Conspiracy Game (GhostWalkers #4)(56)
Author: Christine Feehan

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“And did it occur to you that you might slip and fall and hurt the baby?”

“I’m a flyer. I do stunts for a living. I think I can manage to climb up on a roof.”

“Well, don’t. I thought you were tired.” Jack wanted to comfort her, but she was too far away from him emotionally, trying to distance herself, and he wasn’t good at this sort of thing.

She reached up to her earlobe, needing the comfort of touching her mother’s earring, found bare skin and dropped her hand. “I am. I just need space. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to do this.” She backed away from him until she was up against the railing. He couldn’t touch her again. Every brush of his fingers brought acute awareness of his body and the desperate needs of her own. She’d come outside to escape him, yet there seemed to be no escape.

“You should have thought of that before you came to me.”

Briony clenched her fists. “At the time, I didn’t feel I had a choice.” Her chin went up. “Look. Obviously this isn’t going to work. I can leave. There are other ways to disappear, and there’s always Kadan Montague. He offered his protection.”

Jack’s jaw tightened, the gray eyes suddenly turning a peculiar silver-ice cold-frightening. “Kadan Montague is not going to be protecting my child or its mother. That’s my job, not his. Don’t try bringing another man into this mess, Briony. We have enough to worry about without that.”

“Oh really?” Furious, not even knowing why, she turned and in one smooth move leapt over the railing onto the ground below. “This mess? My being pregnant is such a mess, isn’t it? I don’t need your help and, quite frankly, I don’t want it.”

Jack swore and leapt after her. So much for tact-he didn’t have it, never would. He shackled her wrist in a viselike grip and she whirled, throwing a punch at his face. He caught her fist in midair. “Keep it up and I’m going to turn you over my knee. What the hell is wrong with you? You should know better than to pick a fight you can’t win.” She looked wild, angry, and embarrassed. She looked vulnerable, young, and all too fragile. She felt alone and frightened. The fear moved in his mind-not of him, but of the situation. Of him callously saying he’d f**ked her. Of expecting a baby and having no one to turn to. She was terrified Whitney would find her and take her baby from her. Jack glimpsed the roller coaster of emotions jumbled in her mind.

He gentled his voice in spite of his exasperation. “I didn’t say the mess was your being pregnant. Stop putting words in my mouth. And, baby, you know damned well I wasn’t f**king you. Not like that. Not how I made it sound to your brother.”

She shook her head. “I can’t breathe here. I can’t. I’m just going to go.”

Jack’s expression hardened. His jaw flexed and the gray eyes glittered silver. “You’re going to calm down and go into the house and get some sleep.” He made another effort to gentle his voice. “You’ve been under a tremendous strain. Once you get a good night’s rest, you’ll see things differently.”

“Stop talking to me in that superior tone. Do you think it was easy to come here and ask for help after the things you said to me?” She shoved at his chest, barely rocking him when she put all her strength behind it. “I left everyone I love. My child’s in danger. I’m sick. I have no clothes or money, and I’m at the mercy of a man who doesn’t want me around.” She pushed at him again. “Get away from me. I was going to sit on the roof, not wander around like an idiot when you have the property booby-trapped.”

“What are you thinking of doing now? It’s the middle of the night. You know I have traps set up.”

“I have a very good sense of smell. I can track my way back out of here the same way I came in.”

She probably could too, but she was making him crazy, and his calm was going to disintegrate very soon. “Stop crying. I mean it, Briony, you have to stop.”

“Or what?” She was angry that she was crying. Once she’d started, she couldn’t seem to stop. Maybe she was hysterical, but if she wanted to sit out in the middle of the night and cry her eyes out, it was her business. “You’re going to beat me? Someone else already did that. I’m not intimidated by you.”

Jack dragged her close, holding her tightly against his body in spite of her struggles, one hand cupping the back of her head to press her face against his chest. He bent his head to find her bruised cheek, his mouth feathering kisses over the swollen side of her face. “Shh,” he said to soothe her, closing his eyes against the pain in her mind. She radiated sorrow-grief-and he couldn’t bear it. “I’m not the enemy.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” But she couldn’t stop. Her world was gone and her hormones were running wild and there was nowhere to go to escape him.

“It’s going to be all right. Everything will be fine. You’re overtired and you need to sleep.” His fingers began a slow massage of her neck, then slowly crept into her hair to massage her scalp, tunneling deep, moving with sure, circular strokes.

“I don’t want to go in the house, Jack. I can’t go into that room.” How could she make him understand? At least outside, the wind and forest helped to dissipate his scent-give her a breathing space from her need of him.

Jack had never had a weeping woman in his arms before. He stood quietly, just holding her while her body shook with the force of her sobs. His chin nuzzled the top of her head. Soft strands of her hair caught in the shadow along his chin. He didn’t try to stop the flood of tears-she had enough to cry about-he simply reached down, positioning his arm beneath her knees, and lifted her, cradling her against him.

“All right. We’ll stay out here. Shh, Briony. You’re going to make yourself ill.” She was light, easy enough to lift, and Jack simply jumped with her, landing back on his porch, Briony cradled in his arms. He settled on the front porch rocker, the one he’d built with his own two hands. They fit comfortably, and he rocked gently, rubbing her hair with his chin, hands gently massaging her neck.

He should have felt like a damn fool, but he didn’t. She felt right in his arms. He sat in the night, rocking on his porch, watching the trees swaying and listening to the night sounds of the forest. She wept silently, her tears soaking his shirt as she slowly struggled to regain control.