How many times he’d railed against his own strength and will, wishing he could just give in, give up and let the undertow take him down. But he hadn’t. Something inside him had made him keep making that next stroke, taking that next step, waking up to face one more day. Doing what had to be done. Simply because it was the way things had to be.
That was what it felt like to him now. Like his whole body was lead, and it took all his strength just to move his arms, to pick up his jacket, put one foot in front of the other. But he did it because it was what had to be done. He had to leave Jane standing there looking at him with her rain-drenched eyes. Walk out of her house, get in his borrowed red Nissan and drive away and never, ever come back. Never see her again.
It wasn’t what he wanted. It was the way things had to be. For her sake, because what he wanted from her was something he couldn’t give her in return. And for his sake, because he knew she’d give it to him if he asked her, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did.
He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He went outside into the March night, carrying his jacket in one hand, not even feeling the cold, feeling only numbness and a terrible sense of urgency. Because he knew that if he didn’t get to the car, get it started and get the hell away from Jane’s house as fast as he possibly could, he might still do the unforgivable. He could still walk back into her warm happy kitchen and take her in his arms and pull her warm, giving body against him and kiss her until she begged him to stay. He could do it.
Please, God, don’t let me do it.
He had the car started, the lights on and his seat belt fastened, and was just putting the car in gear when suddenly she was there at his window. Adrenaline hit him, and it was like running full tilt into a wall. She lifted a hand and knocked on the glass, but he could only stare at her, shocked and jangling like a malfunctioning fire alarm, all his impulses and responses hopelessly scrambled. Don’t do this. For the love of God, just drive away…
But she was opening the door, bending down to him, and he knew it was too late for that now.
“Jane,” he growled just as she was whispering, “Please, Tom. Come back inside.”
“For God’s sake, what are you doing?” Angrily, he threw the gear lever into Park. The heater came on and blew gusty, humid air against the windshield, fogging it.
“I’d like you to stay.”
He could only look at her, everything inside him vibrating like a badly timed engine. Her face was a pale blur in the artificial moonlight given off by the mercury vapor yard lamps. He saw that she was hugging herself in the loose, soft tunic, and from the sound of her voice, he knew that she was shivering.
He stared at her and didn’t know what to say or how to feel. A moment ago he’d been engaged in a tug-of-war with his own impulses, requiring every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep from doing what she was now asking-begging-him to do. And perversely, now that she was asking, it was both easier and harder to resist.
Finally, of all the emotions rattling around inside him at that moment, anger seemed safest, the one least likely to produce a boomerang effect. Because it was impossible, under any circumstances, to imagine Jane angry.
“You want me to stay?” he said harshly. “And all that stuff you just told me in there-what was that, a bunch of garbage?”
“I meant every word of it,” she said in her soft, serene way. “And I still want you to stay.”
“Why??”
Why? Because, Tom Hawkins, in looking back over the last few days, I’ve realized that the happiest I’ve ever been in my life was when I was with you. And that the most miserable I’ve ever been in my life, since I met you, was when I wasn’t with you. Bottom line? Under any circumstances, it seems I’m happier with you than without you. Go figure, huh?
“Because,” she said, bumpy with shivers of cold and fear. “I want you.”
He almost laughed, and was fully aware of how ironic it would be if he did. After all, she’d done the same thing to him-twice. He didn’t laugh, not out of any particular sense of chivalry or nobility, but because, even in the bad light, he could see the fear and vulnerability in her face. It had about the same effect on his anger that the Nissan’s defroster was having on the fogged-up windshield.
“You want me?” he said roughly. A pulse began to scrabble behind his belt buckle. “Hell, I want you, too-I told you that. That’s not what this is about, is it?”
She didn’t answer; her face appeared frozen, her eyes fathomless pools. He realized that he’d never wanted anything so much as to have her close to him at that moment, wrapped up in his arms, naked, legs entangled, breaths comingled, and to drive the chill from her body with the raging heat in his. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before, a wave of desire so intense it was like a sickness; his head swam with dizziness. Struggling with it was like fighting to remain conscious.
With thickened tongue, he said, “You were right, you know-what you said in there-you do deserve a whole lot more than I can give you. For right now, for sure. Maybe not ever. I don’t know. That’s the problem-I just don’t know. I can’t give you any promises.”
“I’m not asking for any.”
He drew a breath that sounded like a sigh and said under his breath, “What do you think I am? I’d have to be a real sonuvabitch, you know that? To stay…”
And it occurred to Jane for the first time that maybe she was the one who was being unfair, that maybe she was asking too much of him. She thought about stepping away from the car door, letting him go. But her body wouldn’t obey her.
“I should drive away right now,” he muttered, his scowl fierce and furious. “I should-”
I should let him go. Panic zapped through her like a current of electricity, weakening her knees. If I do, I’ll never see him again. Desperately, she clung to the door, wondering how she’d ever manage to stand if he drove away and left her there. Wondering how she’d survive if he did. And how would I stop him, she thought, if he’s determined to go? Shoot out his tires with my Roy Rogers cap pistol? I won’t beg-I won’t!
“Ah, dammit.” He lanced her with an accusing stare and growled, “You’re gonna freeze to death-either get in here or go back in the damn house!”
Instantly, as if he’d said a magic word, she let go of the door. He pulled it shut while she darted around the front of the Nissan, flitting like a moth through the headlights. A moment later the passenger-side door opened, letting in a rush of cold air and her sweet, familiar scent. She settled into the seat and the door slammed with a quiet thunk, and together they sat listening to the rush and growl of the heater, and their own uneven breathing.
“This is ridiculous,” Hawk muttered after a moment. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she agreed, breathless, “it’s much warmer in the house.”
He shook his head, laughing soundlessly, and looked sideways at her. Her presence, her being…her smell, her warmth, all that she was…swamped his senses. His stomach growled audibly.
“And, there’s soup,” she added pointedly.
“Carlysle,” he growled, “what in the hell am I gonna do with you?”
Neither of them spoke. There was no sound in the car, even the heater’s gale seemed to Hawk to have become part of the rush and surge of his own life forces; he could hear them echoing inside his head. And the answer to his question lay teetering between them like a live grenade…