Boundary Lines Read online

  She remembered the hawklike gaze and trembling hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “He didn’t want anyone to know, not even Aaron. I can count the times I’ve gone against Paul on one hand.” She glanced down at her own palms. Something in her expression told Jillian very clearly that if the woman had acquiesced over the years, it had been because of strength and not weakness. “I knew if Aaron went away like that, Paul would stop fighting for whatever time he had left. And then Aaron, once he knew, would never be able to live with it. So I told him.” She let out a long sigh and turned her hands over. “I asked him to give up what he wanted. He went to Billings, and though I’m sure he’s always thought he did it for me, I know he did it for his father. I don’t imagine the doctors would agree, but Aaron gave his father five years.”

  Jillian turned away as her throat began to ache. “I’ve said some horrible things to him.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first, I’m sure. Aaron knew what it would look like. He’s never given a damn what people think of him. What most people think,” she corrected softly.

  “I can’t apologize,” Jillian said as she fought to control herself. “He’d be furious if I told him I knew.”

  “You know him well.”

  “I don’t,” Jillian returned with sudden passion. “I don’t know him, I don’t understand him, and—” She cut herself off, amazed that she was about to bare her soul to Aaron’s mother.

  “I’m his mother,” Karen said, interpreting the look. “But I’m still a woman. And one who understands very well what it is to have feelings for a man that promise to lead to difficulties.” This time she didn’t weigh her words but spoke freely. “I was barely twenty when I met Paul, he was past forty. His friends thought he was mad and that I wanted his money.” She laughed, then sat back with a little sigh. “I can promise you, I didn’t see the humor in it thirty years ago. I’m not here to offer advice on whatever’s between you and Aaron, but to offer support if you’ll take it.”

  Jillian looked at her—the enduring beauty, the strength that showed in her eyes, the kindness. “I’m not sure I know how.”

  Rising, Karen placed her hands on Jillian’s shoulders. So young, she thought wistfully. So dead set. “Do you know how to accept friendship?”

  Jillian smiled and touched Karen’s hands, still resting on her shoulders. “Yes.”

  “That’ll do. You’re busy,” she said briskly, giving Jillian a quick squeeze before she released her. “But if you need a woman, as we sometimes do, call me.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  Karen shook her head. “No, it’s not all unselfish. I’ve lived over thirty years in this man’s world.” Briefly she touched Jillian’s cheek. “I miss my daughter.”

  * * *

  Aaron stood on the porch and watched the moon rise. The night was so still he heard the whisk of a hawk’s wings over his head before it dove after its night prey. In one hand he held a can of iced beer that he sipped occasionally, though he wasn’t registering the taste. It was one of those warm spring nights when you could taste the scent of the flowers and smell the hint of summer, which was creeping closer.

  He’d be damned if he’d wait much longer.

  It had been a week since he’d touched her. Every night after the long, dusty day was over, he found himself aching to have her with him, to fill that emptiness inside him he’d become so suddenly aware of. It was difficult enough to have discovered he didn’t want Jillian in the same way he’d wanted any other woman, but to have discovered his own vulnerabilities . . .

  She could hurt him—had hurt him. That was a first, Aaron thought grimly and lifted his beer. He hadn’t yet worked out how to prevent it from happening again. But that didn’t stop him from wanting her.

  She didn’t trust him. Though he’d once agreed that he didn’t want her to, Aaron had learned that was a lie. He wanted her to give him her trust—to believe in him enough to share her problems with him. She must be going through hell now, he thought as his fingers tightened on the can. But she wouldn’t come to him, wouldn’t let him help. Maybe it was about time he did something about that—whether she liked it or not.

  Abruptly impatient, angry, he started toward the steps. The sound of an approaching car reached him before the headlights did. Glancing toward the sound, he watched the twin beams cut through the darkness. His initial disinterest became a tension he felt in his shoulder and stomach muscles.

  Aaron set the half-empty beer on the porch rail as Jillian pulled up in front of his house. Whatever his needs were, he still had enough sense of self-preservation to prevent himself from just rushing down the stairs and grabbing her. He waited.

  She’d been so sure her nerves would calm during the drive over. It was difficult for her, as a woman who simply didn’t permit herself to be nervous, to deal with a jumpy stomach and dry throat. Not once since his mother had left her that morning had Aaron been out of her thoughts. Yet Jillian had gone through an agony of doubt before she’d made the final decision to come. In coming, she was giving him something she’d never intended to—a portion of her private self.

  With the moon at her back she stood by her car a moment, looking up at him. Perhaps because her legs weren’t as strong as they should’ve been, she kept her chin high as she walked up the porch steps.

  “This is a mistake,” she told him.

  Aaron remained where he was, one shoulder leaning against the rail post. “Is it?”

  “It’s going to complicate things at a time when my life’s complicated enough.”

  His stomach had twisted into a mass of knots that were only tugging tighter as he looked at her. She was pale, but there wasn’t a hint of a tremor in her voice. “You took your sweet time coming here,” he said mildly, but he folded his fingers into his palm to keep from touching her.

  “I wouldn’t have come at all if I could’ve stopped myself.”

  “That so?” It was more of an admission than he’d expected. The first muscles began to relax. “Well, since you’re here, why don’t you come a little closer?”

  He wasn’t going to make it easy for her, Jillian realized. And she’d have detested herself if she’d let him. With her eyes on his, she stepped forward until their bodies brushed. “Is this close enough?”

  His eyes skimmed her face, then he smiled. “No.”

  Jillian hooked her hands behind his head and pressed her lips to his. “Now?”

  “Closer.” He allowed himself to touch her—one hand at the small of her back rode slowly up to grip her hair. His eyes glittered in the moonlight, touched with triumph, amusement, and passion. “A damn sight closer, Jillian.”

  Her eyes stayed open as she fit her body more intimately to his. She felt the answering response of his muscles against her own, the echoing thud of his heart. “If we get much closer out here on the porch,” she murmured with her mouth a whisper from his, “we’re going to be illegal.”

  “Yeah.” He traced her bottom lip, moistening it, and felt her little jerk of breath on his tongue. “I’ll post bond if you’re worried.”

  Her lips throbbed from the expert flick of his tongue. “Shut up, Murdock,” she muttered and crushed her mouth to his. Jillian let all the passions, all the emotions that had been chasing her around for days, have their way. Even as they sprang out of her, they consumed her. Mindlessly she pressed against him so that he was caught between her body and the post.

  The thrill of pleasure was so intense it almost sliced through his skin. Aaron’s arm came around her so that he could cup the back of her head and keep that wildly aggressive mouth on his own. Then, swiftly, his arm scooped under her knees and lifted her off her feet.

  “Aaron—” Her protest was smothered by another ruthless kiss before he walked across the porch to the door. Though she admired the way he could swing the screen open, and slam the heavy door with his arms full, she laughed. “Aaron, put me down. I can walk.”

  “Don’t see how when I’m carrying you,”
he pointed out as he started up the narrow steps to the second floor.

  “Is this the sort of thing you do to express male dominance?”

  She was rewarded with a narrow-eyed glare and smiled sweetly.

  “No,” Aaron said in mild tones. “This is the sort of thing I do to express romance. Now, when I want to express male dominance . . .” As he drew near the top of the steps he shifted her quickly so that she hung over his shoulder.

  After the initial shock Jillian had to acknowledge a hit. “Had that one coming,” she admitted, blowing the hair out of her face. “I think my point was that I wasn’t looking for romance or dominance.”

  Aaron’s brow lifted as he walked into the bedroom. The words had been light enough, but he’d caught the sincerity of tone. Slowly he drew her down so that before her feet had touched the floor every angle of her body had rubbed against his. Weakened by the maneuver, she stared up at him with eyes already stormy with desire. “Don’t you like romance, Jillian?”

  “That’s not what I’m asking for,” she managed, reaching for him.

  He grabbed her wrists, holding her off. “That’s too bad, then.” Very lightly he nipped at her ear. “You’ll just have to put up with it. Do you reckon straight passion’s safer?”

  “As anything could be with you.” She caught her breath as his tongue traced down the side of her throat.

  Aaron laughed, then began lazily, determinedly, to seduce her with his mouth alone. “This right here,” he murmured, nibbling at a point just above her collar. “So soft, so delicate. A man could almost forget there’re places like this on you until he finds them for himself. You throw up that damn-the-devil chin and it’s tempting to give it one good clip, but then”—he tilted his head to a new angle and his lips skimmed along her skin—“right under it’s just like silk.”

  He tugged with his teeth at the cord of her neck and felt her arms go boneless. That’s what he wanted, he thought with rising excitement. To have her melting and pliant and out of control, if only for a few minutes. Hot blood and fire were rewards in themselves, but this time, perhaps only this time, he wanted the satisfaction of knowing he could make her as weak as she could make him.

  He slanted his mouth over hers, teasing her tongue with the tip of his until her breath was short and shallow. Her pulse pounded into his palms. He was going to take his time undressing her, he thought. A long, leisurely time that would drive them both crazy.

  Without hurry Aaron backed her toward the bed, then eased her down until she sat on the edge. In the moonlight he could see that her eyes had already misted with need, her skin softly flushed with it. Watching her, he ran a long finger down her throat to the first button on her shirt. His eyes remained steady as he undid it, then the second—then the third. He stopped there to move his hands down her, lightly over her breasts, the nipped waist, and narrow hips to the long, slender thighs. She was very still but for the quiver of her flesh.

  Turning, he tucked her leg between his and began pulling off her boot. The first hit the floor, but when he took the other and tugged, Jillian gave him some assistance with a well-placed foot.

  Surprised, he glanced back to see her shoot him a cocky smile. She recovered quickly, he thought. It would be all the more exciting to turn her to putty again. “You might do the same for me,” Aaron suggested, then dropped on the bed, leaned back on his elbows, and held out a booted foot.

  Jillian rose to oblige him and straddled his leg. This—the wicked grin, the reckless eyes—she knew how to deal with. It might light a fire in her, but it didn’t bring on that uncontrollable softness. When she’d finally made her decision to come, she’d made it to come on equal terms, with no quiet promises or tender phrases that meant no more than the breath it took to make them. She’d told herself she wouldn’t fall in love with him as long as she listened to her body and blocked off her heart.

  The minute his second boot hit the floor, Aaron grabbed her around the waist and swung her back so that she fell onto the bed, laughing. “You’re a tough guy, Murdock.” Jillian hooked her arms around his neck and grinned up at him. “Always tossing women around.”

  “Bad habit of mine.” Lowering his head, he nibbled idly at her lips, resisting her attempt to deepen the kiss. “I like your mouth,” he murmured. “It’s another of those soft, surprising places.” Gently he sucked on her lower lip until he felt the hands at his neck grow lax.

  The mists were closing in again and she forgot the ways and means to hold them off. This wasn’t what she wanted . . . was it? Yet it seemed to be everything she wanted. Her mind was floating, out of her body, so that she could almost see herself lying languorous and pliant under Aaron. She could see the tension and anxieties of the past days drain out of her own face until it was soft and relaxed under the lazy touch of his mouth and tongue. She could feel her heartbeat drop to a light pace that wasn’t quite steady but not yet frantic. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be pampered, to be prized. She wasn’t sure, but knew she couldn’t bear to lose the sensation. Her sigh came slowly with the release of doubts.

  When he bent to whisper something foolish in her ear, she could smell his evening shower on him. His face was rough with the stubble of a long day, but she rubbed her cheek against it, enjoying the scrape. Then his lips grazed across the skin that was alive and tingling until they found their way back to hers.

  She felt the brush of strong, clever fingers as they trailed down to release the last buttons of her shirt. Then they skimmed over her rib cage, lightly, effortlessly drawing her deeper into the realm of sensation. He barely touched her. The kisses remained soft, his hands gentle. All coherent thought spun away.

  “My shirt’s in the way,” he murmured against her ear. “I want to feel you against me.”

  She lifted her hands, and though her fingers didn’t fumble, she couldn’t make them move quickly. It seemed like hours before she felt the press of his flesh against hers. With a sigh, she slid her hands up to his shoulders and back until she’d drawn the shirt away. The ridge of muscle was so hard. As she rubbed her palms over him, Jillian realized she’d only had flashes of impressions the first time they’d made love. Everything had been so fast and wild she hadn’t been able to appreciate just how well he was formed.

  Tight sinew, taut flesh. Aaron was a man used to using his back and his hands to do a day’s work. She didn’t stop to reason why that in itself was a pleasure to her. Then she could reason nothing because his mouth had begun to roam.

  He hadn’t known he could gain such complete satisfaction in thinking of another’s pleasure. He wanted her—wanted her quick and fast and furious, and yet it was a heady feeling to know he had the power to make her weak with a touch.

  The underside of her breast was so soft . . . and he lingered. The skin above the waistband of her jeans was white and smooth . . . and his hand was content to move just there. He felt her first trembles; they rippled under his lips and hands until his senses swam. Denim strained against denim until he pulled the jeans down over her hips to find her.

  Jillian wasn’t certain when the languor had become hunger. She arched against him, demanding, but he continued to move without haste. She couldn’t understand his fascination with her body when she’d always considered it too straight, too slim and practical. Yet now he seemed anxious to touch, to taste every inch. And the murmurs that reached her whispered approval. His hand cupped her knee so that his fingers trailed over the sensitive back. Years of riding, walking, working, had made her legs strong, and very susceptible.

  When his teeth scraped down her thigh, she cried out, stunned to be catapulted to the taut edge of the first peak. But he didn’t allow her to go over. Not yet. His warm breath teased her, then the light play of his tongue. She felt the threat of explosion building, growing in power and depth. Yet somehow he knew the instant before it shattered her, and retreated. Again and again he took her to the verge and brought her back until she was weak and desperate.

  Jillian shift
ed beneath Aaron, willing him to take anything, all that he wanted—not even aware that he’d removed the last barrier of clothing until he was once more lying full length on her. She felt each warm, unsteady breath on her face just before his lips raced over it.

  “This time . . .” Aaron pulled air into his lungs so that he could speak. “This time you tell me—you tell me that you want me.”

  “Yes.” She locked herself around him, shuddering with need. “Yes, I want you. Now.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. “Not just now,” he said roughly and drove into her.

  Jillian slid over the first edge and was blinded. But there was more, so much more.

  Chapter Eight

  It was the scent of her hair that slowly brought him back to reason. His face was buried in it. The fragrance reminded him of the wildflowers his mother would sometimes gather and place in a little porcelain vase on a window ledge. It was tangled in his hands, and so soft against his skin he knew he’d be content to stay just as he was through the night.

  She lay still beneath him, her breathing so quiet and even she might have been asleep. But when he turned his head to press his lips to her neck, her arms tightened around him. Lifting his head, he looked down at her.

  Her eyes were nearly closed, heavy. He’d seen the shadows beneath them when she’d first walked toward him on the porch. With a small frown, Aaron traced his thumb over them. “You haven’t been sleeping well.”

  Surprised by the statement, and his tone, she lifted her brows. After where they’d just gone together, she might’ve expected him to say something foolish or arousing. Instead his brows had drawn together and his tone was disapproving. She wasn’t sure why it made her want to laugh, but it did.

  “I’m fine,” she said with a smile.

  “No.” He cut her off and cupped her chin in his hand. “You’re not.”