by Beverly Bird
“I know.”
Again, he looked surprised. “Not now,” he said finally.
“Why not?”
He took yet another step away from her. Now that it was possible, now that she didn’t appear to be fighting it, he felt even more out of sync than he had when he had driven up to the cabin. Why?
Because I’m scared. The realization jolted him, left him reeling. For the first time in a very long time, something mattered to him more than life itself, and it terrified him that he could lose it. He could tell her about Anelle, clean up the slate, at least on his side...and she would probably still go away.
“Because you’re in no condition to talk,” he said finally, and that was true, too. “Go back to your trailer. Get some sleep. Real sleep, not hunched over a desk.”
Catherine snorted. “With one eye open, to see who’s going to sneak in and leave me a present this time?”
He swore darkly. “I’ll hang around outside.”
“All night?” Her jaw dropped. “That’s ridiculous.”
It was. He closed the space between them suddenly. “All right,” he said. “I’ll stay with you. You’ll sleep, I’ll watch the door. I was going to go to Shadow’s anyway. Can’t get home until the storm clears.”
She let him pull her as far as the door before she dug her heels in. “The storm’s cleared,” she murmured.
Belatedly he realized that the rain had indeed stopped. “The roads are still washed out.”
“So drive over the desert.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
Finally he realized that she was deliberately baiting him. Yeah, they matched.
“Do you want me to leave, Cat Eyes?” he asked quietly.
A very small shiver went through her. “No.” I want to know where you go when you leave here.
The shiver undid him, weakening him, dissolving all the common sense that had taken him away in the first place. It made his fear seem small.
He pulled her into his arms, closing his eyes, resting his chin on top of her head.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because the hell of it is, it took me a long time to get here and now I really don’t want to go back.”
Chapter 14
Their feet stuck to her porch. Jericho looked down, scowling, and Catherine straightened her spine.
“Flour,” she explained a little defensively. Just enough of it to turn reasonably tacky in the rain that had dashed this close to the building.
He watched her as she dug the key out of her jeans pocket. “Ancient Irish custom?”
“No. If anyone breaks in again, I want to see what their footprints look like.”
“All right.” He wasn’t going to point out that what she’d probably find were paw prints or claw marks. Not now. In the morning they could tackle it all again.
They went inside and he watched her stretch with a yawn, with unconscious grace. Like a cat. Her sweater pulled taut across her breasts and he thought, no bra again. Suddenly, morning seemed a very long time away.
He brought his eyes deliberately back to her face. He was going to make her sleep. He had to, for her sake and for his own. Later, when they had straightened some things out, there would be ample time to sink into her again...he hoped.
“Go on,” he snapped. “Use the bathroom. Do whatever it is you have to do to get ready for bed. I’ll stay here by the door.”
She watched him closely. Something both hot and cold sliced through her at the look on his hard face...wanting all tangled up with stony caution. He was that kind of man. He certainly wouldn’t rush on to ground that even a reckless man would fear.
Nor could she entirely blame him.
“Okay,” she said carefully. She backed up for the bathroom, her head whirling. She brushed her teeth and undressed down to her panties, washing up, then she pulled on a robe she had left on the back of the bathroom door. But when she came out again he was still standing where she had left him, watching her with a wooden expression, a single muscle moving in his jaw.
She clenched her hands into fists. “I lied,” she whispered. “Just let me tell you that much now at least.”
Impossibly, his face hardened even more. “About what?”
“It wasn’t just sex...it didn’t feel like that.”
Her words hit into him like an iron fist. “And you know what ‘just sex’ feels like?” he asked tightly. He didn’t think he wanted to know. He had always been relatively confident in his masculinity; he had never been a jealous man, not even with Anelle. But now jealousy clawed through him in a stunning ambush.
It showed on his face. Catherine paled, then her chin came up. “I know what it feels like to just go through the motions.” She had gotten shot for it. “I know what it feels like to grit your teeth and pray to God it’s over with soon. But with you, I wanted it to go on forever.”
He was reasonably sure he could have withstood anything but that—a hushed admission, but somehow strong, somehow defiant. He closed his eyes again. “Lanie...”
“Catherine,” she said softly.
“Cat—” He was going to choke. Had he known when he had called her that? Had the Holy People been whispering malicious little hints in his ear? Fate was nature and nature was inevitable, he thought.
“My father calls me Cat. My mother called me Catie.” She crossed to him slowly, shrugging. “Lately, since college, I’ve gotten used to Catherine.”
She fiddled nervously with the belt to her robe and prayed that the truth—even this much of it—would in no way endanger him. But Fate had plans of her own, and she couldn’t fight her any longer.
“So.” She dropped the belt. “Do you still want to wait until tomorrow to talk?”
Suddenly talking was the last thing on his mind.
It was necessary, vital, to do it before he got in any deeper. But he was already sinking fast, and the closer she got to him the more his balance was restored. The scent of her—some clean floral soap—filled his head. The warmth of her reached out and stroked something inside him. And in that moment everything felt right again—he couldn’t even remember why he had gone to the mountain in the first place.
With you, I wanted it to go on forever. And he had promised to love her all night, after all.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely, “talking can wait.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. Relief made her sway into him. He caught her and she lifted her arms to his neck, holding on tightly, seeking his mouth, needing the reassurance that he was back now and that somehow everything was going to turn out all right.
His hands held her hips, then left them to tug hungrily at her belt, pulling it loose. Her robe fell open and he groaned like a man dying a slow, sweet death. His hands swept upward to cover her breasts and she felt her nipples grow hard and tight beneath his rough palms.
She tore her mouth from his. “Please, Jericho, please.”
His arms came around her, and she felt herself being lifted and carried. The room was spinning oddly again, but she couldn’t care. It righted itself anyway when he laid her on the bed and kneeled over her, because then there were only his eyes, black, fathomless, so intense. His gaze moved to her hip...to the scar hidden beneath a silky puddle of her robe. It laid open in a long, narrow swath between her breasts.
There was no darkness this time, no sweet protective cloak of night. The trailer lights blazed.
“Okay if I take this off?” he asked quietly, his fingers tugging at the lapel.
Catherine nodded slowly and held her breath.
He slid both hands across her breasts, baring them. Then he followed the path with his tongue, running little circles around a nipple. Finally he pulled back to look at her, but his eyes didn’t linger on the short red welt. They came right back to hers as he shrugged out of his jacket, then his shirt.
He turned away to sit on the side of the bed and get rid of his boots and his jeans. He stood and faced her again, looking down at her, and then she kn
ew what she had been missing in all that darkness. She filled her eyes with him until her throat ached. His body was hard, the planes of his chest tapering to his lean waist, then to the black nest of hair there and the full evidence of his arousal. His thighs were strong and she saw that he had a scar there of his own, an old one. A small leather bag hung on a piece of braided twine around his neck. She realized that he must always wear it hidden beneath his shirt.
She had known, somehow she had known that he would look just like this.
She reached out a hand to him and moved over to make room for him on the bed, but he kneeled over her instead. If he made love to her forever there would never be time to talk, he realized, and she would never have a chance to go away.
The thought brought a brief surge of desperate anger. He ground his mouth down on hers and tore her robe the rest of the way off. His hands went to her body as though to brand every curve, every long, lean line, to make them his own. She was strong and limber, and he could feel her muscles grow taut and trembling beneath his touch. Oh, how she trembled, and how it undid him. He found the elastic of her panties and tore them roughly down over her hips, then he settled his weight on top of her, rolling, carrying her with him until she was above him.
His hands cupped her bottom, then he kneaded the back of her thighs and coaxed her legs apart. All of her. All of her would be his...now, for this night, and curse tomorrow. He ran his fingers up between her legs and found dampness and heat. He couldn’t believe the fire in her could catch so easily—for him, not for any other man.
Catherine felt his breath melt over her. His mouth began to touch her skin as if she were something priceless, irreplaceable. The awe of such a thing rocked her. There was so much beauty in his world, so much that was sacred. That this man could consider her so special in spite of all that she had hidden from him shattered everything she had ever taken for granted about herself.
His tongue slid across her collarbone, leaving a trail of hot fire. Then his mouth moved to her neck, sucking harder and harder, as though to deliberately mark her. It was exquisite, sweet pain, but she wanted to touch him. She moved her arms to feel him, but he caught her hands in a lightning-quick grasp.
“Oh, no, Cat Eyes,” he said roughly. “Lay still. This time I want all your secrets. This time you’re going to give them up.”
Her heart leaped in excitement, willing and wild. He found her mouth again and they rolled, legs twined, until her back came up hard against the trailer wall. Then he was on top of her again and his teeth closed gently over her nipple. He sucked and she groaned, arching into him. His lips moved, sweeping down over her belly and thighs, biting, licking, his hand stroking up along the inside of her legs again.
If she couldn’t touch him, she would die.
She finally managed to wrench free of his grip and her hands found his shoulders, strong and broad, vaguely rough with fine hair. His calloused fingers found her warm, hot center in an assault that was both gentle and invading, sweet and relentless.
She heard a raw cry of need explode from her own throat. She would have pulled back from him—it was too much, it made her want him too desperately, it brought him so dangerously, intimately close to her heart. But fate was taunting them, laughing wickedly, and when he pushed her legs open further she knew better than to fight him.
His mouth moved lower, trespassing on all her secrets. It brushed over her belly, her muscles contracting in delicious agony, then closed over her most sensitive flesh. Catherine groaned, then she gasped, then she lost control of her voice completely.
His tongue probed and laved, circled and slid, until her nails dug into his shoulders and she arched backward. He was satisfied—she was his.
He came up over her again, giving the devil’s own grin when she would have protested, laughing quietly when she tried feebly to push him back down. But he was aching, bursting, and they had forever, even if it was all crammed into the space of one night. He would sate her, then himself, then both of them all over again until she wept.
He had promised.
He drove himself hard into her warm, waiting folds. It was an act of pure lust, of primal need and uncomplicated love. She stiffened in shock, then flowed over him, bucking beneath him to meet his each thrust.
His. Now, for a time.
He felt her body pulsing, accepting, going over the edge, and he let himself go with her. Emptied, spent, he collapsed on top of her with a groan.
* * *
It was a long time before she found her voice again. “Sorry?” she asked, the way he had asked her the first time.
He had rolled onto his back and her head was settled on his shoulder, her right leg twined with his. She thought she felt him stiffen, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Should I be?” he asked finally.
Catherine thought about it. “No.” It came out on a long breath. “Maybe scared.”
“I am.” He said it so simply, unashamed.
“You don’t know the half of it yet.”
“Tell me later.”
Impossibly, he rolled on top of her again, and impossibly, she was ready for him. He slanted his head to kiss her again, fully and deep, then he captured her breasts in his hands, squeezing. He ran his thumbs over her nipples until they hardened once more, then he rolled her over, his teeth closing gently at her nape.
She cried out and rose to her knees, and he plunged into her yet again.
* * *
Dawn was tinting the sky when his mouth finally left hers for the last time. Jericho watched the window for a moment with a satisfied half smile, then he lowered his face to the side of her neck, tasting the place where her pulse moved erratically.
“Catherine,” he said quietly. It suited her much more than Lanie, he discovered. It was dignified, classic, strong....
“Mmm?”
“Just out of curiosity, are you going to let your hair grow out now?” He braced his weight on his elbows to wrap one wild corkscrew around his finger and study it in the new light. Banked fire, he thought, embers not quite dying.
He wondered if he would be there to see it.
Catherine didn’t answer. He looked down at her face again. She was asleep, snoring gently.
He eased away from her and sat up. “That’s it, Cat Eyes. Let it go. I’ll watch the last of the night for you.”
* * *
She didn’t wake until nearly noon. She did it with a start and a jolt, because something felt wrong. Then she realized what it was. The television was on, static spitting out from the single channel it almost received.
Jericho was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, his boots braced on the rickety table. When he heard her stir, he looked her way.
“Feel better?”
She lifted one shoulder. Certainly she felt better than she had when she had first put her head down on the clinic desk the night before. And there were sweet aches and tender spots in places she hadn’t known she had. That made her smile fleetingly, but the truth of the matter was that she could lie back down and probably sleep the rest of the day away.
“I’m not sure,” she murmured. She sat up, leaning over the side of the bed to find her robe. “No bogeymen? No presents?” she asked. “Did you manage to sleep at all?”
He didn’t answer. She looked back at him, pulling the robe on. He was staring hard at her.
“What? What’s wrong?”
He got up slowly, frowning, coming toward her. He had said last night that he had no regrets. She had told him she would talk, and, God help them both, she would keep her word. So why was he staring at her like that?
She noticed that he had left a coffee cup on the table. “It’s not even french vanilla,” she mused. “That stuff is gone.”
“Exactly how do you feel?” he asked finally.
He sensed something wrong with her, the way he could always feel a storm coming, the way he knew when one of his patients was going to die. Beneath his jeans and his leather jacket, he was a man wh
ose dreams whispered to him much as they had to his ancestors. He had finally accepted that years earlier, and now he could not deny that there was a dark miasma of something... something evil...hanging about her.
He scowled. How long had it been there? He couldn’t be sure. The night before had been numbing in its intensity. It could have been there then and he had simply not felt it.
Catherine watched him strangely. “I have a pounding headache, but it’s nothing a few aspirin won’t fix,” she answered finally. “I’ll swallow a couple as soon as I get to the clinic.”
He made a sound deep in his throat. She couldn’t tell if it was approval or irritation.
“I’ve got to take a shower,” she went on. He was starting to frighten her. Maybe when she was finished, he would be his old self again.
She stood and the trailer tilted. She gasped and sat down again hard.
“What?” he growled.
“I’m just dizzy.” He was watching her as if he were waiting for her to change color, and she was getting tired of it. “Not surprising, considering the stress I’ve been under lately. I’ll give myself a B12 shot, too.”
“Won’t do any good,” he said quietly.
Something shuddered through her at his tone. Paddy would have said that someone had walked over her grave.
“Why?” she asked a little breathlessly.
He decided to tell her, and the hell with her reaction. “There’s something wrong about you this morning,” he said. “Something dark.”
She gaped at him, finally understanding. “You think your wolfman put a spell on me?”
He made a deprecating sound. “Now he’s my wolfman again.”
“I don’t care who he belongs to,” she snapped. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since that possum ran out of here, assuming the damned thing wasn’t just rabid in the first place.”
Suddenly she closed her eyes, getting a firm hold on her temper. She didn’t want to argue with him. She couldn’t bear for it to happen again. She stood carefully, and she was fine this time. She gave him a weak smile.