. He set his cheek against her hair, which was like fragrant silk against his skin. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the lemon scent of her shampoo. He was keenly aware of her arms encircling his shoulders, her soft body conforming to his. It had been six unbearable years since he'd been this close to a woman. His response was instantaneous and base. The rush of blood from his head to his groin made him dizzy. His sex grew heavy and full and strained uncomfortably against his fly.

"I don't usually have emotional meltdowns like this," she said.

He pulled back slightly so she couldn't feel his erection against her, and looked into her eyes. "Don't apologize."

Her eyes filled, and something went soft and warm in his chest. She blinked furiously, but the tears squeezed through her lashes to roll down her cheeks. When her shoulders began to shake, he tightened his arms and set his chin on her crown.

"Go ahead and let it out," he said softly.

The tears came with a vengeance, racking her body with great, shuddering sobs. He held her tightly while she purged the grief that had lain dormant inside her for so many months. All the while he stroked her hair with his right hand, held her against him with his left, and whispered words of comfort into her ear.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, locked in an embrace and standing body to body. It could have been minutes; it could have been an hour. The only thing he knew for certain was that she'd needed to be held. That he'd needed to hold her. And that he damn well didn't want to ponder the significance of either of those things.

When the last of her sobs subsided, she pulled back and raised her gaze to his. "I've cried all over your shirt."

"It's an old shirt."

Nick thumbed a tear from her cheek. Even pale with grief, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, she was lovely. Her mouth was partially open. Her lips were damp. He could feel the need coiling and flexing inside him. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that. He wanted her naked and beneath him. He wanted to sheathe himself inside her heat and pour his seed into the deepest reaches of her body.

Leaning close, he brushed his mouth lightly against hers, testing her, testing himself. Her lips were pliable and soft beneath his. He touched her lip with the tip of his tongue. tasted the remnants of her tears and the fever of his own lust. The quick rise of heat stunned him. He could feel the gallop of blood through his veins. A hot pool forming in his groin to pulse with every frenzied beat of his heart.

Neither of them had closed their eyes, and when he pulled away, hers were wide and puzzled. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I wanted to taste you." Nick stared into the turquoise depths of her gaze, more shaken than he wanted to admit. "Because I'm a fool."

"If that makes you a fool, what does it make me?"

"Vulnerable. Troubled." He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "A mistake, probably."

"A mistake for whom?"

"You more than me,
chere
.” He sighed. "I have to go."

He fully intended to turn around and walk out the door. He envisioned himself walking down the porch steps, getting into the truck, pulling out of the driveway.

But neither of them moved.

Nick wasn't sure he could. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Raising his hand, he brushed his thumb across her lower lip. It was like a rose petal, soft and pale and slightly wet as if with dew. "I don't like seeing you hurt like this."

"I'm okay." She gave him a shaky smile. "Your being here helped. Thank you."

That she would thank him when all he could think about was laying her down and burying himself inside her made him feel like a lecher. He was about to step back when she raised up on her tiptoes and brushed her mouth against his cheek.

Sudden need flared like a thousand matches igniting simultaneously inside him. She must have seen the intent on his face, because her eyes widened. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but before she could utter a protest, Nick leaned close and crushed his mouth to hers.

The kiss wasn't gentle this time, and a shudder ran the length of her body on contact. The snap of pleasure made him groan. It was like an electrical surge that ignited every nerve ending in his body, each of them zinging with a thousand volts. He devoured her mouth, and all he could think was that he wanted more.

Tilting her head for a better angle, he deepened the kiss. She didn't kiss him back, but he didn't care. He penetrated her with his tongue. A groan rumbled up from his chest when she finally responded. It was what he'd been waiting for, and he fed on her mouth like a starving man. A man possessed. A man about to cross to the point of no return.

She made a sound in her throat, but he couldn't tell if it was a protest or sigh. He was too far gone to care. Too far gone to do anything but kiss her and hope one of them came to their senses before things went too far. His intellect made a last ditch effort to stop him, reminding him of the havoc a woman could wreak upon a man's life. But Nick's body didn't give a damn about ancient history. Didn't give a damn about boundaries or right or wrong.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear his breaths corning short and fast, as if he'd just run a marathon. The blood roaring in his cars was like a raging sea, rising up to crash against a jagged shore. He was painfully aroused, his erection straining against the constraints of his jeans. A sweet agony that tortured him like the keen blade of a knife. A razor edge that cut deeper with every beat of his heart.

Nick couldn't remember the last time he'd been with a woman. Tanya, at some point before he'd begun his prison term. After being alone for so many years, the needs rampaging through him built quickly into desperation.

Nat turned her head slightly, breaking the kiss. He heard his name on her lips, but before she could say anything, he captured her mouth again, coaxed her into submission with his tongue. Pure male pleasure rippled through him when she opened. Growling low in his throat, he went in deep, tasting her, exploring her, encouraging her to enter him as well.

Nick had never been an impatient lover. He preferred to take things slowly, let things build to a natural crescendo. But kissing Nat Jennings was like nothing he'd ever experienced in his life. It was as if he were oxygen starved and no matter how hard or deeply he breathed, he couldn't get enough air into his lungs.

Never taking his mouth from hers, he skimmed his hands downward. She shivered when he ran his fingertips over the outer curves of her breasts. He wanted his hands on her. His tongue in her mouth. Her skin against his. His body sliding into the tight, wet heat of her body . . .

She stiffened when he brushed his hands over her nipples. He felt the tiny peaks harden through her bra. He knew the moment had affected her, and the knowledge drove him a little bit insane. "I've got to touch you," he whispered. "Now."

"Nick ... "

He was pretty sure she'd been about to stop him. He didn't give her the chance. She arched when he molded her breasts with his hands. When her head lolled back, he kissed her neck. Her shoulders. The tops of her breasts, the valley between them. Desperate to touch her skin, he slipped his hands beneath her shirt. Kissing her, he fumbled for the closure of her bra, located the tiny clasp between her breasts. But his hands were shaking so badly he couldn't manage. Frustrated and a little embarrassed at his ineptness, he took the simpler route and lifted the scrap of silk over her breasts.

He raised her shirt, and the sight of her shook him, awed him, made him realize how desperately he'd missed this, how much this moment meant to him. "Aw, God," he whispered. "You're beautiful."

"Wait.

A sound that was part sigh, part moan escaped her when he cupped her breast. Her flesh was incredibly soft and warm against his palm. Her entire body jolted when he scraped the pads of his thumbs over her nipples. He skimmed his hands lower, and for the first time felt the pucker of the scar. It ran from just below her left breast to her navel. She tensed the instant he made contact, and a slow wave of anger rolled through him that someone had hurt her, disfigured her.

Because he wanted her to know whatever scars she bore didn't detract from her beauty, or make any difference to him, he traced his fingers over it. "It doesn't matter," he whispered.

“It’s ... ugly.”

"It's not."

"Nick, I can't."

"Yes, you can." Lowering his head, he took her nipple into his mouth. She cried out when he began to suckle, laving the engorged tip with his tongue. She tasted hot and sweet, and all he could think was that he would die if he didn't get inside her. At the moment, he couldn't think of a better way to go.

#   #   #

Nat couldn't believe this was happening. She couldn't believe he'd kissed her. That she'd kissed him back. That she'd liked it, and now the moment was spiraling out of control. Somehow the grief that had held her in its grip for so many months had morphed into a need so powerful she felt it all the way to her foundation.

The sensation of his mouth on her nipple shocked her, sent hot electrical impulses from her breast to her brain and every erogenous zone in between. He was making her feel things she didn't want to feel, making her want things she was a fool for considering, at a time in her life when she was lucky just to make it though the day.

But she could feel her pulse hammering. Her breasts aching, swelling beneath his hands. The wetness hot and pulsing between her legs.

She jolted when the backs of her calves made contact with the sofa. In some far corner of her mind, she acknowledged that there was a small, reckless part of her that wanted this. She was tired of hurting, of being alone. She wanted the pain to go away, if only for a little while.

But Nat knew sex for the sake of sex wasn't going to pull all the broken pieces of her life back together. Nick Bastille might be attractive and sexy and willing to use both of those things to get what he wanted. But going to bed with him was not the way to healing. She knew it would only interfere with the alliance she'd worked hard to forge. That in the long run a relationship with him would hurt her far more than it would help.

He was so close she could feel the heat coming off his body and into hers. He trailed kisses up her neck. Then his mouth was on hers, tearing down her resolve, stealing the last of her resistance. He'd lifted her shirt and bra. She could feel the wetness of his saliva on her nipples. Her body clenching, releasing. Her control skittering just out of reach.

All the while his mouth worked dark magic on hers. It was as if he'd put her under a spell. She couldn't stop kissing him, accepting him into her mouth. Vaguely she was aware of his hand at the snap of her jeans, the zipper being lowered. An alarm blared inside her head. The words to stop him echoed in her brain.

Then his hand was against her pelvis. She could feel her womb contracting in response. The sensation wrenched a moan from her. Guilt and pleasure screamed through her, but it was now tempered by the need to protect herself.