Countdown - Iris Johansen [91]
She didn’t move. She didn’t know if she could wait ten minutes, and she knew it would only take one touch to send him over the edge.
“I want to do it right,” he said harshly. “Move!”
What the devil. Just give in and give him what he wanted. Anything he wanted. Maybe he was right. At the moment her body wasn’t letting her mind reason any too well. She turned and streaked toward the path around the castle.
Jock watched the light go on in Jane’s room. He had seen her run through the gates and in the front door only a few moments ago and had been wondering if he should go after her.
Then he had seen Trevor stride across the courtyard, and his every sense had gone on alert. Trevor’s expression was intent, hard. Was he going to hurt her? Jock took out his garrote and started across the courtyard.
“Come back, Jock.”
He turned to see the laird standing in the stable doorway. “He’s going to hurt her.”
“No. Or if he does, it’s because she wants it.” He smiled. “And I don’t think she will.”
“His face . . .”
“I saw his face. It’s not what you thought. Life isn’t always about death and hurting. Don’t you remember that?”
Jock thought about it and then nodded. “Sex?”
“By all means, sex.”
Yes, Jock remembered that wild, joyous coupling. Megan in the village and then later other girls as he’d traveled from place to place around the world.
And then Kim Chan at Reilly’s place.
He shied quickly away from the thought of her. “And Jane wants it?”
“He won’t force her, Jock.” MacDuff paused. “Do you mind?”
“Not if he doesn’t hurt her.” He tilted his head. “Did you think I would?”
“You’re attached to her. I just wondered.”
“I . . . like her.” He frowned. “But sometimes she makes me feel . . . It hurts. She keeps talking and prodding and I want to put a gag on her mouth.”
“But not a garrote around her throat.”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that. But even after I left her, I kept hearing what she said. I’m still hearing it.”
“Then maybe your mind is telling you it’s time to listen.”
“You want me to remember too.”
“Deep down, isn’t that what you want?”
Four eight two. Four eight two.
Not now. Block it out. Block it out. The laird would see his suffering and be upset.
But the laird didn’t understand, Jock thought in agony. He didn’t understand the chains or the pain that he fought every night. He didn’t want him to know. “She said . . . you wouldn’t wait. That you’d go after Reilly without my help.”
“If I have to do it.”
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Please.”
MacDuff turned away. “Come and help me clean up the supper dishes. I have work to do.”
“Reilly will—”
“Unless you can tell me what I want, I don’t want to hear any arguments about Reilly, Jock.”
Despair tore through Jock as he watched MacDuff go into the stable. Memories of death and guilt and pain swirled around him, tearing through the web of scar tissue that had formed since MacDuff brought him back from Colorado.
Four eight two. Four eight two.
Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.
Trevor stood framed in the doorway of Jane’s bedroom. “You left the door open.”
“I didn’t want there to be any mistake about my intentions.” Jane could hear the trembling in her voice and tried to steady it. “No locks. No closed doors. Now take your clothes off and get over here. I don’t want to be the only one naked. It makes me feel vulnerable.” She suddenly tossed the cover aside. “Hell, I am vulnerable. I’m not going to lie about it.”
“Give me one minute.” He closed the door and pulled the sweatshirt over his head. “Less.”
His body was as beautiful as she’d known it would be. Narrow waist, powerful legs, and wide shoulders that made her want to dig her nails into them. She wanted to sketch him. No, the hell she did. She wanted only one thing from him at this moment. “You’re too slow.”
“Tell me that after I get in that bed.” He was coming toward her. “I’ll try to be slow then, but I don’t promise.”
She held out her hand and pulled him down. “I don’t want