Going Deep (27 page)

“Jason—”

“Stop,” he said,
turning to lean against the counter. “No lectures. I’ll tell my story, but I’m
going to do it my way. So, tell me what you and Carrie were planning.”

“Okay,” she said
with a sigh. “Finish the dishes first. You yelled at me, Jason. The way I
figure it, you owe me a lot more than a clean kitchen.”

“Maybe. It
depends on how much meddling you’ve already done.”

She pointed her
index finger downward and twirled it around. He got the message, turning to complete
the job he’d started.

“I suggested she
write an article about kids with PDA. I may have suggested she interview a few
specific kids and their families that I know of who’ve been through heart valve
surgery…you know, to get their point of view. I may also have suggested she ask
them if anyone had offered them insight or encouragement along the way.”

He stopped,
hands buried beneath suds, and closed his eyes. “That’s all?”

Silence.

“Tell me,” he
said.

“It’s nothing.”

He fisted his
hands. Damn it. Whenever he used that tone of voice on Carrie, she would do
anything for him, so why didn’t it work on Megan?

“Okay, don’t go
all dominant on me,” she backpedaled. “I told her the Mustangs would help her
get the article out there since she no longer has a job.”

Jason dropped
his chin to his chest. He locked his elbows and braced against the counter.

“Jeff’s talking
to Doyle right now…to arrange it.”

“Wait.” He spun toward
her. “What do you mean she doesn’t have a job?”

“She argued with
her editor about the article. They refused to pull it, so she quit.”

Jason turned
back around, clutching the granite rim around the sink.
Fuck.
Just when
he didn’t think this situation could get any worse. He squeezed his eyes shut. “She
asked them to pull the article?”

“That’s what she
said. You can ask her the details, but she was very upset that they wouldn’t
listen to her.”

He peeled his
fingers loose and scrubbed the cast iron griddle. Next, the frying pan. He
worked in silence, washing, drying, putting them away. This much he could control.
Nothing more. Every other fucking thing in his life was out of his control.
Unacceptable.

“She shouldn’t
have written it in the first place,” he said, drying the last pan.

“No, she
realizes that. You do realize McCree used her, don’t you?” she persisted. “He
was going to make the accusation, one way or another. If not through her, then
some other reporter. None of this is her fault. He had no way of knowing she
had a personal relationship with you.”

Jason rinsed the
sink then wiped the sides and bottom clean with the dishcloth. Megan was right.
Carrie got caught in McCree’s web of lies. If not her, then someone else. But knowing
that didn’t make it easier to accept what was happening to him. His life was
caught in a vortex, spinning out of control, and the only way to stop it was to
grab hold and stop it himself.

“Oh good. You’re
back,” Jeff said, stepping into the kitchen. Jason pulled the drain plug loose.
“Doyle says it won’t be a problem. He’ll arrange everything. A press
conference, whatever we need. He said he’d have PR contact Carrie to see what
she has in mind.”

Water swirled as
the drain sucked it down—a metaphor for his life if ever he’d seen one. With
one last slurping gulp, the drain consumed the last of the soapy water. Jason
squeezed the dishrag dry and hung it over the sink’s center divider. He turned
to his brother. “Did it ever fucking occur to you to ask me what I wanted?”

“Well…yeah, but
you made it clear this morning that your head was still up your ass, so I nixed
that idea. Besides, I knew you’d come around.”

“You’re a
controlling son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

Jeff smiled. “We’re
identical twins, Jase. What do you think?”

“I think if I
didn’t love Megan so much, I’d kill you.”

Jeff sidled up
next to his wife and gave her a kiss not meant for polite company to see. “It’s
a good thing you love her then, but she’s mine. Go get your own woman.”

Maybe he should.
Hell, everyone had a say in his life but him. Maybe it was time to go deep and
grab onto what
he
wanted. “I think I will. Yeah, I think that sounds
like a good idea, and I know just where I can find one.”

* * *

The first order
of business was research. Carrie surfed the Internet for anything on Patent
ductus arteriosis, PDA for short. Even if Megan couldn’t convince Jason to
cooperate and save his good name, she might still be able to freelance the
article to a newspaper or magazine interested in children’s health issues. She’d
just leave out the parts about Jason Holder and the reason he’d have to be
insane to use steroids—besides the obvious.

For the first
time since she’d walked out of the newspaper’s offices after quitting her job,
she had a purpose. Bringing attention to this affliction and the kids who
survived with the right care could only be a good thing. Hope for the hopeless.
Never mind she was one of them—the hopeless, that is. Hopelessly in love with a
man who didn’t want her, didn’t love her. She closed her eyes and took a deep
breath, willing the constant heartache to go away. Unsuccessful, she shook her
head and resumed work. She couldn’t think about what she’d lost. No matter what
Megan had claimed, Jason didn’t love her.

It was a nice
fantasy to have, and one she’d dreamed of often while waiting for the next summons
from her master. But like the girl in the fairy tale, the clock had struck
midnight, and what had seemed so perfect, so right, had disappeared in a puff
of popcorn and hot dog scented smoke. The difference? Carrie’s Prince Charming
wasn’t going to come looking for her.

Maybe something
good could come from the mess she’d created. This PDA article could be the
beginning of a new freelance writing career. She’d write what she wanted and
sell the articles. It wasn’t exactly stable work, but it was work, and anything
was better than sitting around wishing she could turn the fairy tale clock
back.

For a few short
months, she’d lived the life she wanted with a man who’d seen the dark needs of
her desire and had taken her there. Then the fairy tale had ended, taking her
career and her sex life with it. She didn’t want anyone else, couldn’t imagine
giving another man what she had given Jason. Maybe in time….

She shook her
head. No, that clock was broken. She couldn’t go back, and she couldn’t go forward.
Not like that. Never like that again.

She refused to
watch the news for days following his record-breaking homerun. After leaving
the stadium, she’d listened to the remainder of the game on the car radio,
sickened by the immediate speculation on how the record was achieved. Hearing
the speculation, the thinly veiled accusations had galvanized her resolve to
try and fix what she’d done.

The doorbell
chimed. She blinked, shifting her focus from her computer screen to the front
door. Convinced it had to be a kid selling candy bars or magazines, she ignored
it.

The bell chimed
two more times.

Persistent
bugger, she groused.
Get a clue and move on.

“Open up,
Carrie.”

She froze,
staring at the closed door. It couldn’t be, but she would know that voice anywhere.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, and warmth and desire stirred low in her
belly.

“I know you’re
in there.”

She swallowed
past the lump in her throat. Her brain sent signals to her feet, but they
remained beneath the small desk she’d purchased at a flea market.

“Every second I
stand out here adds to your punishment, angel. Makes no difference to me how
many times I spank you.”

Her feet moved
faster than she thought possible. She jerked open the door. “Shh! People will
hear you!”

“You think I care?”

God, she’d never
seen a sexier sight than Jason Holder in her doorway, one forearm braced on the
doorjamb, his hips cocked back just so. She didn’t know which she liked better,
Jason in the tight jeans he wore today, or Jason in those clinging baseball
pants. He looked mighty fine in both.

“I’m tempted to
bare your ass right here in the doorway and give you the spanking you deserve.”

The low, seductive
promise in his voice set her internal thermostat to simmer. Her
As her
temperature spiked and a familiar heat
rushed from her chest to her hairline. She forced her gaze to the floor. “If
that’s what you want, Master.”

He pushed away
from the doorframe, straightening. “Invite me in, angel. We’ll do this in
private.”

She stepped
back, closing the door behind him. She folded her shaking hands behind the
small of her back and waited. She tracked his feet as he walked to the center
of her living room and turned slowly to take it all in. There wasn’t much to
see—just an entertainment center with a TV and a few family pictures on one
wall, a sofa took up another. Beneath the single window that looked out on the
strip of rocky soil between her apartment building and the neighboring one, sat
her desk. She cringed when he moved in that direction, realizing she’d left the
Internet browser open to a clinical study on PDA and steroid use.

“I see you’ve
been hard at work, angel.” He clicked a few keys on her laptop.

She dared to
glance up in time to see her screen saver pop up.

 “Well, look
what we have here,” he said.

Mortification
blazed through her system, and what had been perhaps a sweet blush now had to
be a blotchy red rash. She loved that picture of him at bat. The photographer
had captured his steely-eyed concentration in the split-second before his bat
connected with the ball for one of his many homeruns. But what she liked best
was the way the muscles in his arms and thighs stood out in the photo. An artist
couldn’t have asked for more perfect lighting.

She averted her
gaze, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I understand
you were at the game yesterday,” he said.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you didn’t
see fit to tell me.”

“I…I thought you
wouldn’t want me there,” she said.

“What I don’t want
is you or anyone else meddling in my personal business.”

She nodded, wishing
the floor would open up and swallow her so she wouldn’t have to hear another
word about how she disappointed him.

“But, as my
brother and sister-in-law have pointed out, I’ve had my head up my ass.”

 Something like
hope blossomed in her chest. He paced away from the desk, glanced around the
breakfast bar at the tiny kitchen, and stopped in front of the entertainment
center.

 “You’re right.
I didn’t want you there.”

That tiny,
flickering flame of hope died a sudden death.

 “But I’m glad
you were. It means a lot to me that you came to support me, even if I would
have told you not to had I known.”

“I couldn’t stay
away,” she admitted.

“Why is that?”

She bit her lip.
Loving him was her own private pain, and she wouldn’t blurt it out to only to
have him squash it like an unwanted bug. She closed her eyes as if closing the
drapes would keep the light glowing inside from spilling out into the world for
all to see.

“Tell me, angel.”
His voice—inches from her—was deep and smooth, a sensual caress that invited
her to reveal her innermost secrets.

She wouldn’t say
it. His finger beneath her chin was warm and strong. He tilted her face up.

“Look at me,” he
commanded.

Carrie sniffed
back tears. She looked into his eyes. They were kind and inviting, like his
voice.

“Tell me,” he
demanded again. “Why couldn’t you stay away?”

Her lips
trembled. The words came forth as if charmed from her. “I love you. I couldn’t
stay away…because I love you.”

He stroked her
lower lip with his thumb. His eyes searched hers, then his gaze roamed over her
face. She hated the tears that ran unchecked down her cheeks and her lips that
quivered in tandem with her legs. Her breasts ached for his touch, and it was
all she could do not to lean forward. To just brush against his solid strength
would be Heaven.

His lips quirked
up on one side, and she thought she might die. He was laughing at her! Oh God,
why had she said those words? Her body trembled from head to toe. If only she
could move, run far and fast. She stood on the edge of a cliff, unable to
plunge over and end the infinite humiliation of not being wanted.

“There,” he
said, brushing tears from her cheeks with both thumbs. “That wasn’t so bad, was
it?”

She swallowed,
but her thick tongue wouldn’t let her answer.
Yes. No. I don’t know
. His
hands cradled her face. So warm. So strong. His lips descended toward hers. Her
eyelids dropped.

His mouth
touched hers, tentative at first, like a lover unsure of his reception. She
rose to her tiptoes, following when he broke away. His next kiss was more sure.
Firm, like a lover who knew he’d be well received. The flicker of hope in her
chest burned brighter. She moved her lips beneath his, kissing him back with
all the love she had for him.

“Open for me,”
he growled, nipping at her bottom lip.

The tiny flame
became a torch when his tongue plunged past her lips, exploring, tasting,
claiming. Their tongues battled. With each gasping breath, they made love to
each other with lips and tongues. Her palms itched to touch him, but their only
points of contact were his hands holding her still and the mating of their
mouths.

He broke the
kiss. Carrie whimpered. He dropped his forehead to hers, and still cradling her
face, they both fought for oxygen. She had no shame. She wanted him. Wanted to
keep on kissing him forever. Wanted to touch him, taste every inch of him.
Wanted to open her body to him, to take him inside her, and hold him there
forever. No shame. Just longing, and need, and a love so deep, so real, her
heart bled.