Out of Character (18 page)

“What do you mean?”

“Helene was killed by accident, and her death did occur in a car.” He paused. “Paul’s car. His enemies blew it up.”

Paul’s wife had been killed by a car bomb meant for him.

Jillian was still fixated on that revelation when she headed downstairs for dinner two hours later. It explained so much. In Keystone, Paul had considered her a one-night stand, a vacation affair at most. Instead she’d become another woman threatened by his profession. Deja vu, even down to the car bomb that killed Kristen. Now he was stuck with her, a woman whose presence had to remind him continually of what had happened to Helene. A woman who was still alive, while the wife he’d loved was dead.

No wonder Paul treated her the way he did. His feelings toward her were a mish-mash of grief, guilt, and resentment, understandable even though it wasn’t her fault.

She always made allowances for difficult patients and families in high-stress situations. She could certainly give the same consideration to someone who was trying to keep her alive. From now on, she’d be cooperative and pleasant no matter how Paul treated her.

When she walked into the kitchen, Paul was sitting at the butcher-block table, and Tony was at the stove. She gave each a smile, which Tony returned and Paul ignored, and then sat across from Paul. Tony dished out the food, artistically arranging a piece of tuna, a colorful mélange of vegetables, and a scoop of rice on each plate.

She took a bite of perfectly grilled tuna, followed by crisp stir-fried vegetables and fluffy jasmine rice. “Tony, this is fabulous. Have you ever worked as a chef?”

Tony smiled faintly. “Never, but I think I would have enjoyed it. Perhaps in my next life.”

“Everything’s superb. Especially the sauce with the tuna. Fermented black beans and ginger?”

“With a touch of garlic and chili oil. And soy sauce, of course.”

“Excuse me, but if you’re done being the perfect dinner guest, I’d like to discuss something with Tony,” Paul said.

Jillian’s mouth popped open at his condescending tone, but she forced herself to swallow her angry retort. “Go right ahead. I’ll continue enjoying my food.” She sipped her wine, something white and excellent.

Paul immediately spoke to Tony—in Cantonese. Jillian struggled to maintain a pleasant expression as she ate. Remember what he’s been through, what he’s going through now.

After conversing with Tony for several more minutes, Paul stood and left the kitchen.

The back door slammed. “I apologize for our bad manners of not speaking in English,” Tony said. “We were discussing a technical problem that sounds much more serious than it is. Paul did not want you worrying.”

Right. Saving her from worry definitely wasn’t why Paul had shut her out. But she’d resolved to tolerate his attitude, and Tony wasn’t at fault. She gave him her warmest smile. “No apology is necessary. Where did you learn to cook?”

* * * *

The scream woke her. Loud and anguished, like from an amputation without anesthesia.

Jillian opened her eyes, her heart hammering. Her bedside clock showed 2:17.

The noise had come from Paul’s room. She jumped out of bed then raced through the dark room and dimly lit hallway to his door.

“Paul?” She knocked and waited. He was thrashing around and moaning. She tried the knob then slowly opened the door.

The bedside light came on. Paul sat up in bed, his back against the headboard. He held a gun aimed at her.

“Paul, it’s me.” She stepped into the room. Luckily, he was alone; she hadn’t even considered he might be fighting off an intruder. “Are you all right?”

He shook his head several times as if to clear it. “Jesus, Jillian, what are you doing barging in like that? I could have shot you.”

Despite his harsh words, his voice was strained. His features were taut, sweat glistening on his face and bare torso, the bed sheet wound around his waist.

“I heard you scream.”

“I’m fine.” Paul lowered the gun to the nightstand with a trembling hand. “Fine.”

He sure didn’t appear fine. Jillian closed the door and walked toward the bed. “Are you sick?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry I woke you.” He shivered and pulled the sheet and blanket up to his chin.

Jillian pressed her hand to his forehead. “You aren’t feverish, just sweaty. Did you have a nightmare?” About his wife, no doubt, courtesy of all those memories her presence was dredging up.

“I’m fine.” His uncharacteristically faint and shaky voice belied his words.

Jillian sat down and put her arms around him. She rubbed her hands up and down his back through the bedclothes, using long, slow strokes. “You helped me in the SUV, so I owe you. I’m not leaving until you stop shaking.”

* * * *

Paul willed himself not to shiver. But he was so cold, and between the nightmare and nearly shooting Jillian in his resulting disorientation, his heart felt like a time bomb hammering away its last seconds. He dropped the sheet and blanket and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. Warmth radiated through her cotton T-shirt, taking the edge off his chill.

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

He shook his head.

“Then don’t talk.” Jillian continued massaging his bare shoulders and back. “Just relax.”

Paul concentrated on Jillian’s soothing hands. He never talked about it; talking made him relive it. So did dreaming about it. The nightmare rarely came now, but every time was as horrible as the reality had been.

“I should never have gone to South America.” The words streamed out. “I hate working there. Everything’s related to the drug trade, and it’s brutal, the players barely civilized. When you’re deep undercover, you have to go along with them if you want them to trust you. It’s like being in hell. After a few years there, I swore I’d never go back. Then this came up. They needed me because I had an old cover that would get me in fast. It was right after Helene died, and I didn’t care about much of anything. So I went back to South America.”

Jillian rested her cheek against his chest as her fingers kneaded the back of his neck.

“When I was there before, I had a reputation for ruthlessness, although the stories were lies we’d planted. People still remembered the Devil and welcomed me back.” He shook his head. “It was even worse than before, the things I saw and didn’t dare stop, the drugs, the brutality, the women, forcing them…” His eyes teared. He squeezed them shut. “I hated it. So damn much.

“Finally they asked me to help with a delivery. That was it, the last piece. Once I knew their delivery system, I’d be able to get the hell out of there forever. I was supposed to go to a house by the river and wait inside for the courier.”

He shivered again, seeing the river like black ice in the moonless night and the dilapidated bungalow, a colony of rats scattering when he’d stepped inside. Smelling the nauseating combination of urine, filth, and blood.

Jillian pressed closer to him, moved her hands harder over his back. She felt so good, so warm. So different from the horror playing in his mind.

“When I showed up, I had a feeling something was wrong, but I was so anxious to finish, I ignored my gut. I went inside anyway. Someone jumped me.”

He shuddered violently, tightening his arms. His spine froze, just like it had when he’d sensed someone behind him. Then searing pain. He squeezed Jillian so hard he felt her bones, but she kept stroking his back. “He sliced my shoulder then shot me in the stomach.” The pain in his shoulder and gut were as excruciating as they’d been that first time, his body reliving the agony. His arms tightened more. He must be hurting her, but she didn’t complain, and he couldn’t make himself loosen his grip.

“I went down. Another man came inside, one I’d worked with. We thought he was one of ours, but they’d bought him. He’d betrayed me.”

Bile burned his throat and mouth. He swallowed it, coughed, swallowed again. “I was still conscious enough to realize he was hitting me with a steel bat, crushing both my kneecaps. Then he shot my thigh. He laughed, said he’d meant to hit higher. He was about to shoot again when the other guy said to leave it, that I was already dead.”

“My God.” Jillian’s hand faltered before she resumed stroking.

Paul focused on her scent, on the feel of her body and hands. She was the only thing keeping the memories and pain from consuming him.

“After they left, I was in agony. I knew I was dying. My only chance was to find help. I dragged myself out of the house and to the river. I was bleeding, losing strength. The pain kept getting worse and worse…”

He remembered it all. Inching along the dirt like a worm, his body a frozen carcass despite the evening’s heat, rocks, branches, and dirt grinding into the wounds in his gut and thigh. A bird’s plaintive cry, like a death knell cutting through the silence. The smell and taste of his blood, choking him, stealing his breath.

“Finally I couldn’t go any farther. I decided to die.” Even then, the pain hadn’t left. Even when he’d closed his eyes and passed into the time he didn’t remember, the excruciating pain continued.

“What happened?” Jillian’s voice was quiet, her fingers kneading his shoulders again.

“I woke up in a hospital. A friend had learned I’d been made. Too late to warn me, but he found the house and followed my blood until he stumbled over me. Just in time, the doctors said. If he’d been much later, I’d have died. I nearly did anyway.” Paul let out a long, shaky breath. “Whenever I dream about it, even think about it, I feel it all again. The pain, that horrible pain…”

But the pain had faded. All he felt now was Jillian, the warmth of her body, the sensation of her hands sliding over his bare skin.

She moved out of his arms. “Do you think you can sleep now?”

He stared at her. His heart and breathing had accelerated again, although every trace of a chill was gone. Now his body felt hot. All of it.

Her brow wrinkled, and she touched his arm. “Paul? Do you need something?”

If she’d been sitting on his lap, she’d have known what he needed, but it wasn’t anything he could ask for. He shook his head.

Her cheeks were wet. She’d been crying for him, for his pain.

He touched her tears with his fingertips. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You already said that. Don’t be. I’m a light sleeper, but I also fall right back to sleep.”

“Good.” He couldn’t stop himself from running his fingers through her hair. It flowed like spring water over his burning skin. He did it again, slower this time.

“I should go.” Jillian mouthed the words, but didn’t move, just sat there staring into his eyes.

He lifted her chin then lowered his head. Her breath caught as his lips touched hers.

The last remnants of memory washed away at the feel of her lips, so warm against his. He deepened the kiss, still keeping it gentle, slipping his tongue to taste her, to explore the recesses of her mouth. Her tongue met his, and her arms circled his neck.

Her feel and taste flooded his senses. He pushed her back onto the bed. He rained kisses over her face and neck. He slid his hands up the backs of her thighs and cupped her bare buttocks.

Her hands moved over his back again, but her strokes now were harder, faster, as if she needed the feel of him as much as he needed her. Her response fed his own passion until he couldn’t think of anything but her, how she smelled, slightly different from before, yet the same. To remember how it had been to touch her everywhere, feel her silky skin and soft curves and wet fire, to have her touch him, to be inside her—

He reached under her T-shirt with both hands and massaged her breasts. She arched into his hands, her nipples hard against his palms. He yanked the T-shirt off. She was so damn beautiful. How could he ever have enjoyed breasts too large to cover with his palms, hair that didn’t sparkle in the lamplight? He skimmed his hands over her breasts and stomach, down to her thighs. Her eyes had darkened from their normal ice blue to that color they got when she was lost in passion, more gorgeous than the Pacific at its best.

He sucked her nipple, and she moaned. He needed this, to lose himself in her until they both exploded, to feel that combination of exhilaration, contentment, and peace that came after he’d loved her.

He moved his mouth to her other nipple, sucking harder as he stroked her stomach then lower. She was so hot, so wet. He eased a finger into her, felt her body clutch around it, inserted another. She was moaning louder, straining against his hand. His thumb circled. She cried out, her body spasming and flowing on his fingers.

God, she was so responsive to him. He loved to watch her, loved to see her face and body when he made her climax over and over.

He flicked his thumb again but she pushed his hand away then pulled his gym shorts just low enough to free him. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life. He nearly lost it as she fondled him. He wouldn’t make it inside her if she kept playing with him like that. He grabbed both her wrists with one hand and pinned them over her head, stripping off his shorts with his free hand. He positioned his body over hers. He needed this so damn much. After all that had happened, he needed—

He needed to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

He needed to get away from her while he still could, to remember the consequences if he didn’t. He gritted his teeth as he released her and rolled away. He pulled on his gym shorts then took a couple deep breaths, staring blindly across the room as he struggled to regain his control. “Please leave.”

“What?” Jillian’s voice was breathy.

Paul steeled himself then forced himself to face her. “Leave. Now.”

She still didn’t move.

For her own good, she had to get the hell out of here. He twisted his mouth into a sneer. “Next time you need stress relief, try the exercise room.”

He heard her quick intake of breath and the creak of the bed as she stood, felt the sting of her palm on his cheek. Then she grabbed her T-shirt and raced out of the room.

He rubbed his burning cheek. He deserved worse after what he’d said. But it had been the right thing to do. If his method had been a little harsh, it had still been the best way to rescue him from a situation that could have been dangerous, even deadly, for both of them.