Chapter Nine

      It was an odd kind of day for Gabby. She thought she knew every one of J.D.’s moods, but that day he was different, in a way that she couldn’t quite define.

      He strolled beside her through the trees in the nearby park, then along the beach that edged the lake, watching birds rise and soar, watching boats sail and putter by. The wind tossed his dark hair and the sun made it glint blue-black. And Gabby thought she’d never felt like this in her life, free and yet protected and wildly excited, all at the same time. It was hard to remember that this was more of an end than a beginning. J.D. had a guilty conscience about the way he’d treated her and was trying to make amends before she left. That was all. She had to stop trying to make more out of it.

      His fingers brushed hers as they walked, and he glanced down, watching her carefully.

      “Looking for warts?” she asked, attempting to lessen the tension between them.

      “Not really,” he murmured. “I’m trying to decide what you’d do if I made a grab for your hand.”

      That irrepressible honesty again. She smiled and gave him her slender fingers, feeling trembly as he slowly locked them into his own. She was remembering that flight to Mexico and how he’d caressed her fingers with his own, and the remark he’d made about bodies fitting together that way. Her face burned.

      He chuckled softly. “I wonder if you could possibly be thinking about the same thing I am, Gabby?” he murmured.

      “I wish you’d mind your own business,” she told him.

      “I’m trying, but you’re pretty transparent, honey. You still blush delightfully.”

      She tugged her fingers away and, to her disappointment, he let them go.

      “No pressure,” he said when she gave him a puzzled glance. “None at all. I’ll take only what you give me.”

      She stopped, facing him. Nearby, the lake lapped softly at the shore and some children made wild sounds down the beach as they chased each other.

      “What are you trying to do?” she asked.

      He sighed. “Show you that I’m not a monster,” he said.

      “I never thought you were,” she replied.

      “Then why does this happen every time I come close to you?” he asked. His big hands shot out and caught her by the waist, dragging her against him.

      She panicked. Her body twisted violently, her hands fought him. It was all over in seconds, but his face had gone white, and her own was flushed with exertion and anger.

      She drew her lower lip between her teeth and bit it. J.D. looked…odd.

      He gave a hard laugh and turned away. With unsteady fingers, he managed to light a cigarette despite the breeze. He took a long, steadying draw from it.

      “Oh, God.” He laughed bitterly. “I did a job on you, didn’t I?”

      Her legs were none too steady, but she managed to calm her voice enough to trust it with speech. “I’d never been handled roughly by a man before, J.D.,” she told him. “And you said some pretty harsh things.”

      He turned, staring down at her. “Yes, I did.” His dark eyes wandered slowly down her body, lingering on the soft curves as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth. “By the time I got around to that, I’d long forgotten my motives.”

      She blinked. “I don’t understand.”

      His eyes found the horizon across the lake, and he smoked his cigarette quietly. “It doesn’t matter,” he said vaguely. He finished the cigarette and ground it out under his boot.

      “You’ve gone back to smoking,” she said.

      His shoulders rose and fell. “There doesn’t seem much point in quitting now.”

      She wrapped her arms tightly across her breasts as she watched him walk down the beach. She followed him, searching for words.

      “If you hadn’t grabbed me like that, I wouldn’t have fought you,” she said curtly. She hadn’t wanted to tell him that, but he looked as if her reaction to him had devastated him. Her marshmallow heart was going to do her in, she told herself when he stopped in his tracks and gaped at her.

      “What?” he burst out.

      She turned away, letting the wind blow her long, dark hair around. She couldn’t manage another word.

      He moved closer, but slowly this time. His hands came up to her face, hesitantly cupping it. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t pull away.

      His chiseled mouth parted as he looked deeply into her eyes. His face was rigid with control. She could feel the warm threat of his body against her, smell the musky scent of his cologne.

      “Half of what I told you in that room was true,” he said in a husky whisper. “In my younger days, I never gave a damn about the woman I took. But now, it matters. What I did to you, the things I said…I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. It haunts me.”

      “Why?” She, too, whispered.

      His thumbs edged toward her mouth. “I…cared.”

      Her pupils dilated, darkening the green of her eyes. “Cared?”

      He bent, and his hands were unsteady as they cupped her face. “I kept thinking about how close I came to losing you out there in the jungle,” he whispered against her lips. “I wanted to purge myself of the memory and the emotion. So I hurt you.” His face hardened, his heavy brows drew together. “But what I did…hurt me more.” His hard lips brushed hers, nibbled at them. “You’ve seen me at my worst. Trust me now, Gabby. Let me show you…how tender I can be.”

      She wanted it almost frantically. She wanted a memory to take down the long, lonely years with her. So she let him have her mouth, as he wanted it. And his lips taught hers new sensations, new ways of touching and exploring.

      He moaned softly, and his hands contracted, but his mouth was still tender even though she could feel his big body going rigid against her.

      Her eyes opened and found his watching her, passion blazing out of them, a hunger like nothing she’d ever seen in him.

      He lifted his head, his breath unsteady on her moist, parted lips. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he whispered. “Please.”

      She swallowed, and her breasts lifted and fell with her breath. “Jacob…”

      His eyes closed as though he were in pain. “I thought I’d never hear you say my name like that again,” he said harshly.

      Her hands were against the front of his shirt, and she didn’t even know how they’d landed there. She was all too aware of what was under it, of how it felt to bury her fingers in that thick, cool mat of curling hair.

      “Don’t make things difficult for me,” she whispered helplessly.

      His hands slid around to the back of her head, tilting her face upward. “Do you think it’s easy for me, letting you go?”

      “Yes,” she said with a trembling smile. “You said yourself that you didn’t want any ties.”

      “Then why in God’s name do I die a little every time I walk away from you?” he asked curtly. “Why do I wake up with your name on my lips?”

      “I can’t be your