Lights blazed on inside his body. Elisa’s lips were so sweet and warm and yielding. Her touch and taste and texture, the vibration of her voice against his lips. The wordless language of their kiss made perfect sense to him, a language only his body could understand, or his heart. His soul. He was starving for it. Desperate.
Elisa pulled away, breaking the contact. Eyes dazed, breath fast between parted lips. She looked at the door, then turned the key in the lock, pushed the door open and seized his hand. She pulled him after her. Oh God, yes.
His feet made no sound following her up the stairs. He was floating on air. He waited for her to get the key in the lock, and then covered her hand. “Let me,” he said.
He opened the door and stepped into the dark apartment, feeling for the light switch. There it was. He flicked it on as he peered in.
No one there. He took a step farther, and looked around in startled wonder.
Elisa gently pushed him out of her way, closing the door.
The apartment was a long, narrow room with a kitchen at one end. Almost the entire floor was covered with paint-spattered drop cloths which had been taped to the baseboard, and every free wall was covered with butcher paper, floor to ceiling.
Elisa had drawn or painted on all of it. Some of it was done directly on the butcher paper, some smaller ones were tacked up over it. It was a writhing mass of dark, chaotic images, and it created a strange, mythic environment. Even the paint-spotted plastic tarps on the floor were a part of the strange art installation.
Nate approached the nearest, largest painting. A huge, leafless, half-burned tree stood alone on a stark, desolate plain. There was a hollow in its charred trunk. A fearful face peered out, with big shadowy eyes. A thin, dirty hand covered its mouth.
The style was wild, chaotic and savage, but the technique was sophisticated. The images were disquieting. They would linger in his mind for a long time.
The next big one, which was a ruined, dilapidated house with rows of carrion birds perched on the ridgepole. A smaller one was tacked up next to it, of a little girl with long dark hair standing in the middle of a Persian rug in a dark library, the books above her disappearing up into the vaulted darkness. She clutched her doll in her arms, and her big, sad looking eyes were wise beyond her years.
“Is that you?” he asked.
Elisa shrugged. “Isn’t all of it me, in some way or another?”
“Maybe,” Nate murmured, moving to the next one. “Holy shit. I had no idea.”
“About what?” She looked self-conscious. “You know I like to draw. You’ve seen my stuff in the café. I just turbocharge it up here when I’m on my own.”
“I had no idea you had this kind of range.” He gestured at the walls. “The stuff in the café was colorful. Cute and cheerful. This stuff…it grabs you by the throat.”
“Oh. Gee. Uh, thanks. I think.”
“You’re welcome,” Nate said. “I mean it in a good way. Bad art doesn’t grab anyone’s throat.”
She laughed under her breath. “I guess that’s a compliment I can accept. Sometimes it surprises me, too. My stuff didn’t used to be quite so gloomy.”
“Before you went on the run, you mean?” He leaned in to examine the face that peered from the painting of the hollow burned tree. “This is you, right? Covering your mouth because you’re afraid to tell us who’s after you.”
She stiffened. “Don’t start,” she warned him. “You’re the first one who’s ever seen these paintings. Do not make me regret inviting you up here.”
Nate turned to the next picture, drawn in blunt black charcoal, a looming shadow figure with the lit-up points of its eyes glowing malevolently in the dimness. Bony fingers reached out, ready to clutch and squeeze.
He studied it for a long moment. “That’s him,” he said.
“Who?”
“The guy you’re hiding from.”
“It’s just a spooky drawing, Nate,” she snapped. “I was in a bad mood that day. Don’t make a thing of it.”
His eyes didn’t move from the painting. “That’s not a drawing,” he said slowly. “That’s a fucking exorcism.”
“Stop being melodramatic,” she snapped. “I was just trying to get it outside my head, so I could sleep. I don’t want to talk about my pictures. That’s not why I asked you up here.”
“No?” He turned to her. “So why did you ask me up here?”
The question hung in the air between them. Finally, Elisa shrugged, self-conscious. “What, you mean, I have to come right out and say it? In so many words?”
“Yes,” he said. “After the way you’ve been ducking me for months? I deserve to hear the words. That way I can be absolutely sure we’re on the same page.”
“I was hoping that one thing would just lead to another. I didn’t expect you to put me on the spot.”
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he murmured. “I’ll make it a really good spot to be.”
She was clearly trying to speak, but nothing came out. He thought of the face peering out of the burned tree, that hand pressed over its mouth. The words locked inside her. It couldn’t be easy for her to speak, after being quiet for so long.
He took her hand, lifting it to his lips, breaking eye contact as he kissed her knuckles gently. Taking the pressure off. No hurry. Kissing each finger. Each joint.
He felt her let out a shuddering sigh, the tension easing.
“I want you to spend the night with me,” she said softly.
Nate let out a ragged breath. “You got it. I have a request to make, though.”
She let out a short, nervous laugh. “A request? Should I be scared?”
Nate glanced over his shoulder, and gestured at the shadowy charcoal drawing of the looming monster. “I don’t want that thing to watch us.”
Elisa glanced up at the image, startled. “Seriously? It bothers you that much?”
“It’s looking down on you,” he said. “Threatening you. Taking up space. You shouldn’t allow him to do that. You should shut him out.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask you up here to psychoanalyze me.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m not a shrink. I’m a security expert, and I’m just doing what I do. That picture feels like a security breach. It’s invading your privacy. You should take it down.”
Then he held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t throw his ass out. Hoping he hadn’t burned his one shot at this.
Fingers crossed.
6
He had no goddamn right to ask that of her. And even so, the suggestion sent an electric thrill of wildly conflicting emotions through her body. Confusion, indignation, because who the hell did he think he was, and what the fuck did he know about it?
And then, as the noise abated, she realized that he was right.
So obvious. Why the hell hadn’t she realized it before? Gil did not deserve pride of place in her living room. She’d just granted it to him out of habit. She’d always given him too much space, the same way she’d always given Dad too much space. The same reason she’d missed the warning signs of a domineering, controlling man when she got involved with Gil. She was so accustomed to them in Dad. They were like the water a fish swam in. Her world had always been a carefully controlled, luxurious fish bowl. She’d always been observed, examined, judged, pushed. By Dad, and then by Gil.
Even now, he was still taking up real estate in her head. All she did, night and day, was worry about what he might be doing to her little brother.
That was his plan. To show dominance. To drive her slowly nuts.
She’d done the drawing to drag that image outside of her head so that she could sleep. But then she’d left Gil up there on the wall, menacing her. Like Kimball did to the Trasks, with his cameras and bugs. Screw that. It stopped now.
She went over to the wall, climbed up on the stepladder she used to paint up high, and peeled the tape loose. She ripped the heavy strip of paper down, wadding it up into a ball. It left a big, ra
gged hole in her mosaic. Which was just fine.
Nate looked taken aback. “Hey! I didn’t say you had to destroy it! It’s an amazing drawing. It’s not like it deserved to die.”
“I want to burn it,” she said fervently.
“Not a bad idea.” He looked around. “But your place isn’t set up for that.”
Good point. No woodstove, no fireplace. No time to spare. Gil didn’t get one more second of air time on this precious last night with Nate.
“So, how does it feel?” he asked. “Taking it down, I mean.”
“Good,” she admitted. “I don’t understand how I left it up there for so long.”
“I do,” he said. “You were used to the feeling. A person can get accustomed to things that hurt. Pain starts to feel normal. Baseline. I know how that can be.” He paused for a moment. “Are you sure you won’t tell me more?”
“Not another word, or I’m calling this off right now,” she said crisply, shoving the wadded paper violently into the trash basket. Then she rummaged around in the junk drawer until she found a battered, half-burned candle that she’d seen in there, left over from whoever had lived in this apartment before her.
She pulled out a saucer, softened the wax at the bottom with a match, and fixed the candle onto the plate. Then she flipped off the overhead light and placed the candle in the middle of the table.
It lit the room with a flickering glow. Strange shadows danced on the walls.
She went around the room from window to window, pulling down the blinds. No one else in town needed to see that she had company. Not that anyone paid attention to her, but even so. This was nobody’s business but theirs.
The light flickered eerily on the walls, making the uncanny images appear to move, like marine plants swaying underwater.
“Better?” she said. “I don’t want my dark art installation to creep you out.”
“It doesn’t, at all,” he assured her. “It intrigues me. It’s amazing. It was just that one particular image. It felt like a mistake to have that on display.”
“Agreed. Would you excuse me? I’m just running into the bathroom.”
“Take your time,” he said. “I’ll be right here when you get out. You couldn’t drag me out of this place.” He gazed around at the walls, fascinated. “I’ve been wanting a closer look at you from the first day. I knew you had hidden depths.”
“Really?” she said with a snort. “What clued you in? The box-cutter?”
His gorgeous smile flashed. “I’m just curious. It’s my nature.”
Well, too bad about his curiosity. She wasn’t going to satisfy it. He’d just have to be content with having other needs and urges satisfied.
And to that end, she slipped into the bedroom, which was barely large enough for a cot, and unzipped her already packed suitcase.
She didn’t have much to work with when it came to seductive lingerie. The nightie she pulled out was a far cry from the pretty sleepwear she’d worn in her former life; filmy nothings made of silk, satin and lace. Her clothes-shopping post-flight had been limited to the secondhand thrift shop down at St. Vinny’s. Everything priced under a dollar.
The clingy tank was so thin and worn it was almost sheer, but it had big roses splattered over it. It was soft, stretchy, and it clung nicely to her curves. With eyes blurred, or in candlelight, it could pass for sexy, tattered chic. She wasn’t quite ready to waltz out there stark naked. She had to ease into this a little at a time.
The bathroom connected with the bedroom, so she slipped in there and took a quickie shower. She pulled out the pins and shook down her hair, unwinding the coil. She stared at herself in the mirror as she arranged it over her shoulders.
So she was actually dragging Nate into this death-trap? To scratch a fucking itch? She was being selfish. Self-indulgent.
But if she didn’t tell him about Gil, then she wouldn’t spark his curiosity or activate his macho protectiveness, or invoke his knee-jerk hero instinct.
This was simple and straightforward. A one-night stand. Everyone understood the rules of engagement. She would indulge in her lustful curiosity, blow his mind, and then disappear forever. An eternal question mark.
This was stolen time. Stolen sex. Gil would have no reason to hurt him. Once she left this place, Gil would never have any reason to know that Nate even existed.
Right. Like it could be that easy. Nate was ferociously smart and curious. He was heroic and protective by nature. He’d put himself on the line for his country in the military, and he did it on the job, too. Defending and protecting people came to him as naturally as breathing.
He had offered her his protection unasked. Knowing nothing about what threatened her. It would be incredibly difficult to hide the truth from a guy like Nate.
What made her think concealing it would get easier once they’d had sex?
She padded barefoot out to the main room. Nate had pulled out his cell phone and was holding it up under air vents, under the smoke detector. So that thing was not just a cell phone, evidently.
He turned, and his eyes widened. “Wow. I wasn’t braced for that.”
She snorted. “Aw. Thanks. And that thing?” She gestured at the thing in his hand. “What’s up with that?”
“Bug-sweeper,” he said. “From what I can tell, your place seems good. You don’t appear to have any electronics in here at all. I pick up a big fat nothing.”
“Nope,” she said. “I have my laptop, but it’s not connected. There’s no TV or tablet or digital clock. There isn’t even a microwave.”
Nate shrugged off his suitcoat, and took off his shoulder holster, laying his gun on the drafting table, next to the candle guttering in the plate. He pried off his shoes, yanked his tie loose, and paused, giving her an uncertain look. “Too much, too soon?”
“Not at all,” she said. “Please go on. It’s not every day I get a show like this.”
His grin flashed, and he got back to it. Buttons, belt. She had to stop breathing for a moment when he shrugged the shirt off.
Total sensory overload. She’d been fantasizing about him since the beginning, but she still wasn’t prepared for how gorgeous he was. Every cut and contour, every thick, ropy muscle or taut tendon just struck her as absolutely perfect. The silky mat of dark hair over his chest trailed down to his flat belly.
His eyes narrowed at the look on her face, and he stopped, his hands on the buttons of his pants. “Is this okay? Am I going too fast?”
“Fine,” she assured him. “I like it just fine. Carry on.”
He smiled at her, letting his hands drop, and moved closer to her. He smelled good. Heat, salt, a subtle piney sweetness of his aftershave.
He seized both of her hands, and pressed them against his chest.
Oh. Wow. They both gasped a little at the sweet shock of contact. His muscular chest was so dense and hard, and his skin velvety and hot and supple.
Nate pressed her hand hard against his heart.
“Feel that?” he said. “It’s going nuts just from looking at you.”
The flickering candle was behind him now, and his face was in shadow. Darkness closed around them like a blanket. Sweet secrecy. Her stolen night. Stolen pleasure. She had to take it, and run with it.
And treasure that memory for as long as she managed to stay alive.
He pulled his hair tie loose, shaking out his shaggy mane. Black, wild, gleaming. The sexy barbarian warrior look. Not a style she’d ever favored before, but Nate made it hot. Nate could make anything hot.
He ran his hands reverently over her shoulders and her back. He settled them into the curve of her waist, and then drifted lower, cupping her ass.
He hissed softly between his teeth when he felt her bare skin. No panties down there.
“Wow,” he ground out. “Your skin. So soft and smooth. You’re perfect.”
Hah. She wished. She felt like a hot mess, with all the conflict and terror and doubt and guilt. She shouldn’t be here. Not if she tr
uly cared about him.
And she did, whether she wanted to or not. She’d tried so hard to keep her distance from him. She had failed.
Then he kissed her, and his magic swept her into that altered state instantly.
The cocoon of flickering light surrounded them. Nate’s fierce kiss demanded sensual surrender to the depths of her being, and the chatter in her mind dissolved like smoke. She’d hidden from her own depths, trying not to feel the fear, but she couldn’t hide from it in Nate’s arms. He anchored her in absolute awareness.
She was conscious of every detail. Every sensual thrust of his tongue promised infinite pleasure as it reverberated through her body. The strength of his big, callused hands cradled her softness. Through his pants, the heat of his erection prodded her belly.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and just drank him up. He was a font of wonderful, life-giving energy.
She let his power fill her, charge her. She felt molten hot, squeezing her thighs around that yearning between her legs. He swept her off her feet, but she was too busy kissing him to pay attention. Then she felt cool cotton against her bottom. The sheet she used to cover the old futon couch, her living room’s only article of furniture, besides her drafting table, and the straight-backed chair.
The candle flame wavered wildly with their movements. Shadows shivered and danced as Nate knelt on the floor in front of her. His dark eyes were intent upon hers as he stroked the tops of her thighs, waiting for her to relax and open them.
Nate leaned down to press soft, gentle kisses on tops of her thighs, first one, then the other. The delicate rasp of his beard stubble was a ticklish caress, sending a delicious shiver up her spine. But in spite of his tender, patient coaxing, it was a long time before the tension in her legs would unlock.
Nate made a low, ragged sound in his throat when she finally opened them, and pressed her thighs wide. “Elisa. You’re so beautiful.”
She felt like she should respond, but words failed her, particularly when he leaned down and put his mouth to her. Right over the vortex of dark hair that curled over her clit, while his fingers slowly petted and stroked the sensitive folds of her pussy. Slow, gentle, seductive kisses. Just pressure, not penetration. Not until excitement bloomed and his caressing fingers found the slick, liquid warmth of her lube, welcoming him inside, into her secret places.
Heedless: The Hellbound Brotherhood Book Four Page 6