Realizing that she and Cage were alone in the rambling old house made her unaccountably nervous. Her hand was shaking slightly when she set his drink down in front of him on the table. She didn't want to risk touching him. She had always avoided touching him if possible, but lately…
Nervously she dropped into the chair across the table from him and thirstily sipped at her cold drink. He was watching her. Though she wasn't looking directly at him, she could feel his eyes touching her. Why wasn't she wearing something beneath the old T-shirt she had on?
Then, to her mortification, as though thinking about them had coaxed forth a response, her breasts began to bead against the soft cloth.
"Jenny?"
"What?" She jumped as though she had been caught doing something dirty. She felt feverish and light-headed, much as she had the night she had made love to Hal. He had been dressed as Cage was now, in jeans and a cotton western-cut shirt.
She could almost feel the different textures of fabric against her naked skin, the cool bite of his metal buckle before he had unfastened it, the warm proof of manhood when he did. She squirmed in her chair and pressed her knees tightly together beneath the table, trying to keep her face impassive.
"Have you heard from Hal?"
She shook her head fiercely, both in answer to his question and to deny the sensations rioting inside her. "Not since that last postcard dated a month ago. Do you think we should read anything into that?"
"Yes." Her head snapped up, but Cage was smiling. "That everything is okay."
"No news is good news."
"Something like that."
"Bob and Sarah keep up a good front, but they're worried. We didn't think he'd have to go into the interior of the country, only to the border. We thought he would have been well on his way home by now."
"He might be, but just hasn't had the opportunity to notify us yet."
"Maybe." Selfishly she was hurt because the few times Hal had written, the notes had been addressed to them all. They had stressed that conditions in Monterico were bad, but that he was well and safe. He hadn't included one private word for her. His own fiancée. Was that characteristic of a man in love, especially after what had happened the night before he left?
"Do you miss him?" Cage asked her softly.
"Terribly." She raised her eyes to his, but they fell away almost immediately. One couldn't lie while staring into those tawny eyes. One couldn't even fudge on the truth. She missed Hal, but not "terribly," not like she had thought she would, not like she should. In a way, she was relieved that he wasn't constantly underfoot. And wasn't that odd?
Now that she had been to bed with him, didn't she want him anymore? What kind of depravity had she sunk into?
Oh, she longed to experience that kind of total joy again, that indescribable physical high, but she wasn't particularly anxious to see Hal. Probably because she was still angry with him for leaving without even saying good-bye to her. At least that was the answer she gave herself. It wasn't satisfying, but it was the only one she had.
"He'll be fine. Hal always comes out of scrapes smelling like a rose." Cage leaned back in his chair, balancing it on the two rear legs. "There was a family who lived through the alley there … long before you ever came to live with us. I was about twelve; Hal was eight or nine. Their poor daughter was extremely overweight. Obese. All the kids at school called her Tank, Fatso, Porky, unkind things like that. A group of bullies used to wait for her on the corner and laugh and catcall when she walked past them on her way home."
Jenny was lulled by the tone of his voice. It was deep, a shade raspy, as though some west Texas sand had collected on his vocal cords. As he talked his fingers idly slid up and down the glass where condensation had made it slippery. The hairs on his knuckles looked very fair against his bronzed hand. Funny, she had never noticed that before. The way his fingers stroked the glass was mesmerizing and she could imagine…
"One day Hal was walking home with her and flew into the bullies when they started the name-calling. He got a bloody nose, a black eye, and a busted lip for his efforts to defend her. But that night Mother and Dad hailed hi
m a hero for taking on a foe larger than himself. Mother gave him a double helping of dessert. Dad analogized Hal's good deed by comparing him to young David taking on Goliath.
"I thought, hell, if that's all it takes to make them happy, I can do that. I knew how to fight, and a lot better than Hal did. So the next day, I waited for those bullies behind the garage. I had two scores to settle with them. One, for beating up my kid brother. The other was for making fun of that poor girl."
"What did you do?"
"They were real proud of themselves and came chasing down the alley, laughing. I stepped from behind the garage and slammed the lid of a garbage can into one's face. Broke his nose. I buried my fist in the other's gut and knocked the wind out of him. I kicked the other one in the … where it hurts little boys."
Jenny smiled in spite of herself and ducked her head blushing. Then she lifted her eyes back to him. "What happened?"
"I was expecting the same kind of praise Hal had gotten the night before." A wry grin twisted his sensual mouth and he shook his head. "I got sent to my room with no dinner, a blistering lecture, a spanking, and a suspension in my allowance and the use of my bike for two weeks."
The front legs of the chair hit the floor with a finality compared to the way he had concluded the story. "So you see, Jenny, if I'd taken on this Central American mission, I'd have been labeled as a troublemaker and a rabble-rouser looking for a good fight. But Hal, Hal is considered a saint."
Without even thinking about it, her hand shot across the table to cover his. "I'm so sorry, Cage. I know it hurts."
His hand automatically covered the one clutching his and his eyes speared into hers. There were tears of empathy standing in the emerald depths.