The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [65]
He remembered the first time he’d seen Rachel, holding a squalling baby and haltingly telling him she had no money anymore. The colonel had thrown her out, her savings were gone, and men didn’t pay much for an exhausted mother. She’d come to him because she didn’t know who else to go to. And then the first tear had trickled down her cheek, large and silent, as she’d looked away, clearly ashamed. He’d watched her try to calm her screaming baby and simultaneously wipe the moisture from her face. When he still hadn’t given her a reply, she’d walked away, her thin shoulders held with more dignity than he could imagine. He’d known then that he would help her. Whatever the colonel had done to her, she was worth more. She was a better person than he’d made her.
He noticed things like when he lay down at night, the ceiling fan never stopped moving. It hummed and hummed and hummed, and stirred the air against his skin so delicately, it was maddening.
Just that morning he’d fallen asleep enraged by the air and woken up to see Rachel standing by his bed. He would have sworn it was her, and not the early Rachel but the woman who’d become his wife. So beautiful, so lovely. She had smiled at him, soft and serene. His heart had broken in his chest all over again.
Hey, babe, Teddy and I are just going to run to the grocery store. We’ll be back in an hour. What would you like for dinner?
And last night he’d had more dreams. This time he was running after the Camaro. He could see it so clearly. The kid, the stupid kid was driving in the middle of the road, swerving from side to side. Up ahead he could see the approaching headlights of Rachel’s car. And he was screaming and he was running, but the damn Camaro was going too fast, he couldn’t catch it.
At the last minute the kid turned his head, but he wasn’t the kid anymore. He was a bald, hairless man with cold blue eyes. Jim Beckett. Beckett was grinning and then J.T. looked through the windshield of the approaching car and saw Tess’s screaming face.
“Let’s celebrate,” Tess said, trotting back over from the bale of straw. “What do you do to celebrate?”
He jerked himself back to the present. “To celebrate a successful kill?”
“Yes. A successful kill. What do you do?”
“Straight shots of Cuervo Gold followed by mad, passionate sex. I’m game if you are.”
She blushed, her breathing accelerated. “I know,” she said brightly, no longer looking at him, “let’s buy strawberries. Can we get strawberries out here?”
“Sure.” His gaze remained on her face. Her lips had parted. Now her tongue darted out to moisten them. She had very pink lips, like rose petals.
“And fresh whipped cream,” she murmured. “And shortcake. That’s it. I’ll make strawberry shortcake with dinner.”
“Tess,” J.T. said hoarsely, “stop toying with me.”
He grabbed her hand, swung her against his chest, and devoured her mouth. He discovered those pink lips and he thrust his tongue between them, hearing her gasp, then hearing her sigh.
He kissed her deeply, like a drowning man trying to find shore. Her fingers dug into his arms and her grip was strong and urgent, just as it should be. He ate her lips, tasted her, and consumed her. And she opened her mouth for him greedily and drew him in even deeper.
Good Lord, he was drowning and he wanted to drown.
As if from a distance, he heard her moan. His hands found her ass and rotated her hips against his hardening length. Her fingernails welted his skin.
She was hungry. Her leg was already rubbing his thigh. Her fingertips danced up his arms, then his collarbone, and tangled in his hair. She pulled on his head.
“Jesus,” he muttered thickly. “You take it wild.”
“Okay,” she said, and ground her teeth against him. She split his lip, then jerked back in shock. He touched the cut with a finger and pulled it back wet with blood.
“Didn’t realize you were into that kind of stuff, Tess.” He put the finger in his mouth and licked it clean.
“I don’t know what I’m doing!” Abruptly she buried