Conspiracy Game (GhostWalkers #4)(60)
Author: Christine Feehan

“No. You can sleep in here. I have to be able to watch over you.”

That low note of command was back in his voice, the one that grated on her nerves and implied that he was in complete control, while she was a victim of her runaway hormones.

“Do you ever ask?”

Jack didn’t know why her sarcasm made him want to smile. “No. What would be the point? You’re so tired, Briony, you don’t know what you’re doing or saying anymore. I’m not about to let anything happen to you. If you’d rather I sat in a chair all night, I will, but it won’t change how we’re both feeling.”

“You don’t know anything about my feelings.”

Exasperated, he caught her hand and forced it between his legs, over the thick bulge pulsing with heat and urgent need. “It’s not going to matter a damn whether I’m sitting six feet from you, in the next room, or lying beside you. This isn’t going to go away until I’m buried deep inside of you where I belong.” He let go of her hand, nearly shoving it away from him. “Now go to sleep before I forget all my good intentions and get a little relief.”

Again Briony surprised him. He expected tears-or anger at his rough response, but she laughed softly. “There’s some comfort in knowing I’m not the only one suffering.”

“You don’t have to. You give me the word and we’ll both be sleeping like babies.” If she said no, he might have no recourse but to head for the shower as soon as possible and relieve the terrible ache. It would be fast and cheap and unsatisfying, but hell, he was going to explode. And he had the sinking feeling the solution wouldn’t last more than the next lungful of air he drew.

“I think a little suffering is good for your soul,” Briony said.

Her voice was muffled in the pillow, but he was absolutely certain she was laughing at him. Jack contented himself with smacking her on her pretty little rounded ass, and was more than satisfied when she yelped and glared at him. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of her body naked, stretched under his while he drifted off to sleep. He hadn’t embarrassed himself since he was twelve, but tonight might start a new phase in his life. Even with his physical discomfort, there was something right about lying beside her, having her close enough to hear her breathing and touch her soft skin-just to know she was there.

He heard her even breathing, slow and rhythmic, and knew she’d finally drifted off. Turning on his side, wrapping his body protectively around hers, he pushed his throbbing groin against the curve of her bu**ocks, one arm around her, his hand splayed over her stomach to hold their child as he allowed himself to drift into a light sleep.

CHAPTER 12

Briony wandered through the large house, surprised by how spacious it was. The ceilings were high and the rooms open, one running into the next. The house itself was shaped in a U, the kitchen, dining room, and great room separating the two wings. She peeked into the rooms in Jack’s wing and found only his bedroom and the bathroom finished. The second bedroom was still under construction, with the walls bare Sheetrock.

In the great room, the furniture was sparse but well made, and she examined it closely, running her hand along the large, wide sofa, remembering Jack admitting that he made all of the furniture. It was beautiful, as were the other pieces, all made of the same hardwood. She didn’t know if it was milled from their own trees, but she suspected it was. The cushions were thick and made of leather, obviously custom-made to fit each piece of furniture. Jack continually surprised her.

She followed the rich aroma of fresh coffee into the spacious kitchen and stopped abruptly when she saw the stranger sitting at the table. Even from the back, he looked like Jack, but there was a subtle difference in his scent. She stood in the doorway, reluctant to intrude.

He turned his head and smiled at her. “You must be Briony. Come in and have some breakfast.”

He looked like Jack-not as hard, but far more ravaged. The scars marring his skin looked painful and deep, but somehow he managed to look not only confident-but good-looking in a rough pirate sort of way.

He stood up and crossed to the sink. “Coffee or orange juice with breakfast? I’d choose coffee if I were you. Jack’s already handing out orders about what you can and can’t have. It may be the last time you get close enough to even smell a cup of coffee in a while.”

She laughed. “Both then.” It was difficult not to stare at him, and she didn’t know if it was his resemblance to Jack or the scars. Although Ken was much more mutilated, she recognized the patterns and symmetry of his scarring, so much like those on Jack’s body. “Where is he?”

“Left for town before sunup. I think he’s buying clothes, groceries, and making you a doctor’s appointment.” He grinned at her as he held out a chair. “I’d love to be a little fly on the wall when they try to tell him he has to wait a week or two to get you in.”

“Want to make a bet whether or not I’ll be going today?”

“Hell no. Jack has no social skills. If they give him a hard time, he’s liable to pull out a knife this big”-he measured a foot with his hands-“and start cleaning his fingernails. If he wants you seen by a doctor today, you will be.”

Briony sank into the chair. “He didn’t say anything about a doctor to me.”

“You’ll get used to him. He doesn’t talk much. He’s more of a man of action. He muttered something about prenatal care while he was drinking his coffee. I didn’t know he knew what prenatal was.” Ken placed a plate of food in front of her. “I’m not the best cook, but it’s food.”

Briony laughed again. “He definitely takes charge. And the food looks good.”

Ken lifted his coffee cup, the smile fading from his eyes. “Jack’s always had to be in charge, and that won’t change. He’s a strong man, and he knows what he can and can’t have in his life to stay balanced.”

“Just say whatever it is you need to say,” Briony encouraged.

“Don’t push him too hard. And don’t hurt him.”

Her eyebrow shot up. “That’s it? That’s the best you can do? I was expecting wisdom, something to make sense of all this, but that’s no help.” She ran her fingers through her unruly hair. “Give me something else.”

Ken glanced right and left and leaned over the table. “He’s bossy,” he added in a conspiratorial whisper.