Fate Intended (The Coulter Men Series Book 3) (16 page)

Somehow the assurance brought no comfort. Dream brained, Jane asked, “Not at all?”

Trip looked like a man being tortured by hostage takers. “Not at all.”

Her shoulders dropped forward, her chin dipped. He lifted it with a warm hand. “At least not yet, I’ll give you a year or so before I bring it up.”

Jane couldn’t stop her smile, not even by chomping down on her lower lip.

He hugged her to him. “I promise…we’ll take it slow.” His hand stroked the back of her neck.

Wrapping her hands around his neck, she rested her head on his shoulder. Maybe she couldn’t marry him, but she could have him. And if he was so crazy in love with her, maybe she could, one day, be honest and get him to help her find a solution. He wouldn’t want her in jail. And maybe, just maybe, he could sway his mother to her side. A government official would have connections, would know who to pay to help get the identity she needed to be free. Jane’s smile broadened. She squeezed him tightly. “You’re right. I sometimes get scared because I love you too, and I worry…if I keep letting this feeling grow…it could really hurt me.”

“I will never hurt you, Janie. I’d die first. No one,” he said as he kissed her temple, “will ever hurt you.”

Pulling her to her feet, he kissed her, instinctively spanning her waist, clenching her body to his. A breathy moaned escaped her, warming his lips, and making him smile. Nuzzling against the tender skin below her ear, he whispered, “Is it now safe to say I love you?”

She nodded; heavy eyes closing with the feel of him so close. His hand slid into her hair. “Good. I can’t explain this feeling in any way other than being completely, crazy in love with you. And I’m sorry if that scares you. I tell myself to play it cool, but…”

Jane smothered his words with a kiss. Her efforts brought a growl, and strong arms lifted her off her feet and cradled her body against his chest. A giggle erupted from her lips, and her head tipped back as she latched her hands behind his neck as he carried her back to the den.

“I think you will drive me insane. Are you sure your mother was a Brit and not a magic-weaving gypsy?” he asked.

Jane’s giggles continued, but she managed to shake her head.

“What am I going to do with you?” His question was good natured, her jubilation evidently infectious.

Pulling herself by circling broad shoulders, she brought her lips to his ear. “You could make love to me.”

He took a deep suck of air and dropped her onto her feet. “Don’t tease me. I promised I’d go slow, but you go making offers like that, I can’t…”

Twisting her hands into the fabric of his Henley, she stepped closer. “I’m not joking. It makes sense. We love each other, right?”

He was quiet, his face serious. Jane assumed he was waiting for her to change her mind, or burst into tears. “Seriously,” she said, “I want this.”

He still didn’t look convinced. He asked, “Right here, right now?”

The room was silent all but for the crackle of burning wood and growing winds. She pulled him toward the overstuffed sofa, luring him with husky words. “I can’t think of anywhere more perfect.”

He followed like a man stunned by the light of heaven. Somehow when he finally realized he wasn’t dreaming, they were snuggled on the couch. Her body, so slight and silky soft, molded to him, her hands clutching his shoulders. He kissed her long and slow, tenderly brushing the hair back from her face. He nibbled on an earlobe, then the curve of her throat and the pulse at the hollow above her collar bone.

Jane closed her eyes and felt his body move over hers. Her curves fit into his bulk like a puzzle piece. His hands caressed flesh as he lifted the soft cotton of her tee and loosened hooks until her upper body was bared to him. He leaned above her and stroked a pink nipple with the palm of his hand. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.” A shiver passed over her, and she couldn’t help but feel exposed. She’d never, in her whole life, been naked in front of a man.

His attention returned to her lips, kissing her until he felt her body relax against his, and her hands gained confidence and sought his flesh, roaming under his shirt, trying to tug it above his chest. In a single move, he grabbed it by the back collar and yanked it over his head. Both of her hands splayed across his pecs failed to cover even a quarter of the expanse. He was brown and firm, thick muscles rippled as he moved.

Cradling a hand that caressed him, he gazed at her, his eyes dark with passion. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, wrapping her arms across his back and pulling him close to her.

His fingers trailed down silky skin to the button of her jeans.

His touch set off a blaze in her belly that dried her throat and barely left her able to swallow, much less speak. She closed her eyes, rested her cheek against his shoulder. His hands, so certain in their possession, left her body burning. She didn’t know what she wanted exactly. She just knew she wanted him. The feeling was new and delicious and ever so frustrating.

Moving down her body, he planted feathery kisses on her belly. He laid his head, ear down, over her belly button as his fingers traced the lace rim of her panties. “You are incredibly perfect, and as much as I would love to….” His fingers traced lazy circles across her pelvis. “I have to make sure this is really what you want.”

“I do. I swear. ” Her voice was hoarse.

He let out a fierce groan and returned his mouth to her lips. The heat and texture of his body growing more familiar as she grew bolder in her exploration, her hands moving over him, unable to get enough.

“Now. Trip. I want to know.”

He stripped off his own pants. Jane stripped off her panties and tossed them on the growing heap. He kissed her again, this time the urgency was more primal, less playful. She wrapped her legs around his and waited, anxious to know the secrets of the union of a man and a woman.

“You’re sure?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

He buried his face in her throat as he forced himself to calm down; get himself under control. He kissed her slowly, supporting his weight on an arm as he positioned her body to accept him. She gasped and pressed her back into the couch.

“You all right, baby?”

“It hurts,” she gasped. “I didn’t think it would hurt.”

“You’re a….”

Jane nodded against his chest.

“I’ll go slow. Tell me if I need to stop.” His body stopped. He nuzzled into her neck. “That better?”

Jane nodded. “It’s fine,” she lied. It still hurt. But she didn’t care. She could feel his body pulse in hers. He kissed her neck, moved down to her breast. She cradled his head and watched as his tongue flicked across her skin. His dark body against her snowy white flesh. As she watched him, amazement washed over her. His body was in hers. Burying her face in the curve of his neck, she inhaled the scent of him as she wrapped her arms over his shoulders. Digging her nails into his back, she held onto to him as if her life depended on it.

The loneliness that had been unknowingly weighing her spirit down…lifted. Encircled in arms that felt as sturdy as steel, she was safe. He would protect her. He was part of her…slowly usurping the most precious element of her. Her soul.

Chapter 21

The timer for the chicken went off. Trip groaned and held her tighter. The timer beeped again. Jane giggled. “Better get it. It will burn.”

“I don’t care—I’m not hungry.”

Jane’s belly rumbled. The smell of the feast was heavy and alluring. “Really?”

Trip shook his head. “No, I’m starved. I just don’t want to move.”

The timer seemed to beep louder.

“Oh hell, I better go. Pretty soon it will really let loose. It’ll keep beeping until the oven door is opened. Pain in the ass…bossy oven.”

Jane grinned as he pulled himself away, crawling over her, slowly kissing her as he left. He bent down and kissed her again. A long beep came from the kitchen. Trip groaned, “Damn thing’s half harpy.”

“Go,” Jane commanded giving him a swat on the butt.

“Oh,” he teased as he dressed, “you think since you’ve had your way with me you can just push me around, huh, lady?”

Jane laughed. “Yes. Yes I do.”

He stroked her cheek. “Well, you’re absolutely right.”

Jane watched him leave. She felt cold and alone with him gone. She jumped up and dressed quickly, not bothering to tuck her shirt in or put on her shoes or socks. She followed the aroma to the kitchen where she found him setting the chicken on the counter.

“I forgot to turn the roaster on. No potatoes. I blame you; you kept distracting me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said without a bit of remorse. She hugged him around the waist. He tucked her head under his chin and held her close.

“Mmm, you feel good. I could hold you forever.”

Jane smiled and nodded, not able to look at him for fear he would see the turmoil the word forever caused in her soul. He’s right here, right now. That’s all that matters she assured herself.

He kissed her, tipping her head back, his thumb pulling on her chin, opening her lips wider to kiss her deeper. Then he stopped and stepped back. “Wow. I could never get enough of you. But,” he let go of her after kissing her forehead, “I better feed you. I’d hate to have you pass out on me and miss out on all my charm.”

He opened the fridge. “Let’s see. I have biscuits left over from KFC. A salad from Boston Market. And what is this?” He opened the lid, sniffed and sealed it quickly. “Nope, that’s a science experiment.”

Jane laughed. “Biscuits and chicken and salad. Sounds good.”

“Not exactly the dinner I had planned. I was thinking much more impressive.”

“You’re in luck…nobody has ever made me dinner. I am, um, easy to impress.”

“I’m really getting a lot of mileage out of that today,” Trip blurted then blushed.

Jane felt the color splotch her cheeks, too. She smiled at him. “You were very excellent.”

He gave her arm a squeeze. His hand was warm and loving. He said, “I want very much to do everything perfectly for you. Make you happy to be with me.”

“You make me very happy.” She grinned, “See? I can’t stop smiling.”

They microwaved the biscuits, cut sloppy chunks of chicken, and sat down to eat. They ate quickly, over small talk about the dogs and work. Jane reached for butter and knocked over her glass of milk. She leaped up for a towel, but Trip was already to the cabinet and back with paper towels before she could ask where they were. “Your purse.” He pointed to her purse on the floor. The milk was running down the edge, threatening to spill over the side. Jane grabbed at it, clumsily lifting it bottom first, dumping the contents on the floor. She started picking up lip glosses and keys when Trip reached down and picked up a little photo book she carried with her.

“May I?” he asked.

She scanned her memory and decided it was safe. She nodded, then sat back down. She apologized, but he waved her off, his attention totally on her pictures.

“This you?” Jane looked over his shoulder at a skinny, bucktoothed girl. She cringed. “Yes.”

“You’re adorable.”

“I’m all teeth.”

“You’re insane. You are; you were so cute.”

He turned the page. “Aunt Tilley.” She supplied without being asked. “She raised me until I was twelve. My mother wanted to be a model, or a movie star. She didn’t have time for a daughter.”

“Sorry about—”

“Don’t be,” she interrupted. “I was better off with Aunt Tilley.”

Next page. “That’s Poppa. That’s the day I moved in. I took that picture from my new bedroom window. That’s him going into his greenhouse. You can’t really tell it’s him, but it’s one of my favorites. I was so happy to be…home.”

“Why did it take twelve years?”

“My mum…long story short…she hated Poppa. I believe she hid me to punish him, till she was so broke she had to have something to barter to get herself some money. Poppa was so happy to get me, and he gladly paid her to go away and stay out of my life.”

“Wow. I’ll stop bitching about my control freak mother.”

Jane nodded. “I am thankful she gave birth to me. That’s all I will say. She is dead and it is bad luck to speak bad of the dead.”

Trip turned the page. “That’s my puppy, Oslo.” Jane frowned. “I hope someone took him in when I left.”

Trip’s brows knitted together, but he said nothing. Next page. “Me and Poppa. My eighteenth birthday.” Next page. “Poppa’s roses. He loved those roses.” Next page, “Poppa and Sasha and me. At my flunking out of Oxford.” Jane laughed.

“Your poppa is smiling?” Trip asked in confusion. “You flunked out and he didn’t get mad?”

Jane shook her head. “I was coming home. He never really wanted me to go, I think. He just thought it was the right thing to do.”

Next page. “Sasha again. She is frowning because she hates pictures. Which is silly because she is so stunning.”

Next picture, “That’s me being silly. I read that in the old days, women would curl their hair with rags, so I rolled them all over my head. I look like a babushka. Sash thought she was getting even with me, taking a picture when I looked so awful, so I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue. I like this picture because I was so happy that day, it was right before Poppa…well, you know, before he died. I didn’t have a clue what was about to happen.”

Trip’s eyes were soft as took her hand in his. “I’m so sorry, Jane.”

“Today makes up for it.”

Trip smiled at her. Kissed her hand. “Who is the guy in the background?”

“Where?” Jane looked closer. “Oh.” She sat back in her chair. “Just Demetry. He was my security. I forget he was always there.” She closed the book and frowned.

“What did your dad do?”

“He was a vodka maker. Then he invested in energy. He had a powerful business, and in fallen Russia, he worried for my safety. People sometimes would get stolen for money. We had a few burglars.” She laughed. “That’s how we got Sasha. She came to rob Poppa, and he caught her.”

“And he took her in?”

Jane nodded. “Poppa felt guilty for Sasha. She grew up an orphan. She had nobody, and she is Chechen, and a Russian prison would not be the place for her. A lot of bad feeling between the Russians and the Chechens. And I think Poppa worried that all I had in my life were men, so Sasha made a good addition to the family.”

“So, I take it, no sisters? Any brothers?”

“Just a brother. But he and I are not so close. He is a good bit older than me. He is….” Jane thought of Nikki and wondered how to best describe him, sick bastard who would pull the wings off of flies for fun? The guy who married her mother, his father’s ex-wife? Jane shivered. There was no explaining Nikki. “He is much older. I barely know him. I am close to Sash. She is my family. I just wish I could make her past hurts go away. Then she could be made happy.”

“Can’t change the past, but maybe we can fix her up with Frankie? Both of them are surly and bitter. Might make a good match.”

“Don’t count on it. Sasha distrusts all men.”

“And Frank all women…see? They’re perfect.”

“Why? Not why do you want to fix them up, but why does he hate women?”

“I didn’t say hate. He just doesn’t trust them.”

“Ahh…so why?”

He relaxed his elbows on the counter and said with a sigh, “Ah Frank. That poor bastard has issues. His mother ditched him when he was twelve, his wife divorced him for a banker…hell, even his daughter won’t have anything to do with him. His track record with women sucks.”

“That’s sad. Poor Frankie.” She twisted a piece of paper towel between her fingers. “Was he unkind to his daughter?”

“No. Her mom moved her to Sweden when she married. Frank could only see her a few times a year, and he works in…uh…the security business; the step-dad is in banking and is rich as hell. The girl just sort of drifted toward the step-dad.”

“How awful.” She was quiet for a few minutes, rolling pieces of the paper towel into little balls and lining them up in front of her. “I don’t know if Sasha would be good fit. She is not known much for healing hearts, but for breaking them.”

Trip nodded. “I figured as much. I suppose I wasn’t ever serious about fixing them up.”

“It would be nice. Nice to see them as happy as we are. Maybe not with each other, but with somebody. I have a pain in my heart for Sash. She grew up in orphanage until she was old enough to be a runaway. She had nobody.”

Trip stood up and hugged her from behind brushing kisses along her neck. “She has you, and that makes her a very lucky woman.”

Trip nuzzled the curve of her neck and inhaled her scent. Jane’s head fell back against his chest. She closed her eyes and hugged the arms that enclosed her. “Thank you. You are sweet.” She squeezed his arms tighter to her. His closeness sent wave after wave of warm current through her body. He spun the bar stool until she was facing him. Brushing her hair back from her shoulders, he planted tantalizing kisses from her ear to her collar bone. Jane’s hands moved from his shoulders to meander across shirt-covered flesh until they were touching the bare skin of his neck. His flesh was so warm it heated her body, slowly, thoroughly, making the room warm and her breathing more labored. His lips found hers again, kissing her so deeply she believed she would melt.

She knew what promise his attention held, vague desire gone, she knew exactly what her body wanted. Him. She was lost to all rational thought. His body hard and hot against hers, his hands igniting every spot they touched, his lips teasing and tempting as he kissed her, moving fluidly from her lips to her ears, then down her neck. It was almost more than she could take. She felt his hands move under her shirt. She moaned and pulled him tighter, pulling at the buttons of his shirt. His hand cupped a naked breast. She felt her spine go weak, and her breathing was more and more labored. He pulled back, softly biting her lower lip as if it was torment to stop.

He touched her cheek so gently Jane felt her heart would burst. She smiled and took his hand in hers and kissed it. She had to be honest with this man. She had no other choice.

Tonight she would explain to Sasha. She would somehow make her understand that they could trust him. Jane had no proof, beyond that fact that her heart told her she could trust him with her life.

“Trip, I....” Jane stammered, not sure what to say.

“Do you need more time?”

“It’s not that. I just…I feel I must….” Jane’s chest squeezed and it took more effort to get air to her lungs. She took a deep breath and said, “There is so much about me you don’t know. Things I think you should know before you decide how you feel about me.”

“Nothing could ever make me change how I feel about you.”

“I still think you need to know about….”

The conversation was interrupted as a storm came in through the front door. A perfectly coiffed, blond tornado moved through the house and took them both by surprise.

“Who the hell are you?” Barbara Coulter asked, shaking a piece of paper in Jane’s face.

“Mom!” Trip yelled, using his body to block Jane from her attack. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

Barbara shoved the paper into Trip’s hands. “A Jane Mitchell doesn’t even exist. I looked her up after Olivia came to me and told me she suspected Jane might be tied to mobsters and drug dealers. I thought she was crazy, but I checked it out just to appease her. There is no Jane Mitchell, besides an old lady in Nebraska, and she sure as hell isn’t your girlfriend. So, I asked your
friends
and they were suspicious too. And what’s his name…the one from Jersey?”

“Frankie?”

“Yes, Frankie. He said he thought he recognized her friend at the party so he lifted her print off her wine glass, and we ran her through Interpol. Want to guess what we found?”

Trip looked over the Interpol report. In the right hand corner was a mug shot of Sasha, after being arrested for prostitution. Trip looked up at Jane and expected to see shock, but instead he saw guilt.

“She’s a prostitute! And
Jane
here, well, I can’t seem to find hide nor hair of her.” She approached Jane, fists balled, face contorted with anger. “So, just who the hell
are
you?”

Trip stared at the words on the paper. “What’s going on, Jane?”