Shadowdance(48)

From beyond came the shouts of men. “Cor! Did you see that?”

“What made it crash?”

“Dunno. It just seemed to fall over. Thought I saw a couple of people for a moment. Don’t see ’em now.”

A hard snort. “If they’re under there, they’s flat as a fritter by now.”

Mary’s focus narrowed back to Talent, just visible in the dim light. They were nose to nose, his chest, belly, and hips crushed against hers. From what she could feel, his thighs straddled hers. Mary took light breaths, trying to ignore the sensation of his large, male body all around her.

His arms, bracketing her, shook with strain. Dear God, but he was holding the worst weight of the car off of her. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Well enough. You?”

“I’ve got a freight car on my back,” he managed with a grunt. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry,” she offered weakly. For, really, what did one say in such a situation?

An amused snort left him, and his warm breath gusted over her lips. “As am I.” Oddly, it did not sound like a quip but an honest apology. The ghost of their earlier argument whispered between them once more.

When their gazes met, his mouth canted. “If I move, the car will topple back on the men.” His voice was barely a sound.

“Hell,” she whispered, then glanced toward the sliver of light beyond. And if they alerted the men to their presence, they’d have to explain how the train hadn’t crushed them.

Mary licked her dry lips. “What happened?” She hadn’t been able to see a thing in the sudden fog that had rolled in. Sounds had been distorted, and for a moment she’d been quite vexingly lost.

Talent’s voice turned flat. “He ran, I almost had him, he tipped the car over onto you, and so forth.”

Lovely. So their current predicament was her fault. Mary winced. “Thank you, Jack.”

He flinched, then stilled. “You’re welcome, Mary,” he whispered back. Only then did she realize she’d used his given name, and he hers.

As the two fellows beyond nattered on about how to right the overturned car, the small space between her and Talent grew thick with quiet. And all the sharp words and anger that lay between them had no place to grow here.

The wide expanse of his chest mashed her breasts against her rib cage. An uncomfortable sensation. And yet awareness of his chest, so solid and strong, had her nipples pebbling. Did he feel it? Did he know? Or did he choose to ignore it, just as she tried to ignore the thick length of cock pressed impossibly hard against her belly?

Mary wasn’t so ignorant as not to know that a man might have a cockstand merely because he was in close contact with a woman. It did not stop the empty space between her legs from growing warm, or a soft, insistent throb from developing there. The sensation was so unexpected, so unfamiliar to her, that Mary didn’t know what to do with herself. For lack of a better place to go, her hands settled on the sides of his trim waist, and a tremor lit through him. She let her hands fall, but it didn’t seem to help. Every dull thud of his heart reverberated through her.

So closely pressed, they had to adjust their breathing. With each exhale Talent made, so must she inhale. Back and forth, in and out. Sharing the same air, building a soft, slow rhythm. She had no escape, nowhere to look but at him, into his eyes. His gaze was unwavering, studying her as though he saw her soul. And perhaps he could, for she felt splayed open. His mouth was a word away, close enough to feel every breath he took.

Deep within her a shiver began, and her neck ached with the urge to cant her head, tilt her chin just so until his mouth fit to hers. Dear God, she wanted to kiss Jack Talent. Perhaps he saw the knowledge dawn in her eyes, for his gaze narrowed, his breath coming faster.

“Christ, Chase, close your eyes or something.” As if leading by example, he closed his own, turning his head slightly.

It was a two-shot knockdown to her heart, and her breath hitched, the action pressing her farther into him. A strangled sound wrenched from deep within his chest.

“Why?” she managed to ask.

His throat moved on an audible swallow. “Because the sight of you is causing me pain. And even if I do not look, I can feel your gaze on me.” The confession was raw, agonized, and angry.

It destroyed what was left of her pride. Mary closed her eyes. It hurt to look at him too. His head moved an inch, bringing his cheek flush with hers, and the stubble of his beard scratched her skin. She squeezed her eyes tight, fighting to ignore the feel of him, and his earthy scent made her mind a muddle.

“Admit it,” he whispered wryly. “I am the last person you’d want pressed into you in this manner.”