White Lies by Linda Howard
“Actually, I’ve gained a little weight,” she whispered, beginning to shake at his warm touch.
Calmly, deliberately, he moved his hands down to her breasts and molded his fingers over them. Jay inhaled sharply, and he said, “Easy, easy,” as he stroked the soft mounds.
“Steve, no.” But her eyes were closing as warm pleasure built in her, her blood beating slowly and powerfully through her veins. His thumbs rubbed over her nipples and she quivered, her breasts beginning to tighten.
“You’re so soft.” His voice roughened even more. “God, how I’ve wanted to touch you. Come here, sweetheart.”
He ignored the pain in his hands as he pulled her against him, and he wrapped his arms around her as he had dreamed of doing so many times since her voice had charmed him out of the darkness. He felt her slenderness, her softness, her warmth, and the gut-wrenching pleasure of her breasts flattening against the hard planes of his chest. He smelled the sweetness of her skin, felt the thick silk of her hair, and with a harsh, muffled sound of want, of need, he sought her mouth.
He already knew her mouth. He would beg, cajole, insist until she would give him a kiss in the morning and again at night before she left. He knew it was wide and full and soft, and that her lips trembled each time she kissed him. Now he slanted his mouth to cover hers, pressing hard until her lips parted and gave him the entrance he sought. He could feel her shaking in his arms as he moved his tongue into her mouth and tasted her sweetness. Damn, how had he been fool enough to let her get away from him five years before? Not being able to remember making love to her made him furious because he wanted to know what she liked, how it felt to be inside her, if they had been as good together as every instinct he possessed told them they would be. She belonged to him; he knew it, felt it, as if they were tied together. He deepened the kiss, forcing her to respond to him the way he knew she could, the way he knew she wanted to. Finally she shivered convulsively, and her tongue met his as her arms crept up around his neck.
He shouldn’t be this strong, Jay thought dimly, not after all he’s been through. But his arms were hard, and so tight around her that her ribs were being squeezed. Steve had never been this aggressive before; he certainly hadn’t been a passive man, but now he was kissing her with naked demand, forcing their relationship into an intimacy that frightened her. He wanted her more than he ever had during their marriage, but now his attention was intensely focused on her because of the circumstances.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she managed to say, turning her head aside to free her mouth from the hungry pressure of his. She brought her hands down and pushed lightly at his shoulders.
“Why not?” he murmured, taking advantage of the vulnerability of her throat with slow kisses. His tongue touched the sensitive hollow below her ear, and her hands tightened on his shoulders as wonderful little ripples of pleasure radiated over her skin. His lack of sight didn’t hinder him; he knew his way around a woman’s body. Instinct went deeper than memory.
Both conscience and her sense of self-protection made Jay push at his shoulders again, and this time he slowly released her. “We can’t let ourselves get involved again,” she said in a low voice.
“We’re both free,” he pointed out.
“As far as we know. Steve, you could have met someone in the past five years who you really care about. Someone could be waiting for you to come home. Until you get your memory back, you can’t be certain that you’re free. And…and I think we should be cautious about jumping back into a relationship without knowing more than we do.”
“No one’s waiting for me,” he said with harsh certainty.
Her movements were jerky with agitation as she slid off the bed and walked to the window. The morning sky was a leaden color, and snow flurries were drifting aimlessly on the light wind. “You can’t know that,” she insisted, and turned back to look at him.
His face was turned toward her even though he couldn’t see her, and the hard line of his mouth told her he was angry. The sheet was around his waist, baring his broad shoulders and chest, as he had disdained both pajamas and a hospital gown, though he had finally consented to wear the pajama bottoms with the legs cut off and the seams slit so they would fit over the casts on his legs. He was thin, pale and weak from what he’d been through, but somehow the impression he gave was one of power. Nor was he all that weak, not if the strength she had just felt in him was any measure. He must have been incredibly strong before the accident. Those five years when she hadn’t seen him were becoming even more of a mystery.
“So you’ve stayed here with me all this time just because you have a Florence Nightingale complex?” he asked sharply. It was the first time she had refused him anything, and he didn’t like it at all. If he could have walked, he would have come after her, sightless or not, weak or not, even though he was still in pain most of the time. None of that would have stopped him, and for the first time she was grateful for his broken legs.
“I never hated you,” she tried to explain, knowing that she owed him at least the effort. “I don’t think we were all that deeply in love, certainly not enough to make our marriage work. Frank asked me to stay because he thought you would need me, given your condition. Even Major Lunning said it would help if you were around someone familiar, someone you knew before the accident. So…I stayed.”
“Don’t give me that crap.” Her attempt to explain had made him even more furious, and it was a type of anger she hadn’t seen before. He was very still and controlled, his guttural voice little more than a whisper. Chills ran up her spine because she could feel his temper like both ice and fire, lashing out at her even though he hadn’t moved. “Do you think that because I can’t see, I couldn’t tell you were turned on just now? Try again, sweetheart.”
Jay began to get angry at the harsh demand in his voice. “All right, if you want the truth, here it is. I don’t trust you. You were always too restless to settle down and try to build a life together. You were always leaving on another of your ‘adventures,’ looking for something I couldn’t give you. Well, I don’t want to go through that again. I don’t want to get involved with you again. You want me now, and you may need me a little, but what happens when you’re well? Another pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek while I get to watch you ride off into the sunset? Thanks, but no thanks. I have more sense now than I did before.”
“Is that why you start shaking every time I touch you? You want to get involved again, all right, but you’re afraid.”
“I said I don’t trust you. I didn’t say I was afraid of you. Why should I trust you? You were still looking for trouble when that explosion almost killed you!”
Abruptly she realized that she was all but yelling at him, while his voice hadn’t risen at all. She turned and walked out, then leaned against the wall outside his door until both the temper and the shaking subsided. She felt sick, not because of their argument, but because he was right. She was afraid. She was terrified. And it was too late to do anything about it, because she was in love with him again, despite all her warnings and lectures to herself against it. She didn’t know him anymore. He had changed; he was harder, rougher, far more dangerous. He was still a leaver, probably far more involved in the situation than Frank had wanted her to know.
But it didn’t make any difference. She had loved him before when it had gone against her better judgement, and she loved him now when it made even less sense. God help her, she had left herself wide open for a lot of pain, and there was nothing she could do.
CHAPTER SIX
STEVE LAY QUIETLY, forcing the lingering cloudiness of anesthesia from his mind. He was instinctively still, like an animal in the jungle, until he was aware enough to know what was going on. A man could lose his life by moving before he knew where his enemies were. If they thought he was dead, he gained the advantage of surprise by lying still and not letting them know he was still alive until he could recover enough to make his move. He tried to open his eyes, but something c
He listened, trying to locate his captors. The usual jungle sounds were absent, and gradually he realized that he was too cold to be in a jungle. The smell was all wrong, too; it was a sharp, medicinal odor, like disinfectant. This place smelled like a hospital.
The realization was like a curtain going up, and abruptly he knew where he was and what had happened, and at the same time the hazy recollection of the steamy jungle swiftly faded. The final surgery on his eyes was over, and he was in Recovery. “Jay!” It took an incredible amount of effort to call for her, and his voice sounded strange, even worse than usual, so deep and hoarse it was almost like an animal’s cry. “Jay!”
“Everything’s all right, Mr. Crossfield,” a calm voice said soothingly. “You’ve had your surgery, and everything is just fine. Lie still, and we’ll have you back in your room in a few minutes.”
It wasn’t Jay’s voice. It was a nice voice, but it wasn’t what he wanted. His throat was dry; he swallowed, and winced a little because his throat was so raw and sore. That’s right; they’d had a tube down it. “Where’s Jay?” he croaked, like a frog.
“Is Jay your wife, Mr. Crossfield?”
“Yes.” Ex-wife, if they wanted to get technical. He didn’t care about the labels. Jay was his.
“She’s probably waiting for you in your room.”
“Take me there.”
“Let’s wait a few more minutes—”
“Now.” The single word was guttural, the steely command naked. He didn’t try to dress it up in polite phrases, because it was all he could do to say a few words at a time. He was still groggy, but he fixed his thoughts on Jay with single-minded determination. He began groping for the rail on the side of the bed.
“Mr. Crossfield, wait! You’re going to pull the IV out of your arm!”
“Good,” he muttered.
“Calm down, we’re going to take you to your room. Just lie still while I get an orderly.”
A minute later he felt the bed begin to move. It was a curiously relaxing movement, and he began to go to sleep again but forced himself to stay alert. He couldn’t afford to relax until Jay was with him; there was damned little he knew about who he was or what was going on, but Jay was the one constant in his life, the one person he trusted. She had been there from the beginning, as far back as his memory reached, and further.
“Here we are,” the nurse said cheerfully. “He couldn’t wait to get back to his room, Mrs. Crossfield. He was asking for you and kicking up a fuss.”
“I’m here, Steve,” Jay said, and he thought she sounded anxious. He noticed that she didn’t correct the nurse about her name, and fierce satisfaction filled him. The name didn’t mean much to him, but it was a name he’d once shared with Jay, one of the links that bound her to him.
He was lifted onto his bed, and he could feel them fussing around him for a few more minutes. It was getting harder to stay awake. “Jay!”
“I’m here.”
He reached out with his left hand toward her voice, and her slim, cool fingers touched him. Her hand felt so small and fragile in his.
“The doctor said everything went perfectly,” she said, her voice somewhere above him in the darkness. “You’ll get the bandages off for good in about two weeks.”
“Then I’m outta here,” he murmured. His hand tightened around hers, and he gave in to the lingering effects of the anesthesia.
When he woke again, it was without the initial confusion, but he was still groggy. Impatiently he forced his mind out of lethargy, and it was so habitual now to ignore the pain in his mending body that he truthfully didn’t even notice it. At some unknown point in his life he had learned that the human body could be forced to superhuman feats if the brain knew how to ignore pain. Evidently he had learned that lesson so well that it was second nature to him now.
Now that he was more awake, he didn’t have to call for Jay to know she was in the room. He could hear her breathing, hear the pages of a magazine turning as she sat by the bed. He could smell the faint, sweet scent of her skin, a scent that identified her immediately to him whenever she entered the room. Then there was that other awareness, the physical awareness that was like an electrical charge, making his skin tingle with pleasure and excitement at her closeness, or even at the mere thought of her.
He hadn’t kissed her since their argument the week before, but he was only biding his time. She had been upset, and he didn’t want that, didn’t want to push her. Maybe he hadn’t been much of a prize before, but she still felt something for him, or she wouldn’t be here now, and when the time came he would capitalize on those feelings. She was his; he knew it with a bone-deep sense of possession that overrode everything else.
He wanted her. The strength of his sexual need for her surprised him, given his current physical condition, but the stirring in his loins every time she touched him was proof that certain instincts were stronger than pain. Every day the pain was a little less, and every day he wanted her a little more. It was basic. Whenever two people were attracted to each other, the urge to mate became overwhelming; it was nature’s way of propagating the species. Intense physical desire and hot, frequent lovemaking reinforced the bond between two people. They became a couple, because back in the human species’ first primitive days, it took two people to provide care for their helpless young. In current times one parent could raise a child quite well, and modern medicine had made it possible for a woman not to become pregnant if she didn’t want to, but the old instincts were still there. The sexual drive was still there, a man’s need to make love to his woman and make certain she knew she was his. He understood the basis of the biological need programmed into his genes, but understanding didn’t lessen its power.
Amnesia was a curious thing. When he examined it unemotionally, he was interested in its oddities. He had lost all conscious knowledge of whatever had happened to him before he’d come out of the coma, but a lot of unconscious knowledge evidently hadn’t been affected. He could remember different World Series and Super Bowls, and how Niagara Falls looked. That wasn’t important. Interesting, but not important.
Equally interesting, and far more important, were the things he knew about both obscure Third World nations and major powers without remembering how he came by the knowledge. He couldn’t bring his own face to mind, but somehow that didn’t negate what he knew was fact. He knew the desert, the hot, dry heat and blood-sizzling sun. He also knew the jungle, the stifling heat and humidity, the insects and reptiles, the leeches, the shrieking birds, the stench of rotting vegetation.
Taking those bits and pieces of himself that he could recognize, he was able to piece together part of the puzzle. The jungle part was easy. Jay had told him that he was thirty-seven; he was just the right age to have been in Vietnam during the height of the war in the late sixties. The rest of it, all added together, could have only one logical explanation: he was far more involved in the situation than Jay had been told.
He had wondered if scopolamine or Pentothal would be successful on an amnesia victim, or if the amnesia effectively sealed off his memories even from the powerful drugs available today. If what he might know was important enough for him to warrant this kind of red-carpet treatment, then it would have been worth Frank Payne’s effort to at least have tried the drugs. They hadn’t tried, and that told him something else: Payne knew Steve had been indoctrinated to resist any chemical prying into his brain. Therefore he must be a trained field operative.
Jay didn’t know. She really thought he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had said that when they had been married, he had constantly been taking off on one “adventure” after another, so he must have kept her in the dark and just let her think that he was footloose, rather than worrying her with the knowledge of just how dangerous his work was, and that the odds were even he wouldn’t return from any given trip.
&nbs
Too many questions, and he didn’t know the answers to any of them. He could ask Payne, but he wasn’t certain he’d get a straight answer from the man. Payne was hiding something. Steve didn’t know what it was, but he could hear a faint note of guilt in the man’s voice, especially when he spoke to Jay. What had they gotten Jay involved in?
He heard the door to his room open and he lay motionless, wanting to know the identity of his visitor without them knowing he was awake. He had noticed that cautiousness in himself before; it fit in with what he had deduced.
“Is he awake yet?”
It was Frank Payne’s quiet voice, and that special note was there again, the guilt and the…affection. Yeah, that’s what it was. Payne liked Jay and worried about her, but he was still using her. It made Steve feel even less inclined to cooperate. It made him mad, to think they could be putting Jay in any danger.
“He went to sleep as soon as they got him in bed, and he hasn’t stirred since. Have you talked to the doctor?”