Linda Jones - In Bed with Boone

Boone said that what he did best was lie. It was a game. A deadly one, but a game all the same. If she was to play, perhaps she could gather her wits and play. What would it take to garner a bit of control? Some semblance of order?

She grasped Boone’s wrist and forcefully moved it aside. She stood, removing her neck from his lascivious attentions. When he reached out, she very deftly moved out of his way.

“For goodness’ sake,” Jayne said as she took a step that carried her just out of his reach. “You are incorrigible.” They were supposed to be intimate, and while she knew very little about intimacy, she did know that the woman in such a relationship possessed a power of her own. “All night,” she said, turning to face Boone as she backed toward the sinkful of dirty dishes. “And into the morning. What do you think I am? A…a…” She didn’t have to work hard to manufacture a sniffle. “You should be able to keep your hands to yourself for five minutes. Five minutes! Is that too much to ask?”

Boone lifted two finely shaped dark eyebrows. “You didn’t complain last night.”

“I did!” she said indignantly. Then she remembered his words, what it would take to keep her alive, and she blushed. “At first.”

“This is better than a soap opera,” Doug said with a grin.

“Do the dishes,” Boone finally said, his voice low and his eyes dark.

“You do the dishes!”

“I thought you wanted to do the dishes!” Boone sounded truly frustrated.

“God, now they sound like my parents,” Marty said with a shudder, pushing away from the table.

Darryl slowly rose to his feet, shook his head, clenched and unclenched his meaty fists. Doug popped up, too, not wanting to be left behind.

Marty, still shaking his head, left the kitchen and headed straight for the television in the connecting living room. “Hey, maybe the news about that guy Darryl shot will be on TV!” Darryl and Doug followed.

The expression on Boone’s face changed subtly, darkening. “You missed the morning news.”

“Yeah, but the one station we get kinda clear has an update at ten.” He glanced at his watch. “Just a couple of minutes.”

With his hands positioned so that no one else could see, Boone motioned to Jayne. She had no idea what he was trying to tell her, but she did know one thing: they didn’t want these guys to know that Jim was alive or that she was a senator’s daughter.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said sharply. “You think what happened last night will keep you alive? Piss me off and you’re history, just like your boyfriend.”

Sure enough, a curious Marty glanced into the kitchen. Doug wasn’t far behind. Darryl remained firmly planted in front of the old television, waiting for the update.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said frostily. “Not after…you know.”

“Sex,” Boone said. “You can’t even say it!” He launched into a tirade, using every foul word she had ever heard and some she hadn’t.

“You…you crude bully.”

As it had last night, the word bully made Darryl laugh. But he didn’t move away from the TV.

“I can be cruder and I can be meaner,” Boone promised.

“Impossible.”

The teaser about the news update came on, sending a shiver down Jayne’s spine. They had a minute, maybe less.

Boone crossed the room and swept Jayne off her feet. “Fight me,” he whispered as he hauled her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

She did, kicking, beating ineffectually against his back with her fists as he carried her into the living room.

“Can’t you do better than that?” Boone whispered.

She tried, but she wasn’t a violent person. As Boone carried her through the doorway into the main room, where Darryl sat before the television, she fought as best she could, feet and hands flailing. “You…you un-civilized brute!”

“Last night you seemed to like that about me, sugar.”

“Don’t call me sugar.” She glanced up to see that the two dim-witted criminals grinned, while a disgusted Darryl shook his head in wonder or dismay. Maybe both.

“I’ll call you whatever I want to call you.” Boone put Jayne on her feet between Darryl and the TV, raising his voice. “Don’t forget who you are, or how you got here, or that I might get tired of you at any moment and then you’ll be in a world of trouble.”

Jayne placed her hands on her hips. “You wouldn’t dare! Not after…not after…” She stopped and gave Boone an exasperated huff. Darryl leaned to one side as the newsbreak came on. With an outraged cry, Jayne turned and gave the television a shove. It wobbled backward, finally falling from the unsteady stand and crashing to the floor with a spark and a puff of smoke. The screen went black.

“I can’t believe you’d say that to me, not after last night. You said…you said…”

The three other men gathered around the remains of the television as Boone grabbed Jayne and pulled her against his chest. “Now, sugar,” he said in a soothing voice, “don’t get all upset.”

Jayne hid her face against Boone’s chest. Oh, Darryl would be furious, but what else could she have done? Pushing the TV off its stand had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now she wondered.

“Becker,” Darryl said slowly, “your woman just broke my TV.”

“I’ll buy you a new TV. That one was a piece of crap, anyway.” Boone’s arms protected her as he brushed off Darryl’s complaint.

“How am I supposed to watch my soaps?” Marty asked, not quite as outraged as Darryl, but definitely unhappy.

“Soaps are for old women,” Boone growled. “You’ll survive a few days with no TV.”

Jayne chanced a quick glance at the three men. None of them were happy with her at the moment. She’d made a lousy breakfast and broken their television. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I just got so upset…” The tremble in her voice was not manufactured; it was very real. She returned her gaze to Boone. “You can be so mean.”

He lifted her off her feet and spun her around. “I know how to make you feel better.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“But, Boo…”

He shut her up by laying his mouth over hers. Immediately she knew why, and even though she had insisted on knowing, for a split second she wished Boone had never told her his real name. Would she always remember to call him Becker when the others were around? If she forgot in a moment of anger or forgetfulness, it could mean death for both of them.

It wasn’t a real kiss, but a necessary caution. Still, his mouth was nice and firm, sweet and gentle. She had a feeling that when Boone really kissed a woman, he did it right.

He took his mouth from hers, a warning gleam in his eyes.

“But, BooBoo,” she said when she could speak again, hopefully covering her mistake. “I still haven’t done the dishes.”

“Marty!” Boone yelled. “Do the damned dishes.”

BooBoo! Oh, this was bad. “BooBoo?” he asked, hands on hips as he glared down at Jayne, who sat on the side of the bed looking composed, calm, perfectly in control. One foot rocked, drawing his eye to her shapely ankle.

“It’s no worse than sugar.”

“Yes,” he insisted with a nod of his head, “it is.”

He didn’t let on that his heart was still hammering. He had thought about shooting the television and then trying to pass it off as a rash moment of rage, but Jayne’s seemingly impulsive shove had worked much better. But for how long? They would meet with Gurza in four days. Four days, after three months of undercover work! And one wrong word could blow it in a heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t have told you my name,” he said in a low voice.

Her face softened. “I know but…I’m glad you did,” she whispered. “It makes me feel so much safer.”

She wasn’t safe, not at all, but he didn’t bother to tell her so.

Boone moved to the head of the bed and grasped the post in his hand.

Jayne sighed. “Not again. This is so embarrassing.”

Boone ignored her and began to shake the bed. The springs squeaked. Jayne covered her face in her hands.

“Come on, sugar,” Boone said softly. “Help me out here.”

For a moment she did nothing. Then she dropped her hands from her face, looked him in the eye and gave a little hop that made the bed squeak even more. “Why Becker?” she asked as she gave another little bounce. “Is that like a middle name? A family name?”

Boone leaned down, placing his face close to hers. “Rhymes with my favorite body part,” he whispered.

She screwed up her nose. “Becker? Becker doesn’t rhyme with…” Suddenly her face turned red. “That’s disgusting!” she said, her voice rising slightly.

He grinned. “Say that a little bit louder.”

“I will not,” she said primly.

He began to bang the headboard against the wall, faster and faster, harder and harder. “Moan,” he whispered.

“I do not moan,” she said, her Southern accent deepening as she protested.

“You poor thing. I guess I’ll just have to pinch you again to make you squeal.”

“That won’t be necessary.” She looked away from him, squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. And then she made some kind of noise. It wasn’t a moan or a squeal. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

“If I can barely hear it, they can’t hear it at all.”

She snapped her head around and glared at him. “You know, I’m sure there are women out there who make love silently.”

“I’ve never met one.”

“You’re vile.”

“You’re a prude.”

It was the wrong, or perhaps the right thing to say. Prude was an insult Jayne took personally, and her response was apparently going to be to prove him wrong. She closed her eyes, tossed back her head and moaned. The sound was low, long and real enough to make Boone’s insides tighten. Her soft voice was the kind that might creep under a man’s skin if he went for her type. Which he didn’t.

Jayne took a deep breath and moaned again, louder this time. Boone tried to convince himself that Jayne Barrington was not his type at all. He liked his women with long dark hair, long legs and plenty up top. Not gentle, delicate curves, but prodigious breasts that made a man’s eyes pop out of his head when the woman walked into a room. He shook the bed harder, faster, his eyes on Jayne.

Head back, throat bared, mouth slightly parted, she was a fascinating sight, with her creamy skin and reddish-gold hair and soft lips. Her throat was nice and long, he noticed. Shapely and delicate, like the rest of her. His body began to respond. Enough was enough.

“Scream,” he whispered.

She laid those green eyes on him and glared. “Maybe I’m not ready,” she mouthed.

He grinned and reached for her with his free hand.

“Okay,” she said softly, scooting away from him. She closed her eyes again, took a deep breath and screamed. Loud and long. Boone banged the headboard a couple more times, for good measure and then stopped. Thank God. He really couldn’t take much more of this.

“Not bad,” he said as he sat beside Jayne on the side of the bed. He took a deep calming breath. “Who were you thinking of when you let loose?”

She looked him in the eye. “Not who, what. Snakes.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Snakes?”

“I’m terrified of snakes,” she said with a shake of her head and a shudder that seemed to rack her from head to toe. “And I don’t care if they’re poisonous or not. I hate all snakes equally.”

“Why?”

Her eyes met his. “I don’t have to have a specific reason,” she said. “A lot of people hate snakes.”