The Tortured Rebel by Alison Roberts Page B

that his mother was gone but that they’d find some nice people to look after him instead.
    If he thought of the shape he was holding as simply a frightened woman and not Becca, he might be able to lose that unpleasant sensation that was almost fear. It was OK to be afraid of the natural disaster occurring in the physical world but, if he was going to really protect himself, he had to back away from whatever explosionswere happening somewhere in his mind. Or was it his heart?
    She was a woman. A virtual stranger now, thanks to the years apart they’d had. But part of her was still the girl he remembered. The bond was still there and that made it impossible to simply let go.
    And then Becca’s arms stole around his waist and she squeezed him back, pressing her body tightly against his. She twisted her head to look up at him and because he was so close, with his lips on her hair, he ended up with his mouth only centimetres from hers.
    She was looking straight into his eyes and whatever rational thoughts he was trying desperately to cling to shattered and vanished.
    This was
Becca.
    And she was beautiful.
    And he wanted her. He
needed
her.
    Kissing her wasn’t any kind of conscious action. It was the result of proximity. Of senses stretched to breaking point by what could very well be the last minutes of life.
    Most of all, by sheer inevitability.
    This had always been meant to happen.
    Reality faded the instant his lips touched hers.
    The nightmare became a dream. The culmination of many, many dreams, in fact. All the longing, the desire, the
love
that had been buried for so long came rushing back with the same kind of force that was still sending fiery missiles to land far too close to this precarious shelter.
    It was a dream but it was real, too. The scratch of Jet’s unshaven face. The incredible softness of his lips.The way his hands cradled her head as though she was the most precious thing on earth.
    They were both filthy. Battered and bruised and sweaty and so exhausted it felt like being drunk, but none of that mattered at all. This was about.
life.
    Not just surviving. It went deeper than that. It was beginnings instead of endings. Wiping out a barrier that should never have been there. One that had walled off what was probably the most important part of being alive.
    There had only ever been one man for Rebecca Harding and she was holding him at last. Touching him. Able to offer herself without the slightest hesitation or doubt.
    The kiss was hungry. As though they were both tasting something they had wanted but been denied for ever. As soon as the pressure eased even a fraction, the contact was snatched back and deepened. Becca clutched at Jet’s head, torn between gasping for air and being unable to tear her mouth from his.
    And it wasn’t enough. She pressed her body against his, wanting … what? To slip inside his skin? To be
inside
him?
    No. She wanted him to be inside
her.
As physically close as it was possible for two people to become. It had to happen. This wanting was so powerful, she would shatter if it didn’t happen. Dragging her hands from his head, totally unaware of any pain in her arm or anywhere else in her body, Becca fumbled for the fastenings of his jacket. Pulling it open so that she could find and touch bare skin.
    He caught both her hands and held them hard. Stopping her progress. Did he not want this? Shocked, Beccalooked up only to find the heat in the dark eyes so close to hers was just as wild as the fire inside herself. He did want this. As much as she did. He was just checking. Seeking permission to kick away any traces of a barrier.
    In answer, Becca reached up to touch his face, running her fingers softly over his lips. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Offering him her throat. Sending her desire though her fingertips.
    His lips were on her neck in a heartbeat. His hands unzipping her flight suit and peeling it back. They slipped underneath the T-shirt she had on and