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It was almost night again. The sky seen through the shutters was violet, deepening into purple. A milky moon seemed within touching distance of the window. And one brilliant star, like a beauty mark juxtaposed to a smile, was positioned just below and to one side of the moon.
She yawned and stretched and rolled to her back. She sat up and shook her tousled hair. The T-shirt was twisted around her waist. Her legs, bare and silky, since she had availed herself of Cage's razor when she showered, slid smoothly against the covers she kicked off as she raised her knees and bowed her back to stretch forward.
She gasped softly.
Cage was lying beside her, perfectly still, an arm's length away. Not a single muscle moved as he lay on his back, his arms raised, his hands folded beneath his head, watching her. It seemed inappropriate to say anything, so Jenny returned his silent stare and said hello only with her eyes.
He had taken a shower while she was asleep. He smelled of the same soap she had used. His jaw had been shaved clean of whiskers, and she wondered with a half smile if she had dulled his razor.
His hair was arranged as haphazardly as usual. The disorder of those dusty blond strands was rakish, cavalier, and so typically Cage, she longed to run her fingers through them. But touching him seemed inappropriate, too.
For the moment the most provocative caress was eye contact. So Jenny did nothing at all but look at him with the same intensity with which he was looking at her. Longing vibrated between them like humming harp strings. Their senses were perfectly attuned to each other, but for the time being they tacitly agreed to indulge only their sense of sight.
His eyes hadn't wavered, but she knew he was looking at all of her at once—her hair, her face, her mouth, her breasts. How could he miss seeing her breasts? Jenny could feel them trembling with emotion, their crests thrusting against the soft cloth of the T-shirt as though vying for his attention.
Nor could he miss the vee where the wedge of her panties showed above her bare thighs. Surely that spot hadn't escaped those smoky topaz eyes. Under their ardent stare, the erogenous parts of her body warmed considerably and began to throb with a pleasant ache. Still, Jenny couldn't tear her eyes away from him.
She noticed that the undersides of his arms weren't as darkly tanned as the rest of him. She wanted to sink her teeth into the hard muscles of his biceps, but she knew Cage would be shocked if she did. Women were supposed to be passive, weren't they? Besides, such conduct was beyond her experience.
The tufts of hair in his armpits looked soft and downy. Would they tickle? No doubt. Did she dare find out? Her eyes fell away shyly for a moment before she raised them again.
Ever since that night in Monterico she had been dazzled by his naked torso. Leisurely now, she studied it thoroughly and took in every detail, the curved muscles of his chest, the dusting of hair, the way the broad expanse tapered into a trim ribcage. His stomach was hard and flat. His navel dimpled the center of a narrow abdomen.
He was lying with his legs crossed at the ankles. His feet were bare. He was wearing a pair of jeans.
And they were unbuttoned.
They were the regulation jeans of roughnecks and cowboys, with the old-fashioned button fly. The seams were faded white and the denim was frayed in spots. They gloved his long thighs and cupped his sex. A ribbon of hair arrowed down into the shadowed opening.
Jenny realized she had been holding her breath for a long time. She closed her eyes and exhaled on a slow sigh. It was easy to figure out what had happened. As soon as Cage had finished showering, he had given way to sleepiness and fallen onto the bed without bothering to button his jeans. After all, he had driven all night.
He was covered, it was just…
Her heart hammering, Jenny opened her eyes again. Almost against her will they trained on Cage's lap. With each breath his stomach rose and fell, setting his muscles into play in a hypnotizing and erotic ballet.
Jenny was entranced. She felt compelled. Why resist?
She touched him.
Her fingertips found that sleek center stripe of hair that bisected his torso. They rode it down to his navel. Her index finger shyly tested the depth of that beguiling indentation and twirled in the hair encircling it.
He was so warm and alive. Energy emanated from him and sent electric currents chasing up her fingertips. He was raw masculinity. She felt weak and defenseless against his power. Inexorably drawn, her hand moved down. The hair she encountered just inside the opening of his jeans was darker and denser and springy.
She hesitated and turned her head. When she looked into his face, she cried out softly.
Tears were glistening in his eyes. He hadn't moved, hadn't altered his position in the slightest, hadn't said a word, but his eyes were filled with emotion. That touched Jenny in a way that transcended the physical.
Love had never been demonstrated for him. He had never been fondled or smothered with affection. Loving touches had been absent from his young life. He had been deprived of unselfish giving.
Jenny didn't hesitate. Indeed, she didn't even think about it. Her mind had nothing to deliberate.
Her hand disappeared inside his jeans.
A heartfelt groan erupted from Cage's chest. Lowering his hands, he clutched at the sheet beneath him. He bared his teeth in a grimace of ecstasy and ground the back of his head into the pillow. The tears were squeezed from the corners of his eyes when he clamped them shut against the passion that flooded through him like a rushing river.
He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and pushed them down over his hips, then bicycled his legs until he could kick them away.
Jenny, her eyes glazed with wonder, looked down at her hand. He more than filled it. He was full, thick, hard, and hot. She admired him with uneducated yet eager eyes.
