Toss Up (The Toss Trilogy) (10 page)

She
dropped the pen and leaned heavily on the table, head down, trying to steady the ragged breathing and her racing heart.

Jim watched
Sally trying to regain control. Her hands shook, and the handwriting on the yellow pad had deteriorated into a scrawl. She was breathing as if she had run a sprint. He wished he could take her pain away; lay it on himself. Since that was impossible, he did what he could, gathering her into his arms and cradling her head on his chest. He kissed her forehead gently, and she slipped her arms around him. There was tension in her embrace, as if he was her lifeline, and she raised her lips to his, pain and need naked in her eyes.

Jim hesitated. He had promised himself he would wait until she r
eturned his love.

But how could love turn away when she needed him so?

In a single breath, he released his plans and preconditions, and met her need with the gift of his heart. A gift he knew she might never return.

chapter
nine

The first touch of his lips was feather soft, increasing smoothly to a firm, demanding pressure that pushed back the aching hurt in her heart. He held her as if he would never let her go. For an instant she felt desperation in his kiss and wondered at it, but then her awareness of his emotions was swept away by the rising tide of her own response.

Sensation swept through her as his lips
urged her to surrender. She submitted willingly, and together they kept the terror that threatened to claim her mind at bay. As he gently, insistently tasted her mouth, her tongue pressed against his, feeling every stroke as movement and sensation intertwined. But kisses alone could not block out memory for long. As his hand slid up her ribs to claim her breast, she pressed against him, wanting the mindlessness of passion, willing him to continue. As long as desire grew, the fear was forced to recede.

She
needed more. Somehow, her distress communicated itself to him. He rose, lifting her in his arms, and carried her to the bedroom. Pushing the door open with his foot, he leaned her against the doorframe, the pressure of his hips against hers holding her upright when her legs would have buckled.

It was his hands on her skin, his mouth on hers and the hard length of his arousal pressed against her abdomen that kept her mind safely
anchored in sensation as he stripped the clothing from her upper body. When he pulled off his own shirt and tossed it to the floor, she clutched his shoulders, palms caressing muscle beneath slick, smooth skin. She pulled herself tight against him, needing to feel him, skin to skin. His strength was her bulwark against the nightmare of helplessness that still tried to engulf her.

Kissing her deeply, he lifted her and
laid her on the bed. He moved to remove her jeans and panties, but her arms felt bereft and she called his name, hands reaching out to him in appeal. The moments it took to complete his task seemed too long for her to bear. Then he was back, crushing her into the bed with his welcome weight, his hair-roughened legs tangled with hers, his body her shield against evil. She made herself small beneath him, pulling her hands inward to caress his chest, lifting her chin to nuzzle his neck and taste the saltiness of sweat on his skin. He seemed to understand her need and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight as he slipped slowly inside.

H
er body stretched to accommodate the unfamiliar fullness, and she gasped even as she welcomed him.

He held steady and
firm, letting her move against him at the pace her body chose as she adjusted to his size and heat. She tilted her hips and rocked for a moment, but then a need to feel him in control caused her to move hard against him, all but begging him to take her.

His response
stopped the words in her throat, leaving only incoherent sound as thrust by thrust he pushed her fear away.

She
reveled in his strength, accepting the safety it offered, rising with him as tension built inexorably and her body arched faster and faster until like fine drawn glass, she shattered. Nearly breathless, she drifted downward, shielded by his embrace. As the last of her tension ebbed and aftershocks quieted, she slipped into sleep.

Waking
in his arms an hour later, she felt restored. She snuggled closer to him, gratefully kissing his neck and chest.

He roused
and held her tight against him. “Sally,” he breathed, kissing her forehead. “Sally, I love you.”

Her body
stiffened in his arms. She drew her head back. “You don’t need to say that. I’m a big girl.”

The words were a chill breeze swirling around his heart.
He propped himself on one elbow, hoping he had misunderstood. “Do you think I say that whenever I sleep with a woman? Do you think I’m feeling sorry for you?”

The guarded look in her eyes told the whole story.
She had understood exactly what he said and meant, but the door was shut. He was outside in the cold.

No.
Unacceptable. Intensity vibrated in his words. He had to make a new beginning. She had to hear him. “I said it because it’s true. It’s been true for a long time, and I’m tired of not saying it, and tiptoeing around it.”

Her gaze dropped
. “Look, I’m not in the market for love. Not now, not ever again. Once was enough. I’m not going to risk my mind a second time.” She lifted her chin. “You don’t know how close I came to breaking when Trent died. The pain was incomprehensible, and I’m barely recovered from it even now.”

She stretched out a hand, laid it on his arm.

He squelched the instinctive desire to shake it off.

“Jim, you’re a great friend, and I value you so much. The way you helped me fight off the fear just now meant the world to me.”

So that was all it had been for her—fighting off the fear.

She looked down. “All right,” she said softly, “It was more than that. I’ve been wanting you pretty much nonstop since you kissed me Friday.”
A blush tinted her cheeks as she raised her head to meet his eyes. “But love is simply not going to happen.”

He held his
gaze steady, his face an impenetrable mask. He told himself not to speak, but the words ground out on their own. “Maybe it won’t, for you. But it already has for me. I don’t mean it to put you under any obligation. I’m not going to nag you or beg you to return the feeling. But, like I said, I’m tired of trying to hide it, so you’ll have to adjust to hearing it now and again.”

Emotion threatened to break through his mask of control and he turned away from her.
“We need to get to the police station, Sally. I’ll clean up in the guest bathroom and meet you in the living room in twenty minutes.” He rolled to his feet, snagged his clothes from the floor and walked from the room.

Sally
stared after him, frowning. Jim’s declaration of love had caught her flat-footed, and she hadn’t handled it very well. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him, but it appeared she had. So that was one more problem to shove into the box—
I don’t have time to think about it now
. She headed for the bathroom at a jog.

The visit to the police station wasn’t the ordeal Sally
had expected. Fingerprinting took almost no time, and Officer Billings merely took her report, thanked her for the information, and set it aside. Presumably he would read it later.

When Jim mentioned
finding the stalker’s observation point, Billings objected. “Now you know you shouldn’t be trying to track this guy. You might have destroyed evidence we could use.”

Jim produced the orange yarn protected in its plastic bag marked with GPS coordinates,
and a CD of the photographs he’d taken. That tempered Billings’ disapproval somewhat. Promising that the police forensics team would go over the site as soon as possible, he escorted them to the station door. Then she and Jim were back on the street and, having driven to York in separate vehicles, the next step was awkward.

Sally took a deep breath and broke the ice with one clean stroke. “Look, I need to go to the library to do research for my Economics p
aper, then straight to Diana’s for the party. I’ll be fine.”

He frowned. “It isn’t safe for you to be alone. Not even in town. It’s not only about you, you know. It’s about you being here for Tyler.”

That’s a cheap shot, Doc.
But it worked. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Maybe. You said Logan would be at the condo tonight. I could leave my truck there, drive out to the farm with you, and come back into town with him. We’d both have our vehicles, and I’d save a little gas. I’ll call him.”

“What about my research at the library?”

“We’ll
drop my truck at the condo, then take your van to the library. You research and I’ll read and be lazy—sounds good to me.”

It sounded awkward to Sally, but she wasn’t up to an argument. “All right, fine. That should work.”

At the library, Jim picked out a news magazine and made himself scarce. Sally’s tension left with him. Her shoulders relaxed and she settled in to work. After three focused hours, she’d actually gotten quite a bit of research done for her paper. She couldn’t help but wonder if the sex they’d shared had something to do with the wonderful clearheaded feeling she had. What a shame he insisted on being in love with her—she just wasn’t willing to go there.

Jim reappeared from the periodical stacks as she began gathering her things to leave. He’d probably been watching her the whole time. The thought warmed her for an instant, but she shrugged gratitude away. If that was how he chose to spend his time—being overprotective—there was nothing she could do about it. Together, they returned to her van.

It
had
been how he’d chosen to spend his time, mostly—watching Sally work. He found a computer station that gave a good line of sight to the table where she sat and did a bit of shopping online, coupled with a lot of thinking. There was no use pretending he was going to get over the woman. Her rejection hurt, but the anger he felt didn’t change his heart. Now, as he watched Sally at the wheel of her van, taking them both toward Diana’s farmhouse, he thought about their lovemaking and her response. Only a week ago, he’d been at Mark’s Spot having a beer with Logan, and sharing his frustration at being only a friend to Sal.

Logan had been encouraging. “Sally will come around,” he’d said, si
gnaling for another couple of beers. “Just stay close. She’s more than half-way into your arms already, if you ask me.”

Only partly right, Logan.
Sally had been in his arms this afternoon, but she didn’t seem to be coming around. He’d known that making love would help her escape her anxiety for a while.
I knew what she wanted. I knew what I was doing. I’ve got no reason to feel so used.
But he did. He turned away from her, staring out the window to his right.

Was what she’d said about wanting him true or merely a sop to his pride? She’d pulled away when he said he loved her. He clenched his jaw and fought to settle the hurt and anger within him. He had to get his feelings under control. It wouldn’t do to go crying in his beer tonight with Logan.

It doesn’t matter that it hurts. I love her. I’m going to protect her, and how she feels about me makes no difference to that. So suck it up, Donovan.

For the time being he was going to take Logan’s advice. He’d stick tight, and see what happened.

At Diana’s, Sally left Jim waiting for Logan by the kitchen door. She tossed her parka on the jumble of coats covering Diana’s king-sized bed and walked into to the brightly lit country-style living room. A cheerful babble of conversation surrounded her. In the center of the room stood a large oak table piled with bits and pieces of various projects, as well as tools and supplies. A dozen women of various ages surrounded the display chatting, experimenting with various materials and examining items that could be purchased. Sally skirted the crowd and ensconced herself in an overstuffed leather club chair out of the main traffic pattern.

Craft parties were fun if you liked friends, food, gossip and laughter. Sally decided she didn’t. To her, the women surrounding
the table all looked charming, girly, and giggly—though that last could be blamed on the margaritas held in their manicured hands.

Sally had never felt charming, wasn’t especially girly, and had too much on her mind to be giggly, margaritas or not. Besides, she was the tallest woman in the room by six inches or more.
Walking past the others, she’d felt like a fish out of water—no, like a lame crow surrounded by jewel bright hummingbirds.

Where
on earth was Diana? She was tall, too. Why wasn’t she here being the perfect hostess? Sally could use a drink. And who had time for crafts anyway?
I should be working on my Economics paper instead of sitting here wasting my time.

Absorbed in her litany of complaints, it took Sally a moment to rea
lize Diana was standing in the kitchen doorway, gesturing urgently to her and looking pale.

Sally
jumped up and hurried over. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Mugs.”
Mugs was the beautiful English bulldog Logan and Diana had adopted when she had been brought, pregnant, to the shelter. “She’s dropping her pups early.”

Sally responded immediately, calling
Logan’s cousin Tammy away from the group at the table to join them in the kitchen for a moment.

The petite blonde hurried in. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. Mugs is having her pups early.”

Tammy looked blank.

“Bulldog pups often have heads too large to pass through the birth canal. We have to take her in for a Cesarean, or we might lose her and the pups. Can you take over here while we get her to the vet?”

“Sure, no problem. Don’t worry about anything here. I’m on it.” She moved back toward the living room. “Call me if you get a chance, okay?”

“Right,” answered Diana, punching in a call to Logan on her cellphone. She looked at Sally. “I’m calling Logan. You call Jim.”