He gave a powerful thrust, and he was inside her, up to the hilt. She gasped, and he moved his hips harder, driving himself yet deeper. Her eyes watered as he began to fuck her, his heavy, muscled build pumping her deep into the bedding, her hands trapped high above her head. She was coming close. Yet fear also continued to build in her chest. Desperate, she fought him again, writhing wildly to free her hands, bucking under him, heat rising, tears building in her eyes, and he took it as pleasure, as mad hunger, and he thrust harder to meet her struggle, a low groan building in his chest, sweat breaking out over his body.
“Stop,” she whispered suddenly. “Stop.Stop!” He stilled, and his eyes met hers, dark and wild. Confusion chased through his face. His erection was quivering inside her.
“Please, Maddocks,” she whispered. “Please.” He swallowed, his muscles beginning to shake against his battle to suddenly control himself, sweat slicking over his skin, and suddenly he gasped, and came powerfully, uncontrollably, inside her, his fingers digging into her flesh as his body took charge, shuddering him inside her. Tears filled her eyes as Maddocks, spent, lowered himself slowly down onto her, then rolled onto his side, withdrawing from inside her.
“Angie?” he whispered, his eyes refocusing.
Tears leaked out from the corners of her eyes, onto his covers. And she still ached with desire, and she felt shame, defeat, guilt. He stroked her cheek and moved a damp tangle of hair off her face. “Did I hurt you? What is it?”
She shook her head, unable to voice it, unable to tell him what was going on, unable to understand herself. And she was filled with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “So sorry.”
She shook her head again, wanting to say,It’s me. Not you. You’re beautiful.But emotion choked her attempt to speak, and she could see the hurt, the disappointment in his eyes. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips, then clicked off the bedside light. In the darkness he brought the covers over them both. And he simply held her, spooning her, as the boat rocked in the mounting wind, Jack-O snoring on his little mat in the cabin.
CHAPTER 48
FRIDAY, DECEMBER15
Angie surfaced as if from a black swamp of molasses. The little girl was running through the blackness in a glow of pink, feet bare, hair flowing. She had a basket in her hand this time. There were trees suddenly, tall, reaching way, way up into the sky, and dappled light came through the leaves to make gold shapes on soft spring grass, and there were dandelions. They were in Italy, there was Rome, the shining ocean, yellow sunshine, and rolling Tuscan hills. Then the sky turned to ink. Sounds of a car crashing, the sensation of it rolling seized her. She struggled to get out of the crushing metal, away from the screaming ... her mother’s voice.Flee! Get inside! No. Get out!Fighting, she battled up to the surface of consciousness, and her eyes fluttered open.
A dream. Just a dream.
She was lying on something that was rocking slightly. The scent of fresh coffee reached her.
Shock slammed through her.Cabin. Maddocks. Boat.
Sex.
Oh Jesus. She sat bolt upright. The dog was sleeping on the covers near her feet. It looked up at her with little liquid-brown eyes. She stared into those doggie eyes, feeling every bit the wretched stray. She was another Jack-O, a broken thing that James Maddocks had peeled off the metaphorical road. Tentatively, she reached out, touched the animal’s head. The fur was surprisingly soft. She smoothed it, and he did not growl. Jack-O just closed his eyes with a little sigh and dropped his head back onto the covers. It sent a funny punch to her gut.
Her attention moved toward the warm band of light seeping in through the partially open cabin door. She could hear him, Maddocks, knocking about in his tiny yacht galley. She could hear the wind still hammering, lashing at halyards and lines, sending in swells that rocked and smacked at the hull. Through the little porthole window she could see it was still dark.
Her attention flared to the clock. The digital glow showed 5:55 a.m. Friday. Work. She—they—needed to get to the station. Gathering her clothes up from the floor, Angie dressed quickly. She tied her hair back and entered the small living and galley area. Maddocks had his back to her. He was dressed in his work pants, shirt. A tie.
He turned. “Hey.” A smile creased his gorgeous face, and then he winced again. Angie’s remorse, shame, self-hatred—fear—was instant at the sight of the bandage still plastered across the bridge of his nose, the black-and-purple contusions below his eyes.
“Coffee?”
“I’d kill for some, thanks.”
“Please don’t,” he said, deepening his smile, then wincing once more as it pulled at his swollen face. He turned, reached for a mug, poured. “How do you take it?”
Never sleep with a colleague.
Never kiss.
Leave first. Leave early. No names. Never stay the night. Never breakfast the next morning. Never take one that makes you feel vulnerable in any way ... Always stay in control ...
“Actually,” she said quickly, “I think I’m good.” She reached for her boots, sat, began tugging them on.
“What about coffee?” He stood there with the steaming mug in his hand.
She came to her feet, snagged her coat off the hook. “I’ll grab some on my way.”
“Angie?”
She stilled at his tone, the gravity in his eyes.
