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Now Cage was sitting close to her. Though there was an empty seat in their row, he sat in the middle beside her, as though shielding her from the rest of the world. When her tissue began to shred, he passed her a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his sport coat.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me, Jenny. I can't bear to see you crying."
"I feel so guilty."
"Guilty? For godsake, why?"
She waved her hands in frustration and returned her gaze to the void outside the window of the airplane. "I don't know. A million reasons. For being mad at him when he left. For feeling hurt and angry when he didn't send me a special postcard. Silly, stupid things like that."
"Everybody feels guilty for slights like that when someone dies. It's natural."
"Yes, but … I feel guilty for … being alive." She turned her head and looked at him with tear-shiny eyes. "For having such a good time with you yesterday when Hal was already dead."
"Jenny." Something hard and painful ground into Cage's chest. That same guilt had visited him, but he wouldn't tell her that.
He put his nearest arm around her and drew her against his chest. His other hand sifted comfortingly through her hair as her head rested on his shoulder. "You mustn't feel guilty for being alive. Hal wouldn't want that. He chose to do this. He knew the risks involved. He took them."
Cage didn't want to be consciously aware of how good it felt to hold her. But he was. He had wanted to hold her plenty of times. He hated the reason for being granted the opportunity now. On the other hand, he was human. He couldn't ignore the sheer pleasure of feeling her small, dainty body pressed against his.
Why did Hal have to die? Dammit, why? Cage had wanted to win Jenny in a fair fight. There was no victory in her suddenly becoming available by Hal's death. Would her own guilt be the next obstacle he must overcome?
"Why were you mad at Hal when he left?" Had she had a change of heart and later regretted what had happened in her bed that night? Oh, please, no. He might get an answer he didn't want to hear, but he had to ask.
Jenny hesitated so long, Cage was beginning to think she wasn't going to answer. Then she said haltingly, "Something happened the night before he left that brought us very close. I thought it had changed things. But the next morning he left without even saying good-bye as though it had never happened."
Because it hadn't happened to Hal.
"I halfway expected him to call off his trip." She sighed and Cage felt her breasts expand wi
th the deep breath. "I felt rejected when he didn't. Deep down I really didn't believe that my feelings were more important to him than his mission, but…"
Cage had been desperate to know what she was thinking and feeling that morning. As he stared at her across the breakfast table, a thousand questions had tumbled through his mind, but he hadn't been able to ask any of them. He had been forced into silence by his own treachery.
He had wanted to say, "Are you all right?" "Did I hurt you?" "Jenny, did I imagine how wonderful it was, or was it really that good?" "Did it actually happen or was it all a fantastic dream?"
And he still didn't know the answers to those questions. But whatever her answers to them were, they belonged to Hal, not to him. She had been hurt by Hal's apparent casualness about having made love to her for the first time. She couldn't understand how he could have left the way he did if it meant something to him. Hal didn't deserve her anger. But she was innocent, too. There was only one culprit, and as usual, it was he.
Should he tell her now, explain that Hal hadn't been indifferent to their lovemaking because he hadn't experienced it? That would absolve her of the guilt she was feeling now. Should he tell her?
No. God, no. She had Hal's death to deal with. How would she cope with the knowledge that she had made love to the wrong man? How could any woman ever forgive herself for that? How could she ever forgive the man who had tricked her?
Jenny must have felt the tension in his arms, because she sat up suddenly and put space between them. "I shouldn't be bothering you with this. I'm sure my personal life is of little interest to you."
Oh, yes, it was. They had once been as personal with each other as two human beings can be. Only she didn't know it. She didn't know that he had caressed her skin until the texture of it was engraved on his palms and fingertips. He knew the shape of her breasts and how they felt against his lips and tongue. The sounds she made in the throes of passion were as familiar to him as his own voice because his mind had played them like a tape recorder over and over again when he was alone at night in his bed, thinking of her.
And he was certain no man, not even his brother, had kissed her with the same degree of intimacy he had. No one knew her taste like he did.
Abruptly his mind snapped to attention. What the hell was he doing? What kind of a sorry son of a bitch was he? His brother was dead and here he was thinking about what sex with Jenny was like.
"We'll be landing soon," he said gruffly to cover his own guilt and confusion.
"Then I'd better repair my face."
"Your face is lovely."
Her head whipped around. In spite of his disgust with himself for his previous train of thought, Cage couldn't keep himself from looking at her.
