Hiding Jessica (17 page)

Mitch was back. Large, strong and vital.

Her stomach clenched again, and the memory of the kiss threatened to overwhelm her brain.

She looked away altogether.

“Damn it.” Mitch swore again, penetrating her thoughts. She glanced over through shuttered eyes to see his hands plucking ineffectually at the water-swollen laces. Without thinking, she rose.

“Let me,” she found herself saying, easily crossing the few steps between them. Before he could reply, she was on one knee before him, reaching for the laces.

Her own nimble fingers undid the mud-entangled knots easily, and she loosened the laces all the way down.

“There,” she said. She kept her eyes on his boots, knowing if she looked up, she would find his warm brown eyes and strong, unrelenting jaw just inches from her own face.

“Your hands are dirty,” Mitch said. His voice sounded unexpectedly gruff to his own ears. He could see the silky sheen of her wavy brown hair. It looked so soft, he wondered how it would feel to the touch. It had been a long night, and the morning was still far from certain. And all of a sudden, he just wanted to pull this woman into his arms, bury his face in her neck and breathe in the warm, beguiling scent of fresh summer peaches.

“My hands can be washed,” Jess replied. Her heart thundered a maddening beat in her chest. She wanted to look up. She really did. She wanted to see his warm eyes, soft with exhaustion, and she wanted to trace the line of his unshaven jaw with her own slender hand.

She wanted to bury herself against his chest and see if he felt as warm and comforting as she’d felt last night when he’d stolen a kiss from her lips.

Her breathing increased and she felt a small shudder ripple down her back as her stomach filled with that heady combination of want and fear.

Slowly, of its own volition, her head came up.

His breath froze in his chest. Her eyes were dark and luminous as they fell upon his lips. There was no mistaking that look. And even as he told himself he was asking for trouble, his large hands reached down to find her shoulders and drag her up against him. She came against his chest hard, but neither protested. Mitch’s gaze settled on her lips, pink and swollen, waiting for him. His gaze swept up one last time to find her eyes still mesmerized by the desire.

“Is this what you want?” he found himself whispering thickly.

She nodded, leaning her lips slightly closer. But he refused to comply so easily. Last time he’d been taken in by the invitation, only to be held as the guilty party when it was through. He would not be accused of taking advantage of her twice.

Her eyes darkened further, her mouth pouting slightly with the frustration. His large hands slid up her back, drawing her in farther. He could feel the long, graceful lines of her body, soft and pliable against him. His hands slid more to the side, and discovered the tantalizing swells of her breasts. She shivered, her own hand coming up to rest on the shadowed line of his jaw. Softly her long index finger discovered the rough feel of twenty-four-hour whiskers.

She drew his head forward, and this time, he gave in to her unspoken demand. His lips found hers warm and inviting. There was no need for careful exploration. Her lips parted willingly, inviting him in as she pressed closer. He felt the first rush of shudders as he found her tongue and sucked lightly. Her hands were suddenly on his shoulders, pulling at him as she moaned lightly.

The sensations were warm and wonderful and pushed all the apprehension from her mind. He filled her senses, and willingly she gave herself over to the onslaught. There were no more sinister shadows or waiting nightmares. Just this strong man with his warm lips that moved on hers knowingly. Just this one man with his maddening scent of soap and spices that left her dazed and wanting.

His lips snuck away from hers, but before she could whimper her protest, they soothed their way to her ear. She felt the warm whisper of his breath against her sensitive neck, and a small gasp escaped from her lips. She arched back, and he seized the opportunity to explore her delicate ear with his tongue, then blazed a tantalizing trail to the seductive curve of her shoulders. The bulk of her sweater got in his way, and he seized it with impatient hands. She stiffened slightly in his arms, but he relaxed her again with reassuring murmurs. The next thing she knew, her sweater was being swept over her head until cold air struck her tender flesh.

She drew back slightly, the cold penetrating the spell. For one moment she tensed with the fear, and her hands balled on his shoulders.

She shouldn’t be doing this; she shouldn’t be letting any of this happen. But his lips returned to hers, softer this time, cajoling. His hands splayed carefully across her back, replacing the air with sure fingers. They swept up to trace the straps of her bra, but did not remove it.

He felt her relax a fraction more, but she was still tense and uncertain in his arms. He frowned unconsciously, deepening his kiss, and he sought her earlier pliability. Instinct told him she was on the verge of pulling away, and his own red-hot senses told him he would possibly explode if she left him now. He wanted her with an intensity that was new and startling for him.

Her hands flattened on his shoulders once more, the deep stroking of his tongue in her mouth filling her stomach with unknown yearning. She could feel his heartbeat, fast and strong, and she reveled in the sensation. For one tantalizing instant, she wondered what it would be like to feel skin against skin, heat against heat. Her hands paused at the edge of a button.

The desire to tear it away mixed once again with the fear, and abruptly she became conscious of his hands moving along her back, sliding forward, cupping a lace-covered breast.

The fear reared hard and she couldn’t stop herself. She pushed away with a violent oath, her own desire and insanity ringing in her ears.

“Stop,” she cried, whirling away. Her hands crossed in front of her in a feeble attempt to cover herself, and in that instant she suddenly looked like a small, vulnerable child.

He looked at her heavily, his hands balling at his sides as he fought against his own raging passion. Deep inside, he realized he’d been waiting for this moment. All along, he’d known she’d pull away. And then he abruptly became aware of something else.

Like the way she was hunched forward and the way her eyes were watching him warily under the cover of her brown hair. Her gaze swept down to his hands, and in that moment he understood. She was waiting for him to hit her.

He wanted to swear, low and violent and ugly. He wanted to shake her for thinking so little of him. And he wanted to reach out and draw her back into his arms until she understood not all men were cruel and abusive.

Not all men were like Les Capruccio.

Slowly he reached down and picked up her sweater. Without saying a word, he held it out to her. She took it carefully, her eyes still alert. Then, as if she thought he might change his mind, she turned quickly and yanked it on.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

“About what?” she said in a muffled voice, not turning around.

“About Les and how he treated you.”

Her back went rigid, her shoulders squaring, and she slowly turned around. Her face was once more controlled, but he could see the wariness in her eyes.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said stiffly.

He shook his head. “You are the most stubborn creature I’ve ever encountered,” he told her bluntly. “Why are you so determined to protect the man? Everyone knows what Les was like. And enough people testified on how he treated you. What not just get it out, Jess? Why not just admit the man was an abusive bastard who hit you.”

“It’s no one’s business,” she said slowly, but he could see the hurt in her eyes. His voice gentled.

“It’s not your fault,” he said softly. “Surely you understand that.”

She shivered, her arms unconsciously wrapping around her. The defensive move made him wince, and at that moment he would have liked nothing better than to slam a concrete fist through Les’s smirking face.

“You should have left him sooner,” he said quietly. His voice was gruff. “God knows you deserve better than the likes of Capruccio.”

Slowly she nodded. “I hate him,” she said suddenly, the words toneless. “I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone.”

“How did you even hook up with such a man?” Mitch said, running his hand through his hair as the tiredness once more began to sink in. In the beginning, he’d been prepared to dislike Jessica Gavornée because of her association with Les Capruccio. Because she’d remained the mistress of a cruel and abusive man. But now, having seen her intelligence and her strength, the whole thing seemed suddenly like a huge waste to him. That such an ugly man would claim such a beautiful woman, and lock her life onto a violent, unending path.

“He introduced himself to me,” Jess replied. She hesitated, feeling suddenly torn. She shouldn’t speak about it, she understood that. There were too many pieces of the puzzle she couldn’t reveal, and Mitch was the type of man who would spot the holes. But at the same time, a part of her wanted him to understand. She shouldn’t care what Mitch thought of her, but standing in this tiny room, the taste of him on her lips, she did.

“Wined you and dined you,” Mitch filled in. “Sounds like Capruccio.”

She looked at him sharply. “I refused Les’s offer for dinner,” she said levelly. “Unfortunately, Raphael, the designer, didn’t agree with my decision. It seemed Les had given Raphael a bit of money for the show. Well, it’s not so unusual to dine with major backers. I went.”

Mitch watched her carefully, the questions burning in his mind, and he worked to hold them back. So dining was common. How far did that “professionalism” extend? a small voice whispered. Was she supposed to sleep with him, too? He looked away, his muscle working furiously in his jaw.

“One thing just led to another,” he said finally, his voice deliberately neutral.

Jess smiled, a bitter smile Mitch didn’t see. Yes, one thing had led to another. One week later Les had walked into her dressing room, asking her to join him at a charity ball. When she’d told him no, he’d produced a file filled with black-and-white photographs of her visiting a woman in a prison’s uniform. She’d tensed then, but her face hadn’t given anything away. She’d visited the Women’s Correctional Institute just three days before. Apparently, Les had had her followed. Still, there was nothing wrong with a charitable visit.

Of course she’d underestimated the matter and Les’s resources. In the next fifteen minutes, he’d laid out to her just how much he knew about the other woman in the photograph. And he’d called her by a name no one had used since she was sixteen years old.

“Did you fall in love with him?” Mitch asked suddenly. He could at least understand that even if it did turn his stomach. Women had fallen in love with scum before.

“Love him?” She practically spat the words out, rubbing her arms in agitation. “I hated him. I hated the way he smiled, the way he dressed. I hated the way he ate, and I hated the way he would caress my cheek right before he hit me. Les Capruccio is a low and vile man who deserves to rot away in jail for the rest of his godforsaken life!”

“There!” Mitch said, taking a step forward as he pinned her with intense brown eyes. “You admit how he treated you. So why did you stay, Jess? Why spend a year and a half with the monster?”

Her mouth opened, then abruptly snapped shut. She felt his eyes burning into her and stiffened her resolve against it. She couldn’t tell him. It didn’t matter that he’d saved her from Les’s men, and it didn’t matter that his kisses made her feel things she wasn’t supposed to feel. She’d already given him too much of herself, when deep inside she knew it would only come back to haunt her.

People could be good, but they were also capable of the most horrendous actions on earth. The only way to truly be safe was to depend upon yourself.

“I was weak,” she said simply, willing herself not to turn away from his gaze. She gave a small shrug, but it didn’t fool him.

His eyes turned black, and he shook his head with frustration.

“You’re lying,” he said flatly. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, and I’ve seen for myself that you don’t do anything you don’t want to do.” His voice lowered. “You’re still hiding something, Jess. And I’m getting mighty tired of waiting for the truth.”

She faltered momentarily, looking at him with uncertain eyes. Her gaze fell unconsciously to his hands, large and waiting by his sides. He followed her gaze and issued a dark, low oath.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warned ominously. “Don’t you even begin to compare me with the likes of Les Capruccio. I’ve never hit a woman before in my life and I certainly don’t plan on starting now—though there are times you frustrate me to the brink of violence.”

Her gaze swept up once more, searching his eyes with open suspicion.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Daddy didn’t mean to hurt you. Damn, I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again, sugar, I swear it won’t happen again. If you would just do what I told you... I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She turned away, feeling the unexpected tightness of a lump in her throat. And for a moment, she hated Mitch Guiness simply because he could stand there and tell her he would never hit her, never be like Les Capruccio. And she hated herself because she wanted to believe him, wanted to think that he was somehow different.

Just like all those years when she’d believed her father wouldn’t hit her again. And each time he had. Until she’d learned to hate him, but even then she’d wanted to believe.

Because she’d wanted so desperately to have someone to believe in.

Even as the blow had landed across her mouth, sending her flying across the cracked linoleum floor while her mother had screamed in the background, and the sick stench of cheap whiskey had filled the air.

“I need to go to sleep,” she said quietly, but her voice didn’t sound quite right. She took another deep breath. Oh, what was wrong with her? She never thought of these things. Her father was long gone and she was no longer a child. She’d grown into a woman who knew how to take care of herself. She did.