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Tess felt as if she'd been struck. She wanted to shake him or rattle him or something?anything. Just something to break through the distance he'd encased himself in.
But there was nothing she could do. He was sitting right beside her, touching her, and it felt as if he were a million miles away. Oh, God ...
He took her into his arms, holding her so tightly, she couldn't breathe. She clung to him. Their tear-streaked faces were cheek to cheek, and then, slowly, they drew apart just far enough to gaze into each other's eyes.
The kiss he gave her was desperate and frightened and tasted of their tears.
That night, Jack stood at the bedroom window and stared at the shadowy farm. His body felt taut, as if his skin were stretched to the breaking point. Frustration lay like a thick, angry fog in his mind. He'd been so close. So goddamn close to having it all.
For a few precious moments, he'd forgotten his past.
He let out his breath in a ragged sigh that clouded the windowpane.
"Come to bed, Jack."
He stiffened. Behind him, the bed planks creaked be-
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neath Lissa's weight. Please don't come over here, he prayed desperately. He knew that if he touched her, even once, he'd be lost. He'd never have the strength to turn away. To protect her from the darkness in himself.
"I ... I'm not tired. I think I'll just?"
"Come to bed."
He didn't move. She did.
Jack tensed, feeling her every step like a blow to the
gut.
Behind him, she stopped. He could feel the whisper-softness of her breath at the back of his neck.
He stood stock-still, afraid even to breathe.
She whispered his name and touched him at the same time. Her arms curled around his waist and locked. He felt the soft, rounded mounds of her breasts against his back, and he groaned. A yearning ache settled in his heart. Sweet Christ, how he wanted to turn around, take her in his arms, and forget about everything....
"Jack ..." His name slipped from her lips. "Come to
bed."
He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. If he tried, the words would come out mangled and rasping, and she'd know how scared he was. How terrified. And if she knew that, it would start again. She'd remember why she'd hated him for so many years, what he'd done to ruin their lives. She'd remember that he was a coward who couldn't forget what he'd done. And not done.
The fantasy they'd been living in for the last few weeks would vanish. And again he'd be an outcast, alone and lonely and achingly afraid.
Her hands flattened against his stomach and smoothed slowly upward. Her thumbs hooked his suspenders and flicked them away. They swung alongside his arms in useless black loops.
"W-What are you doing?" he managed to ask.
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Her hands glided downward again, passed the thin wooden buttons one by one, until she reached the waistband of his pants. There she paused for a single, heart-stopping moment, then she flicked the top button open. Then the second.
Jack drew in a ragged breath. The thick twill fabric of his pants gaped open. "Lissa, don't ..." The words came out as he'd feared: rasping and weak. The third button popped free. "Lissa, don't. I can't ..."
Her hand pushed the gaped fabric aside and slid beneath the thin linen of his drawers. Her palm felt hot and damp against his flesh. He shivered in response. Her hand moved downward.
Jack's throat went dry. He tried to swallow but couldn't form enough saliva to do it. Instead he pursed his lips together and tried to remain still.
