Redstone, Incorporated: The Best Revenge Part 17

"Don't think that. Don't ever. You were...all I had."

She stood with her face against his chest, her ear pressed so close she could hear the rumble of the words over the hammering of his heart.

"Should have told someone," she insisted.

"You were a kid."

She let out a shivering sigh. "I'm an honest person, I try to do the right thing...so how, twice in my life, did I end up in a place where I know something horrible but can't tell because no one would believe me?" "Common denominator."

She blinked, and although she was loath to surrender the close contact, pulled back to look up at him. "What?"

"Common denominator. Who?"

"Me," she said, puzzled.

To her surprise, he smiled, but it was an oddly pained smile. "Figures. Blame yourself first. Like you." Then he shook his head. "Not you. Him."

"Oh."

She lowered her head to his chest again, unwilling to give up the closeness as she processed what he'd said. And realized she couldn't deny he was right. And that it made her feel better to realize that perhaps it wasn't her that attracted some cosmic weirdness that had twice put her in this position, that it was Alden and his consistent evil.

She heard his heartbeat suddenly speed up in the same moment a low sound escaped him. She looked up at him then, caught him staring down at her with a hot, intense gleam that made his eyes seem darker. Or maybe it was just the shadow from the brim of that old-fashioned cap.

An image shot through her mind then of an old photograph her father had once shown her of Clark Alden. The man who had made the Alden fortune, the clever entrepreneur who had stayed in Cedar when he could have gone anywhere, and who had kept the little town going even as others died away from lack of industry or business.

In that photograph, the man had been wearing a suit from another era, the stiff, stern expression that seemed required in photographs of that age, and...that cap. Adam had left his world behind, but he'd taken that cap, a symbol of the one man who had been on his side.

So many emotions welled up in her that she could hardly contain them. She reached up, brushed her fingers over his jaw, tracing the new scar, the mark of his escape, with a gentle touch.

She heard him suck in a breath.

"Jess," he said, in a harsh, grating whisper that sounded on the edge of agony.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She froze, not daring to move, to make a sound, nothing that might make him change his mind. She realized she'd been waiting for this from the moment she'd realized who he really was. Probably even before; from the moment she'd first seen him.

And then his mouth was on hers, fierce, demanding; no tender, tentative first kiss this, but a declaration of a need so great it snapped all tethers in the first moment his lips pressed against hers.

In that instant the calm, usually serene person she was vanished, to be replaced by some wild creature she didn't recognize. Something huge and starbright burst inside her as he deepened the kiss with an urgency that told her whatever crazed madness had seized her had seized him, as well.

She felt another shock as his tongue swept past her lips, probing, demanding, and an even bigger shock as she surrendered, willingly, wanting more, more and still more. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she hung on, as if he were the only solid thing in her suddenly spinning world.

She realized vaguely she was pressed against him from chest to thigh, realized he was completely, thoroughly aroused. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for this, because she'd never felt anything like this, hadn't known this kind of all-consuming need actually existed.

"Dam," she whispered, and left it at that; whether he interpreted it as his name or an oath didn't matter, either one would be equally heartfelt.

"Close the store." It came in that same harsh whisper.

"Yes," she said, knowing she was saying yes to much more than simply closing the store an hour early.

Moments later, in his car, headed the back way out of Cedar, avoiding the crowd in the square, Jessa wondered if along the way she would regain her senses and put a halt to what she knew was about to happen.

And answered her own question when she realized she'd started down this road a very long time ago.

"I always wanted you to be the first."

St. John went still, frozen by her quiet words, the first she'd spoken since that whispered "Yes," that had sent every system in his body into overdrive.

"I didn't even think about it until years after you were gone. And I didn't know exactly what it was I was wanting, then, but later, in college...when it was my first time, I understood. I was sad that it wasn't you."

He stared at her, standing there in the motel room that had seemed more than adequate for himself, but now seemed far too shabby for her. It wasn't shabby at all, he knew, it was simply her golden, pure beauty that made it seem so to him.

Oddly, her quiet, almost shy admission served to do what nothing else had been able to; he got a grip on his reeling senses.

"Jess...if you don't want..."

The smile that curved her mouth then stopped him short. "Only you," she said with a tinge of humor in her soft voice, "could read that into what I said. I want, Dameron St. John," she said, as if she were using the full name to emphasize that she knew she was no longer dealing with the boy she'd once known. "I didn't get what I wanted then. So are you going to take this away from me, too? What I've been waiting all my adult life for?"

And so, he realized with a jolt that shook him nearly to the bone, had he. Not that there hadn't been women along the way, women who understood his limitations, who were willing to indulge without expecting anything more than what transpired in those few moments that should have been intimate but were, in fact, businesslike.

But this was Jessa, and all bets were off. If she had any sense, she'd walk out of here right now, while he could let her do it. If he had any sense, he'd take her back to Cedar and deposit her safely on her mother's doorstep. What the h.e.l.l did he think he was doing?

She frowned suddenly, and he wondered if her good sense had recovered.

"Speaking of adult," she said, "I don't make a habit of carrying condoms around."

Of course she didn't. "Not an issue," he said gruffly. "Tests every six months. Insurance."

She gave him an odd look. "I wasn't thinking of STDs," she said. "I was thinking of babies."

Something bitter and sharp-edged sliced through him, something he hadn't known was living buried deep inside him. He had, incredibly, forgotten. It had never been a concern in his life.

"Not an issue," he said again, his voice sounding like a bad gravel road even to him.

She lifted a brow at him.

"Vasectomy. Years ago."

He saw the realization dawn in her eyes, saw that she knew exactly why he'd done it, understood why he could never risk having children.

He'd never in his life expected to regret it.

"Change your mind?"

He had to ask it, even as he hated doing it, fearing her answer would be yes.

"My hopes, maybe. My mind...no."

Before he could interpret what she'd meant by that, she was kissing him. Willingly, reaching up, pressing herself against him.

Part of his mind was screaming that this was too much, too big, that if he took this step it was irrevocable. That the change it would bring was irrevocable.

At the same time he knew there was no way he could resist; this was Jess, and he'd lost the power to say no to her. If he'd ever had it.

Her mouth on his was destroying the walls he'd built so thick and so high, keeping him apart. The vaunted St. John cool was shattered, destroyed by the realization that this bright, vibrant spirit wanted him. She knew everything, she always had, and she still wanted him.

He knew he had only moments before he lost it completely. He threw every mental barrier he had left against the one thing that must never be allowed to touch her. It left everything else open, bare to her, but he didn't care.

He felt her pull back. Protest rose in the back of his throat. But then she reached down to grab the hem of her sweater and pulled it up over her head. His breath left him in a gasp as his gaze hungrily took in the soft, feminine curves of hips above low-slung jeans, and the enticing, luscious swell of b.r.e.a.s.t.s nestled into a pale blue bra.

"Please," she whispered. "Don't stop now."

And a few desperate, fumbling moments later, when he was as bare to her literally as figuratively, he knew deep in his soul this was his last, best chance to truly exorcise the demon.

Naked, they went down to the bed locked together. He'd spent his life being the planner, the information center, taking the skills inadvertently taught to him by his father and making them work in other ways. But no plan he could ever have made could have prepared him for this. Because he hadn't known this, this kind of heat, building to conflagration even existed.

And then she was touching him, her hands sliding over his bare skin, searching, stroking, as if she wanted to memorize him. He understood the need; he traced the lines of her, the long, soft curves, not caring if she noticed his hands were shaking. It was safe with her, everything he was and had been was safe with her, he knew that with a gut-deep certainty he'd never felt before-except in a sun-touched meadow by a river years ago. And it struck him that this was the day they should have eventually had, had his life been normal, that someday, when the four years between them wouldn't have made any difference, they would have discovered this fiery heaven together.

I always wanted you to be the first....

He groaned, shuddering as she slid one hand down his belly, found and stroked his rigid flesh, sending a shock wave through him that made him shudder down to his toes and tightened every muscle in his body. He cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, shuddering anew at the way her nipples tightened at the first brush of his thumbs, and at the soft moan that escaped her.

"Dam," she whispered, and something in her voice made him lift his head and look at her. The fierce heat that was engulfing him was echoed in her eyes, but there was concern there, too. Through the fog of pleasure it took him a moment to realize what it was. When he did, the answer to her unspoken question was as powerful as the need that gripped him.

"He's not here. He never will be. Not with us."

It came out like a growl, but he knew she would understand. This was Jessa, and she always understood.

She moved then, arching against him, pressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his hands. He lifted, lowered his mouth to them, flicked her nipples with his tongue, savoring the gasping cry that broke from her.

And that cry broke him. He couldn't touch enough, kiss enough, move fast enough. He was out of his mind and knew it, but it didn't matter, because it was Jess, and she had always been the help he needed to keep the demon at bay.

When at last she urged him with a moaned plea, and he slid into her slick heat, he shuddered at the sweet, bone-deep pleasure of it. He began to move, and the heat built, friction and grasp, wet and slide, and he knew he was too close, it was going too fast, tried to slow down, but her hands were all over him, her mouth seeking, kissing, licking, and there was nothing in the world but this place and this moment. When she cried out his name and he felt her body clench around his, he let loose the last restraint, knowing the demon was helpless now, destroyed by the pure heart of this woman. "Jess!"

It burst from him as his body responded to the sweet grip of hers, the ripples of her muscles coaxing him over the edge into a free fall unlike anything he'd ever known. It was an insane sort of wildness that ripped through barriers he'd thought impervious.

He'd been wrong. Again.

And much later, he knew that the sordid memories he had once attached to this kind of intimacy would never escape their cage again. In the face of this kind of pure joy they didn't have a chance. They would always be there, but they were locked up for good now, no match for the fierceness and determination of the woman in his arms.

Chapter 21.

Jess felt as if she'd at long last completed a picture she'd begun to paint years ago. It couldn't have been finished before, but was no less beautiful for the delay. Her body still hummed with the pleasure of it, and while she might never have known what she was missing had he not come back, she'd always known it would be best with him.

She'd been right.

And it was an afternoon she would never, ever forget. They'd run the gamut in those three hours, from the frantic need of the first time, to a more normal urgency, and then to a slower, gentler pace, when he'd rolled them over while still inside her, giving her control, a gift she'd only later realized the full significance of.

Just as she'd only realized the other ramifications as they drove back into Cedar and she'd seen one of her own campaign signs.

"Well," she'd muttered, "wouldn't the busybodies in town just love to find out what this candidate's been up to?"

"Don't let them."

She glanced at him then, as she hadn't dared to since they'd gotten into his rental car, because every time she looked at him her body reacted so fiercely it was almost embarra.s.sing.

"I'm not sure it's not emblazoned on my forehead."

To her surprise a smile flickered on his face for a moment. He didn't look at her, and she wondered if he was experiencing the same reaction she was having.

"Really a problem?" he asked.

"Could be," she said honestly. "Cedar is still a small town, and I'm the good girl. Not supposed to be off doing..."

"Me?" he suggested when her voice trailed off.

"Anyone," she said, although the tiny ring of humor in his voice had her smiling inwardly. "But if they knew, and knew who you really are..."

After a moment he nodded, and she knew he'd realized what she meant.

"And don't think I don't see the irony," she said wryly. "Honest, wonderful, consenting-adult s.e.x could lose me the election to a too-twisted-to-live pervert."

"Wonderful?" he said after a moment.

It was so normal, such a normal guy reaction, that she nearly laughed at the sudden burst of joy that filled her. "Beyond wonderful. Beyond my wildest dreams. But it wasn't a surprise. I knew it would be like this, with you."

"Didn't know it could be. With anyone."

The muttered words weren't a declaration of love, but coming from him, they might as well have been.

And for the first time Jessa let herself hope that they had a chance to leave the past behind, except for the memories worth keeping.

A chance was all she wanted.

Jessa watched the boy and the dog, thinking it would be a joyous slice of Americana if the situation weren't so dire. Tyler could still throw a ball with his right arm, and had been doing so delightedly for nearly fifteen minutes now, the tireless Maui finding it wherever it landed, frequently leaping over the big log that lay crossways in the middle of the yard, and romping back with it in an irresistible invitation to keep the game going.

"Try a fly ball, Tyler," Jessa called to him. "But let him know first. Just wave the ball and say 'up.'"

The boy gave an excited nod, and did as instructed. Maui's body language immediately changed, and he backed off a few feet, eyes glued to the grubby ball the boy held. Tyler tossed it skyward. Maui positioned himself with the skill of an all-star right fielder, then launched himself in the same direction, catching the descending ball neatly in midair.