He filled his nostrils. It was tantalizing, captivating.
“No,” he said roughly, trying vainly to detach her arms from around his neck.
“Oh, Nightshade,” she moaned, tipping up her face to find his lips, scorching him with a wet, sinfully sweet kiss. “You are so wonderful.”
“I’m not wonderful,” he protested. “I’m not anything.” Focus, focus. He closed his eyes and blocked his nose and his ears. “I came to tell you that I won’t be rescuing you anymore. I can’t. So please don’t put any more ultimatums in the newspaper. Because I won’t answer.”
“Yes, you will.” With a self-satisfied smile, she rose and kissed him again, reaching for his arms and pulling them around her. She slid her hands inside his scarf, cupping his face with her smooth, tender hands. “You feel the same way I do.”
What he felt was on fire. The one place where she touched him—skin to skin—was his face, and his jaw tickled and twitched. But even through the cashmere, his fingers felt the hot velvet texture of her skin. Just one touch, he told himself, sinking fast. Just one touch.
He slid his hands around her ribs, barely grazing her but memorizing every inch. His sensitive hungry fingers tested, teased the curved undersides of her breasts, as he nibbled on her lips.
She gave a tiny moan, pressing closer, and he was lost, taking her breasts full in his palms, brushing her impudent nipples with his gloved thumbs.
Even deadened with so many layers of protection, his senses were alive and kicking. She seemed to have invaded his brain and his skin, and she was setting off sparks everywhere—her desire-soaked scent, her shivery whispers, her small, hot hands… “Very clever hands,” she whispered. “But I want to feel the rest of you, Nightshade. The real you.” Her hands played with his collar. “Let’s take this off, shall we?”
He stiffened. He couldn’t do this. He knew, deep in his heart and his soul, that to toss off his clothes and take this ride would very probably kill him.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
One more staggering sensation, and he was going to explode.
Stifling debate with one last kiss, he pushed her back onto the bed and fled out the window.
Chapter Eleven
Alone on the bed, Gilly pressed the pillow over her face to keep herself from screaming with frustration and anger. Anger at herself, not him.
She couldn’t believe how she’d just behaved. She’d been wanton, disgusting, and he’d turned her down.
“I am totally humiliated,” she announced to the ceiling. “Why did I do that? A guy comes through the window and I start crawling all over him. Why, why, why?”
The ceiling wasn’t providing answers unfortunately. “I know better,” she told herself. “I know better than that. I don’t sleep with just anybody. I am the most picky, healthy, cautious woman alive in the nineties. But some phantom waltzes off the fire escape, and I melt into a puddle at his feet. Men do not find puddles attractive. I know this.”
She swung herself out of bed and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. “What do I care if he doesn’t find puddles attractive?” she asked the mirror. “Hasn’t everyone been telling me I have no business lusting after some guy whose name I don’t even know?
“This I promise you,” she vowed to her reflection.
“I am not wasting another minute thinking about Mr. Nightshade. He can go rescue somebody else for a change!”
But as she clicked off the light and stepped back into the bedroom, she heard the window slide open.
“Back so soon?” she asked smartly, hope burning inside her despite her promise.
But it wasn’t him.
Gilly swallowed her fear, not moving.
No, it wasn’t Nightshade. It was a small wiry man with a dirty bandanna tied around his hair, a black leather jacket dripping with chains, ripped jeans. She recognized him. Punk number two, the one with some vague grasp on reality, the one who’d run away from the alley.
“So how’s it hangin’, babe?” he asked with a short, ugly laugh. “Miss me?”
She didn’t speak, didn’t flinch, but carefully scanned the vicinity for a possible weapon as he moved closer.
“I’m guessin’ that means you ain’t so glad to see me. That hurts my feelings, y’know.” He was holding his knife straight up, blade out, flicking his thumb against the razor-sharp edge in time with his words. “’Cause you and me got old business to settle, don’t we, babe?”
His words barely reached her; her brain was working on automatic pilot. There had to be a weapon here somewhere. Can’t reach the lamp, nail polish won’t help, aspirin no good, might be able to stab him with an earring, brass book end…Perfect. She pretended to lean against the bookshelf, her hand slowly reaching, closing over The Thinker’s brass bottom.
“What do you want?” she asked evenly, waving her other hand in feigned agitation to distract him.
“Me and you, we could’ve had a little fun if you weren’t so mouthy, y’know? You ain’t so bad without your clothes. Still—” he edged closer “—I got a message to deliver and then I gotta go.” He grinned. “Maybe another time you and me, we could have a little fun. Yeah, you’d like that. But this time, hey, I got no time for games. It’s a real shame.”
So far she was very proud of herself for neither trembling not screaming, for not showing this piece of crud what she thought of him. “A real shame. So what’s the message?”
“It’s very easy. You listen hard, okay, so I only gotta tell you once.” He bent nearer so he could whisper in her ear, and she tensed, tightening her grip on the brass bookend.
Was she coordinated enough to swing it off the shelf and brain him with it before he could get the knife up? She waited, not sure. “Go on,” she commanded. “Say whatever you have to say and get out.”
“Here’s the deal. You stop all your committees, you stay away from the city council, you don’t even think about no more pep rallies and press conferences.” He smiled, his lips making a smacking noise in her ear. “See, it’s easy—you just stop making a pest of yourself.”
“Sure,” she breathed. “I got it.”
“Good.” And then he began to back away. Gilly remembered to breathe and her fingers relaxed on the weapon. Could it be this easy? Was he really going to leave?
He stuck a foot out the window. “Hey, while you’re at it, you tell them old people in the green getups—them NOD Squad guys—to retire, will you? I don’t like old people. They bother me.”
Gilly said nothing, counting the seconds until he was gone, figuring the precise number of steps it would take her to reach the phone. Get out of here! she wanted to shout. But she held her tongue.
He turned. “Oh, and one more thing. Tell your boyfriend Nightshade to stay off our turf, will ya? Last I heard,” he said with a sneer, “sunglasses ain’t no shield against bullets.”
And then he was gone. Gilly raced to the window and slammed it shut, dragging her dresser over in front of it to block the way. She really ought to get the latch fixed.
Adrenaline was still pumping through her veins, and she was shaking so hard she couldn’t even dial the number. But somehow, without even thinking about who she was calling or why, she managed to tough it out.
“Luke?” she cried, not even waiting to hear who answered.
“Gilly, he’s not available,” Aunt Abby said tartly.
“Look, I don’t have time to fool around with you, okay? Put Luke on the phone!” She never shouted at her aunt. Never. But she could feel tears pushing behind her eyes, and she never cried, either. She just needed to hear Luke’s voice now, immediately. Awkwardly she added, “I need to talk to him. Please.”
“I’ll get him,” Abby said.
“Gilly? This is Uncle Fitz. Can I help? Your aunt thought—”
“Why can’t I talk to Luke?”
“Because he’s—” Abruptly Fitz broke off. “Here he is.”
“Gilly, what is it?” Luke sounded breat
hless and strange, as if he’d run a mile to get to the phone. Maybe they’d had to wake him or something. “Is it Nightshade?”
“No, not him. Someone…someone else…broke into my apartment. One of the guys from the alley. Luke, it was awful! He had a knife and he told me to stop being a pest—”
“Slow down. It’s okay.” His voice was deep and soothing. Gilly reminded herself to breathe in and out, steadily, evenly. “Where are you now? Are you safe?”
“Yes, I think so. I put a dresser in front of the window where he came in. Besides, I don’t think he’ll be back.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “He said he had a message to deliver and that was it.”
“And the message was?”
“To stay away from the city council, to stop any campaign against the casino, I guess. He even said to disband the poor NOD Squad and to tell Nightshade to stay away.” She was hit with a sudden thought. “Oh, my God! I’ll bet this little creep is the one who’s been following me! He could even be the one from school the other day. I didn’t get a good look. Of course, there could be more than one. There were two in the alley.”
“More than one? Someone’s been following you?” Luke’s voice was rising. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this stuff?”
“Why would I tell you?” she asked, baffled. “It would have just worried you, and what could you have done, anyway? You’ve been sick in bed, right?”
“Sort of,” he muttered, and she could tell he felt guilty about being ill when she needed him. Although it was selfish and petty, it gave her a warm feeling to know that Luke was beating himself up about that.
“It doesn’t matter how many of them there are,” she declared. “I’m not backing down. I am not turning my neighborhood over to bullies like that.”
“Good for you,” Luke said softly. “And I’ll be right there with you.”
Gilly’s heart skipped a beat. It really sounded as if he cared. And when she remembered the kiss they’d shared at the museum, she could almost believe there was something magic happening between the two of them after all this time.
Her gaze caught the dresser wedged in front of the window, and she had to rethink her magic theory. After all, she’d had a few too many visitors tonight, and at least one of them put a serious crimp in any rosy thoughts about Luke.
He went on, saying sweet, soothing words. But would he be this sweet if she filled him in on the way she had just behaved with Nightshade? She was beginning to feel more than a twinge of guilt about that, and not just for being a general-purpose wanton.
It was very strange, but in her heart of hearts, chatting so amiably with Luke this way, she felt false and faithless. As if she’d been cheating on him with Nightshade.
She knew very well she hadn’t cheated on Luke. Of course not! They were just friends. Always friends. Best of friends.
So why did she feel this incredible guilt? And why did she want Luke to run right over and put his arms around her and blot out any inkling of a memory of Nightshade?
You are treading on dangerous ground here, she warned herself. Luke, Nightshade, one or the other, either or neither. Dangerous ground.
In the background she could hear Aunt Abby squawking in protest, making pretty much the same point to Luke about her. She distinctly heard her aunt shout, “What can you be thinking?” But Luke shushed her.
“Gilly, just tell me where and when you want me, and I’ll be there,” he said firmly.
Where and when she wanted him? Gilly swallowed, her eyes catching the rumpled bed. How about right here and right now?
But she had a feeling that wasn’t what he had in mind. Or maybe it was. She wasn’t exactly an expert in such matters. Why did sex have to rear its confusing head and make such a hash of things?
“Gilly?” he prompted. “Career Day? The Snow Ball? What?”
She brought herself back to earth. Of course, he meant logical, meaningful activities. Go team, rah rah rah.
“Are you sure?” she asked slowly. “You want to be on the team all the way?”
“I don’t have a choice,” he said lightly. “Someone a bit more reliable than your pal Nightshade needs to look after you.”
Well, that was true, wasn’t it? Not that Luke had been all that reliable himself lately, but if he was planning to take a firmer stand…The warm feeling expanded to a hum of contentment. Somehow things always seemed brighter when she and Luke worked together.
“So listen, sign me up for Career Day, okay? We’ll work out the details later.”
“And the Snow Ball? And maybe a press conference?” she added eagerly.
“Don’t push it.”
“Luke, that’s what I do.” Sinking to the floor with the phone to her ear, she smiled. “Pushing it—that’s what I do.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I know. And it’s actually starting to be endearing.”
It was the nicest thing she’d ever heard.
STILL BUNDLED in the coat, Luke angrily threw his fedora on the table. He’d barely had time to take off his gloves before he’d had to run in the door and take her phone call. But it would hardly do to say, Sorry I was late getting to the phone. I was just down at your place trying to get your hot little hands off my body before I did something we’d both regret.
“I am in this up to my neck,” he muttered.
“I’ll say!” Fitz exclaimed.
Wordlessly Abigail Fitzhugh offered an arm as Luke divested himself of the coat and the hat and the gloves, piece by piece.
“Put this stuff in the trunk of the Ferrari,” he ordered, negligently hanging on to the scarf. He stroked it absently. “Given Gilly’s current lifestyle, you never know when I might need it again.”
Mrs. Fitz stood there, looking down at the armload of clothing. “You can’t be serious.”
“Perfectly serious.”
“Have you thought of retiring this ridiculous Nightshade creature?” Mrs. Fitz demanded. “Of telling Gillian the truth?”
“How could I? After tonight, if she knew the truth, she’d kill me.”
Abigail quirked an eyebrow, but he didn’t elaborate. He wasn’t touching that one.
“So your appearance as Nightshade did not do all you hoped?” Fitz inquired discreetly.
“A lot less than I hoped.” Luke couldn’t forget Gilly lying half-dressed on the bed, wrapped in his arms, her breasts tantalizing his hands. “And a lot more.”
“That doesn’t sound promising.”
“Not very.”
“So now you’re signed up for more duty when you know it puts you at considerable risk?” Mrs. Fitzhugh asked.
“That about sums it up.”
She heaved a huge sigh and stomped out of the room carrying most of his Nightshade outfit. He could’ve sworn he heard her growl, “Men!” on her way out.
“OKAY, EVERYONE, we’re going to be good, right? On our best behavior?” The children nodded dutifully, which was a miracle in itself. “Mr. Blackthorn has been ill, so he may not be really cheery or talkative, but he went to Benny’s, just like all of you, and he’s a real hero.”
She was so nervous on Luke’s behalf she was starting to babble. “So he’s going to talk to us today about photography. That’s what he does—takes pictures. Some of them very famous pictures. You remember we looked at some of his pictures back in the classroom?”
Again they nodded. But they were looking pretty bored.
Don’t be bored. Not for Luke, she pleaded. Be excited and cute and adorable so he’ll know he’s doing the right thing.
But that was a tall order for fourth graders. As they shuffled into Blackthorn Manor in a ragged little line, Gilly wondered again whether she was doing the right thing taking Career Day on the road.
But Luke had preferred doing this on his own turf, plus it would make a great photo opportunity when and if the press arrived. The big hero from the Cretan cave-in, sharing milk and cookies and war stories with kids from her school…
It would be great public
ity for Benny’s, spark some interest in the campaign to save the school and tie it firmly in the public’s mind to its most famous alumnus.
A perfect plan. Except for one little wrinkle. She wasn’t at all sure Luke was in full possession of his faculties. If he was going to go running for the hills the first time something spooked him, they were all in trouble. Instead of Hero Alum, they would be publicizing Nutcase Alum. Not really what she had in mind.
“Luke is no nutcase,” she told herself sternly. “Not my Luke.”
“What did you say, Ms. Quinn?”
“Nothing, sweetie. Nothing.”
She ushered the children into the big formal living room, which looked as if it hadn’t seen visitors in years, as if the dust covers had only moments before been whipped off the Louis XIV sofa and chairs.
The drapes were a subdued silver blue, the carpet plush and very white. After twenty-five fourth graders tramped over it, it would be gray like the rest of the house, she mused.
The only other adornment were his photos, blown up and set around the room on easels, the better to showcase his career. Gilly smiled. That had been her idea.
Aunt Abigail entered with cookies and punch for the kids, which gave Gilly another momentary heart attack. Red punch? On white carpet?
She forced herself to relax. Who cared if there were footprints or spots on the rug? That was life, after all— messy, dirty, fun, invigorating. If it had to be cleaned up afterward, so be it.
And then Luke walked in. He was a little pale, but very handsome in a white shirt open at the neck, dark trousers, dark jacket. He didn’t rush to hug or kiss her, and she didn’t make a move either, suddenly a little shy with her dearest friend.
She could see it in his eyes—he was trying to be strong and brave when he really wasn’t sure he was up to entertaining twenty-five nine-year-olds.
“Hi,” he mouthed across the room.
“Hi, yourself.” With a smile of encouragement, she announced, “Children, this is Mr. Blackthorn.”
“Call me Luke.”
The kids regarded him uneasily, clutching their paper cups of punch and staring around the formal room with its fancy furnishings.
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