"Aphrodite's_Secret_014" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenner _Julie_-_[Protector_03]_-_Aphrodite's_Secret_(V1.0)_[lit](multi-file...)

Chapter Ten

“Davy, there’s something I want to tell you. And there’s someone I want you to meet.” Lane’s voice filtered up the stairwell of the boat, and Jason’s stomach descended to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.
He and Davy had already met, of course. Sort of. On the beach, his son had aimed those distrustful stares his way. And when Lane and Jason reached the boat, Davy had squirmed and squealed and basically said that Jason was the spawn of the Devil. He’d gone on to say that, even though Jason had been nice, Mommy shouldn’t be cavorting with such spawn. The kid had actually said “cavorting.” What a clever little guy.
Fortunately, Lane had run interference. “Jason’s not the man who took you from Sea World,” she’d said. “That was a shape shifter who looked like him.”
“Oh.” The boy had frowned. “A shape shifter. You mean like how Mr. Mordichai can change into a dog?”
Jason and Lane had exchanged looks. “A lot like that, actually,” Jason had finally said.
Davy had turned interrogative for a few minutes until at last he was convinced Jason hadn’t kidnapped him. Only then had they moved on to Lane’s fear that Hieronymous was going to follow.
Boreas had actually helped with that. “Regulations,” he said, clearing his throat. “Hieronymous will assume we’re following them. Which means he’ll assume we’ve got backup.”
Jason nodded in agreement. “He’ll focus on securing his island and removing all evidence. By the time he realizes we came on our own and there’s no arrest to be made, we’ll be safe.”
It had satisfied Lane, for the time being, so she’d taken Davy belowdeck, insisting that he needed a meal and a nap. That had been three hours ago. Now, apparently, naptime was over. It was time for “introductions.”
Automatically, Jason smoothed out his shorts, then peeled off his sunglasses and wiped their lenses on his T-shirt. Footsteps sounded on the steps, and Jason’s mouth went dry. He tried to swallow but couldn’t manage.
Lane appeared first, and then Davy trudged up the stairs, his eyes still sleepy behind his glasses and his hair going every which direction. He gave his glasses a shove at their bridge, and Jason noticed that one earpiece had been meticulously reattached with tape.
His son glanced around the deck, eyes settling on the only other person up there—Jason.
“But I’ve already met him, Mommy,” Davy said. “He’s Jason, and he didn’t kidnap me.”
“Right,” Lane agreed. She took the boy’s hand and tugged him over. Then she met Jason’s eyes and jerked her head, silently urging him to meet them halfway. She settled Davy at the deck’s one little table.
Jason meandered over, in no particular hurry. True, he wanted Davy to know who he was. He wanted his family. He just didn’t want this awkward, Humpty-Dumpty moment: putting the pieces back together, hoping like heck the king’s men would finally get the job done right.
His son turned to him. “It’s very nice to meet you again,” he said. The boy shifted slightly, his gaze falling on his mother. “Can I go now? I want to watch the ocean as it gets dark.”
The sun was fast setting in the sky. Jason had set the autopilot’s speed so the boat would return to California early in the morning. At the very least, he’d figured Davy could use a good night’s sleep under the protection of his father.
“Not quite yet, sweetie,” Lane said. “I, uh ...” She trailed off, looking at Jason for help.
He shrugged. None of the books he’d bought covered this particular scenario.
“Right,” Lane said. “Okay. Here’s the thing.”
Davy’s forehead crinkled, his face a mass of confusion. “Is something wrong, Mommy?”
“No, sweetie. Just the opposite. You see, Jason’s your daddy.”
Jason exhaled. The whole afternoon creeping around his evil father’s island hadn’t tired him out, but this one conversational exchange with his son would exhaust him.
“No, he’s not,” Davy said simply. “Can I go play now?”
Lane and Jason exchanged glances. From her expression, Jason could tell this wasn’t the response she’d expected. Good. He didn’t want to be the only one knocked on his fanny by an almost-seven-year-old’s denial.
“Um, yes he is,” Lane argued. “Trust me. Moms know these things.”
Davy shook his head, then looked down, concentrating intently on the toes of his shoes. “He’s not,” he said. “I know he’s not.” He looked up, staring right at Jason, his eyes clear and intent. “What space station were you on?”
Jason wondered what the Brazelton book would say about that, because he sure as heck didn’t have a good answer. “The Poseidon,” he finally said. It was either that or tell the truth. And, at the moment, a lie seemed much more comfortable.
Lane crossed her arms over her chest, a bemused expression on her face. Jason shrugged—the tiniest of motions meant only for her.
Davy squinted up at him. “Really? How’d you get back down? You were stuck.”
“A good question,” Jason agreed. He got up and crossed to the cooler, partly because he needed something to soothe his parched throat, partly because he needed to buy some time to think of an answer. “Do you know why I was stuck?”
Davy nodded. “The heat shields,” he said. He climbed up onto the table and sat cross-legged, his chin propped on his clasped hands. “They were bad.”
Jason nodded. That sounded reasonable. It was a story he could work with. “They were bad,” he agreed. “But I fixed them.”
Davy’s eyes narrowed. “Really?”
“Absolutely.” Reaching onto the table, he grabbed one of several Orange Crushes he’d stocked on the boat. Popping its top, he took a long gulp, confident he’d passed the test.
“How?”
Jason coughed, trying not to spit out the soda. So much for his moment of triumph.
Beside Davy, Lane laughed. “Yes, Jason. How? I was wondering that very thing.”
He flashed her an overly sweet smile. “Apparently not with your help,” he said.
She laughed again, then mumbled something about being sorry. “I’ll just sit here quietly,” she added, a grin tugging at her mouth.
He rolled his eyes. “You do that.”
“Mr. Jason,” Davy prompted, “how?”
“Right. Yes. Well, you see, it turns out it was pretty simple.”
Davy cocked his head but didn’t speak. Which was too bad, because Jason was hoping for a little prompting. Apparently, though, he was on his own.
“You see, most of the tiles were good—heat shields are made out of tiles, you know.” Jason gave himself a mental pat on the back, happy he’d remembered that little tidbit from repeated viewings of Apollo 13.
“I know,” his son said, but still didn’t help out.
“Yeah, well, the problem was that the bad tiles were on the front. So I put on my space suit and went outside and removed those front tiles and replaced them with some good ones from the back.” He glanced down at Davy, who seemed to be buying into the whole thing. So far, so good.
“And, uh, then I had to make sure that the brunt of the reentry heat hit the front.” Unfortunately, Jason’s knowledge of physics was pretty much exhausted, so he was just making everything up as he went along. “It’s all about angles,” he added. Hadn’t someone in mission control said that? “And, uh, trajectories.”
“Right,” Lane said. “Trajectories are very important.”
Davy nodded, his little face quite serious.
“So, uh, then I just aimed the space ship and took my best shot—and it worked.”
“Wow,” Davy said. “That’s really cool.”
“So . .. you believe me?” Jason asked. “That I’m your daddy, I mean.” Mentally he rolled his eyes, knowing he sounded absolutely pathetic.
Davy twisted to look at his mother.
“It’s true, honey,” Lane assured the child.
“Okay,” Davy said. He shrugged and picked at a scab on his knee. “Do I have to call you daddy?”
Jason felt his heart break just a little. “No.” He shook his head and tried to manufacture a smile. “You can call me Jason.”
Davy nodded, as if that settled everything. Then he slid off the table and brushed his hands on the back of his pants. For a second he looked up at Jason as if he wanted to say something else, but then he didn’t. Instead, he turned to Lane. “Can I have a candy bar?”
She met Jason’s eyes, and he saw the apology in them before she smiled at her son. “Sure thing. I saw some in the little refrigerator downstairs. But only one.”
“Okay,” the boy said with a nod, then headed toward the steps. He stopped on the first, turning full-circle to face Jason. “If you’re really my daddy,” he asked, “can you get me a puppy?”
Jason looked to Lane, who looked about ready to choke on her laughter. Apparently, this fatherhood gig was going to be harder than he thought.



“Empty? What do you mean the cell is empty?” Hieronymous stalked around the chamber, his glare fixed on his chief of guards. Mordi sank back into the corner, happy for the moment to be out of the line of fire.
“Just what I said, sire.” Clyde ran a thin, lizard like tongue over his lips. “I went to deliver his meal, and no boy.”
Hieronymous slammed his hand down on his desk, his palm open. The resulting noise echoed through the room, and Mordi cringed.
“Fools!” Hieronymous hissed. “Can this day get any worse?” He glared venomously at Clyde. “Heads will roll over this. I am not feeling particularly forgiving today.”
Clyde stood straighter, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face Mordi. “My sentries made their rounds, sire. They alerted us to the intruders. It was my understanding that these monitors were the security for the boy’s cell.”
There was a beat, then Hieronymous and Clyde both turned to stare at Mordichai. Mordi licked his lips, wondering if he should run, wondering if he’d make it.
Clyde marched forward to the console, his long, powerful strides bringing him quickly across the room. He pointed at the monitors, still tuned to alternate channels. “As I suspected,” he crowed. “He wasn’t even monitoring the boy’s cell.”
Mordi swallowed, trying not to let his eyes show fear. “I... I don’t know what happened. I was adjusting the controls, practicing. I didn’t mean to—”
“Did you observe our confrontation with the intruders?” Hieronymous asked, his eyes narrowing.
Mordi shook his head, the lie coming easily. “No, sir. I...” He swallowed, the gesture buying him precious seconds. “I wanted to. I wanted to see you overpower whoever it was. But the controls ...” He trailed off, shooting an irritated glance at the console. “I couldn’t get the east corridor to display on the screen.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Father. I know I said I was competent at operating these controls.”
“We should have left him in Manhattan,” Clyde snapped, casting a derisive glance at him. “Useless half-breed.”
Hieronymous towered over Clyde. “I would encourage you to watch your tongue. Whatever else he may be, Mordichai is still my son.”
“Yes, sir,” Clyde said, looking as shocked as Mordi felt. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. “Of course, sir.”
Mordi kept his feet firmly in one place, determined not to back away as Hieronymous approached.
“Did you reset the monitor on the boy’s chamber?”
“Not on purpose, sir,” Mordi lied. “But when I was trying to adjust the controls, I might have accidentally switched channels.”
“I see.” Hieronymous stared at him for a long moment, during which Mordi’s entire life flashed before his eyes. But then his father finally said, “Very well,” and walked away to settle himself behind his desk. The Outcast’s fingers immediately began their tap-tapping, but except for the irritating noise of his pensiveness, Mordi’s father seemed quite unfazed.
Clyde’s brow furrowed. Clearly, the guard captain was as confused as Mordichai. “Uh, sir? What should we do?”
“Do?” Hieronymous shot a narrow glance Clyde’s way, and Mordi felt a surge of relief that the father he knew had returned. “Why, reacquire the boy, of course. We are fortunate that there is still time. The moment of his hormonal shift will not occur until midnight on Thursday.”
“Reacquire him? How, sir?”
Hieronymous’s chest rose as he drew in a deep breath. “I find it irritating that I have to hold your hand through these matters. I would think the answer to this question is clear.” He turned to Mordi. “Answer Clyde’s question, son. How do you intend to reacquire the boy?”
Mordi’s chest tightened. Despite his hope, his “miserable failure” with the monitors hadn’t earned him a pass on this new assignment. “Uh, when the boy goes to school...”
“Excellent,” Hieronymous agreed. He looked at Clyde again. “You will assist my son in this endeavor. The boy goes to and from school. He plays in his yard. He does those things mortal boys do. It should not be too difficult to secure him once again.”
“No, sir,” Clyde said. “I mean—yes, sir. I mean, I will do what it takes to bring the child back here.”
Hieronymous shook his head. “You will do nothing but assist my son as he requires.” His eyes turned to Mordi, deep and unfathomable.
Mordi swallowed, wondering if his father knew the truth.
“My son will return the boy to me,” the man said. He faced Mordichai and raised his hands. “You are with me on this, are you not?”
“Of course, sir,” Mordi answered.
A smile touched Hieronymous’s lips—a rare gesture meant for Mordichai, his new favored son?
Mordi’s heart twisted just a little, and he wondered if Jason’s betrayal hadn’t just sealed his doom.



“Davy!” Zoë jumped up and down on the dock, both she and Deena screaming at the top of their lungs even as they laughed and cried.
It was quite a sight, and Lane’s own tears joined her friends‘. There was just something about a homecoming. Even Boreas seemed moved.
Davy, bless his heart, launched himself right at his Aunt Zoë. “I was really brave,” he bragged.
She kissed his forehead. “You sure were. The bravest.” She smiled at Lane, the simple gesture speaking volumes: congratulations, fear, hope, relief. Every emotion Lane had experienced over the last twenty-four hours was reflected right back at her.
“Hey,” Deena said, moving in to get a hug from the boy. “Who’s ready for breakfast? I bet we could do pancakes.”
“Oh, cool. Can we, Mom?”
Lane gnawed on her lower lip. “In a little bit, sweetie. We need to go home and get Dorothy and Elmer.” She and Jason had already decided they’d stay together at Jason’s houseboat—at least until they figured out why Hieronymous wanted their boy.
Her son yawned, clearly still zonked. “But, Mommy...”
“No buts,” she said. “You don’t want Elmer to starve, do you? And you can have your pancakes when we get back.”
Davy didn’t answer, but he didn’t look happy either. Jason stepped from the boat and put a hand on Lane’s arm. “Let him stay and eat. I’ll take you home to get the ferret and the fish. We’ll come straight back.”
“No. I’m the mommy,” Lane answered, not sure she liked the idea of leaving Davy’s side, even for only a little bit. “And the mommy says he’s coming with us.”
“Okay,” Davy said in a bit of a whine. “But I can bring back my Game Boy, right? And my other toys, too?”
“Of course,” Lane said. “You can bring back whatever you want.”
She glanced at Jason then, for the first time realizing he might not want a billion toys scattered all over his house. “Can’t he?”
Jason smiled. “Of course.”
“Okay, then. It’s settled.” She licked her lips. “But we’re taking a car,” she added.
Jason raised an eyebrow, and Lane shrugged. “It’s not that far,” she explained. “And, believe me, you don’t want to lug back all the toys he’s going to want.” She sighed. “Besides, I’ve had it. By air, by sea—all under Protector-power. Right now, I want the ground under my feet and no possibility of spilling poor Dorothy into the middle of Wilshire Boulevard.” She exhaled slowly. “I just want to get from point A to point B the old-fashioned way.”
Jason laughed. “That I can handle.”
As it turned out, he certainly could. Less than five minutes later, they were in Jason’s marina’s parking structure, and Lane was staring at his car, her mouth slightly open. “This is great,” she said. “It’s yours? You turned down the Ferrari?”
Jason nodded. “I turned down a Porsche, actually. Second-class Protectors are assigned a Porsche. First-class Protectors get the Ferrari.” He shrugged. “But I like older cars. I rebuilt it while I was on Olympus. I had my buddies bring me the parts. You like?” It was a 1950-something Bentley.
“Are you kidding?” Lane ran her hand over the hood. “It’s wonderful.”
“It’s totally cool,” Davy agreed. “Can I drive it?”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “You’re smart, kid, but I think you’re a little young.”
Lane laughed. “I let him sit in my car and pretend to drive. So far we’ve been to New York, Chicago, and Boise.”
“Boise?”
She shrugged. “Ask your son. I don’t pick the destinations.”
Davy blinked. “I liked the name,” he said simply. “We’re gonna go to Paris one day, but I gotta figure a way to turn a car into a boat first.”
“Right,” said Jason. He opened the passenger doors. “Everybody in.”
Davy scrambled into the roomy backseat, and Lane settled in the front, the car’s leather seats warm and inviting. When Jason slid behind the wheel, Lane couldn’t quite meet his eye, so she ran her hand over the dashboard, enjoying the way her fingers slid along the fine leather.
Her emotions were all in a muddle; she knew that. She’d been broadsided by emotion. Pent-up and bubbling, she’d been on the verge of boiling over when Davy had suddenly appeared. But the fire under her hadn’t been completely extinguished. Instead, her emotional state was on simmer, and heat continued to come from the man sitting next to her.
She licked her lips, willing herself to get her thoughts back on track. She, Davy, and Jason were just going to pick up a ferret, for crying out loud. Her six-year-old son was in the backseat. This wasn’t a date. And she didn’t want it to be.
Jason pulled out the throttle, cranked the engine, and soon Lane was surrounded by a subtle thrum of power. She licked her lips, her thoughts drifting once again from his car to the man beside her.
“Ready?” he asked.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and then she shook her head, realizing what he meant. “Oh. Yes. Let’s get going.”
And fast. She wanted to get to her apartment, gather up the pets and the toys, and come right back to Jason’s houseboat. Then she wanted to make certain that Zoë and Taylor and Boreas planned to stay for the night. Or several nights. Because considering the way her thoughts kept going, the more distractions she had—the less time she had to think about Jason—the better.



He almost laughed out loud when he saw the expression on the ferret’s face. And then, when he saw Lane’s expression, Jason did laugh out loud.
“Oh, great. Thank you,” she said. “You’re a big help.” She tapped the plate with her toe. “Now he’s never going to eat.”
“I don’t know why not,” Jason said, barely able to keep a straight face. “It looks so yummy.”
The look she shot him was scathing on the surface, but he could see amusement underneath. “Can I help it if I’m not as culinarily inclined as his caterer? What’s a ferret need with special-delivery food anyway?” She bent down and plucked the ferret up, then plonked him back down in front of his plate. “It’s perfectly good lasagna,” she said.
“From a box,” Jason added.
“If it’s good enough for me and Davy, it’s good enough for Elmer.”
The ferret, apparently, didn’t agree. He took one last sniff, turned on his paw, and headed back to Davy’s room.
“Great,” Lane said.
“Want me to go retrieve him?”
She shook her head. “No. You’ll just wake Davy.” The boy had fallen asleep in the car about the time they hit the highway. Lane hadn’t acted too surprised. Davy’d had a rather stressful couple of days, and she’d suggested they let him nap for a bit before they returned to Jason’s boat.
“Let the ferret fret,” she said now. “I’ve had a hell of a night, and he’s being a grump about frozen lasagna.”
“Well, you know the ferret has specific tastes.”
With a not-so-subtle roll of her eyes, Lane twisted her hair around her finger, then fastened the pile in place with a chopstick that was lying on the kitchen counter. “Well, we have to hang out here while Davy sleeps, and we can let Dorothy enjoy the food I sprinkled in her water. As soon as Davy wakes up, we’ll pack up both the pets and head back. Maybe if Elmer’s really lucky we’ll pick him up some to-go from Spago’s.”
“Haute ferret cuisine,” Jason joked.
“Something like that.” Lane picked up a towel and started wiping down the countertop.
“What about our cuisine?” Jason asked, moving closer, his voice low. With his finger, he brushed a loose strand of hair that hadn’t been captured in Lane’s makeshift ‘do. “Shall we have lunch at Spago as well?”
She turned to face him, her eyes wide. “On my budget? I don’t think so.”
He caressed her cheek, his heart picking up tempo when he realized she hadn’t turned away. “I wasn’t suggesting we go dutch,” he said. “My treat. A celebration’s in order, don’t you think?”
“I...” Then she turned, and Jason silently mourned his defeat. “Definitely a celebration,” she said, from her new vantage point farther down the counter. “But I don’t want to stay out with Davy very long.”
“Or with me,” he added.
“No, no,” she said quickly. “It’s not that. It’s—”
“What?”
She sighed. “Okay, it is that.”
He took her admission as an invitation and moved closer. “We were good together, Lane. We could be good together again. I—”
She shook her head, and he could see the battle raging in her mind. “I can’t do this right now. I can’t think.”
“Then don’t think.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead, gratified by the little sigh that elicited. “Just trust your instincts.”
She pushed away from him, and he kicked himself for saying the wrong thing. “I trusted my instincts before and got burned. By you.” She licked her lips. “I don’t suppose you want to explain further why you left that day, what was so important that you couldn’t stay with the woman you supposedly loved the night she told you you were going to be a daddy.”
It was his turn to move away, and he clutched the edge of the counter as he gathered his thoughts. He wanted to tell her. But her trust was so fragile now, and even though she was backing away from his caresses, still, her eyes held desire. If she knew who he was, would that light dim?
He had to tell her, he knew that. She had a right to know who her child’s grandfather was. But for just a little bit longer he wanted Lane to see only him. Wanted her to want him. And she did right now; he knew she did. Even if she refused to say so out loud.
He faced her, sure she could see the desire burning in his eyes. “Don’t turn me away, Lane. Not now. Not after what we’ve just been through.”
In one long step he was at her side, could smell the salt that lingered on her skin from the sea. “For almost seven years I’ve been yearning.” He reached out, removing the chopstick and letting her hair fall, caressing his hand.
She drew a ragged breath, her eyes reflecting his passion.
“Please,” he whispered.
For one wonderful moment she moved toward him. But then a shadow touched her eyes, and she fisted her hands at her sides as she froze. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He pressed his lips together, disappointment settling on his shoulders like a yoke. “So, too bad for me, right?”
“Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is. I told you. I just—”
“Want to be friends. I know.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But I’m going to keep trying to convince you otherwise.”
She laughed, the sound delightful. “I’m flattered. And I do want you in our lives. You’re Davy’s father. You have a right to know him, and he needs to get to know you.” She licked her lips and added, “Neither one of us really knows you. Not anymore.”
Jason’s heart twisted with the truth of her words, as well as from what she didn’t say: She’d moved on. She had another man now. Jason wasn’t part of her big picture anymore. While his life had been on hold because of his bastard father, she’d moved forward.
“You know me,” he argued, wishing he could make the words true just by speaking them.
The corner of her mouth curved up. “Part of you, yes,” she agreed. “And I know I need to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For getting Davy back.”
He almost laughed. “Me? What the hell did I do? Davy rescued himself, remember?” He’d been totally extraneous. Just like it seemed he’d been his whole life. Just like he was now. Lane didn’t need him, and Davy didn’t need a father. The boy already had a family—Lane, Zoë, Taylor.. . His life was full. Certainly the kid hadn’t been sitting around bemoaning Jason’s absence. Instead he’d just plunked him on a space station and that was that.
Lane shook her head, almost as if she could see the pity party Jason had going on in his mind. “He doesn’t need grand gestures,” she said. “He just needs a dad who’s there for him.”
“Oh—well, that’s me, then.” He couldn’t help the self-derision in his voice.
She moved closer. “I don’t know why you went away, but I do know that you didn’t stay away on purpose.” She took his hand and squeezed. “And without you, I wouldn’t have gotten Davy back. You found him.” She pulled herself up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said.
Her nearness intoxicated him. Hell, he’d never thought clearly where Lane was concerned, and that hadn’t changed. He knew he shouldn’t—knew he was crossing a boundary that he shouldn’t breach— but he couldn’t help himself. Instinct and desire and pure, primal lust took over: He held Lane’s face gently in his palms, then closed his mouth over hers.
She made a little moan of surprise, then settled against him, her mouth seeking his, her hunger as potent as his own. She wanted him. Of that much he was certain. But she didn’t want to want him.
He had to change her mind.
Pulling her closer, Jason moved his hands to stroke Lane’s back. Her arm slipped around his neck, and she deepened their kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth, tasting and teasing.
She tasted like chocolate and honey—rich and exotic, delicious and addictive. He craved her, couldn’t get enough. His body hardened, wanting more. Wanting all of her, body and soul.
With a low groan, Jason pulled her shirt free of her shorts, his hand slipping under it to caress her bare skin. With his other he cupped her rear, urging her nearer until her hips were pressed against his, her soft thigh rubbing his erection. Then—
“No,” she said, her voice husky as she pulled away. She said the word, but her tone meant something completely different. Her tone meant yes.
It was her tone he answered. With a low moan, he slipped his hand under the waist of her jeans, skimming down her back until his fingertips brushed her tiny bikini panties. She gasped, but he didn’t hesitate; still his hand moved lower until his palm caressed the bare flesh of her firm little rear. He tightened his fingers there and urged her closer, his erection straining against his jeans.
Lane squirmed under his touch, but her body melded to his, her desire more evident with each motion. With his free hand, Jason cupped her chin, tilting her head back so that she had no choice but to look at him.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out— just a low moan, a sound of pure, feminine pleasure. Jason brushed a kiss over her lips, his body pulsing with unstoppable desire. Lane’s hands grasped his neck, pulled him closer, urged him to make the kiss longer, harder, deeper.
“Jason,” she murmured, breaking away. “We shouldn’t.”
His tongue teased the edge of her ear. “Oh, yes,” he said. “We should. ”
“I...” She trailed off; then she leaned back in the circle of his arms, her eyes dark with passion. “I don’t—”
“Shhh,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips. “Unless you’re going to tell me to stop, and then I’ll stop. But tell me now,” he said. “Because I swear to you that if another minute goes by with you in my arms, I’m not going to be able to.”
For one horrifying second he waited, unsure of her answer. But then she looked at him, and he knew—knew from the dark passion in her eyes and the rose of her cheeks.
“Kiss me,” she said. “Kiss me now, before I change my mind.”

Chapter Ten

“Davy, there’s something I want to tell you. And there’s someone I want you to meet.” Lane’s voice filtered up the stairwell of the boat, and Jason’s stomach descended to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.
He and Davy had already met, of course. Sort of. On the beach, his son had aimed those distrustful stares his way. And when Lane and Jason reached the boat, Davy had squirmed and squealed and basically said that Jason was the spawn of the Devil. He’d gone on to say that, even though Jason had been nice, Mommy shouldn’t be cavorting with such spawn. The kid had actually said “cavorting.” What a clever little guy.
Fortunately, Lane had run interference. “Jason’s not the man who took you from Sea World,” she’d said. “That was a shape shifter who looked like him.”
“Oh.” The boy had frowned. “A shape shifter. You mean like how Mr. Mordichai can change into a dog?”
Jason and Lane had exchanged looks. “A lot like that, actually,” Jason had finally said.
Davy had turned interrogative for a few minutes until at last he was convinced Jason hadn’t kidnapped him. Only then had they moved on to Lane’s fear that Hieronymous was going to follow.
Boreas had actually helped with that. “Regulations,” he said, clearing his throat. “Hieronymous will assume we’re following them. Which means he’ll assume we’ve got backup.”
Jason nodded in agreement. “He’ll focus on securing his island and removing all evidence. By the time he realizes we came on our own and there’s no arrest to be made, we’ll be safe.”
It had satisfied Lane, for the time being, so she’d taken Davy belowdeck, insisting that he needed a meal and a nap. That had been three hours ago. Now, apparently, naptime was over. It was time for “introductions.”
Automatically, Jason smoothed out his shorts, then peeled off his sunglasses and wiped their lenses on his T-shirt. Footsteps sounded on the steps, and Jason’s mouth went dry. He tried to swallow but couldn’t manage.
Lane appeared first, and then Davy trudged up the stairs, his eyes still sleepy behind his glasses and his hair going every which direction. He gave his glasses a shove at their bridge, and Jason noticed that one earpiece had been meticulously reattached with tape.
His son glanced around the deck, eyes settling on the only other person up there—Jason.
“But I’ve already met him, Mommy,” Davy said. “He’s Jason, and he didn’t kidnap me.”
“Right,” Lane agreed. She took the boy’s hand and tugged him over. Then she met Jason’s eyes and jerked her head, silently urging him to meet them halfway. She settled Davy at the deck’s one little table.
Jason meandered over, in no particular hurry. True, he wanted Davy to know who he was. He wanted his family. He just didn’t want this awkward, Humpty-Dumpty moment: putting the pieces back together, hoping like heck the king’s men would finally get the job done right.
His son turned to him. “It’s very nice to meet you again,” he said. The boy shifted slightly, his gaze falling on his mother. “Can I go now? I want to watch the ocean as it gets dark.”
The sun was fast setting in the sky. Jason had set the autopilot’s speed so the boat would return to California early in the morning. At the very least, he’d figured Davy could use a good night’s sleep under the protection of his father.
“Not quite yet, sweetie,” Lane said. “I, uh ...” She trailed off, looking at Jason for help.
He shrugged. None of the books he’d bought covered this particular scenario.
“Right,” Lane said. “Okay. Here’s the thing.”
Davy’s forehead crinkled, his face a mass of confusion. “Is something wrong, Mommy?”
“No, sweetie. Just the opposite. You see, Jason’s your daddy.”
Jason exhaled. The whole afternoon creeping around his evil father’s island hadn’t tired him out, but this one conversational exchange with his son would exhaust him.
“No, he’s not,” Davy said simply. “Can I go play now?”
Lane and Jason exchanged glances. From her expression, Jason could tell this wasn’t the response she’d expected. Good. He didn’t want to be the only one knocked on his fanny by an almost-seven-year-old’s denial.
“Um, yes he is,” Lane argued. “Trust me. Moms know these things.”
Davy shook his head, then looked down, concentrating intently on the toes of his shoes. “He’s not,” he said. “I know he’s not.” He looked up, staring right at Jason, his eyes clear and intent. “What space station were you on?”
Jason wondered what the Brazelton book would say about that, because he sure as heck didn’t have a good answer. “The Poseidon,” he finally said. It was either that or tell the truth. And, at the moment, a lie seemed much more comfortable.
Lane crossed her arms over her chest, a bemused expression on her face. Jason shrugged—the tiniest of motions meant only for her.
Davy squinted up at him. “Really? How’d you get back down? You were stuck.”
“A good question,” Jason agreed. He got up and crossed to the cooler, partly because he needed something to soothe his parched throat, partly because he needed to buy some time to think of an answer. “Do you know why I was stuck?”
Davy nodded. “The heat shields,” he said. He climbed up onto the table and sat cross-legged, his chin propped on his clasped hands. “They were bad.”
Jason nodded. That sounded reasonable. It was a story he could work with. “They were bad,” he agreed. “But I fixed them.”
Davy’s eyes narrowed. “Really?”
“Absolutely.” Reaching onto the table, he grabbed one of several Orange Crushes he’d stocked on the boat. Popping its top, he took a long gulp, confident he’d passed the test.
“How?”
Jason coughed, trying not to spit out the soda. So much for his moment of triumph.
Beside Davy, Lane laughed. “Yes, Jason. How? I was wondering that very thing.”
He flashed her an overly sweet smile. “Apparently not with your help,” he said.
She laughed again, then mumbled something about being sorry. “I’ll just sit here quietly,” she added, a grin tugging at her mouth.
He rolled his eyes. “You do that.”
“Mr. Jason,” Davy prompted, “how?”
“Right. Yes. Well, you see, it turns out it was pretty simple.”
Davy cocked his head but didn’t speak. Which was too bad, because Jason was hoping for a little prompting. Apparently, though, he was on his own.
“You see, most of the tiles were good—heat shields are made out of tiles, you know.” Jason gave himself a mental pat on the back, happy he’d remembered that little tidbit from repeated viewings of Apollo 13.
“I know,” his son said, but still didn’t help out.
“Yeah, well, the problem was that the bad tiles were on the front. So I put on my space suit and went outside and removed those front tiles and replaced them with some good ones from the back.” He glanced down at Davy, who seemed to be buying into the whole thing. So far, so good.
“And, uh, then I had to make sure that the brunt of the reentry heat hit the front.” Unfortunately, Jason’s knowledge of physics was pretty much exhausted, so he was just making everything up as he went along. “It’s all about angles,” he added. Hadn’t someone in mission control said that? “And, uh, trajectories.”
“Right,” Lane said. “Trajectories are very important.”
Davy nodded, his little face quite serious.
“So, uh, then I just aimed the space ship and took my best shot—and it worked.”
“Wow,” Davy said. “That’s really cool.”
“So . .. you believe me?” Jason asked. “That I’m your daddy, I mean.” Mentally he rolled his eyes, knowing he sounded absolutely pathetic.
Davy twisted to look at his mother.
“It’s true, honey,” Lane assured the child.
“Okay,” Davy said. He shrugged and picked at a scab on his knee. “Do I have to call you daddy?”
Jason felt his heart break just a little. “No.” He shook his head and tried to manufacture a smile. “You can call me Jason.”
Davy nodded, as if that settled everything. Then he slid off the table and brushed his hands on the back of his pants. For a second he looked up at Jason as if he wanted to say something else, but then he didn’t. Instead, he turned to Lane. “Can I have a candy bar?”
She met Jason’s eyes, and he saw the apology in them before she smiled at her son. “Sure thing. I saw some in the little refrigerator downstairs. But only one.”
“Okay,” the boy said with a nod, then headed toward the steps. He stopped on the first, turning full-circle to face Jason. “If you’re really my daddy,” he asked, “can you get me a puppy?”
Jason looked to Lane, who looked about ready to choke on her laughter. Apparently, this fatherhood gig was going to be harder than he thought.



“Empty? What do you mean the cell is empty?” Hieronymous stalked around the chamber, his glare fixed on his chief of guards. Mordi sank back into the corner, happy for the moment to be out of the line of fire.
“Just what I said, sire.” Clyde ran a thin, lizard like tongue over his lips. “I went to deliver his meal, and no boy.”
Hieronymous slammed his hand down on his desk, his palm open. The resulting noise echoed through the room, and Mordi cringed.
“Fools!” Hieronymous hissed. “Can this day get any worse?” He glared venomously at Clyde. “Heads will roll over this. I am not feeling particularly forgiving today.”
Clyde stood straighter, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face Mordi. “My sentries made their rounds, sire. They alerted us to the intruders. It was my understanding that these monitors were the security for the boy’s cell.”
There was a beat, then Hieronymous and Clyde both turned to stare at Mordichai. Mordi licked his lips, wondering if he should run, wondering if he’d make it.
Clyde marched forward to the console, his long, powerful strides bringing him quickly across the room. He pointed at the monitors, still tuned to alternate channels. “As I suspected,” he crowed. “He wasn’t even monitoring the boy’s cell.”
Mordi swallowed, trying not to let his eyes show fear. “I... I don’t know what happened. I was adjusting the controls, practicing. I didn’t mean to—”
“Did you observe our confrontation with the intruders?” Hieronymous asked, his eyes narrowing.
Mordi shook his head, the lie coming easily. “No, sir. I...” He swallowed, the gesture buying him precious seconds. “I wanted to. I wanted to see you overpower whoever it was. But the controls ...” He trailed off, shooting an irritated glance at the console. “I couldn’t get the east corridor to display on the screen.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Father. I know I said I was competent at operating these controls.”
“We should have left him in Manhattan,” Clyde snapped, casting a derisive glance at him. “Useless half-breed.”
Hieronymous towered over Clyde. “I would encourage you to watch your tongue. Whatever else he may be, Mordichai is still my son.”
“Yes, sir,” Clyde said, looking as shocked as Mordi felt. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. “Of course, sir.”
Mordi kept his feet firmly in one place, determined not to back away as Hieronymous approached.
“Did you reset the monitor on the boy’s chamber?”
“Not on purpose, sir,” Mordi lied. “But when I was trying to adjust the controls, I might have accidentally switched channels.”
“I see.” Hieronymous stared at him for a long moment, during which Mordi’s entire life flashed before his eyes. But then his father finally said, “Very well,” and walked away to settle himself behind his desk. The Outcast’s fingers immediately began their tap-tapping, but except for the irritating noise of his pensiveness, Mordi’s father seemed quite unfazed.
Clyde’s brow furrowed. Clearly, the guard captain was as confused as Mordichai. “Uh, sir? What should we do?”
“Do?” Hieronymous shot a narrow glance Clyde’s way, and Mordi felt a surge of relief that the father he knew had returned. “Why, reacquire the boy, of course. We are fortunate that there is still time. The moment of his hormonal shift will not occur until midnight on Thursday.”
“Reacquire him? How, sir?”
Hieronymous’s chest rose as he drew in a deep breath. “I find it irritating that I have to hold your hand through these matters. I would think the answer to this question is clear.” He turned to Mordi. “Answer Clyde’s question, son. How do you intend to reacquire the boy?”
Mordi’s chest tightened. Despite his hope, his “miserable failure” with the monitors hadn’t earned him a pass on this new assignment. “Uh, when the boy goes to school...”
“Excellent,” Hieronymous agreed. He looked at Clyde again. “You will assist my son in this endeavor. The boy goes to and from school. He plays in his yard. He does those things mortal boys do. It should not be too difficult to secure him once again.”
“No, sir,” Clyde said. “I mean—yes, sir. I mean, I will do what it takes to bring the child back here.”
Hieronymous shook his head. “You will do nothing but assist my son as he requires.” His eyes turned to Mordi, deep and unfathomable.
Mordi swallowed, wondering if his father knew the truth.
“My son will return the boy to me,” the man said. He faced Mordichai and raised his hands. “You are with me on this, are you not?”
“Of course, sir,” Mordi answered.
A smile touched Hieronymous’s lips—a rare gesture meant for Mordichai, his new favored son?
Mordi’s heart twisted just a little, and he wondered if Jason’s betrayal hadn’t just sealed his doom.



“Davy!” Zoë jumped up and down on the dock, both she and Deena screaming at the top of their lungs even as they laughed and cried.
It was quite a sight, and Lane’s own tears joined her friends‘. There was just something about a homecoming. Even Boreas seemed moved.
Davy, bless his heart, launched himself right at his Aunt Zoë. “I was really brave,” he bragged.
She kissed his forehead. “You sure were. The bravest.” She smiled at Lane, the simple gesture speaking volumes: congratulations, fear, hope, relief. Every emotion Lane had experienced over the last twenty-four hours was reflected right back at her.
“Hey,” Deena said, moving in to get a hug from the boy. “Who’s ready for breakfast? I bet we could do pancakes.”
“Oh, cool. Can we, Mom?”
Lane gnawed on her lower lip. “In a little bit, sweetie. We need to go home and get Dorothy and Elmer.” She and Jason had already decided they’d stay together at Jason’s houseboat—at least until they figured out why Hieronymous wanted their boy.
Her son yawned, clearly still zonked. “But, Mommy...”
“No buts,” she said. “You don’t want Elmer to starve, do you? And you can have your pancakes when we get back.”
Davy didn’t answer, but he didn’t look happy either. Jason stepped from the boat and put a hand on Lane’s arm. “Let him stay and eat. I’ll take you home to get the ferret and the fish. We’ll come straight back.”
“No. I’m the mommy,” Lane answered, not sure she liked the idea of leaving Davy’s side, even for only a little bit. “And the mommy says he’s coming with us.”
“Okay,” Davy said in a bit of a whine. “But I can bring back my Game Boy, right? And my other toys, too?”
“Of course,” Lane said. “You can bring back whatever you want.”
She glanced at Jason then, for the first time realizing he might not want a billion toys scattered all over his house. “Can’t he?”
Jason smiled. “Of course.”
“Okay, then. It’s settled.” She licked her lips. “But we’re taking a car,” she added.
Jason raised an eyebrow, and Lane shrugged. “It’s not that far,” she explained. “And, believe me, you don’t want to lug back all the toys he’s going to want.” She sighed. “Besides, I’ve had it. By air, by sea—all under Protector-power. Right now, I want the ground under my feet and no possibility of spilling poor Dorothy into the middle of Wilshire Boulevard.” She exhaled slowly. “I just want to get from point A to point B the old-fashioned way.”
Jason laughed. “That I can handle.”
As it turned out, he certainly could. Less than five minutes later, they were in Jason’s marina’s parking structure, and Lane was staring at his car, her mouth slightly open. “This is great,” she said. “It’s yours? You turned down the Ferrari?”
Jason nodded. “I turned down a Porsche, actually. Second-class Protectors are assigned a Porsche. First-class Protectors get the Ferrari.” He shrugged. “But I like older cars. I rebuilt it while I was on Olympus. I had my buddies bring me the parts. You like?” It was a 1950-something Bentley.
“Are you kidding?” Lane ran her hand over the hood. “It’s wonderful.”
“It’s totally cool,” Davy agreed. “Can I drive it?”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “You’re smart, kid, but I think you’re a little young.”
Lane laughed. “I let him sit in my car and pretend to drive. So far we’ve been to New York, Chicago, and Boise.”
“Boise?”
She shrugged. “Ask your son. I don’t pick the destinations.”
Davy blinked. “I liked the name,” he said simply. “We’re gonna go to Paris one day, but I gotta figure a way to turn a car into a boat first.”
“Right,” said Jason. He opened the passenger doors. “Everybody in.”
Davy scrambled into the roomy backseat, and Lane settled in the front, the car’s leather seats warm and inviting. When Jason slid behind the wheel, Lane couldn’t quite meet his eye, so she ran her hand over the dashboard, enjoying the way her fingers slid along the fine leather.
Her emotions were all in a muddle; she knew that. She’d been broadsided by emotion. Pent-up and bubbling, she’d been on the verge of boiling over when Davy had suddenly appeared. But the fire under her hadn’t been completely extinguished. Instead, her emotional state was on simmer, and heat continued to come from the man sitting next to her.
She licked her lips, willing herself to get her thoughts back on track. She, Davy, and Jason were just going to pick up a ferret, for crying out loud. Her six-year-old son was in the backseat. This wasn’t a date. And she didn’t want it to be.
Jason pulled out the throttle, cranked the engine, and soon Lane was surrounded by a subtle thrum of power. She licked her lips, her thoughts drifting once again from his car to the man beside her.
“Ready?” he asked.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and then she shook her head, realizing what he meant. “Oh. Yes. Let’s get going.”
And fast. She wanted to get to her apartment, gather up the pets and the toys, and come right back to Jason’s houseboat. Then she wanted to make certain that Zoë and Taylor and Boreas planned to stay for the night. Or several nights. Because considering the way her thoughts kept going, the more distractions she had—the less time she had to think about Jason—the better.



He almost laughed out loud when he saw the expression on the ferret’s face. And then, when he saw Lane’s expression, Jason did laugh out loud.
“Oh, great. Thank you,” she said. “You’re a big help.” She tapped the plate with her toe. “Now he’s never going to eat.”
“I don’t know why not,” Jason said, barely able to keep a straight face. “It looks so yummy.”
The look she shot him was scathing on the surface, but he could see amusement underneath. “Can I help it if I’m not as culinarily inclined as his caterer? What’s a ferret need with special-delivery food anyway?” She bent down and plucked the ferret up, then plonked him back down in front of his plate. “It’s perfectly good lasagna,” she said.
“From a box,” Jason added.
“If it’s good enough for me and Davy, it’s good enough for Elmer.”
The ferret, apparently, didn’t agree. He took one last sniff, turned on his paw, and headed back to Davy’s room.
“Great,” Lane said.
“Want me to go retrieve him?”
She shook her head. “No. You’ll just wake Davy.” The boy had fallen asleep in the car about the time they hit the highway. Lane hadn’t acted too surprised. Davy’d had a rather stressful couple of days, and she’d suggested they let him nap for a bit before they returned to Jason’s boat.
“Let the ferret fret,” she said now. “I’ve had a hell of a night, and he’s being a grump about frozen lasagna.”
“Well, you know the ferret has specific tastes.”
With a not-so-subtle roll of her eyes, Lane twisted her hair around her finger, then fastened the pile in place with a chopstick that was lying on the kitchen counter. “Well, we have to hang out here while Davy sleeps, and we can let Dorothy enjoy the food I sprinkled in her water. As soon as Davy wakes up, we’ll pack up both the pets and head back. Maybe if Elmer’s really lucky we’ll pick him up some to-go from Spago’s.”
“Haute ferret cuisine,” Jason joked.
“Something like that.” Lane picked up a towel and started wiping down the countertop.
“What about our cuisine?” Jason asked, moving closer, his voice low. With his finger, he brushed a loose strand of hair that hadn’t been captured in Lane’s makeshift ‘do. “Shall we have lunch at Spago as well?”
She turned to face him, her eyes wide. “On my budget? I don’t think so.”
He caressed her cheek, his heart picking up tempo when he realized she hadn’t turned away. “I wasn’t suggesting we go dutch,” he said. “My treat. A celebration’s in order, don’t you think?”
“I...” Then she turned, and Jason silently mourned his defeat. “Definitely a celebration,” she said, from her new vantage point farther down the counter. “But I don’t want to stay out with Davy very long.”
“Or with me,” he added.
“No, no,” she said quickly. “It’s not that. It’s—”
“What?”
She sighed. “Okay, it is that.”
He took her admission as an invitation and moved closer. “We were good together, Lane. We could be good together again. I—”
She shook her head, and he could see the battle raging in her mind. “I can’t do this right now. I can’t think.”
“Then don’t think.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead, gratified by the little sigh that elicited. “Just trust your instincts.”
She pushed away from him, and he kicked himself for saying the wrong thing. “I trusted my instincts before and got burned. By you.” She licked her lips. “I don’t suppose you want to explain further why you left that day, what was so important that you couldn’t stay with the woman you supposedly loved the night she told you you were going to be a daddy.”
It was his turn to move away, and he clutched the edge of the counter as he gathered his thoughts. He wanted to tell her. But her trust was so fragile now, and even though she was backing away from his caresses, still, her eyes held desire. If she knew who he was, would that light dim?
He had to tell her, he knew that. She had a right to know who her child’s grandfather was. But for just a little bit longer he wanted Lane to see only him. Wanted her to want him. And she did right now; he knew she did. Even if she refused to say so out loud.
He faced her, sure she could see the desire burning in his eyes. “Don’t turn me away, Lane. Not now. Not after what we’ve just been through.”
In one long step he was at her side, could smell the salt that lingered on her skin from the sea. “For almost seven years I’ve been yearning.” He reached out, removing the chopstick and letting her hair fall, caressing his hand.
She drew a ragged breath, her eyes reflecting his passion.
“Please,” he whispered.
For one wonderful moment she moved toward him. But then a shadow touched her eyes, and she fisted her hands at her sides as she froze. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He pressed his lips together, disappointment settling on his shoulders like a yoke. “So, too bad for me, right?”
“Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is. I told you. I just—”
“Want to be friends. I know.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But I’m going to keep trying to convince you otherwise.”
She laughed, the sound delightful. “I’m flattered. And I do want you in our lives. You’re Davy’s father. You have a right to know him, and he needs to get to know you.” She licked her lips and added, “Neither one of us really knows you. Not anymore.”
Jason’s heart twisted with the truth of her words, as well as from what she didn’t say: She’d moved on. She had another man now. Jason wasn’t part of her big picture anymore. While his life had been on hold because of his bastard father, she’d moved forward.
“You know me,” he argued, wishing he could make the words true just by speaking them.
The corner of her mouth curved up. “Part of you, yes,” she agreed. “And I know I need to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For getting Davy back.”
He almost laughed. “Me? What the hell did I do? Davy rescued himself, remember?” He’d been totally extraneous. Just like it seemed he’d been his whole life. Just like he was now. Lane didn’t need him, and Davy didn’t need a father. The boy already had a family—Lane, Zoë, Taylor.. . His life was full. Certainly the kid hadn’t been sitting around bemoaning Jason’s absence. Instead he’d just plunked him on a space station and that was that.
Lane shook her head, almost as if she could see the pity party Jason had going on in his mind. “He doesn’t need grand gestures,” she said. “He just needs a dad who’s there for him.”
“Oh—well, that’s me, then.” He couldn’t help the self-derision in his voice.
She moved closer. “I don’t know why you went away, but I do know that you didn’t stay away on purpose.” She took his hand and squeezed. “And without you, I wouldn’t have gotten Davy back. You found him.” She pulled herself up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said.
Her nearness intoxicated him. Hell, he’d never thought clearly where Lane was concerned, and that hadn’t changed. He knew he shouldn’t—knew he was crossing a boundary that he shouldn’t breach— but he couldn’t help himself. Instinct and desire and pure, primal lust took over: He held Lane’s face gently in his palms, then closed his mouth over hers.
She made a little moan of surprise, then settled against him, her mouth seeking his, her hunger as potent as his own. She wanted him. Of that much he was certain. But she didn’t want to want him.
He had to change her mind.
Pulling her closer, Jason moved his hands to stroke Lane’s back. Her arm slipped around his neck, and she deepened their kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth, tasting and teasing.
She tasted like chocolate and honey—rich and exotic, delicious and addictive. He craved her, couldn’t get enough. His body hardened, wanting more. Wanting all of her, body and soul.
With a low groan, Jason pulled her shirt free of her shorts, his hand slipping under it to caress her bare skin. With his other he cupped her rear, urging her nearer until her hips were pressed against his, her soft thigh rubbing his erection. Then—
“No,” she said, her voice husky as she pulled away. She said the word, but her tone meant something completely different. Her tone meant yes.
It was her tone he answered. With a low moan, he slipped his hand under the waist of her jeans, skimming down her back until his fingertips brushed her tiny bikini panties. She gasped, but he didn’t hesitate; still his hand moved lower until his palm caressed the bare flesh of her firm little rear. He tightened his fingers there and urged her closer, his erection straining against his jeans.
Lane squirmed under his touch, but her body melded to his, her desire more evident with each motion. With his free hand, Jason cupped her chin, tilting her head back so that she had no choice but to look at him.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out— just a low moan, a sound of pure, feminine pleasure. Jason brushed a kiss over her lips, his body pulsing with unstoppable desire. Lane’s hands grasped his neck, pulled him closer, urged him to make the kiss longer, harder, deeper.
“Jason,” she murmured, breaking away. “We shouldn’t.”
His tongue teased the edge of her ear. “Oh, yes,” he said. “We should. ”
“I...” She trailed off; then she leaned back in the circle of his arms, her eyes dark with passion. “I don’t—”
“Shhh,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips. “Unless you’re going to tell me to stop, and then I’ll stop. But tell me now,” he said. “Because I swear to you that if another minute goes by with you in my arms, I’m not going to be able to.”
For one horrifying second he waited, unsure of her answer. But then she looked at him, and he knew—knew from the dark passion in her eyes and the rose of her cheeks.
“Kiss me,” she said. “Kiss me now, before I change my mind.”