All or Nothing

One more deep stroke finished her. Pleasure rippled from her core, pulling through her, outward until the roots of her hair tingled. She bowed upward into him, even as her head thrashed on the pillow.

He chanted encouragement as her release pulsed and clamped around him, his voice growing hoarse until he hissed between gritted teeth. And while she’d doubted so much about their relationship, she knew he’d told her the truth about the past three years. He belonged to her.

She hugged him in the aftermath as he collapsed on top of her. The ceiling fan overhead click, click, clicked, gusts shifting the drapes around the towering teak bed. She trailed her fingers along his broad back, her foot up his thigh, and didn’t take for granted the feel of him.

Not anymore.

It was one thing to be angry at him for the past thirty-six months. And another altogether to accept he’d been every bit as torn apart by their breakup as she had. With what he’d shared about his father tonight, she started to realize she’d never fully grasped what made him tick. Maybe if she dug for more clues about his relationship with his father in particular, she might understand how he’d arrived at his place of such emotional isolation.

Because she realized more than ever that she couldn’t just walk away again.

* * *

Conrad held his wife spooned against him while she slept. She was back in his bed. He’d won.

And he didn’t feel one bit peaceful about letting Jayne go.

Moonbeams reflected on the river water, the dock light glowing. If she was awake, he would have liked to sit out there with her and just listen to the night sounds, then walk with her up to the house, shower with her in the outdoor stall with the stars above them.

He’d made love to her twice more and still it wasn’t enough. He rested his chin on her head, the sweat of their lovemaking lightly sealing their bodies, her spine against his chest. Each breath pressed her closer again, stirring his hard-on to a painful intensity. His hand slid around to cup her breast, filling his palm with her creamy roundness. She moaned in her sleep, her nipple drawing up into a tight bead.

She was in his blood. Rather than clearing away the past, making love with her had churned up all the frustration of the past three years. The thought of letting her go—unbearable. But he couldn’t envision taking her back to Monte Carlo.

Although, how to blend her into his old life could be a moot point. If his cover had been blown, his Interpol work would be over. He angled to kiss her shoulder over the light red mark of his beard bristle from last night. He could have Jayne back and no more unexplained absences.

But the thought of ending his Interpol work...hell. He wouldn’t have considered it before. Although since Zhutov might have taken that choice from him, he might as well make the best of the situation. And he couldn’t just let Jayne wander off with God knows what kind of threat looming. These sorts of crooks did not forget.

His path became clear.

Protect Jayne.

His life came into focus. He realized his past mistake. He’d tried too hard to blend her into his world in Monte Carlo. He’d let her too close to the darker side of himself. Somehow, he must have known that, since he’d chosen to bring her here, to a place that represented the man he’d once wanted to be.

Jayne shifted in her sleep, arching her breast into his hand, her bottom wriggling against him. He throbbed against the sweet dip in her spine and the beginning of his need for her pearled along the tip of his erection. He clamped a hand on her stomach to hold her still.

Sighing, she looked back over her shoulder at him with sleepy half-awake eyes.

“Is it morning?” she asked in a groggy voice.

“Not yet. Keep sleeping.” He had a packed day planned, showing her the full extent of the compound he’d built here. “We have plenty of time.”

“Hmm... Except I’m not sleepy.” She reached behind her to stroke his hair. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

He nuzzled her hair. “I have some ideas. But what do you want?”

“At some point, breakfast. A very big breakfast, actually. After last night, I’ll need more than pastries and tea.”

“I’m certain I can figure something out.”

“You cook?”

He was a little insulted by the assumption that he didn’t, until he remembered all the times he’d burned toast when they were still together. His cooking was a more recently acquired skill. “I make some pretty fierce eggs Benedict these days.”

“Sounds heavenly.” Her head rested back against his chest. “I also noticed you’ve taken up redecorating.”

Did he detect a note of pique in her voice? He opted for honesty. “Having your things around brought back too many memories. It was easier to move forward if I got rid of them.”

Her feet tucked between his. “But you didn’t replace everything. The red room stayed the same.”

“That was the only room in the penthouse where we never had sex.”

“So let me get this straight. You tossed out every piece of furniture that reminded you of the two of us having sex there.”

“Pretty much.”

She stayed silent, and he wished he could see her face to gauge her mood. So much of her was familiar and then other times not so much. She’d changed. So had he. They were both warier.

Finally she smiled back at him over her shoulder. “Good thing we never made love in the Bentley. It would have been a damn shame for you to have to get rid of such a cool collector’s item.”

“You have a point.” He kissed her, wondering if he would have to burn this bed if she walked out on him again. “I guess we’ve both made some changes. What prompted you to swap from being an E.R. nurse to Hospice care?”

“You’ve obviously kept tabs on me. Why do you think?”

Was that a dig? “You know you don’t have to work, right? No matter what happens between us, I will take care of you.”

She flipped back the covers and started to sit up. “I don’t need to be ‘taken care of.’”

“Whoa... Hold on now.” He looped an arm around her waist. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just commenting on the fact that we’re married. What’s mine is yours. Fifty-fifty.”

“Don’t let your lawyer hear you give up your portfolio that easily.”

“Not. Funny.”

Still, she sat on the edge of the bed, the vulnerable curve of her back stirring his protective urges. She could shout her independence all day long. That wouldn’t stop him from wanting to give her nice things. And more importantly, it wouldn’t stop him from standing between her and anything that threatened her.

Shifting up onto an elbow, he rubbed her back and tried to backtrack, to fix what he’d screwed up. “Tell me about your new job.”

Was it his imagination or did the defensive tensing of her shoulders ease?

“When I came back to Miami, my old job had obviously been filled. I took the Hospice opening as a temporary stopgap until a position more in my line of expertise became available. Except I found I didn’t want to leave the job. It’s not that I was unhappy with my work before, but something changed inside me.”

“Like what?” He smoothed his hand down to the small of her back, the lolling of her head cluing him in to keep right on with the massage.

“I think I was drawn to E.R. work initially because there wasn’t as much of a chance of my heart being engaged.” She glanced back. “I don’t mean to say that I didn’t care for the patients. But there wasn’t time to form a relationship with someone who’s out of your care in under an hour. I had a set amount of time to help that person, and then we moved on.”

He massaged along the tendons in her neck. “Your dad’s stunt hiding a second family really must have done a number on you.”

“I had trouble connecting with others.” She sagged back onto the bed and into his arms. “Now I find there’s a deep satisfaction in bringing comfort to people when life is at its most difficult. It may sound strange...”

“Not at all,” he said as he tucked her tight against him, this amazing woman he damn well didn’t deserve but couldn’t bring himself to give up.

“Enough depressing talk about the past. I don’t know about you, but I can think of a far more enjoyable way to spend our time now that I am completely awake.” She stretched out an arm to slide a condom from the bedside table and pressed it into his palm.

Smiling seductively over her shoulder, she skimmed her foot along his calf, her legs parting ever so slightly for him, inviting him. And call him a selfish bastard, but he wasn’t one to turn down an invitation from Jayne. He’d been without her for so long he couldn’t get enough of her. Time and time again he’d been tempted to fly to Miami and demand she come home.

Like that would have gone over well.

Instead he’d sent back those damn divorce papers repeatedly, knowing eventually she would have to come to him. She’d been well worth the wait. He skimmed his fingers around her again, slipped them down between the damp cleft, stroking as she opened farther.