Текст книги "Native Affairs"

Автор книги: Doreen Malek Owens

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 37 страниц)

Jack paid the check and they wandered out into the crystalline, chilly air.

“What a glorious night,” Marisa said.

“Are you cold?” Jack asked.

“A little.”

“Want my jacket?”

Marisa hesitated.

“Grits? Slaw relish? Chips?” he said.

“I’ll take the jacket,” Marisa answered, shaking her head at his nonsense.

He slipped it around her shoulders and she snuggled into its silk lined warmth. Jack pulled his tie loose and unbuttoned the top button of his collar.

“Look at those stars,” he said, as they walked down the deserted street back to the dock.

“I’ve never seen so many.”

“At home, when you camp out on the prairie, you see more stars than you ever could in the city because there’s no competition from artificial light. It makes me wonder what my ancestors saw when they roamed the plains before...”

“We came and ruined everything?” Marisa suggested.

He picked up a stone and tossed it away aimlessly. “I don’t blame you for it personally.”

“You shouldn’t. My relatives always lived in Maine.”

“Then they were killing off the Penobscots instead of the Blackfeet. Only the location changes.”

“Does that bitterness keep you going?” Marisa asked softly, studying his grim expression.

“If I don’t let it show too often.” He shrugged. “Nobody likes a whiner.”

“Justifiable anger is not whining.”

“Yeah, but anger has to be controlled to be productive,” he said. “Sometimes the control slips.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“I blame myself.” He stopped when they reached the dock and gazed out across the water. “I don’t want to be a cliché. You know, wild Indian. It’s what they expect, and I won’t be what they expect.”

“Traveling all the time, no fixed home, moving from case to case and cause to cause. It must make for a hard life,” Marisa said.

“‘We cannot expect to be translated from despotism to liberty in a feather bed,’” he said, quoting.

“Thomas Jefferson,” Marisa said.

He looked at her sharply. “Yes.”

“My idol,” Marisa said. “I was devastated in junior high when I found out he kept slaves.”

“He was a Southern planter in the late eighteenth century,” Jack said cynically. “Who did you think was doing all the work while Thomas wrote those fine letters you were reading?”

“I guess I was naive.”

He snorted.

“You were just quoting him,” Marisa pointed out defensively, folding her arms.

“There were flaws in his lifestyle, common to all those of his class and culture. I can still appreciate the brilliance of his mind.”

“The control you just mentioned before, will it slip if you lose this case?”

He turned and looked at her, his face set. “We won’t lose,” he said flatly.

Marisa felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. “Let’s not talk about it,” she said quietly. “I promised myself that we wouldn’t talk about the case tonight.”

“Good idea.” He jumped down into the boat and readied it for the trip, then held up his hand to her. She stepped onto the runner and when she paused he bent and slipped his arm under her knees.

“Hold on,” he said, as he lifted her into the well. In a second she was deposited on the seat and he was moving toward the wheel. She pulled his jacket closer around her as he undid the lines, and then they were moving swiftly through the water.

Jack’s mood seemed to have changed, perhaps because reality had intruded with their discussion of the case. He concentrated on piloting the boat and they were back at the marina too soon.

“Are you just going to leave it there?” Marisa asked, looking back over her shoulder as they walked away from the boat.

“That’s where it belongs. It’s the regular slip where my friend keeps it,” he said.

“Who’s your friend?”

“The husband of the redhead you saw with me in the hotel dining room,” he replied.

“She was a decoy, wasn’t she?”

“Decoy?”

“You were trying to make me think she was your date.”

“Did it work?”

“No.”

He burst out laughing. “Liar.”

“Well, maybe it worked a little,” she admitted, and he put his arm around her shoulders, hugging her.

The traffic in the area of the hotel had died down considerably because of the late hour. They walked through the deserted lobby and took the elevator up to Marisa’s floor alone. Their feet made no noise on the plush carpet as they walked to her room.

“I had a lovely time,” Marisa said, giving him her hand as he turned to face her.

“If a bit unusual?” he said.

“That’s part of what made it lovely.”

He took her hand and placed her palm against his cheek. He closed his eyes.

“I don’t want to leave you here,” he said.

Marisa said nothing. At that moment she would have gone anywhere with him.

“When you come out in the morning you should find an arrow by your door,” he said, smiling slightly.

“What?”

“Old Blackfoot custom,” he replied. “When a brave picked out a special maiden, he would leave an arrow with his identifying feathers by her hogan as a proposal. When she found it, if she then ignored it, his proposal was considered rejected. But if she took it back to him they got married.”

“I wouldn’t reject you,” Marisa said softly.

“I don’t suppose I can come in,” he said.

“You know what would happen.”

“I want it to happen.”

“Jack...”

“I know, I promised to behave. Can I see you tomorrow?”

“I have to work tomorrow.”

“Court’s not in session.”

“I have to prepare, Jack. That’s why I’m here. A court case is ninety percent preparation, and it’s my responsibility to make sure I’m ready.”

“Let Tracy take over.”

“I can’t.”

“All right, all right. Tomorrow night, then.”

“Where do you want to go?” she asked.

“Anywhere.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Anything.”

She sagged against the door, defeated. “Okay. I’ve been wanting to see that gallery that shows Seminole art...”

“Good, we’ll go there. What time can I call for you?”

“Seven.”

“Fine.”

“Jack, let’s not drag this out. You’d better go.”

“Am I permitted to kiss you good night?”

 She was reaching up for him as his lips met hers. He tried to kiss her lightly, but it was no good; they were both too hungry. In just seconds Marisa was backed against the wall and he was pressing into her, his body hard and urgent as she clung to him.

Then he stepped back abruptly. “I can’t do this,” he said. “I’m too old to make love in hallways. Either let me come in or send me away.”

“Jack...”

“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow evening. Good night.” He turned and almost ran off down the corridor, as if afraid that he would turn back to her.

Marisa leaned against the wall dreamily, then unlocked the door of her room. She walked through it in a daze, then stopped short.

Tracy was sitting cross legged on her bed, wearing an oversized football jersey and eating a muffin.

So?” she said, looking up. “How did it go? Tell Mother.”

Chapter 5

Tracy,” Marisa said wearily, “why aren’t you in bed?”

“I am in bed,” Tracy replied through a mouthful of crumbs, gesturing at her surroundings.

“You’re in my bed,” Marisa said, dropping her purse on a table.

“Details. Was the dress a hit?”

“It was.”

“I knew it! He must have thought he was hallucinating after seeing you in those Mother Hubbards you wear to court.”

“He was very complimentary.”

“Where did you go?”

“Leduc’s.”

“Wow! That’s a fancy place.”

“How do you know?”

“Unlike you, I watch television. That place is always advertising on the local station. What did you have? Pheasant under glass?”

“A hamburger.”

Tracy stared at her.

Marisa collapsed into a chair and stretched her legs out in front of her, kicking off her shoes.

“Neither one of us was really comfortable there, so we wound up in a juke joint down the street,” she said.

“And?”

“And we danced, and we talked, and oh, on the way there the boat ran aground...”

“Sounds like a dream date,” Tracy said sarcastically.

“Actually, it was. I didn’t want him to go home. I wanted to bring him right in here…”

“Where you would have found yours truly,” Tracy said pointedly.

Marisa shrugged and nodded. “We’re going out again tomorrow night,” she said.

“Good!”

“I had to think of something to do, so I said we’d go to an art gallery downtown.”

“Uh-huh,” Tracy said, sipping milk from a glass she retrieved from the floor.

“It was the first idea that jumped into my head. We could be going to the moon or to the movies, it doesn’t matter. What we really want to do is go to bed.”

Tracy set the glass down and studied Marisa intently. “I see,” she said quietly.

“I can’t hold him off any longer,” Marisa said. “I don’t want to hold him off any longer.”

“You’re in love with him.”

Marisa closed her eyes. “I must be. I’ve never felt like this before, I can tell you that.”

“Then sleep with him.”

“Easy for you to say,” Marisa replied distantly, without opening her eyes.

“What are you waiting for? You’re a twenty-eight year-old...”

“Please don’t remind me,” Marisa responded, looking at Tracy again. “That’s the problem. How am I going to tell him?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much on that score,” Tracy said lightly, avoiding Marisa’s gaze.

“Tracy, if we make love he’s going to figure it out. Trust me, he’ll know.”

“He won’t care.”

“How do you know? I’ve been working overtime to project the image of a mature, sophisticated woman. I feel certain it will come as a bit of a shock to him to discover that he’s in bed with Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.”

“Maybe he’ll think it’s... charming.”

“Maybe he’ll think I’m retarded,” Marisa said drearily.

“Come on.”

“Repressed?” Marisa suggested.

“I doubt it.”

“A social failure,” Marisa concluded.

Tracy was sorely tempted to tell Marisa that Jack already knew, but she felt strongly that Jack had better handle that bulletin himself.

“Some men would feel flattered. After being so selective for so long you chose him,” Tracy said reasonably.

“I’m not sure Jack falls into that category. Something tells me that while I was dissecting cases and listening to tapes on Civil Procedure Jack was leaping from bed to bed like a hurdler.”

“So what?”

“So I won’t measure up to what he’s used to. How could I?”

Tracy stood, dusting muffin crumbs from her lap onto the floor. “He doesn’t want what he’s used to. He wants you. Why can’t you just accept that?”

“I don’t know,” Marisa mumbled, standing. “Seems too good to be true, I guess.”

“Take the plunge, that’s my advice. You’re long overdue and this man is one in a million. If I were in your shoes I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Marisa smiled. “I know you wouldn’t.”

Tracy walked toward the connecting door of their rooms and then turned back to Marisa.

“But alas,” she said, “he’s not pursuing me. Well, I’ll leave you to your deliberations. What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“Putting together the final figures on the cemetery removal.”

“And in the evening, your hour of decision.” She placed her hand dramatically over her heart.

“Go to bed, Tracy.”

“Yes, boss.” Tracy saluted and disappeared through the door.

Marisa lay down on the bed Tracy had vacated, trying to work up the energy to undress. She felt exhilarated and drained at the same time, which hardly seemed possible but was true, nevertheless. After a short while she turned off the bedside lamp and lay staring at the ceiling in the dark.

In two minutes she was asleep.

* * *

Jack sat back in the porch glider and stared up at the half moon hanging in the sky above the trees. Sleep was out of the question and the blank, glowing computer screen on the desk just inside the door was a mute reminder that he couldn’t work, either. In fact, he hadn’t been able to do anything at all since returning from his date with Marisa except think about her.

A loon called in the marsh beyond the border of his rental property, and the cry was answered by squawking nocturnal birds and humming insects. The Florida night was alive, and it made him feel less alone as he contemplated his life and his next move.

Jack had rented this isolated cabin, two miles in from the interstate on a dirt road, in order to have peace and quiet for his work. He had grown fond of the spot and had been thinking about buying the place when his six month lease was up at the end of December. Of course, that might depend on how things went with Marisa. If they went any further at all.

Marisa was intelligent enough to know that they were at a crossroads; they weren’t kids and the sexual tension between them was becoming unbearable. They were either going to do something about it or go their separate ways. He was alarmed to discover that he found the second possibility almost frightening.

Jack propped his feet up on the porch banister and the glider creaked with the movement. It was amazing how important this woman had become to him in such a short time. He found it difficult to concentrate on anything but his pursuit of her, and he didn’t want to ruin his chances with her by taking the wrong step. He felt as uncertain as a schoolboy, but determined to have her anyway. For the first time in a long while he felt reckless and uncontrolled. If somebody tried to take her away from him now he’d fight for her.

Nobody had better get in his way. He stood purposefully and went back into the house.

* * *

Marisa dressed in a denim skirt and a flowered blouse for her date with Jack the next night. She was putting gold hoops in her ears when Tracy looked through the connecting door and groaned.

“Don’t start,” Marisa said warningly.

“That blouse buttons up to your eyeballs,” Tracy said. “Don’t you have anything with a scoop neck?”

“No.”

“What are you wearing underneath?” Tracy asked.

Marisa threw her a disgusted glance.

“All right, all right. I always get lucky when I’m sporting the most ragged, ridiculous underwear I own. I was just trying to give you the benefit of my experience. It’s best to be prepared,” Tracy said. She disappeared briefly and then returned, proffering a hinged bangle bracelet set with tiny diamond chips.

“Wear this,” she said. “For luck.”

Marisa took the florentined ornament and clasped it around her wrist. “Thank you.”

Tracy sighed. “I wish I were getting ready for a big date. The only men I’ve met down here are the gay doorman and Lasky’s court clerk, who shows me sweet pictures of his grandchildren.”

“Your time will come.”

“Not soon enough for me.”

Marisa picked up her purse.

Tracy gave her a thumbs up signal. “Win one for the gipper,” she said.

Marisa was still smiling as she stepped off the elevator and saw Jack waiting in the lobby. He turned as if he sensed that she had arrived and his eyes met hers across the expanse that separated them. He was wearing a ribbed cotton sweater in a light maize color with tan cord jeans and leather boat shoes. When he moved toward her Marisa felt as if everyone else in the room had disappeared and left them alone together.

“Hi,” he said softly.

“Hello.”

“My car is parked in the underground garage,” he said.

The gallery was on the other side of town, in a converted loft building near the developing suburbs. They parked across the street from it and approached the brightly lit exterior hand in hand. Marisa felt Jack hesitate when he saw that several of the militant young Indians who had picketed the courthouse were lounging in the doorway.

“Jack, this was a bad idea,” she said quickly, stopping. “I just didn’t think about it. You shouldn’t be seen with me here. Let’s go.”

“The hell with that,” he replied, his grip on her hand tightening as he tugged her along. “Come on.”

Marisa inched closer to him and kept her eyes fixed on the ground as they approached the door. She felt the scrutiny of the onlookers, and then Jack shoved her behind him abruptly as one of the young men stepped into their path.

“Bluewolf,” the youth said evenly.

“Forest,” Jack replied in the same tone.

“I hope you’re not planning to bring that lady inside,” Jim Forest said, and there was no mistaking his sneering emphasis on the word “lady.”

“Why not?” Jack said flatly. “I thought this gallery was open to the public.”

“She’s not the public. She’s the enemy,” Jim replied.

“Jim, you’re confusing the issue,” Jack said wearily. “Grow up before you open your mouth and make a fool of yourself again. Now let me by.” Jack made as if to pass Jim and the latter shoved him, hard. Jack stumbled and Marisa gasped, putting her hand over her mouth.

“Jack, please,” she begged, desperate to avoid an incident. Why on earth hadn’t she guessed that something like this might happen? Jack had her so befuddled that she wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Get your girlfriend out of here before something unpleasant happens to her,” Jim said in a bullying tone.

“Nothing at all is going to happen to her,” Jack said grimly, recovering his balance and grabbing Jim by the lapels of his jacket.

“Not as long as she has an apple like you running interference for her,” Jim said, struggling in Jack’s grip.

Jack’s fist shot out so quickly that Jim was lying on the ground before Marisa knew what had happened.

“Get him out of here,” Jack said tightly to Jim’s companions, who were hovering uncertainly in the background, awaiting the outcome of the confrontation. They dragged the semiconscious boy to his feet and lugged him around the corner of the building.

“Jack, should we check and make sure he’s all right?” Marisa asked anxiously.

“He’ll survive, if the thickness of his intellect is any indication of the thickness of his skull,” Jack replied, shaking the hand he had just used on Jim. Its knuckles were reddened and already beginning to swell.

“You shouldn’t have hit him,” Marisa said in dismay.

“Yes, I should. He’s the worst of the bunch. He’s been asking for somebody to take him down for a while. Unless I miss my guess it was his bright idea for Jeff Rivertree to shoot you. Jeff is just the gullible type to be used by a manipulator like Forest.”

“What did he mean by calling you an apple?” Marisa asked.

“Red on the outside, white on the inside,” Jack replied, glancing over at her.

“I see. That was a reference to me then, to your choice of companions.”

“That was a reference to his own idiocy. Nobody has the right to question my commitment to Indian affairs, least of all a layabout like Jim Forest, who hasn’t done anything except run his mouth for the last ten years while I and a lot of other people have been working.” Jack pushed his hair back off his forehead and then peered at Marisa intently. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Of course not, Jack. This is awful. I would never want to be the source of problems for you.”

“You never could be.”

“What do you call what just happened?”

“I call that a juvenile delinquent looking for an excuse to make trouble. The unfortunate thing about any cause, no matter how noble, is that a small lunatic fringe will be attracted to it for all the wrong reasons. Now let’s take a stroll and look at the pictures.”

“You don’t mean you want to go inside after all?” Marisa asked him, aghast.

“I’m not going to let a lout like that drive me away,” he said firmly, taking Marisa’s hand again.

They were the objects of some staring once they walked through the door, but after a while everybody seemed to forget they were there. Jack stayed just long enough to make his point, commenting on paintings and sculpture and woven wall hangings while everything went past Marisa in a blur. She didn’t draw a comfortable breath until they were back out on the street and heading for Jack’s car.

“I’m glad that’s over,” she said as he unlocked her door for her. “If I have any more bright ideas like that one please institutionalize me until I regain my senses.”

Jack walked around and slid onto the seat next to her, then started the car.

“Why didn’t you tell me to pick another destination last night?” she asked him.

“You seemed to want to go to the gallery,” he replied.

“I was just trying to think of someplace public where we wouldn’t...” she stopped short.

He let it pass.

“You must have guessed there might be… some unpleasantness,” Marisa said, after a pregnant pause.

“Well, I didn’t know Jim Forest would be there. That was just bad luck.”

“Don’t be evasive. Obviously your seeing me has not been popular with your friends.”

“They’re not my friends.”

“You know what I mean!”

“I do what I want,” he said baldly. “If they can’t separate your professional duties from your personal life that’s their problem, not mine.”

Marisa saw that it was best to let the subject drop.

He looked over at her. “Where to?” he said, as he guided the car out into the street.

Marisa took a deep breath.

“I hear that the house where you’re staying is in a very pretty spot,” she said. “I’d like to see it.”

Jack stopped for a traffic light and turned to look at Marisa, his arm across the back of the seat.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asked quietly, searching her face.

“Yes.”

“Everything will be up to you,” he added. “If you just want to visit and then go home, that will be fine.”

Marisa nodded, her heart racing.

Jack turned left for the interstate and then drove for ten minutes before turning off onto a secondary road, then turning again onto an unpaved track which ran through scrub pines and citrus tress.

“It looks very... private,” Marisa said nervously.

“It is. This is my second attempt in two days to take you to a remote area and then have my way with you.”

When Marisa didn’t reply Jack looked over at her.

“Bad joke,” he added ruefully.

Marisa said nothing.

Jack stopped the car and threw it into reverse.

“What are you doing?” Marisa asked, glancing around.

“You look like you’re on your way to a funeral, which is not exactly the feeling I was hoping to inspire,” he said dryly.

Marisa put her hand over his on the steering wheel.

“It’s not you, Jack, it’s me,” she said quietly. “I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” he asked, looking at her intently, the car engine idling beneath them.

“Ah, this isn’t easy to say.”

“You’ve decided I’m the biggest jerk you’ve ever met.”

“No, of course not.”

“You got a telegram today from your doctor saying that you’re dying of a rare disease.”

“Don’t joke about something like that,” she said testily.

“Barring those two cases, nothing else matters.” He gunned the motor forward again.

“But you don’t understand...” she began.

“Yes, I do. We’ll talk about it inside, all right?”

Marisa sighed and subsided. There was no reason to carry on this conversation in the car. He was right. It could wait.

They pulled into a clearing in front of an old fashioned farmhouse with a wide porch and an oak paneled door. Marisa emerged from the car to find that an evening breeze had sprung up, rustling the trees surrounding them and providing a counterpoint to the calls of the nightbirds from the marsh.

“This is so lovely, Jack,” she said, following him onto the wooden steps.

“Yeah, it’s been a great place to work. It’s part of an estate. The daughter lives up north and doesn’t want it, so the lawyer handling the will is trying to unload it.”

“Have you been thinking of buying it?”

“I’d like to,” he said, unlocking the door, “but I’m not sure it would be worth the money. I don’t know how often I’d be able to get here.”

“After the case is over, you mean.”

He turned to look at her as he switched on the light. “Yes. I won’t be in Florida much longer.”

On that cheerful note, Marisa walked into the living room, which ran the width of the house. There was a fieldstone fireplace which took up most of one wall, a large rag rug on the floor in front of it, and rustic native pine furniture filling the open space. Through the doorway she could see a vintage kitchen and behind it, a stairwell ascending to the second floor. Where the bedrooms were, she supposed.

“It’s getting chilly, would you like a fire?” Jack asked.

“Don’t go to any trouble.”

“No trouble, it’s all set. I just have to put a match to it.” He picked up a pack of matches from the mantel and struck one, then lit the crumpled newspapers folded against the wrought iron screen. Marisa watched as they smoldered and caught fire, the flames licking the logs piled on top of them.

“There, it will be warm in a few minutes. This house is built like a hospital, with cross ventilation. It’s always cool, a real advantage in Florida. The old guy who designed it knew what he was doing. He built most of this furniture, too.” He gathered up a stack of papers from the wide chair in front of the fireplace and added, “Have a seat.”

Marisa sat down.

“Do you want a drink? Coffee or tea?”

Marisa shook her head.

He clapped his hands together. “Well, I’m running out of small talk. How about those Dolphins?”

Marisa smiled thinly.

He came and sat next to her. “What is it?” he said.

Marisa looked at him, so handsome, so desirable, his face alive with intelligence and concern. With a sound like a sob she flung her arms around his neck.

“Hey, hey,” he said gently, his arms coming around her immediately. “Take it easy. I’m not forcing anything on you. I’ll take you back to the hotel right now if...”

“I do want you, I do,” she whispered fiercely, interrupting him. “So much.”

“You got me, babe. Here I am.”

Marisa drew back and fingered the cabling around the neck of his sweater.

“There’s something you have to know,” she said slowly.

“I think I already know,” he replied.

Marisa stared at him.

“I know that you’re a... beginner.”

“Beginner?” Marisa said slowly.

“With men.”

Marisa closed her eyes as the blood rushed into her face. “Has it been that obvious?” she said in an agonized whisper, finding that possibility unbearable.

“Of course not. In fact I thought just the opposite until Tracy told me.”

“I’ll kill her,” Marisa said, not opening her eyes.

“Don’t feel that way. She did us both a favor.”

Marisa still couldn’t look at him.

“I was about to give up on you,” he said earnestly. “She made your behavior understandable and gave me some hope, don’t you see that?” He tucked a tendril of her hair behind her ear and her lashes lifted.

“You must have been laughing at me all this while,” she said miserably.

He pulled her back into his arms. “Sweetheart, no. I admit that at first I could hardly believe it.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“But when I had time to think about it, some of the things you had done became...”

“Less idiotic?” she supplied.

“More reasonable.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t run screaming for the trees.”

“Why would I do that? It just convinced me that what I had suspected from the beginning was true.”

“That I’m stunted?”

“That you’re a very special person.”

“Oh, Jack.” She hugged him tighter, and when he turned his head and kissed her she responded with all her heart.

Jack slipped his arm under her legs and lifted her bodily onto the loveseat, so that she was lying across his lap. Her mouth opened under his and she tasted his tongue as he kissed her deeply. She ran her hands down his back, slipping them under his sweater to touch his bare skin. Jack groaned and pressed her down into the cushions as she sank her fingers into the thick, blade straight hair at the back of his neck. His lips traveled to her throat and he pushed her collar aside impatiently. His hand fumbled with the buttons on her blouse and he muttered an oath.

“What?” she said.

“I can’t do this, I’m shaking,” he said, exasperated.

“Oh, look at your poor hand,” Marisa said, sitting up and seizing it. “Shouldn’t we put some ice on that?”

“Now? Are you kidding?” he said, staring at her.

“That’s the second injury you’ve suffered because of me,” Marisa mourned, kissing the abraded knuckles.

“Forget it,” he said. “Let’s do it this way.” He yanked the loosened blouse out of her skirt band and pulled it over her head. In almost the same motion he doffed his sweater and swept her back into his arms.

“Oh, Marisa, you’re like velvet, all over,” he said huskily, his cheek against her hair. He undid the clasp of her bra with a stout yank and tossed it on the floor.

“I think I ripped it,” he said into her ear.

“Who cares?” Marisa responded, gasping as her naked flesh met his once more. She ran the palms of her hands up his arms and rested them on either side of his neck. He drew back to look at her face, and then dropped his eyes.

“Am I the first man to see this?” he said softly.

“There’s not much to see,” Marisa replied, almost shrinking under his penetrating gaze.

“You’re beautiful, perfect,” he replied, bending and taking a pink-tan nipple in his mouth. Marisa sucked in her breath and held his head against her. He shifted position until he was kneeling on the floor in front of her, moving back and forth. Marisa wrapped her arms around his shoulders and surrendered to his caresses.

When he looked up, his mouth swollen and his eyes vacant with pleasure, Marisa touched his face tenderly.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

He pulled a folded quilt from the back of the loveseat and spread it on the floor. Then he put his arms around her waist and pulled her down to join him. They lay full length for a long moment, Marisa watching the play of the firelight on his cheekbones as he loomed above her, his dark eyes filling the world.

“I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you,” Jack said huskily. “That first day in court, you were wearing a dark blue dress with silver buttons down the front, and ankle strap shoes. Do you remember?”

“I remember.”

“And silver earrings, like stars.”

“Did you take a picture?”

“The picture is in my head,” he said, bending to kiss her again. This time there was no mistaking the urgency in his manner; very shortly, there would be no turning back. When he reached for the zipper on her skirt Marisa stiffened.

“What?” he said.

“A little nervous, I guess.”

“I’ll take it slow, I promise.” He removed the skirt and embraced her again, turning so that they lay side by side. Wearing nothing but her thin briefs, Marisa buried her face in his shoulder, touching his scab with her fingers.

“Does this hurt?” she murmured.

“Not anymore.”

She kissed the wound, then traced the outline of his collarbone with her lips. He fell back, watching her, as she drew her mouth across his chest, tonguing first his nipples, then the line of dark hair which descended toward his waist. He rubbed the back of her head with his hand, and then, as she explored his navel, he made an inarticulate sound and seized her almost roughly, flipping her onto her back and enveloping her with his body.

“Now,” he said urgently.

“I’m ready,” she replied.