Loves Me, Loves Me Knot

Knit 11

The cold fear that had wrapped itself around Jenna’s heart only moments before melted and turned into a pool of uncertain longing low in her belly.

Did she want this? Was she ready for it?

Tricking Gage into coming over and seducing him in a no-strings-attached effort to get pregnant was one thing. Sleeping with him when they were both alert and willing, with no ulterior motives, was something else entirely.

Rather than struggle or insist he put her down, she let him carry her up the stairs, enjoying the gentle sway and bounce as she rested against his chest and he took the steps carefully one by one. She told herself she was buying time to decide what to do.

Stay or go? Argue or capitulate? Be strong or give in just for this one night?

Spending the rest of the night in Gage’s arms would certainly drive away the last vestiges of a nightmare she never wanted to experience again.

At the memory, a shiver of alarm trickled down her spine. She hated dreaming bad things about Gage. Hated it when her subconscious created all kinds of terrible, horrific images that she wouldn’t let herself think about during her waking hours.

Seeing him shot and bleeding to death in some dark alley. Seeing him surrounded by nameless, faceless lowlifes who obviously meant him harm.

And yes, even after they separated and divorced, she still experienced the occasional nightmare about his well-being.

Jenna closed her eyes where her head rested against Gage’s strong, hard shoulder, and bit the inside of her lip to keep from groaning aloud.

She was such a mess! How did a woman her age, with her level of education and what she thought was a normal, decent amount of common sense, end up at the center of such a soap opera?

Oh, Lord. Her life was like a chapter out of some Latin-American telenovela. Maybe she should throw her head back, put a hand to her forehead, and start speaking in rapid Spanish. A good swoon definitely couldn’t hurt.

Gage rounded the corner into the small guest bedroom, careful not to bump her into the doorjamb.

She was no closer to knowing whether or not she should go through with this, but it seemed the decision was being taken out of her hands. There was the small, narrow bed, covers thrown back and rumpled from his own few hours of sleep. The room was dark, with only a faint trace of moonlight spilling through the open curtains on the lone window.

And God help her, she actually found it romantic. Alone with her ex-husband in this tiny, cramped room, him carrying her up the stairs to bed like some medieval knight.

Sigh. If she hadn’t slaked her lust with him multiple times only last night, she would definitely be thinking that she needed to get laid.

And maybe she did. Maybe she was like a plant gone too long without water. It had been so long since she’d had sex that last night had barely made a dent. She might need to do it again and again and again before her thirst would be assuaged and the color would start to come back to her leaves.

It was simple biology, really, and who was she to go against the laws of nature?

Mind made up, Jenna relaxed, let her body go slack, and breathed out a soft sigh as Gage leaned over to place her gently on the bed. Her eyes fluttered closed and she waited, taut with expectation, for him to follow her down, for the solid weight of his large frame to cover her, press her into the mattress, and for his lips to lightly touch hers.

Breathlessly, she waited.

And waited.

And…

What the heck was taking so long?

She let one eye open a crack and found him standing in the doorway, hand resting lightly on the jamb, his broad, bare back facing her instead of his… well, instead of his face.

“ ’Night,” he murmured, and started to walk away. “Sleep well.”

Sleep well? Sleep well? What had happened to serving her a plate of piping-hot sex to drive away her bad dreams?

Hmph.

She sat up, this close to saying, Hey, where the heck do you think you’re going?! Get over here and make me scream, darn you! but caught herself just in time. In a calm tone, she called his name instead.

He turned, arm still raised against the doorway. “Yeah?”

“Will you stay with me?”

It wasn’t what she’d planned to say. But it slipped out all the same, and as soon as the words passed her lips, she knew they were right, that it was what she wanted.

He considered her request for a long, drawn-out moment, his chest yielding slightly as he seemed to make up his mind-possibly against his better judgment, if she was reading his body language correctly.

His arm dropped from the doorjamb and he turned back toward her. “Sure.”

He slowly crossed the room, and she took the opportunity to admire his amazing physique, regardless of the silent message it might be sending. If attraction alone could have kept their marriage afloat, they’d have been celebrating their golden anniversary eons before she’d have ever considered leaving him. Because his body was, quite simply, beautiful.

Every line, every plane, every firm muscle and smooth expanse of skin. And the tattoos were sexy as hell.

The vine around his left bicep bulged when he moved. Even with the slightest motion, like crossing a room the way he was doing now. He didn’t have to flex or posture for the black tribal cuff to come alive.

And lower, just above the waistband of his black boxer briefs, along his left side, were the colorful scales of a portion of the dragon’s tail. Bright green, but with shades of other colors mixed in to give the illusion of iridescence and sharp black outlining.

She wanted to reach out and touch, the way she had last night, whether he knew it or not. She’d trailed her fingers over the bright orange flames gracing his right shoulder and down the narrowing end of the dragon’s tail where it hugged his hip and pelvic bone and led directly to the portion of his anatomy that made him a most impressive male specimen, indeed.

Given his apparent reluctance at the moment, however, she wasn’t sure he’d appreciate her pouncing on him and stroking him from head to groin. Not just yet, anyway, but with luck that would come.

So instead, she curled her fingers into her palm where they rested atop her thigh and scooted to the far side of the bed as he approached. He paused for a second, as though contemplating the wisdom of his next move, then fluffed the pillow against the headboard and stretched out beside her.

Even with as little room as the bed provided, they didn’t touch. Jenna didn’t know if it was by happenstance or design, but she didn’t intend to let it pass for long.

Once he’d settled in and seemed to relax a bit, she shifted back and stretched out beside him. Very close beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and her calf over his lower thigh.

Reluctantly, he brought an arm up to brace her in place, his heat scorching down her back and around her waist. She draped her own arm lightly across his flat stomach and let her eyes drift shut on a sigh.

Oh, how she’d missed moments like this with this man.

Divorce definitely wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Everyone talked about how freeing it was. How great it was to be away from a bad situation, to start over, to experience true independence again.

For Jenna, divorce had just been awkward and lonely.

Yes, she’d been the one to file. And she still maintained that it was the right decision. At the time, there really hadn’t been any other choice; things weren’t changing and they couldn’t continue on the way they’d been going.

She’d never been sorry for the decisions she’d made, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t sometimes sorry about the way things had turned out. It was one of those fun little hiccups in life that left a person smack-dab between a rock and a hard place.

Sometimes, when she was feeling particularly alone and the silence of her apartment started to close in on her, she actually wished her split from Gage had been more dramatic. If they’d gotten into ear-splitting, window-shattering fights… If Gage had a drinking problem, or she’d put them thousands of dollars in debt with extravagant shopping sprees… Maybe if things had gotten physical and he’d slapped her or she routinely used his six-pack abs as a punching bag.

Then divorce might have been a blessing. Then she might have enjoyed her newly single lifestyle and been like one of those footloose-and-fancy-free Sex and the City girls, going out clubbing every night and sleeping with every random man who came down the pike just to prove she was in charge of her own sexuality.

But the truth was, Jenna didn’t want to be in charge of her own sexuality-not if it meant serial dating and sleeping around. And as much as she loved them, she didn’t want to spend every night in some bar sipping Cosmopolitans with Ronnie and Grace, either.

She wanted this. This, and what she’d had with Gage before things had started to go downhill.

The quiet comfort of being with a man she loved.

The feel of warm arms holding her tight, and another body taking up space in bed with her-sometimes snuggled close, sometimes simply causing the mattress to dip and sway and let her know she wasn’t alone.

The knowledge that somebody was going to be there when she got home at the end of a long day. Someone to ask how work had gone. Someone to kiss her cheek and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Someone to sit across the table from her while they ate dinner, or beside her on the couch while they watched the latest crime drama on TV.

If she told Gage any of that, though, he would think she was crazy. His immediate response would most likely be, So why the hell did you file for divorce in the first place? because he’d never really wanted or approved of the separation.

Her big problem at the moment, though, was how easy it was to forget all that when Gage was lying next to her, smelling so good and feeling like the best thing she’d ever had against her body.

Not counting the great sex from last night, of course.

Letting her eyes flutter open, she took in the broad expanse of his chest just beyond her cheek. His deep, even breathing and the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear lulled her.

Despite the tiny voice in her head telling her to keep her hands to herself, she slowly let her fingers drift along the outside curve of his pectoral muscle and up to his shoulder where orange-tipped flames shot from the mouth of the angry dragon.

“When did you get this?” she asked, reverently tracing the edges of the amazing artwork.

Gage’s skin twitched under her fingertips, but he didn’t move away.

“After the divorce,” he said a minute or so later.

She didn’t need to know that he’d started getting the new tat the day he’d signed the divorce papers. He hadn’t been sure what type of design he was going to get when he’d walked into the shop; he’d only known he wanted something big that was going to take a good, long time to apply.

A neck-to-hip dragon that covered nearly his entire back had certainly fit the bill. It had taken months to complete, but the pain and long hours spent in the chair had helped to drown out every other thought racing through his brain. And it was hard to feel the hurt in his heart when razor-sharp needles were tapping ink into his skin.

“I like it,” she murmured, not bothering to lift her head from his chest. Every word, every breath she took, reverberated against his flesh.

He’d have liked to say it didn’t affect him, but if she slid the leg that was draped across his thigh just a couple inches higher, she’d realize that everything she did had an effect on him.

The perfume she wore that was a unique blend of wildflowers and citrus.

The way she painted her nails with clear polish so that they held a bit of shine, but never covered them with color. And contrastly, the way she always kept her toenails painted bright red or pink.

The clothes she wore that were reminiscent of the flower-children fashions of the seventies, but looked a hell of a lot sexier on her. The flowing blouses with tight jeans, or the occasional prairie skirt with a snug top. He knew she could be self-conscious about her diminutive figure, but as far as he was concerned, she had just enough on top to set any man’s mouth watering.

The way she wore her hair-short and sassy, with just enough length for him to run his fingers through, to ruffle in the breeze, to tickle the inside of his thighs while she…

Yeah, um, better not to let his mind wander down that particular road or she wouldn’t need to shift her leg at all to notice what was happening with him south of the border.

It was everything about her-the big and the small, the significant and the trivial. That’s why, even after he’d put his John Hancock on those papers and they were officially divorced, he still hadn’t been able to stop himself from having her name very carefully, very subtly worked into the central design of the dragon’s body. So that no matter what choices she made, no matter what decrees were filed with the great state of Ohio, she would always be with him.

Always.

“Did I ever tell you how hot I think your tattoos are?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts. “Well, the two smaller ones, anyway, since you didn’t have the dragon while we were together. But I always thought they were very sexy, and I wished I had the courage to get one of my own.”

That surprised him. And sent his imagination running in all sorts of interesting directions. He could picture ink on Jenna. Something tiny and feminine on her ankle or hip or the swell of her breast.

The very thought heated his blood, had him thinking about getting her naked, and he figured he might as well give up on even pretending he wasn’t half-hard beneath his Fruit of the Looms.

Well, what the hell. She was stretched out beside him, curled around him, and didn’t seem to be all that concerned about keeping him at a distance, either literally or figuratively. Let her feel what she did to him and deal with the consequences.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure whether to hope those consequences kept her dressed and at arm’s length or got her naked and straddling him like she had last night.

“So what would you have gotten if you weren’t afraid of needles?” He didn’t ask where. He was afraid if she named one of those uber-sexy spots on her creamy flesh that he’d already envisioned, it would send him right over the edge.

“I’m not afraid of needles!” she exclaimed, sitting up slightly and turning to face him.

Even in the casual, sporty pajama set, she looked like a goddess. A pixie goddess with her lips tipped by a mischievous smile, but a goddess all the same.

“I just don’t like pain. And what if I go through all that, then decide in three years that I don’t really want a penguin on my ass?”

Gage raised a curious brow. “A penguin?”

Shrugging a shoulder, she said, “That was just an example. I was actually thinking of something more along the lines of a rose or a butterfly.” She wrinkled her nose. “But those are boring, aren’t they? I mean, everybody has rose and butterfly tattoos.”

His hand cupped her arm just above the elbow, his thumb brushing slowly back and forth of its own volition. It had to be of its own volition because he would never-not since their divorce, anyway-voluntarily stroke her skin in what might be construed as an intimate gesture.

Would he?

“Arm cuffs and barbed wire are pretty typical,” he replied, automatically flexing his bicep and wrist where one of each resided.

Her lashes fluttered as she glanced from the tribal band to the barbed wire and back. Then she reached to touch each with the fingertips of both hands-her left hand on his right wrist, her right hand on his left bicep.

“Yes, but very few people can pull them off as well as you do.”

Before he could ask for clarification on that statement, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “I thought about using your name.”

The emerald green of her eyes distracted him and he frowned as it took a second for her words to sink in. When they did, his stomach tightened and oxygen got stuck in his lungs.

His name branded in indelible ink somewhere on her body. Marking her forever as belonging to him.

He’d had no idea she’d considered such a thing… no idea she’d considered getting a tattoo at all.

On the one hand, he’d never pictured his pure, perfect Jenna marring her flesh with body art of any kind. Single ear piercings had seemed like plenty of decoration for her, and he’d never thought she needed-or wanted-more.

But on the other… Christ, the very thought of her letting herself be imprinted with his name, not only willingly, but happily… Of her cheerfully walking around with a label that told the world she belonged to him…

Even if it wasn’t easily visible while she was dressed, she would know it was there. He would know it was there.

A stab of unadulterated pleasure and possession jolted through him, sending his heart thudding in his chest, blood slogging through his veins, and his balls tightening with desire.

He wanted to kiss her right here and now, then drag her off to the nearest tattoo parlor and see that she indeed had his name branded on her body before the night was over.

As it was, his grip had tightened on her arm and his shorts were tenting in a manner that couldn’t be missed, not even by a blind woman.

But Jenna didn’t act as though she noticed his physical reaction to her nearness or the confessions she was making one after another this evening. She simply continued to caress the lines of black ink on his wrist and bicep.

“Did I ever tell you how much I loved that you were a cop, too?” she asked in the same soft tone she’d been using since he’d placed her on the bed and tried unsuccessfully to walk away. “I was always so proud to know you were out there upholding law and order, helping people and keeping the community safe.” A shimmer of sadness flashed across her face, but was quickly swallowed up by the small smile she forced to her lips. “It made me feel safe and protected.”

The sexual heat that had been warming his blood by slow degrees over the last several minutes moved to his solar plexus and started to transform into an uncomfortable burning sensation.

All he’d ever wanted was to keep her safe. And according to her, she’d felt safe with him.

So how the hell could things have spun so far out of control? How could they have been married for three years, yet he’d never known she’d secretly wished for a tattoo-something as personal and distinctive as his name, no less? Or that she’d not only approved of but admired his choice of career.

Had she kept herself closed off from him so that he couldn’t have been aware of these things? Or had he been the world’s biggest idiot?

He suspected it was the latter. At the very least, he felt like an idiot. Like a man coming out of a decade-long coma to find that everything around him was strange and altered, and that life had moved on without him.

Was it possible that if he hadn’t been such a fool, his relationship with Jenna might have turned out differently?

His gut said no. Just because he’d been clueless about a couple of things didn’t mean there weren’t still huge chasms of opposing opinions separating them. But she did have him reconsidering some of his previous trains of thought, some of the decisions he’d made and the beliefs behind them.

He raised a hand to stroke her hair, letting the soft black strands sift through his fingers. “All I ever wanted was to keep you safe,” he told her in a rough whisper.

It wasn’t easy for him to admit such a thing, not when he’d spent their entire courtship and marriage-hell, his entire life-being the strong, silent type. But if she could share some of the stuff closest to her heart tonight, in this dark, tiny room in her aunt’s big old farm house, then so could he.

She leaned in, resting her torso against his chest and bringing her face so close to his own, he could feel her breath dusting his cheeks.

“You did. I was never afraid when you were around. Or when you were gone, because I knew you were out there fighting the good fight, and that if I needed you, you’d be there in a millisecond.”

“Faster,” he said past the lump growing in his throat.

She smiled at that, a gentle, angelic smile that reached her eyes and sent them sparkling. “Faster.”

Relaxing across his upper body, she trailed her fingers around to the nape of his neck and toyed with the hair that was just beginning to grow out. Her touch tickled all the way down his spine.

Barely above a whisper, she murmured, “I always knew you’d be there for me if I was ever in danger, if anything was ever wrong.”

He heard the pain in her voice, the words left unspoken, and felt a stab of guilt. “But you didn’t think I was there for you the rest of the time, did you? For the everyday stuff.”

In response, her lashes fluttered in a slow blink, her teeth nibbled her lower lip, and then she nodded.

His chest squeezed. Shit. He’d been such a fool. He’d screwed up their marriage in ways he was just now beginning to understand, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. It was too late. The divorce was final and had been for more than a year. She was lost to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words grating as he forced them past a throat gone raw with emotion.

Her breathing hitched and a sheen of tears brightened her beautiful green eyes. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”

And then she surprised him by covering his mouth with her own.