LED ASTRAY Page 3

  Jenny whimpered and clung to him dizzily. Her head buzzed and she didn't know if it was the power of his kiss or the sleeping pills that made all her senses hum so deliciously. The kiss continued, gaining in fervor with each second, with each pounding heartbeat, until she thought her heart would break through her ribcage.

  Had the sheet and blanket fallen away? They must have because her skin was suddenly cooled. Then warmed. As his hand… His hand? Yes. Moving over her. Touching her breasts. Caressing, kneading, finessing.

  She felt her head sinking into the softness of the pillow and realized he had lowered her back onto the bed. The straps of her nightgown were lifted off her shoulders. Her moan could have been one of protest or permission. She wasn't certain. She was certain of nothing save the hands ghosting over her nakedness, acquainting themselves with her shape by touch. Fingertips grazed her nipples, again and again, plucking softly.

  Then she fell victim to hot, encompassing sensations, sur­rounding, tugging. His mouth? Yes, yes, yes. The wet wash of his tongue flaying her gently. It caressed. Round and round. Long and slow. Quick and light.

  She wanted to clasp his head and hold him against her, but couldn't. Her arms were heavy, useless, lying on the bed at her sides as though restrained by invisible bands. Her blood was pumping like molten lava through her veins, but she had neither the energy nor the will to move.

  She welcomed his weight as he eased himself onto the bed and partially covered her, his tongue prowling the interior of her mouth, but softly, like a stealthy intruder. It was delicious. He was delicious. As was the whisper of cloth against her bare breasts.

  Directed by his hands, she raised her hips and aided him in slipping her nightgown off. Beneath him she lay naked and vulnerable. But the hands that moved over her were kind, gen­tle, pleasure-giving. They touched every part of her, pausing frequently, making a gift of every caress.

  The very tips of her toes were brushed by his thumb. Or was it his tongue? Her calves were gently squeezed. Her knees. Thighs. The hands lifted her, positioned her, until she felt the cool bed linens against the soles of her feet.

  Mindlessly she obeyed every silent direction. To have re­fused, to have balked, would have been unthinkable. She was a servant of this seductive master, a priestess of sensuality, a disciple of desire.

  His hair pleasantly tickled her belly as his head moved from side to side. He lightly pinched the soft flesh between his lips, laved it with his tongue, sucked at it gently.

  And when he opened his hand over her mound, she bowed her head against his chest and savored the cherishing caress that revolved slowly, ground gently.

  Oh, yes! her mind cried joyfully. He loved her! He wanted her! She proved her willingness by moving her body in a tempestuous ballet.

  Tantalizing, investigative fingers left her flesh slippery against his. His thumb applied a massaging friction that ac­celerated her breathing, made a drumbeat of her pulse.

  Faster. Surer. Ever whirling with a pagan beat. Until—

  Her soul seemed to open up and release a flock of colorful songbirds that scattered on a flurry of wings.

  It wasn't enough! I'm still hungry, her soul cried in protest.

  His denim jeans were rough, but not unpleasantly so, against her open thighs Buttons. Cloth. Then—

  Hair. Skin. Man. Hard warmth and smooth strength. A vel­vety spearhead. All rubbing against her. Probing. Seeking its mate. Until they meshed the way they were intended.

  The penetration was swift and sure.

  She heard the sharp cry an instant after feeling the brand-hot pain shoot through her, but it didn't occur to her that she had made that surprised sound. She was too enthralled by the steely manhood imbedded tightly inside the giving folds of her body. But no sooner had she come to realize the splendor of his possession than he began to ease away.

  "No, no." The words echoed through the darkened cham­bers of her mind, and she wondered if she had actually spoken them aloud. She was consumed with the determination that it not end yet, not quite yet.

  Of their own volition, her hands slid beneath his jeans and pressed the hard, muscles of his buttocks with her palms. She felt the spasm that shuddered through his body, heard his an­imal groan, felt the rush of his warm breath in her ear, felt, miraculously, still more of his hardness delving into her.

  Pliant, malleable, she let him gather her beneath him, po­sitioning her for comfort and maximum sensation. Random kisses fell on her throat, her face, her breasts, leaving stinging impressions on her skin.

  Her whole body responded to the myriad sensations rioting through it. She seemed trapped in the rhythm that rocked their bodies together in perfect harmony. Then the coil that had been winding tighter and tighter in her middle suddenly sprang free again. Thighs, hands, belly, breasts, replied in an ageless physical manner that milked life from him.

  The body above hers tensed. Against the walls of her womb she felt each precious eruption of his love. Until there was nothing but the full pressure of him still filling her.

  Replete, but selfish, her body closed around him like a silken fist. She was almost asleep when he finally left her, rolled to his side, and tucked her against him. She cuddled up to his solid frame, her fist clutching a handful of his damp shirt. She was embraced by a peace and sense of belonging she had never known before.

  Still woozy, still entranced, still dazed by the experience, she was smiling when she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  She awoke early. She awoke alone. Sometime during the night Hal had left her. That was understandable and she for­gave him, though it would have been wonderful to wake up in his arms. But the Hendrens would never have approved what had happened last night. Jenny, as much as Hal, wanted to protect them from finding out.

  There were footsteps on the landing and whispered conversations that carried through the hallways of the old house. She could smell coffee brewing. Preparations were underway for Hal's departure. Apparently he hadn't spoken to his parents yet.

  Last night had changed everything. He would be as anxious for marriage now as she. She clung to the precious memory of their lovemaking and could find no shame in it, even if she had used it to make him stay.

  He belonged there with her. He would continue as associate pastor until his father retired and then take over the full min­istry. She was well-trained in being a pastor's wife. Surely Hal could now see that that was what God willed for them.

  But how would the Hendrens react to his change in plans? Not wanting him to have to face the music alone, she flung the covers off, almost surprised to find herself naked. Oh, yes, he had removed her nightgown, hadn't he? And quite franti­cally, she thought with an impish smile.

  She was blushing furiously as she entered the bathroom and turned on the taps in the shower. She looked no different, though upon close inspection she saw there were rosy whisker burns on her breasts.

  All the same, he had left an indelible print on her. When she thought about it, she could still feel the welcome weight of his body atop hers, still feel the supple movements of his muscles beneath her hands, still hear his moans of gratifica­tion. She was both ashamed and thrilled when her body re­sponded to the recollections.

  She dressed hurriedly and sailed downstairs, eager to see Hal. By the time she reached the kitchen, her heart was pound­ing with expectation. Breathless, she hovered on the threshold, taking in the scene.

  The Hendrens, sitting at the breakfast table, were in an at­titude of prayer. Cage was there, too, reclining on his spine in the ladderback chair. His head was bowed, but he was staring broodingly into his coffee cup, which he had balanced on his belt buckle.

  Where was Hal? Surely not still asleep.

  Bob pronounced the amen and raised his head. He spotted Jenny. "Where's Hal?" she asked.

  Silently the three of them stared back at her. She could feel a blackness closing in, like storm clouds rushing closer from a threatening horizon.

  "He
's already gone, Jenny," Bob said gently. He stood, scraped his chair back, and took a step toward her.

  She retreated a half step as though he posed a threat to her. The encroaching blackness smothered her. She couldn't breathe. All color drained from her face. "That's impossible." The words were barely audible. "He didn't say good-bye to me."

  "He didn't want to put you through another heartbreaking farewell scene," Bob said. "He thought it would be easier this way."

  This wasn't happening. She had played the scene in her mind. Hal would be mesmerized by the first sight of her. She had imagined them gazing into each other's eyes, lovers shar­ing a marvelous knowledge that was secret from the rest of the world.

  But he was gone and all that she saw were three faces gaz­ing back at her, two with pity, Cage's with a remarkable lack of emotion.

  "I don't believe you!" she cried. She dashed through the kitchen nearly falling over a chair before she pushed it aside and barreled through the back door. The yard was deserted. There were no cars on the street.

  Hal was gone.

  The truth hit her hard. She felt like throwing up. She felt like collapsing onto the ground and pounding her fists against the hard earth. She felt like screaming. She was swamped with disappointment.

  But what had she expected? Hal was never demonstrative where his affection for her was concerned. Now, in the light of day, she realized how fanciful she had been. He hadn't made any promises not to leave. He had sealed their covenant of love with a physical expression of it. That was what she had asked of him. To have expected more was unrealistic. And it was characteristic of him to spare her the humiliation of begging him not to go. He would have wanted to avoid that for both their sakes.

  Then why did she feel deserted? Bereft. Forsaken. Dejected and rejected.

  And mad.

  Damn good and mad. How could he leave her like this? How? How, when she had regretted that they couldn't even finish the night lying in each other's arms?

  Jenny stood on the cracked sidewalk staring at the empty street. How could he have left her so blithely, without so much as a good-bye? Was she no more important to him than that? If he loved her—

  The thought brought her mind to an abrupt standstill. Did he love her? Truly love her? Did she love him the way she should? Or was it as Cage had suggested last night? Had she and Hal merely drifted into the relationship everyone had expected of them, one that was convenient to her because it was safe, and convenient to him because it didn't cost him time away from his ministerial duties?

  What a dismal thought.

  She strove to push it aside. Why couldn't she dwell on the happiness she had basked in last night in the aftermath of their love?

  But the ambiguities wouldn't be swept under the rug. They stayed there in the forefront of her mind and she realized that before Hal came home, she had to reach some conclusions. It would be foolhardy to enter into a marriage harboring the kind of doubts she had. The union of their bodies had been glorious, but she knew that wasn't the soundest foundation on which to base a marriage. And she had been dopey with the sedative. Maybe she was remembering the lovemaking as more earth shaking than it had actually been. Maybe it had all been an erotic, drug-induced dream.

  Turning on her heel to return to the house, she almost col­lided with Cage, who had come up behind her so silently she hadn't realized he was there.

  She almost jumped under the impact of his stare.

  He was studying her from beneath a hood of dusty blond brows. The golden brown eyes were as unflinching and un­blinking as a great cat's. He was motionless, completely mo­tionless, until one corner of his mouth lifted involuntarily.

  Jenny attributed that telltale gesture to regret and remorse. Was he feeling sorry for her because she had failed to persuade Hal to stay at home? Was that how everyone in town would see her, a pitifully forsaken lover, pining away for the man whose life's work was more important than she?

  Irked by the thought, she tore her eyes from Cage's stare, straightened her shoulders, and tried to go around him. He sidestepped and blocked her path.

  "Are you all right, Jenny?" His brows were pulled down into a low V over his eyes. His squint lines were pronounced. His jaw looked as hard as granite.

  "Of course," she said brightly, faking a huge smile. "Why shouldn't I be?"

  He shrugged. "Hal left you without saying good-bye. He's gone."

  "But he'll be back. And he was right to go like that, make a clean break. I couldn't have stood to tell him a final good­bye." She wondered if her statements sounded as false to him as they did to her.

  "Did you talk to him last night?"

  "Yes."

  "And?" he probed.

  Her smile faltered and her eyes skittered away from the penetrating power of his. "And he made me feel much better about things. He wants to get married as soon as he gets back."

  It wasn't quite a lie. It wasn't quite the truth either, and Cage's searching eyes told her he wasn't convinced. She brushed past him hurriedly. "Did you eat any breakfast? I'll fix you something. Two eggs over easy?"

  He smiled, pleased. "You remember how I like them?"

  "Sure." She held the screen door for him, standing straight and shrinking against the jamb as he wedged himself past her. When his body made brief contact with hers, every cell ig­nited. Her breasts flared to rigid points. Her thighs tingled with heat. Her heart did handstands.

  Jenny was flabbergasted. She rushed to cover her agitation by hastily preparing Cage's breakfast. Her hands shook so she could barely control them, and as soon as she set the plate of food on the table in front of him, she fled to her room.

  Now that her sleeping body had been awakened to sexual awareness, it seemed not to want to lie dormant again.

  But, Lord, didn't it have any discernment? Any discrimination? Would it now react to every man she came in contact with?

  The thought sent a surge of embarrassment through her. Nevertheless, she stripped, crawled between the covers of her bed, and pulled her knees to her chest. She let the events of last night parade through her mind again and relished the naughty sensations that still rippled through her like after­shocks.

  * * *

  The dark amber contents of the highball glass didn't offer any absolution for Cage's guilt, but it held his attention as though it could.

  Three long-neck beer bottles were neatly lined up on the highly glossed tabletop. They were empty. He had switched to Jack Daniel's about an hour ago, but the guilt poisoning his system refused to be diluted even by near-lethal amounts of alcohol.

  He had violated Jenny.

  There was no sense in using euphemisms to try to blunt the edges of his guilt. He could say he had made love to her, initiated her into the rites of sexual loving, deflowered her. But no matter how his conscience juggled with semantics, he had violated her. It hadn't been a brutal rape, but she had been unwittingly in no condition to give her consent. It had been a violation of the vilest sort.

  He took another swig of the stinging whiskey. It burned all the way down. He wished he could get drunk enough to vomit. Maybe that would purge him.

  Who the hell was he kidding? Nothing was going to purge him of this. He hadn't felt guilty about anything in years. Now he was swamped with guilt. And what the hell could he do about it?

  Tell her? Confess?

  "Oh, by the way, Jenny, about the other night, you know the one, the night Hal left and you made love with him? Yeah, well, that wasn't him. It was me."

  He cursed savagely and polished off the drink in one gulp. He could just imagine her face, her dear, dear face, shattering before his eyes. She would be horrified. Knowing she had been with him would probably put her in a catatonic state from which she would never recover. The most notorious skirt chaser in west Texas had taken sweet Jenny Fletcher.

  No, he couldn't tell her.

  He'd done bad things before, but this time he had sunk to an all-time low. He liked his reputation as a hell-raiser. He l
ived up to it, worked at keeping it alive, kept reminding folks of it should they think Cage Hendren was mellowing with the passing years. He'd even take credit for some things he hadn't done. He would let that slow, lazy smile answer allegations for him, and his cronies could draw their own conclusions as to whether the latest rumor was true or not.

  But this…

  Signaling to the bartender, Cage became aware of his sur­roundings. They were dismally familiar. Tobacco smoke fogged the close, stuffy, beery atmosphere of the tavern. Red-­and-blue neon lights advertising various brands of beer winked from the walls like phosphorescent sprites hiding in the pan­eling. A sad strand of gold tinsel, left over from last Christmas, dangled from a wagon-wheel-shaped chandelier. A spider had made a home between the spokes. Waylon Jennings mourned a love gone wrong from the jukebox in the corner.

  It was tawdry. It was tacky. It was home.

  "Thanks, Bert," Cage said laconically as the bartender set another glass of whiskey in front of him.

  "Hard day?"

  Hard week, Cage thought. He'd lived with his sin for a week now, but the gnawing guilt hadn't abated. Its fangs were as sharp as ever as they ate their way into his soul. Soul? Did he even possess a soul?

  Bert bent over the table and transferred the empty beer bot­tles to a tray. "Heard something that might interest you."

  "Yeah? What about?" There was a droplet of water on the outside of the highball glass. It reminded him of Jenny's tears. He wiped it away with his thumb.

  "'Bout that parcel of land west of the mesa."

  In spite of his black mood, Cage's interest was instantly piqued. "The old Parson's ranch?"

  "Yep. Heard the kinfolks is ready to talk money to anyone interested."

  Cage slipped Bert a smile worthy of a toothpaste ad, and a ten-dollar tip. "Thanks, buddy." Bert smiled back and ambled off. Cage was a favorite of his and he was glad to oblige.

  Cage Hendren was indisputably one of the best wildcatters around. He could smell oil, seemed to know instinctively where it was. Oh, he'd gone to Tech and earned a degree in geology to make it all official and to inspire confidence. But he had a knack for sensing where the stuff was, a knack that couldn't be book learned. He had drilled a few dry holes, but very few. Few enough to win him the respect of men who had been in the business more years than Cage was old.