The Rescue Of Jenna West Read online

Exiting through the back emergency door, he darted into the small stable at the back of the clinic, disappeared into the shadows. “Ready or not, slut. Here I come.”

  There was nothing left. Jenna knew it deep inside herself, but couldn’t make herself accept it. Surely there had to be a scrap of clothing, a shoe, even a lone photograph that had escaped. But the firemen said there bad been nothing. Nothing.

  She couldn’t feel her heart beat. She couldn’t even see where the foundation of her house had been.

  Linc said she had minor burns on her arm from falling ash and flame. He gently rubbed salve over them, but she couldn’t feel it.

  Couldn’t feel anything.

  Ramsey had destroyed her home. And he wouldn’t stop until he got her. Jenna didn’t think she would even care now if he did. She couldn’t seem to dredge up a single emotion.

  She rode in Linc’s truck, staring blankly out the window at the passing trees, fence posts, the mall, a church. She knew they were going to Linc’s, knew this road was supposed to be familiar, but she recognized nothing.

  Ramsey would never stop, never stop, never stop. Just when her nerves had settled from seeing that death certificate, he’d burned her home.

  His vindictive acts were escalating. Mace said it was because his fury over not being able to find her was growing. Jenna only knew that each day notched the tension higher, sharper, tighter. Terror and dread ate like acid at her stomach, thinning her nerves like a razor on a strap.

  The one steady, safe constant was Linc.

  She didn’t know how long he stood in front of her with his hand out before she realized they had reached his house and he was waiting for her.

  Her eyes burned from soot and tears. She didn’t care, had no desire to rub them and ease the burning sensation. She wanted to feel something, anything—loss, pain, fear. She felt nothing.

  Linc held her close, not speaking and she didn’t care about that, either. He led her into the house, closed the door behind them and looked at her.

  Late afternoon light streamed through the French doors, striping his shirt, the tiles on the entryway floor. He guided her into the living area and stopped, staring at her as if he were lost, as if he didn’t know what to do next.

  “I want to help you, Jenna. I don’t know what to do.”

  She looked up at him, seeing the torture in his gray eyes and thinking she should try to reassure him, but she couldn’t. “I think I’m hungry,” she said dully.

  He led her to the love seat and eased her down into it, kneeling in front of her. “Jenna, this was horrible. You need to get mad, cry, something.”

  “I cried.” She had, hadn’t she? She thought she recalled tears on her face, soaking Linc’s shirt.

  Misery pinched his features. “You can’t shut down like this.”

  She heard him, but there was nothing left in her to say. Something unfamiliar and dark twisted deep inside her, then disappeared.

  He took her good hand in both of his and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I’m going to call Mace. Do you want to come with me?”

  She shook her head, trying to understand why he would call Mace. It didn’t matter, did it? Nothing did.

  Linc stared at her with frustration, pain and raw fury in his eyes. He rose, then bent and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

  He moved out of view and she heard him behind her. Again that darkness moved through her, stronger this time and searing. She straightened, surprised to feel something, uncertain about what it was, uncomfortable with the force of it.

  Without even realizing she’d moved, she found herself in the kitchen, opening the refrigerator. Linc, using the kitchen phone, frowned. His gaze followed her as she pulled out turkey and mayonnaise and placed them on the counter.

  He kept his voice low as he spoke to Mace, his words clipped, the conversation short.

  She reached up and opened an overhead cabinet, pulling down a plate. She stared at the white ceramic thickness and that blackness moved through her again, burning, clawing to volatile speeds inside her. The plate fell, shattering on the tile floor.

  Fury. She recognized it now. Fury discharged inside her like a lit stick of dynamite. Just like the uncontained power of the blaze at her house.

  Spurred by the rage, she reached for another plate and threw it to the floor. At the crash, something broke free inside her. Ceramic chips flew over her shoes, under the counter, across the floor.

  Following the sensation of release growing inside her, she reached for another one. She was ready to slam it against the counter when her vision cleared. As if she’d stepped out of a black fugue, she realized what she’d done and a sharp pain jabbed under her ribs.

  Shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face, she stood hostage to a rage like she’d never experienced. She gripped the ceramic plate tightly and her gaze rose to find Linc staring gravely, apprehensively at her from his place by the phone.

  She trembled harder. He hung up the phone and walked carefully toward her. Her gaze fell to the plate, realizing she’d destroyed his property without even the slightest thought. Driven by the fury exploding inside her, she had simply reacted.

  “Oh, Linc I’m so sorry—”

  “Do it,” he said in a thick strangled voice:

  “What?” She blinked at him.

  He reached into the cabinet for another one. “Break them. Break all of them.”

  To punctuate his hoarse command, he sent one crashing to the floor.

  We’ve both lost it. The thought flashed through Jenna’s mind, then she hurled her plate to the floor.

  She broke one; he broke another.

  “I’ve always hated these plates,” he growled.

  With tears streaming down her face, she flung one at the floor, gratified when jagged bits of pottery rained over her hands, joined the growing pile of remains on the floor.

  Linc dropped one from above his head, grinning like an idiot when it shattered at his feet.

  They reached for the last one at the same time.

  “You go ahead,” he offered.

  The last crash satisfied some dark wildness in Jenna, something she couldn’t even begin to explain, but at last it released that tightness in her chest. Anger, frustration, fear—she felt it all in the span of a heartbeat.

  It steamrollered through her and she began to laugh. At first it was hysterical, fueled by fear, by the realization of what Ramsey had done, how he was slowly, systematically eliminating everything she cherished.

  Then rage boiled up again. Her laughter grew deeper, choked, then tears poured down her cheeks. Silent sobs wrenched through her, slamming home the fact that Ramsey was winning.

  She stepped over the shattered pottery and walked straight into Linc’s arms. “I’m sorry about the plates,” she sobbed.

  His arms closed around her and he sank down to the floor, cradling her in his lap. “Shhh. Just let go, Jenna. Just let go.”

  The fear broke free, snatching her breath and she tried to fight back with the raw fury that had erupted in her a few minutes ago.

  She sobbed out every nightmare, every threat Ramsey had ever made against her. Her good arm tightened around Linc’s waist and she buried her face in his chest. Linc was her reality. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

  She was tired of being afraid, tired of running from Linc, tired of cowering at every noise, tired of hiding.

  Linc rocked her, cradling her so that her injured arm was protected. Her sobs calmed; the fury abated and a bone deep relief washed through her, cleansing, renewing. Still a ragged weariness clung to her.

  Linc held her, crooning soothing words to her over and over. His arms were strong and solid and familiar around her. When his lips brushed against her hair, she swallowed hard, aching at his gentleness.

  His lips slid over her temple, pressing a butterfly kiss there, then on her nose. Soothing, so gentle. Jenna snuggled closer to him, lifted her face.

  His lips touched he
rs, lingered, tasting, comforting for a split second. Then he jerked back. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “No.” She raised her hand and pulled him down to her.

  He resisted. “Jenna—”

  “I need it, Linc. I need you.”

  Need and surprise flared in his eyes.

  “Please,” she whispered, lifting her face for his kiss, aching to taste him.

  His lips covered hers and she opened, wanting to focus only on the warmth infusing her soul, burning away the pain, the fear, filling her with gentleness.

  Linc gently sipped at her lips, coaxing her tongue to stroke along his, giving her soft, languid, deep soul-kisses that knotted her belly in a sleek knot. An unfamiliar impatience ignited within her.

  She wanted to give to him as he gave to her, wanted to touch him. The kiss grew more hungry, more desperate. Restraint vibrated in his body. His arms corded with leashed power, yet he held her as if she were the most delicate surgical instrument.

  She wanted him to shed those inhibitions. A reckless hunger rose inside her, drove her on with a lash of desperation. She wanted to know all of him, be a part of all of him.

  His arousal nudged her and excitement zipped through her. Giving herself over to the pure sensual energy sluicing through her, she met his kisses, hot, openmouthed, feeling a new kind of heat low in her belly.

  Her fingers floated over his face, stroking the smooth skin of his cheek, the slight whisker stubble on his strong jaw. She wanted him to touch her, wanted to feel his hand on her breast, his mouth there.

  “Touch me,” she whispered against his mouth.

  She felt his jolt of surprise and then his knuckles brushed the swell of her breast as he loosened the buttons on her shirt.

  Anticipation coiled through her. Yes, yes, she urged silently, drowning out the old voice of doubt.

  His hand closed over her, warm and strong and slightly callused. Heat turned to liquid between her legs and she shifted, pressing her breast into his hand, seeking more contact with him.

  He pulled his mouth from hers, tilted her head as he rained kisses over the corners of her lips, her cheek, her ear. His tongue dipped inside and a streamer of fire tingled down her arm.

  She urged him on hoarsely, savoring the brush of his shirt against her bare breasts. Her breasts grew heavy; anticipation quickened her blood. She wanted his mouth on her.

  He nipped and laved his way down her throat to the swell of her breasts and...halted.

  “Linc?” Her voice was raw, foreign. She opened her eyes.

  Desire sharpened his features. His eyes had darkened to metal gray. “I can’t stop this time, Jenna. I want to make love with you.”

  “I want that, too,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to stop.”

  His eyes widened, disbelief and hope dilating the gray depths. “Are you sure?”

  His hand still rested on her breast and she looked down, marveling at the bronze darkness of his hand next to the lighter color of her skin. In answer to his question, she covered his hand with hers and squeezed.

  Embarrassment flushed her body, but it was far outweighed by the pleasure of his flesh on hers.

  Heat burned in his eyes. Dull color crept up his neck and she could feel the restraint in his body, in the taut corded muscles of his arm beneath her back, his thighs cradling her.

  “I want you, Linc. I’m tired of running in fear. I’m sick of... hiding, coping, surviving. I want to live. And I want to start with you.”

  Pleasure flared in his eyes, a joy so profound that she felt her heart squeeze painfully.

  “How?”

  “I thought you knew,” she teased gently.

  “Not that.” He grinned crookedly. “I mean, do you want to be here? Or in my bed?” His voice deepened, flowing over her like rough velvet and sparking a fluttery sensation between her legs.

  “In your bed,” she said quickly, wanting to give herself totally to this man and everything that was his. Despite the apprehension that niggled at her, she wasn’t going to change her mind. She trusted Linc, knew he would be gentle.

  She thrust away the nagging doubt, the enemy of her mind that said it would be a disaster. For tonight, she refused to listen, refused to be a victim to any more doubts.

  Chapter 12

  He carried her to the bedroom and laid her gently on the side of his bed closest to the door. His eyes blazed into hers.

  “Anytime you want to stop, tell me. If you don’t like what’s happening, we quit.”

  She nodded, sharp need battling a surge of uncertainty.

  “I’ll pull the drapes—”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I want to see you. I want...to see everything.” Though she flushed at her boldness, she didn’t look away from him.

  Hot sexual need flared in his eyes and he nodded, walking slowly toward her. He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.

  She drank in the sight of his taut stomach, the broad lean chest. The scars of past experience twinged, but she pushed away the fear, focused on here, now, with Linc.

  He eased down on the bed beside her, toed off his boots, then peeled off his socks. His gaze locked on hers. “We’ll go as slow as you want.”

  She nodded, touched by his understanding. She felt clumsy and inept and giddy with anticipation, as if it were her first time. In a way it was. She’d never shared a bond with anyone as deep and strong as the one she shared with Linc.

  She licked her lips, nervous energy shooting through her. “I hope I can remember how.”

  “You will.” He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

  She met him eagerly, giving herself to the fire that flared between them. But when they drew apart, she was again assaulted by doubt. What if she froze up, just the way she had with Steve? What if, no matter how gently Linc touched her, she couldn’t respond? She tensed.

  Linc’s gaze narrowed on her. He seemed to sense her nervousness, her uncertainty. “We only go where you want, Jenna.”

  “I want...to see you. Is that okay?”

  “Yes.” Desire darkened his eyes. He rose quickly, stacking several pillows against the headboard then he climbed onto the bed and lay back.

  Slightly elevated, he stretched out on top of the comforter as if offering himself and folded his arms behind his head. His arousal bulged behind his zipper, setting off a flurry of sparks in her blood.

  She sat at his hip, her profile to his face so she could touch him without the encumbrance of her cast. Anticipation eddied through her as she reached for him. She ran her palm over his flat stomach, loving the feel of warm, taut muscle beneath the smooth skin of her hand. A muscle quivered in his belly.

  Excited at the response she’d provoked, Jenna trailed her fingers over his chest, rubbing at his flat brown nipples. He watched her with a heavy-lidded intensity, his breath steady, but growing more rapid.

  He was so beautiful that her lungs hurt. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his chest. His skin was warm and supple beneath her lips. Her tongue darted out and she tasted him—clean and salty with a hint of spice.

  One of his hands moved to her waist, squeezed lightly. She smiled and leaned forward for a deep wet kiss. Her breasts felt heavy. Her nipples pearled and she ached between her legs, not the deep pain of the past, but a pleasant, needy ache.

  Intoxicated by the dark scent of him, his heady warmth webbing around her, she slid her hand back down his torso and under the waistband of his jeans, her palm gliding over crisp hair and heated flesh until she touched the beginning swell of his arousal.

  Her gaze shot to his and he nodded, his face flush, his features tight with desire and restraint. Her hands fumbled on the zipper, but he lifted his hips, helping her push away his jeans and underwear.

  Suddenly uncertain about looking at him, all of him, Jenna bit her lip, trying to forge past the pain of the last time.

  Then she shifted her gaze to his lean, muscular legs and finally the juncture of his thighs
. For a long moment, she simply stared. His arousal was sleek and strong, throbbing almost imperceptibly with the beat of his pulse.

  The pain of the rape flickered through her mind, dried her mouth. Her body tightened in memory at the way Ramsey had torn at her, violated her.

  “It’s okay, Jenna.” Linc’s voice, hoarse with need, soothed over her. “It’s okay.”

  This was Linc, not Ramsey. Linc would never hurt her. Tentatively, she reached out and slid her finger along the velvet length of him.

  His entire body went whipcord stiff. His erection grew and the muscles in his thighs bunched. She glanced up at him. His eyes were closed, his features creased as if in pain. She understood it came from pleasure and she understood he meant what he said. If at any time she wanted him to stop, it was over.

  But she didn’t want to stop. She wanted to fuse his body with hers, test that promise of passion between them, the beginning of a new life for her.

  She looked up at him and before she could lose her nerve, she whispered, “I want you to touch me like this, too.”

  His eyes darkened and he sat up facing her, his knee resting against her leg. He framed her face with his hands and kissed her gently.

  She gave herself up to the sweetness of it, gripping his bicep and feeling the power roll beneath his flesh.

  He rose to his knees, smiling at her and she smiled, too.

  Impatience pounded through her, but also wariness. It didn’t matter how desperately she wanted this, it was still new, still threatening.

  He undid the remaining buttons on her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders. She sat in front of him, naked from the waist up and his gaze riveted on her breasts.

  She wanted to watch him, wanted to see if she brought him as much joy as he did her, but she couldn’t. She closed her eyes, praying he wouldn’t be disappointed.

  He touched her cheek and she looked at him. In his eyes, she saw reverence, gentleness, desire.

  With a dark male smile, he cupped her breasts. “Yes?”

  Choked by a stabbing need, she could only nod. He fondled her with gentle hands, stirring a heat down low that made her squirm.

  When he bent and tongued one nipple, she gasped in surprise, but slid her hand into his hair to anchor herself.