Heaven's Gift aka Kiss of an Angel

Chapter Four

Randal barged into J.T.'s office without knocking and thrust Caitlan into the middle of the room with such force that she stumbled. Catching her balance by grabbing one of the two chairs in front of J.T.'s desk, she shot Randal a vexed look, briefly wondering how she was going to explain herself out of this predicament.

J.T. glanced up from the open ledger on his desk to the unexpected intrusion, a deep frown pulling at his brows. Casting a sharp glance from Randal to Caitlan, he closed the ledger and pushed it aside. "What's going on?"

Taking up guard next to Caitlan, Randal crossed his arms over his chest, a look of belligerence about him. "We have a liar on our hands."

"Randal, what the hell are you talking about?" J.T. asked irritably. Standing, he rubbed at the muscles in his neck.

Randal glanced at Caitlan, a cocksure smile curling his lips. "Would you like to tell him or should I?"

"It's your story," she replied sweetly. "By all means, go right ahead."

His eyes darkened to a turbulent shade of brown at the sarcasm threading her words; then he turned to J.T. again. "I called Parson's to check up on our guest. They've never heard of her," he said, his voice dripping with accusation.

Something flickered in the depths of J.T.'s eyes, a blending of wariness and his own growing suspicion. "Caitlan?" His tone indicated that he wanted an explanation.

She shrugged negligently, belying the nervousness settling within her. "I told him they must have made a mistake."

Their eyes held for an eternity, his gaze searching and probing for the truth. Finally he released a long breath of air. "She's probably right, Randal."

"She's a fraud, J.T.!" Randal stepped up to the desk and planted his palms on the surface, leaning across. "She shows up out of nowhere, has free access to the ranch and house, and she isn't registered at Parson's. She's probably a gold digger of some sort, no better than Stacey-"

A muscle in J.T.'s jaw twitched. "Randal-"

"I was very thorough when I called Parson's," he continued determinedly. "The registration clerk, Jason, assured me that there's no Caitlan Daniels listed as a guest. If you don't believe me, then call yourself. Or does she have you too ensnared?" His eyes glinted with challenge. Digging into his jacket pocket, he tossed a piece of paper with a phone number on it to J.T. "Go ahead, and then I'll be more than happy to call the sheriff to come pick her up."

Indecision played across J.T.'s face, and his cousin's influence won the battle. With a sigh, he reached for the phone.

Caitlan honestly didn't expect J.T. to side with her after all the evidence Randal had just given him, but she couldn't understand why J.T. wasn't suspicious of Randal's overzealousness. With a sense of dread, she watched J.T. punch out the phone number for Parson's, identify himself to the person on the other end of the phone, then ask to speak with Hugh Parson.

J.T. glanced at Caitlan as he waited on hold for his call to connect to Hugh. She was chewing on her bottom lip, her face shadowed with an emotion similiar to worry. This whole confrontation in his office was bizarre: Randal's fanatical conduct, Caitlan's sudden anxiousness, and his own need to confirm that Randal was wrong about Caitlan. He didn't want to think that everything had been a lie with her, a setup of some kind.

Dammit, he didn't want to think she might be as cunning as Stacey.

"Rafferty, what can I do for you?" boomed the voice of the sixty-four-year-old Hugh Parson. "You callin' to offer some of that brawn of yours to help repair the bridge?"

J.T. grinned his fondness for the old family friend. "Sorry, Hugh. I've got my hands full here at the Circle R."

"Yeah, well, those damn county engineers don't know their heads from a hat rack!" Hugh grumbled. "At the rate they're going, I'll be bankrupt before they're through! Can't get people in, can't send them out. Can you believe this has happened? I'd of sworn that bridge was indestructible. It's been around since your father and I were boys. We watched them build the dang-blasted thing!"

J.T. gave a low whistle. "That long ago, huh? Maybe that's why it collapsed."

"Hey, watch yourself, boy!" Hugh's gruff retort held only affection. "Now, what can I do for you?"

J.T. met Caitlan's gaze, and she offered him a slight smile more tentative than confident. Clearing his throat, he addressed the older man, "I believe I have one of your guests here on my ranch."

"You do?"

"Yes," J.T. said, uneasy with Hugh's perplexed tone. "I need to know if you have a Caitlan Daniels registered at the dude ranch."

"Caitlan Daniels?" Hugh repeated the name slowly, as if running a mental index on all his customers. "Can't say the name sounds familiar, but then, I've got over fifty people registered right now. Unfortunately, I don't know everyone by name, but that doesn't mean she's not a guest here."

"Could you check her out for me?"

"I could, but the storm did a number on my computers and they're down," Hugh said with a regretful sigh. "Don't know when they'll be up and runnin' again. I can check with the guides and see what I come up with."

"I'd appreciate that."

"I'm sure if she says she's one of our guests, she is. Where else could she have come from?"

Exactly, J.T. thought. How many times had he speculated on that very same question?

"I'm just glad she wasn't harmed in that nasty storm," Hugh said, concern evident in his voice.

"She's just fine," J.T. reassured him. "So don't worry about her."

There was a pause on Hugh's end of the line, then, "If the bridge is out, how the hell did she get on Rafferty property?"

"She crossed the bridge before it was damaged."

Hugh swore. "No kidding?"

"That's what she claims."

Hugh released an abrupt laugh. "Stranger things have happened. In this business you learn to expect the unexpected."

Randal moved toward J.T.'s desk, fury contorting his features. "I called and they confirmed that she's not a guest!" he said in a burst of anger. "She's a fraud, I'm telling you."

J.T. stared at Randal. The injustice and rage in Randal's gaze spurred him to follow up on his cousin's accusation, if only to appease Randal. Caitlan's chin had lifted indignantly at Randal's slur, which gave J.T. a slight reassurance that her claim was fact, not fiction. Still, a sense of suspicion lingered.

"Hugh, Randal called earlier and talked to the registration clerk. Jason told him there wasn't a Caitlan Daniels registered there."

"With the computers being down, there's no way to know that for certain," Hugh replied. "Jason's a new guy, and everything's been so hectic around here. One little sleet storm and everything falls to sh-"

"Thanks for your help, Hugh," J.T. interrupted the man's tirade, more concerned with Randal's increasing temper.

"It won't be a problem if she stays at the ranch until everything gets halfway back to normal, will it?" Hugh asked hopefully. "We're looking into chartering a helicopter to transport food and supplies in and out, but until the bridge is repaired, the fewer people I have here to get in the way, the better."

"It's not a problem, Hugh. We'll keep in touch."

J.T. hung up the phone and looked at Randal. "The computers at Parson's are down, but Hugh seems to think she's more than likely a guest there." What other explanation could there be?

"She's lying!" Randal said through gritted teeth.

J.T. glanced at Caitlan, searching for the perfidious woman Randal claimed her to be. All he saw was the caring woman who'd saved him from death. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly tired of doubting her motives. "Caitlan's given me no reason to believe she's lying."

Randal's nostrils flared; then he spun around and glared at Caitlan. Without a word he stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. J.T. winced as the sharp sound reverberated through his aching head like a cannon shot.

"I'm sorry." Caitlan's soft voice drifted over J.T. like a balm. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."

J.T. released a long, controlled breath. "No, I should be the one apologizing. I don't know what Randal's problem is." Letting loose a dry laugh, he plowed his fingers through his hair in an agitated movement. "Hell, who am I foolin'? I know exactly what his problem is. Too much booze and too many obligations and debts dumped on him by his old man. I guess I'd be pretty strung out if I were in his shoes."

"He's had a rough life?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Want to talk about it?" Her silky voice could have coaxed a confession from the devil himself.

Dropping into his leather chair, J.T. scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. He figured he owed Caitlan the truth after everything Randal had put her through in the short time she'd been at the ranch. Maybe if he explained, she'd better understand his cousin's resentment and bitterness. And maybe if he talked to Caitlan he could work out some of his own frustration over the situation. "You sure you wanna hear this?"

An encouraging smile on her lips, she lowered herself into the chair in front of his desk. "I've been told I'm a good listener."

And that's exactly what he needed right now, besides an aspirin for the splitting headache spawned by Randal's abuse with the door. J.T. leaned back in his chair. "My Uncle Boyd, Randal's father, never did care for ranching life. He was always looking for an easy investment. When some guy from town offered him a copper mine sure to produce millions, Uncle Boyd sold his portion of this ranch to my father, Jared."

"How long ago was that?"

J.T. thought for a moment, a little surprised to realize just how long ago the trouble had actually started. "About fourteen years ago." He pressed his index finger to the throb in his temple and the pain eased.

"So what happened?" she asked, genuine interest in her voice.

"Uncle Boyd sank every penny he had into his mine, but he couldn't produce enough copper to stay afloat. The mine played out after a few years, and Uncle Boyd lost everything."

"Everything?"

"Yep. His house, his truck, his wife-"

"His wife?" She frowned, her smooth brows furrowing over violet eyes. "Did she die?"

"No. Aunt Gina left Uncle Boyd after he went bankrupt."

Caitlan straightened in her chair, contempt flaring in her gaze. "She should have stayed by his side-"

"She probably would have if Uncle Boyd hadn't been abusing her."

Caitlan sucked in an audible breath. The spark in her eyes mellowed to sympathy. "That's horrible. Why would he do such a thing?"

"My best guess would be so he'd feel like a man. After Uncle Boyd lost everything he had no choice but to tuck his tail between his legs, swallow his pride, and come to work for my father on a ranch that had once been half his. He was hard to get along with, always drunk and taking his anger out on the livestock and anything and anyone who'd take it."

"And your father allowed him to continue working on the ranch?"

J.T. picked up a gold-plated letter opener from his desk and slid his fingers along the smooth surface, remembering all the tension and arguments between his father and Uncle Boyd, and his dad's answer when J.T. had asked him a question similar to Caitlan's. Jared had slapped him on the back and looked him straight in the eye, saying, "You never turn your back on family, son. Someday it might be you who needs a helping hand."

Tossing the letter opener back onto the blotter, he met Caitlan's inquisitive gaze. "Uncle Boyd was family, Caitlan. My father's brother. He had no one and nowhere to go. The Raffertys are a loyal bunch. We take care of our own. I guess that's why I put up with Randal."

Caitlan rubbed her thumb along the leather arm of her chair, head tilted curiously to the side. "But what does Randal have to be so angry about?"

J.T. smiled sadly. "When my father died two years ago I inherited the ranch. Rightfully, half should have belonged to Randal, but since Uncle Boyd sold his half to my father, Randal got nothing. Two months ago my uncle committed suicide and left Randal a mountain of debts as his inheritance. I really can't blame Randal for being resentful. Uncle Boyd wasn't the easiest man to live with, and he never should have sold his portion of the ranch to invest in something as chancy as a copper mine.

"The least I can do is try and help Randal out. I pay him well as a hand, he has his own cabin to live in, and I'm helping to pay off his father's debts. I'm hoping in time he'll come around. Things have been difficult for Randal since Uncle Boyd died."

A hint of a smile touched the comers of Caitlan's mouth. "You mean Randal used to be a nice guy?"

J.T. chuckled, unable to miss the dry humor in Caitlan's tone. "Not in the traditional sense. He's always been short-tempered and extremely competitive, especially with me." He shrugged. "I've grown used to it."

"He's lucky to have you for a cousin. I don't think anyone else would put up with his temper."

"Like I said, he's family. I'll do what I can to help him." J.T. sat up, deciding he'd revealed enough family secrets for one evening. Putting away the ledger, he shuffled some papers on his desk into a neat pile. He hadn't meant to go on and on, but Caitlan had been so easy to talk to. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such an unreserved conversation with a woman, without the pretense of something more.

He glanced up and found her studying him intently. Growing increasingly uncomfortable under her scrutiny, he asked, "What's the matter?"

Speculation simmered in her eyes. "I was just wondering… do you think Randal would try to harm you?"

Something in her gaze made him decidedly restless, a perceptiveness that went as deep as he could see. He knew exactly what Caitlan was get ting at, pinpointing Randal as a suspect for his accident, and quickly shook his head. "No. Randal's hotheaded, but he's pretty harmless. All talk and no action, I've learned. He's just bitter over his father's mistake, and the debts he's responsible for, which is understandable." But his cousin's drinking habit was another matter, J. T. thought, especially since it was starting to affect his work.

The ache in his temples had worked its way up to where he'd been hit in the head. He needed rest, he decided, watching as Caitlan stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books. Clasping her hands behind her back, she casually examined the titles. Now that the crisis with Randal was over, and an explanation given for his cousin's odd behavior, J. T. couldn't help but consider the intimacy of Caitlan alone with him in his office, and the endless possibilities of such a confinement. Shifting restlessly in his chair, he tried to shake off the provocative thoughts invading his mind.

"I see you're a fan of Stephen King and John Grisham," she commented. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him, and in the next instant an incredible awareness, as vital and hot as flame, settled between them. Fast as lightning, the easy friendship they'd established altered to a sexually charged energy that arced the distance between them.

J.T. saw the awakening glint in her eyes, felt he sensuality of new discovery cloak the room. Her hair feathered softly around her face, and as he dropped his gaze to her mouth, lips moist and slightly parted, an achy emptiness settled deep inside him.

Abruptly, he stood, determined to send her on her way before he took full advantage of the soft invitation and curiosity in her gaze. "It's been a long day and my head is killing me," he said, which wasn't a total lie. His head was killing him, the throb unmerciful. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to turn in."

Caitlan started toward him, concern dissolving the desire of moments before. "Are you going to be okay? Maybe I should check the bump on your head."

His thoughts took an inappropriate turn as she neared. Damn, the last thing he wanted from her was mothering. He wanted something hot and basic, her warm, soft feminine body to lose himself in. And something more. He longed for the temptation of tenderness and care in Caitlan's violet eyes. But he'd be no better than a thief if he gave into his greed, because he'd give her absolutely nothing in return. At least not what a woman with her capacity to care truly deserved: love and affection, laughter and joy. And promises.

She skirted the desk, and before she could touch him he stepped away so his chair separated them. He ignored her perplexed look. "I'm sure this is just a backlash of all the excitement of today. All I need is some sleep. Did Laura show you the guest room?"

Caitlan nodded. "Yes." It's the room beside yours. "And your sister loaned me some clothes. Your family is wonderful. Everyone has been so nice about me being here."

"Everyone except Randal," he stated.

She shrugged. "I'll just stay out of his way and I'll be fine."

J.T. jammed his hands on his hips and held her gaze steadily. "Stay out of everyone's way, Caitlan," he ordered, a hard edge to his voice. "Like I told you before, I don't want my men distracted."

His commanding tone made her bristle defensively, and her chin shot up a notch. "Fine."

There was something in his look, something very explicit and very male. A challenge of sorts with a sexual undertone. The heated message in his gaze said he wanted her, in the simplest, most primitive way. Her pulse quickened and she struggled for breath, drawing in the scent of musk and man. A familiarity in those darkening green-gold eyes of his reached deep inside her and tugged, demanding her attention. Yet she couldn't quite focus on the images, and when she tried her medallion scorched her skin.

J.T. swore under his breath and shoved his fingers through his hair in a frustrated gesture. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going up to bed."

Caitlan watched him start for the door, wishing for the easy truce they'd shared before this startling awareness had intruded. In an effort to make amends she quickly asked, "Would you happen to have a pencil and pad of paper I could borrow?"

Turning, he frowned at her request. "Somewhere in one of those drawers I do." He made his way back to the side of the desk. "Mind me asking what you need it for?"

Noticing that the harsh lines between his brows were no longer present, she smiled. "I'm not really tired and I like to sketch. It helps me to relax."

"Sketch?" He lifted a brow. "That's right. You're an illustrator." Opening a drawer, he rummaged through the contents and withdrew a pad of unlined paper. He began setting supplies on the desk. "Here you go. Paper, a pencil… and a sharpener." He placed the red heart-shaped sharpener on the blotter, then glanced at Caitlan, a boyish smile curving his lips. "A Valentine's Day gift from Laura," he explained.

"I'll be sure to return it." She picked up the novelty item, relieved that he wouldn't be going to bed angry at her. No sense complicating her job any more than necessary. She headed for the door and turned just before leaving. "Well, good night, J.T. I'll see you in the morning."

"No, you won't." He rubbed his forehead and winced, then opened another drawer and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. "I'll be out of the house before you get up."

She watched him toss back two aspirins and swallow them dry. He closed his eyes, his face pale. Faint lines of pain bracketed the corners of his eyes. He wasn't in any shape to work tomorrow, but she knew her suggestion to stay indoors would only anger him.

Drawing a deep breath, he opened his eyes, grimacing at being caught in a moment of weakness. "Good night, Caitlan," he said, an obvious dismissal.

"Good night." Hugging the pad of paper to her chest, she slipped from the room.

The old grandfather clock in the living room chimed one o'clock, intruding on the quiet stillness of the house. Everyone had retired hours before. Unable to sleep, Caitlan sat on the padded cushion in the window seat next to the couch, sketching by the light of the full moon streaming through the curtainless window. She didn't need the light; the force of the visions she saw in her mind were so powerful and overwhelming, she could have reproduced them blindfolded.

Legs drawn up and the extra-large University of Idaho jersey she'd borrowed from Laura to sleep in covering her knees, she rested her pad against her thighs and let the strong images guide the strokes of her pencil across the paper.

The scratch of lead against paper soothed Caitlan in a way nothing else could.

The face of a young boy haunted her, and she duplicated every feature with precision, right down to the stubborn tilt to his chin and the rebel stance. A thick, untamable crop of hair rumpled around his head, a swath falling over his high forehead. His mouth, even in youth, was cut sensually, with the firm upper lip and the bottom full and lush.

She'd always had a natural talent for drawing and enjoyed using the skill while on a mission to pass idle time. Tonight, however, she was compelled to draw, and the pictures she created confused her. The boy she'd drawn was familiar to her, but where and how did she know him? Had she been his guardian angel at one time? And why, when she closed her eyes, did she see flashes of him and a blond-haired girl running across a pasture together, laughing and smiling at one another? The two were in love, she realized. Even at their young age the emotion shone in their gaze.

Caitlan blinked her eyes open, erasing the images. A pang of longing swept through her, a wave so strong it left her breathless. Staring at the sketch of the boy, she concentrated, digging deep into her mind for the mysterious connection tugging at her. A man's features materialized, but before she could bring them into sharper focus, a pain seized her temples. Gasping at the assault, she mentally recoiled, abandoning the thin, wispy vision. Beneath her jersey the medallion heated, tingling like fire upon her flesh. Grabbing the pendant in her shirt, she waited until the gold cooled before letting it rest against her skin again. For a reason she didn't understand her subconscious wasn't allowing her to trespass into certain regions of her memory.

Drawing in a slow, steadying breath, Caitlan willed herself to relax. Glancing out the window to the shadowed darkness beyond, she thought about her mission. She was glad J.T. had confided in her earlier about Randal. Now she understood Randal's motivation for trying to harm J.T.: greed and resentment. This wouldn't be the first time she'd played guardian to those evil elements.

However, her response to J.T. was another matter altogether. This was the first time she'd ever felt desire for a mortal as a guardian. A shameless wanting that whispered provocatively to her senses. What would it be like to kiss him again, this time without him thinking her another woman? Realizing how selfish her thoughts were, she silently chastised herself. Nothing could come of them being together. Soon she would be gone, and she'd be nothing more than a faded memory to J.T. She didn't need the added complication of their attraction while she protected him.

The old ranch house creaked and settled and Caitlan glanced toward the staircase leading to the second floor. She wondered if J.T. slept well, or if his head was still giving him problems. She'd healed the worst of the wound, but a tortuous headache wouldn't be uncommon as a repercussion to the deep gash he'd actually suffered.

Before she could analyze her true intent, she stood and padded across the floor and up the stairs, telling herself the whole way that the urge to check on J.T. was purely maternal. Turning the knob, she slowly opened his door, grimacing when the hinges gave a small squeak of protest. She waited and watched the form on the bed, illuminated by the beam of moonlight filtering through the window. No movement. Soundlessly, she crossed to the bed, careful not to trip over the jeans and briefs heaped on the floor.

J.T. lay on his back, gloriously naked, limbs sprawled, the blanket tangled at the foot of the bed. The only thing affording him a measure of modesty was the thin cotton sheet draped over one leg and the juncture of his thighs. Searching his face, she found his features relaxed and softened by slumber. He looked peaceful. His breathing was steady and deep. Even after she reassured herself he was fine, she didn't leave.

The muscular contours of his body fascinated her even though she'd seen him naked before. She followed the light sprinkling of hair covering his wide chest down to a stomach washboard lean. She wanted to touch him there, feel the strength of work-toughened muscles flex beneath her fingertips. His hip was bare, tapering to a hard, muscular thigh. Even his calf was defined and lean.

A slow heat flowed through Caitlan, that curious desire coiling like a tight spring inside her. Leisurely, she journeyed back up the length of his body-until her gaze collided with his wide-eyed stare. She froze, her heart slamming against her ribs. She made a move to turn, but he was faster. Lunging at her, his hand manacled her wrist and jerked her toward the bed. With a soft gasp of surprise, she stumbled and fell on him. Still holding her wrist, he rolled, pinning her beneath the heavy weight of his body. It all happened so fast, Caitlan's head spun.

The unexpected attack was like the one in the line shack while he'd been delirious, but this time he wasn't sleeping or dreaming. His eyes were wide open, hot and fierce-predatory and a little savage, like a hunter gone too long without capturing his prey.

In the fray, her shirt had worked its way up to her hips. He'd wedged a thigh between hers. The sheet no longer providing a barrier between them, she couldn't miss the hard, heated length of him pressing against her thigh. Their position was compromising, thrilling, and arousing in a way that should have shocked her but instead sent uninhibited quivers racing through her body.

She swallowed hard and found her voice. "What are you doing?"

"More like what are you doing in mybedroom?" he countered in a low, husky voice. "A woman usually comes to a man's bed uninvited for one reason only. Are you looking to finish what we started this morning in the line shack?"

"No." She tried to move away, but his body was hard and solid as a rock. She wouldn't be able to escape until he allowed her to. The hand that had so deftly grabbed her now secured her wrist at the side of her head. The other hand cupped the back of her head, his long fingers tangled in her hair, his thumb grazing the shell of her ear. She shivered.

Releasing her wrist, he picked up a strand of her hair and absently rubbed it between his fingers. "Then what are you doing in here?"

Her free hand came between them as a safety precaution, her palm flattening on his chest. Upon contact, warm, firm muscles bunched and rippled, but he didn't move. "I only wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay."

Frowning slightly, he gazed into her eyes. "Why do you care?"

"I don't know why, but I do." And that was the truth. She cared more than was appropriate, but she didn't understand why. She needed and wanted him in ways that frightened her. He felt like a missing part of her soul.

Slowly, he trailed a finger down her cheek, his gaze warm and sensual as his eyes tracked the path of his touch. His thumb stroked over her bottom lip, then tugged so his finger could slide along the edge of her teeth. A sensation laboring between fever and chill swept down Caitlan's spine. Feeling frantic and trapped, she pushed at his chest and tried twisting away. "Please, let me up."

"No." He grabbed her hip to still her, his strong fingers biting into her flesh. His other hand tightened at the back of her head, holding her hostage.

Spears of fire shot along her nerve endings. Continuous waves of heat and sensation found their destination in the tips of her breasts and that secret place where his thigh fit so snugly. Eyes darkening, he lowered his head, skimming his lips over her jaw to her ear. He gently bit the sensitive skin just below her lobe, then soothed the nip with his soft, damp tongue.

Caitlan gasped, her breath caught between her lungs and throat. A delicious pressure contracted in her belly, spreading lower like liquid heat spilling through her veins. "J.T." The feeble protest sounded more like a breathy plea for more.

Lifting his head, he looked into her eyes, a lazy, sexy smile curving his mouth. "I want to kiss you while I'm wide awake. I want to see if you taste as good as you did in my dreams."

"No-"

"Yes. You came in here, Caitlan," he reminded her. "If you want to leave, it'll cost you." J.T. nuzzled her neck, intoxicating himself with her soft, feminine scent. "I think a kiss is just punishment for sneaking around like a thief in the night," he murmured, hoping one kiss would be enough to get her out of his system.

"We can't," she whispered.

He kissed her mouth softly, ran his tongue playfully across her bottom lip, melting her resolve. "You're not in a position to argue."

The hand on his chest slackened considerably, but her taut body had yet to fully warm to the idea. "One kiss and you'll let me go?"

"Unless you want more." Before she could utter another word, he dropped his mouth over hers, parted her lips with his, and slid his tongue inside that warm, wet cavern. Every male instinct urged him to be greedy, to give her a hot, carnal kiss that would warn her of the possibility of him possessing her body in the same way, but something held him back. He wanted to savor the sweet taste of her, the way she gave so freely and responded so openly. So trustingly.

Deliberately, he made the kiss slow and long and lazy. His tongue coaxed hers to join the sensual foray, and after a timid minute she did. The silken glide of tongues tangling sent a shaft of heat to J.T.'s groin and hardened every muscle in his body.

A deep-throated, arousing moan escaped her, and she grew pliant beneath him, relaxing. Her thighs moved restlessly against his, and she arched sinuously, seeking more contact.

The plan to drive her from his mind with one kiss backfired. Needing more from her than he knew he had the right to take, he ignored the little voice in his head telling him to stop, before it was too late. Letting go of her hip, he reached down and slid his fingers around the back of her left knee, stroking the soft, sensitive flesh there.

Her breath caught at the electric caress, and he swallowed another one of her sexy moans. For a moment he wondered if Caitlan had a birthmark in the bend of her knee, just like Amanda, then decided he didn't really want to know. He didn't really care, because the only woman he wanted right now was Caitlan. He wanted her to fill the loneliness that was more profound when he was near her. He wanted to take her, over and over again, in every way, until she no longer threatened the barricades he'd built around his heart.

Keeping her mouth occupied with his languid kiss, he drew her leg tight over his hip, brought her as close as her silky panties would allow, and slowly slid his palm up the back of her thigh. Cupping her bottom, he squeezed the flesh gently, appreciatively, then continued on, slipping his hand beneath her shirt and over her quivering belly. Her bare skin was soft and fine as gossamer. God, had he ever touched anything so exquisite before?

The tiny, mindless sounds she made inflamed him. He broke the kiss and stared at her face, taking in her swollen lips and the desire and confusion blending in her eyes. And probing questions he wasn't prepared to answer, like, what was happening between them?

Raw need tore a shudder from him, and he argued with his conscience, telling himself he only wanted sex from Caitlan, not the tender promises of forever shimmering in her eyes. He hated this weakness and vulnerability he felt with her, this gut-wrenching need, and the way she made him feel so alive, as if he'd been dead inside until her.

Dammit, no! Attempting to convince himself this was nothing more than a physical encounter, he boldly swept his hand upward, swallowing her breast in his large palm. His fingers kneaded the flesh, making the mound swell and peak at his command.

Shock registered in her eyes, and she stiffened, her hands gripping his arms. Before she could object, he moved down and bent his head, taking the pebbled tip of her breast into his mouth, suckling her through the cotton of her shirt.

A gasp of stunned pleasure passed her lips, and her fingers sank into his hair, pulling him closer, her back arching. Then, suddenly, she was pushing him away, as if he was taking her to the point of no return and she wasn't sure she wanted to go.

"We can't," she said, squirming desperately to stop him. "Please, J.T., let me go."

The fear and panic lacing her voice stopped him cold. He was moving too fast, scaring her, scaring himself with the intense intimacy luring him deeper into her clutches. He withdrew his hand from her shirt. Anger coiled in him. Dammit, when had things gotten so out of control?

"I'll let you go," he said evenly, raising those walls up around him again so she couldn't get too close, "but the next time you come in here in the middle of the night, I'll assume you want to share my bed, and not to sleep. And let me warn you up front, if we do make love, I don't make promises. I'm not looking for a woman in my life or a commitment, so keep that in mind." Her gaze clouded with hurt at his callous words, but he knew this would be for the best-for both of them. These were rules he lived by, no exceptions. "I want you, Caitlan, more than I've wanted any woman in a long, long time. But it's sex. Nothing more, nothing less."

She stared at him for long seconds, then reached up and touched his jaw, her brows drawn in a contemplative frown. "Your heart is bruised," she said so softly he almost didn't hear her.

Her see-through-him gaze seared his soul. Hardening himself against the tug-of-war with his emotions, he forced a harshness to his voice. "It's completely shattered, Caitlan. I lost any softness or tenderness long ago. If you let me, I'll take and take and give nothingin return. I have nothing to give, so don't get it into your foolish head that you're just the woman to repair my heart. And don't make the mistake of thinking my desire for you is something more; you'll only get yourself hurt. I have nothing left to give a woman, Caitlan. Any woman."

She shook her head, wisdom lighting her eyes. "I don't believe that."

"Believe what you want, but consider yourself warned." He rolled completely off her and let his gaze take in the disheveled length of her, then noticed she was looking at that traitorous part of him still eager to consummate what they'd started.

Leaning close, he made sure she didn't miss the warning in his tone. "I'm about two seconds from stripping you naked and easing this ache of mine, so I suggest you leave while I'll still let you." He ran his fingers purposely up her thigh, and she jackknifed into a sitting position. Grimly, he said, "Go, Caitlan. Now!"

He watched as she slid from the bed and bolted from the room as if the devil was on her heels.

Caitlan closed the door to the guest bedroom and leaned against the slab of wood for support, her legs trembling in a series of gentle aftershocks. Heaven help her, she could still feel the imprint of J.T.'s hard body pressing into hers, could still taste the sleepy warmth and male earthiness of him in her mouth. Flattening her palms to her burning cheeks, she tried to calm the fine tremors running the length of her body.

In the darkness, she felt the damp material of her shirt where he'd suckled her nipple to an aching peak. The pleasure he'd given her at that moment had been so intense, her desire for him nearly overwhelming, she'd wanted to drown in the exquisite sensations. A dart of heat shot to her abdomen when she thought how his mouth and hands brought a part of her to life, real life, and how she'd craved more contact and deeper, more intimate touches. As her body blossomed with each kiss and bold caress, a deeper need had settled in, pulling her under and opening herself to him, physically and emotionally. Powerfully. Her soul felt the rightness of the connection, yearned for a joining that tugged at her heart. She'd almost given in…

And then the purpose for being at J.T.'s ranch wove through her mind, jolting her past the passion clouding her judgment and thrusting her back to her responsibilities as a guardian angel-none of which included making love with her ward. Thank goodness J.T. had let her go. But not until after a lecture from him, a warning she'd be smart to heed. For his sake as well as her own.

Feeling more stable, Caitlan walked across the room and pulled back the covers on the bed and slipped between the sheets. Lying there, she stared at the ceiling, replaying J.T.'s words in her mind. I have nothing left to give echoed in her head and brushed across the surface of her heart. And why did she want to be the one to give him joy again?

"Oh, Caitlan, your thoughts are futile," she whispered to herself. "You know you can't allow this attraction to interfere with your mission. How would you explain that mess to the Superiors?"

Rolling to her side, she tucked her hands beneath her pillow, deciding the best course of action would be to act as if tonight had never happened when she next saw J.T. A dry laugh escaped her. Wish for a mortal life while you're at it, Caitlan. There was no way in heaven she could forget the shameless way her body had responded to his, that a look from him could make her breathless with sensual anticipation.

Her groan of dismay broke the silence in the room. She was here to protect J.T., but who would protect her from this forbidden desire she had for him?