Morgan's Wife (35 page)

He smiled and leaned down, capturing the peak between his lips, suckling her. The sensation was throbbing.
Electric.
How easily he brought her to ripe awareness of her need of him again. Pepper reached up with her hand, sliding her fingers through his short, dark hair. As he eased his lips from her breast, his eyes glittered with triumph and satiation. Words were too primitive for what she was feeling toward him. How could she have ever thought they weren't meant for each other?

Jim captured Pepper's hand, opening her palm and kissing the center of it, then slowly licking it with his tongue. He felt her move. He smiled inwardly. Pepper was as wild and natural as the earth that had bred her. She was more than a woman of the soil; she was like the majestic mountains that encircled this small town—outwardly beautiful and tranquil, with a roaring volcano of potential beneath that exterior raiment.

Exhaustion ate at Jim, and he slowly eased out of her—the last thing he wanted to do right now. If he hadn't been so tired, he'd have started loving her all over again, but he knew the limits of his body. Without a word, he pulled back the thick, downy quilt, the smooth cotton sheet and eased her beneath them. Pepper's eyes were nearly closed. He understood that she needed sleep, too. Slipping beneath the covers, he contented himself with drawing her into his arms. Gratified as she moved her length against him, he sighed.

"Let's sleep, sweetheart," he murmured near her ear as she settled her head against his shoulder. "We can talk in the morning…."

Pepper nodded, unable to speak. Right now she felt so weak and sated that all she wanted was Jim's continued nearness, the scent of him, the touch of him. Nothing else mattered. As she spiraled downward into a deep, healing sleep, she realized that she'd broken her word to herself: she'd sworn after John's death never to love again. Now she'd not only done that, but she'd loved a man who loved another.

It was all too complicated, and her heart felt satisfied regardless of what the halls of her mind whispered. Right now, only the moment meant anything. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

Jim awoke slowly. For a brief moment, he was lost, until awakened enough to realize he was at Pepper's home in
Montana
. Opening his eyes, he searched for her warmth. She was gone…. Instantly, he sat up, the covers pooling around his waist. Blinking away sleep, he looked around. The clock on the pine dresser read ten a.m. Ten! Throwing the covers aside, he located his chinos and pulled them on. Keying his hearing, he recognized the soft crackling of the wood stove in the living room. Classical music—Mozart, he realized—played in the background. The floor was cool beneath his bare feet as he launched himself upward.

Pushing several strands of hair off his forehead, he hurried into the hall toward the living room. He came to a halt at the door. Dressed in an old pair of jeans and a bright red sweater, Pepper was curled up on the couch near the fire, a book in hand. As if sensing his presence, she lifted her head. His heart thumped in his chest as he anxiously searched her eyes. She had such serenity, yet he found a mass of emotions in the depths of her thoughtful eyes. He didn't care if he wasn't fully dressed. What mattered was her—and them.

"Good morning," Pepper whispered, slowly closing the book and setting it aside. How wonderful Jim looked clothed only in the body-hugging chinos. His chest was broad and covered with thick dark hair that emphasized his powerful masculinity. She had loved that wonderful body last night, and the memory sent such a warming sensation through her that she could barely hold Jim's devouring gaze. Still, she saw anxiety in his eyes—and worry?
About what?
Her?
Them?
Pepper felt so tentative and uncertain. She sat up, her hands clasped in her lap.

Jim walked over to her, his gaze never leaving hers. When he sat down, his knee rested against her leg. He reached out and gripped her hands. "It is," he said huskily, his voice still filled with sleep.

"You look worried," she observed.

"You weren't in my arms when I woke up." He gave her a partial smile and looked down at her long, spare hands—hands that had loved him last night.
Hands that he wanted loving him always.
"Last night," he began with an effort, "wasn't planned, Pepper. I swear it…." He held her wavering gaze. It was important that she believe him, he thought, recalling their "no strings attached" conversation back at her office.

Bowing her head, she managed a painful smile. His hands were warm and tender over hers. "I—I know, Jim."

Relief cascaded through him. "Thank God…."

Risking everything, Pepper raised her head and met his searching eyes. "I thought we might go for a snow picnic this morning.
A kind of brunch in the snow."
She smiled a little wistfully and pointed out the picture window of her cabin. "It stopped snowing last night and the temperature has risen. I've already packed us a thermos of hot chocolate, made some scrambled-egg sandwiches and fried some bacon."

He studied her in the strained silence. Her cheeks were flushed, and her voice wavered with uncertainty. Jim felt her pain. Gripping her hands surely in his, he rasped, "That sounds great. Let me grab a quick shower, a shave and a change of clothes?"

"Sure…."

Pepper had two sets of skis waiting for them in the garage. After helping Jim into his, she easily attached hers to her boots. Jim carried the knapsack containing their brunch, while she led them out into the crisp air and across the deep, white snow. It was nearly noon, and the sun peeked out from behind grayish clouds that hung low around the tops of the mighty mountains surrounding
Phillipsburg
. The dark green forest contrasted sharply with the pristine snow. Every once in a while, Jim noticed a patch of brilliant blue sky, quickly swallowed up by the swift-moving clouds. But his heart was centered only on Pepper, who moved with such abandoned grace, gliding easily on her skis as she led them deep into the forest.

It was as if she telepathically knew they had to talk, but had chosen the time and
place
herself. Jim was content with her decision. He knew Pepper had done it to shore herself up against whatever he might say to her. She was noticeably tentative, the wariness observable in her eyes. How badly he wanted to ease her inner pain, but he didn't know how. Maybe after they'd shared an intimate lunch in surroundings that nurtured her, he could finally communicate with her.

A blue jay screeched suddenly above them, startled by their silent approach, sending snow flying off the branch where it had been sitting. The powdery flakes fell around them like stardust thrown by an invisible magician. Jim laughed at the beauty of the sunlight striking the tiny particles, which sparkled around them like miniature rainbows. He saw the appreciation in Pepper's eyes, too, and began to realize humbly just how much she was a part of this forest. She was, for the instant they watched the jay take flight, a child in awe, innocent and filled with the rapture of life. A fierce tidal wave of love flowed through him, and he fought the urge to reach those precious inches with his gloved hand and caress her fiery cheek. Her red cap emphasized her large eyes, and the dark curls escaping from beneath it shouted of her femininity.

"It isn't far," she whispered, smiling at him. How changed Jim's face had become, Pepper realized in that moment. Gone was the eternal stress she'd seen around his mouth and eyes before and during the mission. Gone was the tight line of his mouth. When he smiled, her heart mushroomed with a joy so fierce that Pepper thought she might faint from it. Her, of all people! The tough fire fighter! She laughed at herself, at the momentary appreciation they shared of their surroundings—and each other. Sadness ate at the foundation of her happiness, though, and not wanting to spoil the moment for Jim, she turned away and continued on up the gentle slope of the hill to her favorite spot.

At least a dozen huge cedar trees made a semicircle at the top of the hill, providing a secure nook against the wind, although the breeze was light now anyway. Pepper removed her skis and, with Jim's help, laid a dark blue, plastic-backed blanket on the snow. The sunlight shone strongly now, reflecting brightly off the limitless white expanse. Most of the clouds had moved away toward the east. Pepper felt
a contentment
here on this knoll as she helped Jim spread out their brunch on the blanket. Finally, she sat down, and he sat less than a foot away, facing her.

"This is incredible," he confided quietly, in awe of the beauty that surrounded them.

Pepper poured some hot chocolate and offered it to him. "Isn't it?"

"You're beautiful," he whispered, taking the cup from her. He saw her blush and
look
away as she poured herself some in turn.

Pepper set her cup aside and offered him one of the scrambled-egg sandwiches she'd made. "Last night," she began awkwardly, "was beautiful." And it had been. His nearness was pulverizing. Did Jim realize the overwhelming effect he had on her? Was he torturing her on purpose? Reminding her she was a woman with fiery needs that matched
his own
?

Pepper didn't believe he knew her feelings toward him. Yes, they'd shared wild, hungry passion, but sex didn't necessarily equate with love. How could he know what lay in her heart? He loved Laura with a blind certainty that everyone could see—everyone except him. What did he want to talk about? She nibbled at her sandwich, not really tasting it.

Jim took a deep breath, watching Pepper's lips purse as she stared down at her sandwich. Why did this have to be so painful to both of them? He laughed at himself and considered the question. If he didn't have so much at stake, if he didn't care as deeply as he did, he'd be able to cope much more easily with the potential pain of a rebuff.

As he exhaled, he spoke. "I've had more than enough time to think about you since we got back from
Nevis
."

Pepper turned her head just enough to meet and hold his serious, darkened gaze. A lump jammed her throat, and it was impossible to make a sound. Her heart was hammering.

Jim saw the wariness come to her eyes—along with unshed tears. Damn, those tears! He couldn't stand to see them, and automatically he put his hands on her slumped shoulder and forced her to look up at him. "Sweetheart, don't cry…please. Tears tear the hell out of me," he rasped unsteadily.

His voice tugged at Pepper's heart, unraveling her emotions. His hands had fallen gently upon her and his eyes burned with a tenderness she'd never believed existed in any man—but obviously it existed in Jim. Her lips parted, and a choking sob escaped. Tears burned in her eyes, and she felt his fingers tighten against her jacket. Anguish was in his voice and in the way his mouth twisted with her pain. She felt foolish, as if she couldn't control her feelings in his presence.

"What are those tears about?" he demanded huskily, reaching up and using his thumbs to remove them from her now-pale cheeks.
"Pepper?
Talk to me.
When I kissed you on
Nevis
, you cried, too. It wasn't the time or place to ask why, but it's bothered the hell out of me. Why are you crying?"

Pepper felt her defenses crumbling. "I—I can't…it's too late," she said in a choked voice.

"Too late?"
Jim
demanded,
his hands upon her shoulders. "What are you talking about?"

The intensity of his gaze held hers relentlessly. Jim was going to make her say it. Never had she felt so foolish.
So helpless.
"I—I didn't want to have feelings for you, Jim. A-after John
died,
I went into a horrible nosedive. Shock, I guess. I went around like a zombie, not feeling anything. My friends couldn't help me, my family—no one could help. For over a year, I felt numb to living." She looked up and blinked away the tears as she gestured to the huge cedar trees. "See how beautiful these trees are? After John died, I came up here and I couldn't feel anything. Before that, I would feel my heart open, like a flower. I could sit up here, no matter how badly life had treated me, and feel at peace. Feel whole."

Pepper sighed and shook her head. "When I came home after John's funeral, I came up here. I stood in this grove and I felt nothing. It scared me. After that—" she frowned, avoiding his sharpened gaze "—I plunged into the darkest barrel in the world. The doctors said it was depression. I called it a living hell." She touched her breast over her heart. "Jim, I can't even begin to tell you how awful that year was. Finally, slowly, I began to come out of it. And as I did, I felt pain like I'd never felt before. I never knew that kind of pain existed. Every time I thought of John, of what we'd shared—what we'd planned to share—I felt this knife twisting in my heart. It literally took my breath away. I'd start hyperventilating."