Untamed Desire (7 page)

But immediately her concern for Jim overrode her joy. Something terrible had happened to him.

Storm returned to the living room with the coffeepot and a mug. “Here,” she coaxed. “Drink this, Jim.” She placed the full mug in his hands.

He stared down at the contents, frowning slightly.

“It’s coffee,” she explained patiently, kneeling beside him and gently maneuvering the cup to his lips. “Drink it,” she urged softly. “It will help.”

He was trembling. Storm’s face contorted with anguish at the sight of his silent suffering. Finally, with great effort, he muttered, “Nothing will help.”

She took the cup and set it down on the carpeted floor beside the sofa. Jim remained hunched over, his arms resting on his thighs, the blanket covering most of his body. Storm slid her arm across his shoulders. “Jim…Jim, I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed against the lump in her throat. Her eyes welled with tears as he raised his head and studied her.

“Reye’s.”

“What?” Storm whispered.

“Reye’s,” he answered. “That damn Reye’s Syndrome. The boy didn’t have a chance.”

“Oh, God,” Storm moaned, tears streaming down her face. “It’s so hard to diagnose. You couldn’t have known!”

“He’s dead.”

She reached up, sliding her hand down his temple and cheek. “You tried, Jim. You know that if Reye’s isn’t caught at the outset, chances are the child will die from it. We got to Bobby just when he was going into the last stages.”

Jim sighed heavily, and his voice was filled with anguish. “He was only five…just five…like…the son I never had. He’d be about five now, if only…” His voice caught on a ragged breath.

Storm reached out blindly, drawing him into her arms, holding him against her. She felt him shudder again, and tried to think coherently. Had she misjudged his ability to handle life-and-death emergencies? She recalled the times she had wept in private after leaving an accident victim at the hospital. In her heart she knew Jim wouldn’t deal with his pain that way, but he did deal with it. Then what had made him snap this time?

Slowly Jim wound his arms around her waist and embraced her, resting his head against her cheek. Again he shuddered violently in her arms and then the stillness of the apartment was broken by a sound Storm had never heard—the sound of a man weeping. She clung wordlessly to Jim, her heart bursting with love and anguish.

In the muted glow of the lamp in the corner of the room, Storm knelt within his embrace as he released the remains of something that had been tormentinghim for a long time. She rocked him gently, comforting him. Absently, she ran her fingers through his damp hair. Then, using the sleeve of her robe, she dried his cheeks as silence fell between them once again.

It seemed so natural, like another part of caring, when his mouth touched her own and he pulled her deeper into his arms, molding her against him. His mouth, strong and tasting of salty tears, met her parting lips in a caress that brushed against her flesh fleetingly…a quivering, tentative touch.

A moan slipped from her throat as she opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to glide between her lips. Her pulse fluttered wildly and she felt the thunderous return of his own heart beating within his broad chest, pressed against her breasts. The kiss deepened and Storm felt the last vestiges of reality crumbling as she gave in to the caress of his fingers against her body, which now trembled wildly with sudden desire. Somewhere in her stunned mind she realized that only love could absolve something as horrifying as what Jim had just experienced. Instinctively and willingly, she wanted to yield to his needs.

Jim dragged his mouth from hers and drew her down to the couch beside him. His gray eyes were alive with silver sparks of desire. “I need you,” he said thickly, his hand roving across her robed shoulder, torso and hip. He caressed her breast gently, then leaned down, kissing her insistently on the neck, pulling back the robe and gown as his mouth continued to warm her responsive flesh.

Storm gasped as his lips lingered on her breasts. She gripped his arms, her eyes wide with an azureflame as a path of longing grew achingly within her. Lazily, with teasing slowness, his tongue circled her taut breast until finally capturing her hardened nipple. She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply as a flux of wild sensations ignited within her. A bolt of heat shot from her nipple down to her womb. She lost all notion of time and space and became cradled in a vortex of dizzying sensations. Moments later she realized that Jim had picked her up and was carrying her to the bedroom. The cool, crisp sheets against her heated back brought her briefly back to reality.

He stood near the bed, shedding his clothes, allowing them to drop to the floor. Taking condoms from the pocket of his slacks, he asked, “Are you protected?”

She nodded, her gaze sweeping from his broad, sculpted shoulders, across his lightly dusted, dark-haired chest, following the dark, thin line across his abs to the rock-hard erection. She felt heat tunnel into her lower body, felt dampness between her thighs, thought of only his mouth, his touch, his entering her. He gave her a dark smile and knelt upon the bed. The mattress depressed and he uncoiled his length against hers.

She lay naked before him on the bed. Jim propped himself up on one elbow, his hand near her head, a heated smile curving the corners of his mouth. Leaning over, he took a strand of her hair and ran it through his fingers. “Like silk,” he murmured, his breath fanning across her cheek. His mouth skimmed her lips. Moving to her neck, he gently nipped her flesh, licked and then kissed it. A soft sound caught in her throat. He wanted to taste her, the saltiness, the velvet of her incredibly sensitive flesh. He pressed small, lingering kisses along each of her collarbones, his lips drifting lower, following the curve of one breast, feeling her breath hitch, her hips move hotly against his. A growl rose in his chest as her soft belly pressed insistently against his erection. The nipple puckered as he caught it between his lips and he suckled her.

Storm moaned softly, pressing against him, twisting her hips, her hand sinking into his shoulder. The beautiful, breathy sounds made him groan as he suckled her strongly. Storm’s breath was becoming uneven, her hips bucking against his, wanting him. She was so damned responsive as he slid his hand down across her hip, holding her tightly against him. A gasp broke from her lips. He released her nipple, his gaze coming back to her face. “My lovely storm goddess. You’ve given so much, so selflessly…You’re such an incredibly loving woman.”

Storm closed her eyes, her lips parting as his mouth fitted perfectly against her own. This time, it wasn’t a gentle, searching kiss. This time, Jim took her deep, his tongue moving boldly against hers, inviting her to respond. That low sound vibrated in her throat. He smiled to himself, pushing her on her back, his fingers curving around her thigh, opening her.

Storm’s pulse leaped, her womb contracted almost violently as she felt his fingers move downward, caressing the folds of her, sliding wetly, teasing her entrance. Mindlessly, she pressed forward, wanting his fingers within her, stroking her. The moment he slid his finger into her, softly touching that delicious nub of nerves near her entrance, a cry broke from her lips. Her fingers dug deeply into his shoulders. His mouth settled over a nipple and she felt herself starting to fly apart with pressure building deep within her. Arching against him, she gasped as he moved two fingers within her, sliding deeper, angling toward a second set of nerves and she felt a powerful release. A white-hot fire exploded, rippling outward, making her cry out sharply. Her back bowed, she froze, feeling him move his fingers, continuing the sweet, fluid release, taking her into ecstasy. The instant his lips suckled her breast, the intensity of the sensations tripled.

A languorous sigh escaped from her lips as he continued to seek each intimate spot on her body to bring her to an even more urgent level of awareness. Mindlessly, she responded to his advances, sensing that he was only thanking her for sharing his sorrow, but also reveling in an act that would release him from it forever.

Storm had never wanted a man as much as she wanted Jim now. An inexplicable chemistry had ignited between them. She whispered his name, her fingers sinking into his shoulders as his knee widened her thighs. He drove her to desires and longings she had never known before.

She was a willing partner in a pleasure she had only imagined until now. As he came over her, his mouth trailing liquid fire from her belly, up between her breasts, tasting, suckling each nipple, she arched, drawing him into her. For a moment, her breath jammed in her throat, the pressure, the burning and then, delicious, wet sleekness moving forward, taking her, making her gasp with pleasure.

He released her inhibitions, urging her to respond with an intensity and abandon she had once thought impossible. His experienced touch turned demanding as his desire mounted. She arched against him and the thrusting penetration was swift, melting and fiery. Her heated blood pulsed through her body and a cry broke from her lips as she tasted the salty perspiration of his neck and shoulder as she rose in rhythm with him.

Her womb contracted. She arched upward, her breath jammed in her throat as another orgasm shattered her. It seemed only brief seconds before the ultimate, shattering gift was given to her. Wild, heady sensations deluged her completely and Storm began to cry with joy as she experienced the final, molding union that can only be forged out of shared love.

Jim kissed her face, eyes, nose and lips, burying his head against her neck. His breath was ragged, the moisture flowing against her shoulder. They lay together, their bodies spent, pulsing and wet. Jim raised up on one elbow. He pushed several damp strands of her hair away from her flushed cheek. “You look even more lovely now, Storm,” he whispered and leaned over, tenderly kissing her full lips. His turbulent gray eyes darkened as he caressed her face. “You’re a very special woman,” he began, his voice thick and unsteady. Her body had the flush of orgasm and her eyes were cloudy with spent desire. It made him feel strong and good, wanting to do nothing more than please her.

Storm reached up to touch his hard jaw. “Two very special people, I think,” she returned faintly, her lower body still pulsating, faint ripples still moving through her, making her feel weak and wasted in the best of ways.

He smiled and drew her into his arms, pulling the blankets around them. “You’ve given me life again, my beautiful goddess. Come here. All I want to do is hold you close and never let you go.”

Storm nuzzled his chin, resting her head in the crook of his arm, his strong body against her own. Her lashes swept down against her cheeks and very soon sleep claimed her. As she sank into the warmth of blissful slumber, full of joyful wonder, she realized she had never felt so loved or cherished. Her wounded heart was mending and she reveled gloriously in a feeling of completeness. She was a fulfilled woman. Not frigid, as Jack had so many times gloatingly accused. But fulfilled, whole, able to give and receive pleasure and love. Jim Talbot had given her new life, whether he realized it or not, and she dared to hope that the gift of her love in return had made it an equal exchange.

STORM AWOKE SLOWLY
, wrapped in a silken cocoon of euphoria. Sunlight had broken through the rain clouds outside the curtained window, sending weak streams toward the autumn earth. She rolled over onto her back, reaching out for Jim, but drowsily sat up when she encountered cool, empty sheets. She spotted a small note on the nightstand beside the bed. A puzzled expression darkened her blue eyes.

“Dear Storm: Thanks for taking sympathy on me last night. Jim.”

She colored fiercely. Sympathy? Was that all he thought last night had meant to her? An act of pity? She crumpled the note in her hand, her features contorted with shock and anger. She threw off the cover and then walked swiftly to the front room. The only evidence that Jim had been there at all was the blanket folded neatly on the arm of the sofa. Turning around, Storm looked at the wall clock. It was 1:00 p.m. Hadn’t Jim mentioned a 4:00 p.m. flight the night before? Picking up the phone, she dialed the office. Stella answered.

“When’s my next flight, Stella?”

“Let’s see…Jim was in here earlier and changed the schedule. Wait a moment while I rummage…”

“Speaking of Jim, where is he?” Storm asked, trying to sound casual. Her heart was hammering foolishly and she tried to relax, but found it impossible to steady her erratic pulse. It was just like that impossible man to do something unexpected like this.

Stella’s voice softened. “Jim took the Callings party back to Seattle, honey. He said he didn’t want anyone else to do it. You know, taking their son’s body back, and all. He seemed terribly tense this morning, and—”

“When did he leave?” Storm interrupted, her voice hoarse with frustration.

“About three hours ago. Here’s the schedule. You’re supposed to take a party of husbands and wives from Camp Six up to Fairbanks at four o’clock today. I’ve made reservations for all of you at the Yukon Hotel. Then you’re supposed to fly them back here tomorrow afternoon at 3:00 p.m. Lucky girl, Storm. This is a posh assignment.”

Storm managed an appropriate comment and hung up. Then she drew a bath and dawdled in a tub of hot water spiced with fragrant mineral salts. The steam curled short tendrils of hair along her temples. She closed her eyes, her heart aching with pain.

How could Jim think she had made love with him out of pity? How could she tell him how wonderful she had felt in his arms? How could she tell him his lovemaking had finally put to rest all Jack’s cold accusations about her inability to respond sexually?

Jack’s spiteful words drifted back through her thoughts, as they had thousands of times before. “Why can’t you be warm and loving like other women, Storm?” he’d repeated time and time again. She knew her coldness toward him had started when she learned he was having affairs with several other women. Nevertheless, although part of her realized her body was instinctively rejecting Jack because he wasn’t being faithful to her, eventually she had begun to believe she was only half a woman. She had accepted Jack’s unfaithfulness as a trade-off for her own inadequacies. But now…now Jim Talbot had proven she was a responsive woman, warm and passionate and able to love fully.

Storm mulled over these thoughts, comparing Jack with Jim as she toweled herself dry. Thoughtfully, she hung up the towel, padded back into the bedroom and slipped into a clean uniform. As she tried to make sense out of her life with Jack, a wild, impulsive urge to talk with Jim came over her. Her body still tingled from his lovemaking. She didn’t understand the complexities of their relationship, but she yearned to be with him. She loved him.

On the flight to Fairbanks, Storm briefly noted that last night’s storm had passed, leaving only remnants of fleecy white clouds strewn across the blue sky. She was preoccupied with thoughts of her marriage to Jack and barely noticed the splashes of orange, red and yellow trees that passed beneath the aircraft.

All too soon, she had landed in Fairbanks and was settled in her hotel room, staring out into the dusk. Her stomach grumbled with hunger, but she decided to take a nap before going downstairs to eat. She woke up at nine o’clock and glumly dressed in a pair of burnt-sienna wool slacks and a cream-colored blouse, then ran a brush through her long, loose hair and added a touch of lipstick to her mouth.

The dining room was almost empty by the time she entered the rustic foyer. A flash of loneliness stabbed at her and she chose an isolated booth in the corner to suit her melancholy mood. Antique gas lanterns cast a soothing glow over the early-twentieth-century furnishings. Rough-hewn wood paneling covered the walls, on which were displayed a variety of mining implements.

Storm ordered a glass of pino noir and stared at the menu, suddenly no longer hungry, but aware that her body needed nourishment. She ordered salmon filet and, closing her fingers around the base of her wineglass, became immersed in her thoughts.

“Is there room for another weary pilot?”

Storm’s head snapped up, and she gazed wide-eyed at Jim Talbot. “Jim!” she breathed. “Y-yes, of course. Sit down. How—”

He offered her a tired smile and slid into the seat across from her. “You looked so forlorn in the corner by yourself, that I thought I’d come over to keep you company. And yes, to answer your unasked question, I flew straight here from Seattle.” He massaged the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension left after a hard day.

Storm’s heart fluttered wildly in her breast, and she suddenly felt shy and unsure of herself. A blush swept across her cheeks. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she began lamely.

“I didn’t want to wake you this morning. You looked too beautiful to disturb. Besides,” he added, his voice softening, “I wanted to take the Callings family back myself.”

Storm bowed her head, her burnished hair making a frame about her face. “I understand.”

The waitress approached, disturbing their intimacy. Storm listened absently as Jim ordered, and then waited for him to speak, her mouth dry. His face was taut and pale, his anguish of the previous night having given way to exhaustion.

The silence lengthened between them, making Storm feel uncomfortable. Finally Jim leaned forward, his hands around his coffee cup. “About last night, Storm—”

“You don’t have to apologize for it,” she interrupted nervously.

He regarded her in surprise. “Apologize?” He shook his head. “I’ll never be sorry we made love, Storm. But I owe you an explanation.”

“You owe me nothing,” she stammered. Oh, God, this was coming out all wrong! She didn’t mean to sound defensive…as she had with Jack. She twisted the napkin in her lap, unable to meet his intent gaze.

“Will you stop fidgeting for two seconds and let me talk?” he asked, humor tingeing his voice.

Storm took a deep breath. “I didn’t go to bed with you out of pity,” she blurted out. “I can’t stand people who pity others. It’s a useless, wasted emotion.”

“I agree,” he said calmly. “But last night’s events shook loose something I’ve been running from for five years, Storm. Here, give me your hand before you shred that napkin.”

Hesitantly, she placed one hand in his, aware of the strength and warmth of his flesh. Her pulse raced as he caressed her fingers and she felt with excruciating hopelessness the depth of her love for him.

The thought brought another kind of panic to the surface. All her life she had felt the need to maintain control, whether over the airplanes she flew or the events in her life. Now she felt like a plane in a death spiral, out of control, dizzy with confusing emotions, unable to think clearly—all because of Jim.

He interrupted her thoughts. “There’s something I have to tell you about myself, Storm,” he said slowly. “Maybe I should have said it sooner, but—” he hesitated”—I didn’t plan any of this.”

Storm gave a small nod of encouragement. For the second time in twenty-four hours she was seeing a side of Jim Talbot she’d never known existed. He’d always seemed so coolly in control, so confident about who he was and where he was going. Now he didn’t seem certain at all.

“I guess we all get thrown off kilter when the unexpected happens,” she commented gently, thinking of herself as well as him.

He shook his head. “Well, I was pretty sure where I was heading, until I met you.” She was surprised to hear her thoughts about him echoed so closely. “Anyway,” he continued, “I want to share something with you. To help you understand last night, Storm. Five years ago I was married to Dan Bradford’s daughter, Heather. We both flew for Dan. Heather was a good pilot.” He grimaced, pushing his spoon absently around on the table. “Maybe she was too good, because the confidence she had in her ability sometimes made her take chances that someone else might not.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her speculatively. “You’re like that yourself, you know—you have the same kind of confidence.”

“And you’re not?” Storm choked out. “I’ve watched you fly. I’ve sat next to you in the copilot’s seat, seen the way you handle a plane. Why do you think men can have that kind of confidence and women can’t? Why can’t we have the same ‘feel’ for a plane that you do?”

He let go of her hand and sat back, momentarily rebuffed. Storm stared back at him, her eyes large with unshed tears.

“Look,” he began slowly, “let’s not discuss that now. There’s something more important I need to tell you, Storm.”

“All right,” she said softly, relenting immediately when she heard the pain in his voice. “I’m listening.”

He took another sip of coffee. “Heather was born here in Alaska and she had a pioneering spirit that’s peculiar to the state, a quality you don’t find in people living in the lower forty-eight. She was so beautiful, yet so strong and proud. She could fly anything that had wings.” He managed a bitter smile. “In early November five years ago, a call came into the office to pick up a group of hunters from Camp Three. I was flying back from Seattle at the time, and I didn’t even know about it.” He took a deep breath and sat up straighter, placing his elbows on the table. “On the way to the camp, a freak blizzard developed in Bristol Bay and roared straight east, instead of in a southeasterly direction, as such storms usually do. Later, we concluded that ice must have built up on the wings, but whatever it was, the plane crashed. We—I found her two days later.”

Storm’s heart squeezed with sympathy at the anguish in his voice. She reached out instinctively, lacing her fingers with his own. “I’m sorry, Jim. So sorry…I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you love,” she said.

“There’s more,” he muttered. He withdrew his hand and rubbed his face wearily. “She was six months pregnant.”

Storm gasped. “Oh, no!” Now his statement about a son he’d never had made perfect sense. Her thoughts raced as she tried to understand his previous behavior in light of this new revelation.

Jim stared down at the tablecloth for a long time. Finally, he struggled to speak. “The weather was severe and the temperature was below zero both days.” He looked away. “They didn’t have a chance,” he said bleakly.

Storm felt the trickle of tears down her face and made no effort to wipe them away. She was crying for Heather and the lost baby—but most of all for Jim and the five lonely, painful years he had lived without the woman he loved. Bobby’s death had resurrected all the grief he had buried deep in his heart.

She reached out, her hand covering his once again. “I’m glad I was able to be there for you last night when you needed someone, and if—” she swallowed hard, her eyes bright with tears “—if I could be part of that healing process—”

“Dammit, I made love to you because I needed you!” he interrupted. The anger in his voice stunned her. He fell back, shaking his head. “Do you think I only ‘used’ you because you were conveniently nearby? That just any woman would have done?” His gray eyes glittered with silver fire. “When Bobby died last night, I went into a tailspin. I just started walking, wandering around Anchorage and feeling so damn miserable and lonely. I didn’t realize it was raining. I was numb and hurting, Storm. And when I got to your apartment and you answered the door, I knew I’d come to the right place. You didn’t know what was wrong, but you gave yourself to me without asking questions.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “I’m not in the habit of using a woman’s body to satiate my grief or find my happiness. Don’t think I see you only as a convenient vessel.”

She was reeling from his attack, her heart twisting with agony to think of the crash five years ago, her mind stunned by his anger toward her now. Just what did she mean to him, then? She was too shaky, too torn, to ask. The arrival of their food provided a needed interruption in their intense conversation, but Storm nibbled distractedly and tasted nothing. Occasionally, Jim looked up, watching her, an undecipherable glint in his eyes.

“Are you sorry about last night?” he asked abruptly after they’d finished eating.

Storm shook her head. “No.”

“What, then?”

Her eyes widened, and she parted her lips to say, “I’m in love with you,” but nothing came out. She felt cornered into making some sort of confession she wasn’t ready to make and resented the vulnerable position he’d placed her in. “What do you want me to say?” she asked.

“What you feel.”

“Have you said what you feel?” she challenged.

Jim set his napkin aside. “I thought I had.”

Storm squirmed. Memories of Jack’s hounding questions and the way he had made her feel—worthless and unlovable—triggered her defenses. She tried to be flip. “It happened, so let’s let it go at that, shall we?”

Jim’s face was suffused with angry color. “That’s all you have to say? All it meant to you?”

She felt a deepening panic. Damn Jack Reynolds for making her so jumpy. But if she wasn’t open and honest now, she might never have the chance again. Her voice was tremulous when she spoke. “No, Jim. It meant much more to me. I—” she cleared her throat nervously “—I wanted it to happen and I’m glad it did. I’m sorry. I’m just scared, that’s all.”

Jim’s features relaxed and he caught her hand, squeezing it gently. “What the hell did your ex-husband do to you?” he demanded.

Storm managed a bitter smile. “Made me ultra-leery of all men’s attention.”