Soon turned out to be a forty-five minute wait, during which time Skye listened as Josh rambled on about a silver wolf. When he wasn’t talking about Kiya, he teetered on the fringes of a romantic poet who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.
He reached out, clasped her hand in his. “She smiled and that transfigured me and left me but a lout, maundering here, and maundering there, emptier of thought than the heavenly circuit of its stars when the moon sails out,” Josh quoted.
“Yeats?”
“You need to smile more often, Skye Cree. You’ve got the cutest dimples when you do.” He raised his head a fraction and whispered, “Why don’t we head to your place after this? It’s much closer than mine.” The minute she sat down next to him, he began to toy with strands of her hair.
Since the guy was practically out of his head with fever, mumbling poetry one minute before turning into an octopus the next with what seemed like eight busy hands, Skye decided to cut him some slack and humor him. “My place might be closer but it isn’t nearly as swanky as yours.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? A bed’s a bed. You’re really hung up on fancy and ritzy. You know that?”
“Oh really? Which one of us owns a loft that sells for seven figures?”
“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re hung up on…stuff. I want to see where you live, Skye. Because I want to take you to bed. My place, your place, it really doesn’t matter as long as we end up between the sheets.”
That had her heart doing a little lurch while her belly dropped as if on a rollercoaster. “You are talking serious nonsense now.”
“Hey, it’s the truth. Lean over here a minute.”
“Why?”
“I want to see your eyes better. Why do you think?”
“You’re flat on your back and you want to make out?” She inched closer just to see if he had the strength to follow through.
But Josh surprised her.
He took that moment to snake his good arm up behind her neck to pull her down to his level. Her hair fanned out across his face. When she lifted a hand to push it back, he nipped at her bottom lip. His mouth meshed with hers in a heated flash. Instant lust spiked between them. He drew the kiss out, took them both deeper into the flame. She tasted like the sweet maple syrup she’d poured over her pancakes. He had one short moment of lucidity when he felt her pulse pick up and realized she’d finally yielded completely.
Any other time her hesitation, that reluctance would have tipped him off, but he was too far gone into the kiss to have reality move in and set up house.
Skye had to remember to breathe. She felt his beard where he hadn’t bothered to shave. It wasn’t just his skin that was rougher than she imagined, she felt the hunger in him biting at the fringes. Despite that, she sunk into the kiss as butterflies gathered in her stomach.
So this was what it was like to simply drop, to free fall from the top of an eighteen-story building, she decided. Her descent took her as close to lust as she’d ever gotten. How anyone could survive the assault of his mouth on hers she didn’t know. This was like no kiss ever, certainly nothing like the last time when Derek had merely stuck his tongue down her throat. This time, she wanted…
At the brief knock on the door before it burst open, Skye jerked upward. As if entering a wind tunnel she had to fight her way to the end. She heard the doctor clear his throat right along with Josh’s weak voice. But both sounded like they came from a distance.
“You have lousy timing, Doc,” Josh uttered.
But for Skye, she had to take a step back to replay the whole thing in slow motion. Josh possessed skills that were light years beyond anything she’d known firsthand. She’d felt a measure of longing before—been attracted to other men—before putting up a barrier. Albeit briefly. She wasn’t immune to desire for what she could never have. Up to now she’d avoided taking that step toward intimacy, toward the physical—on purpose.
But Josh was slowly changing all that.
And she didn’t like what she was feeling for him, not one bit.
She made the mistake of looking over at him lying vulnerable on the table while the doctor treated and sutured the nasty gash. Josh’s face told her that he was in various amounts of pain. And she hated seeing anyone hurting. She steeled herself against the conflicting mood knowing full well she desperately needed to protect herself from falling headlong into a relationship with a man like Josh Ander.
But while the head buzzed with all manner of rational advice, the heart longed for that wild ride she’d never taken.
Driving through the streets of Seattle on the way back to Josh’s loft, Skye had time to use reason and logic to her advantage. She looked over in the passenger seat where he dozed from the two shots the nurse had given him. When she came to a stop at the light on Seventh Avenue, her fingers itched to reach out and comb through his long, ebony hair.
What was happening to her anyway? Where was that woman who’d sworn off men for life?
Forever was a long time, she concluded. Just thinking about his mouth on hers had her lower belly—longing for something she’d decided wasn’t for her. No, she wasn’t a virgin. She’d never be that. But she was inexperienced in developing relationships while Josh Ander ran through them like water through a sieve. His wife had been dead less than a year and he’d moved on to the blonde without a backward glance. Is that what people did? Move from one sexual relationship to the next?
Josh could equate sex with love and kindness while she could not. He’d been married and had a sexual history while she had nothing except—pain and horror.
Something about that wasn’t fair.
She thought of the petite woman he’d broken up with less than twenty-four hours earlier. A spurt of jealousy sprouted. And that was ridiculous. But she had to admit she did not want to think about Josh and the blonde spending time horizontal.
The power-punch of that kiss back at the hospital had made her want something she couldn’t have. And that was when he’d been weak, flat on his back. What sort of kick would he manage when he was a hundred percent?
She couldn’t let that happen again. She’d get him home, tuck him in for the night and that had to be the end of it.
The minute Skye pulled the little Fusion into Josh’s parking garage and found the space labeled “Josh Ander,” she cut the engine. In the silence he popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box and scrubbed a hand down his face.
“I must’ve hit the snooze button.”
“You needed it. Look, I need to shove off. You’re plenty capable of getting inside on your own.”
He reached over, did what she hadn’t had the nerve to do. He combed his fingers through her silky black hair. “Skye?”
“What?”
“Don’t go.”
Those two words melted her icy resolve into slush. “Josh—”
He trailed a finger down her jawline. “Look, as soon as I hit the door, I’m getting shuteye. I’m asking you to be with me. No fooling around just lay down beside me. That’s all…for now anyway.”
“You mean you don’t want to…”
Because she couldn’t even say the words, he knew then for certain what he’d suspected back at the hospital. He’d denied his suspicions because he’d been too rocked by the kiss to admit it to himself. His warrior goddess wasn’t so tough. No one had ever made love to Skye Cree. And he reveled in the idea he would be the first.
But not tonight.
“Of course, I do. But not right this second. I need to recharge.” It wasn’t a total lie but he had to ease her into thinking about being with him, letting him touch her, eventually enough to make love to her. “I want you with me while I do.”
She puffed out a breath. “Okay.” It was just that simple, she decided. Why make it out to be complicated. Attraction, sex, desire, all natural elements to life. She just needed to get used to the idea she was attracted to Josh Ander and he might really, eventually, touch her.
Pleased with her answer, Josh crawled out of the car.
When they headed to the elevator, a good two feet separating them, Josh changed that once the doors dinged open. His good arm winged out and took her hand. He tugged her to him and kissed the palm. Again, he heard her suck in a deep breath.
“No need to be nervous.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Skye?” When those violet orbs finally looked up, met his eyes, he said, “As much as I love the idea of making love with you, relax. I’m not going to try to get you out of your clothes right this minute.”
“Really?”
His grin spread. “I told you, at least not yet.” The door to the penthouse slid open and Josh pulled her out into the loft and down the hall.
Once they got to the bedroom, though, a set of nerves hit Skye. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. While Josh flicked on the bedside light and began to undress, Skye could do nothing more than blink at the room, at the pale blue painted walls with creamy crown molding.
The space itself reminded her of marshmallow clouds and gray-blue skies coming together in the middle of a spring day. Soothing. One wall held nothing but books from floor to ceiling. The furniture spoke male in that it was sturdy, deep chestnut, and bold. Good thing his decorator had gone with soft beiges and baby blues to accessorize and offset the dark wood. A thick cream-colored textured rug settled in under the bed, leaving the edges a trove of cherry hardwood.
One glance at Josh and she noted he’d already started tossing an assortment of pillows into a handy blanket box at the foot of the king-sized bed.
While she continued to stare, Josh got busy stripping out of his clothes. His jacket came off first before his tennis shoes and socks. He wrestled out of his shirt by awkwardly pulling it over his head. He unbuttoned the snap of his jeans.
All of a sudden, Skye wanted to move from her spot but couldn’t make her feet work. She wanted to be the one to lower that zipper. But she’d waited too late. The minute he got down to his boxers, he simply threw back the covers and crawled between the sheets just as he’d promised.
She stood there another minute feeling silly and childish. She shrugged out of her coat, tossed it and her scarf onto the nearest chair. She toed off her boots, but left on her socks, shed her jeans and sweater, padded over to flick off the light wearing her bra and panties. In the dark, she made her way around to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers.
Josh did his best not to stare at his warrior goddess. He found himself struggling for the control he’d vowed on the ride up in the elevator. He took a steady breath, refusing to blow it now.
“Cold?” Josh asked, patting the space between them. “It’s chilly in here. Scoot over and I’ll warm you up.”
Without a word, Skye slid over and turned into his arms. He settled her down beside him by placing a tender kiss in her hair and wrapping her up. “Now close your eyes and watch the cowboy ride off into the sunset. Watch him until he disappears completely, okay?”
“Does that really work for you?” she finally muttered, inhaling his scent. He smelled like rain and fresh air.
“Most of the time.”
“Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
He kissed her hair again and said, “Now go to sleep.”
And with that, she snuggled into his chest.
In less than two minutes, they were both dead to the world.
CHAPTER TWELVE
For two days now sixteen-year-old Heather Moore had been kept in the same dank windowless room, shot up with enough drugs to make sure she remained complacent. Confined in a ten-by-ten chamber of horrors with no heat, a concrete floor, the high school drill team captain had been beaten over most of her body from her chest down to her ankles. They never left a mark on her face. But because of the bruises along her ribs and butt and legs, she found it difficult to stand up.
For the first three days, she’d been used repeatedly by several different men, one of which had to be as old as her father. The other two had been younger but equally gross and disgusting. They’d taken her clothes, her shoes—her innocence.
Her kidnappers had locked her away in a storage unit of some kind with orange doors. She knew that because whenever they opened it she got a peek out into the hallway. The orange doors were the roll-up variety that were raised and lowered on tracks.
Over and over again, she kept hearing the sounds of water lapping against the side of the building, especially at night if the tide came in. She’d heard a foghorn several times which meant they had to be holding her close to the docks.
If she ever got out of here alive she vowed never again to go into an online chat room. She’d never again agree to meet up with a total stranger she’d met there either. “Ron” was supposed to have been another student her own age attending a neighboring high school. How was she supposed to know that in real life he was a middle-aged man past forty?
Times like this, when she woke from her lethargy, she thought she heard crying and the moans of others coming from outside her cell. They were faint, weak, but if she wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating, the sounds meant she wasn’t alone in her prison. That’s what she thought of this place, locked in, unable to get out of the dungeon. The place stank with the odor of mold and mildew, of sweat and bee-oh reeking from the urine-stained mattress she lay on. This morning someone to the right of her had gone to the bathroom, she was pretty sure it was number two. But then someone in the unit to the left of hers had puked. The awful smells were enough to make her stomach hurt.
It took everything she had just to roll over and plant her feet on the floor. Naked, she forced herself to stand up. The room spun in layers of constant motion. Once she steadied herself and her equilibrium returned somewhat, she made herself take that first step to the door. The six feet seemed to take forever. There was no knob, so she kicked at the metal roll-up door. Just as she already knew, she was locked in.
When she heard male voices, she crept back to the filthy bed and pretended to be asleep. Maybe if they thought she was still out, they wouldn’t give her anymore drugs. Maybe if she were lucid for longer than five damn minutes, she could find a way out.
They kept talking about shipping her out of the country in two days. If that happened, she’d leave this place and never see her parents again. She’d never see her friends at school, never see her little brother celebrate his thirteenth birthday. Tears filled her eyes. She squeezed them shut tightly to keep from letting the bastards know she was awake and crying.
When a key rattled against the padlock, she went dead still, determined to make them think she was still out of it. She purposely slowed her breathing, tried to stop shaking—and prayed. She prayed her act would fool them and they would leave her alone. She prayed someone would come for her. She prayed and bargained. If she ever got out of this filthy place she’d never log into another chat room as long as she lived. She’d be good. She’d never stay out late again. She’d do exactly what her parents wanted her to do. In fact, she promised she’d never do anything wrong ever again.
But first, Heather had to think of a way out of her tiny, metal cell and past her kidnappers.
Sound asleep in a strange bed didn’t stop the dreams or the voices from finding Skye Cree. She might’ve been burrowed under covers next to Josh from sheer exhaustion over the last two days, but it didn’t seem to matter.
Even though this image didn’t seem to have the same punch or clarity as the one that had featured Erin, it still made her restless. But lacking muscle, the terror of seeing someone locked in a small cell, bruised and battered and chained to a metal cot unable to move around took its toll on the sleeping Skye.
Stirring from the dregs of slumber, she didn’t fully come awake. But the dreadful sounds she heard refused to let up. Cries, pleading, moans of torture pulled her down deeper into the abyss. Instead of fighting it, Skye surrendered to the images, allowed them to bombard her. They rushed past h
er defenses in black and white until she saw the brilliant color orange burst through vivid and clear. From there she felt like drowning in dull hues of red and purple.
Soon the kaleidoscope changed to dull tones and then turned to gray before fading completely into black.
And just as she already knew, the pictures in her head confirmed the demons were all too human.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
By four-thirty that morning, Brandon Hiller had finished with Jenna Donofrio. Now he just needed to find a place to dump the girl’s body. There were any number of locations he could use, but he already had a perfect site in mind.
Nervous, he glanced in the back and decided it wouldn’t do to get stopped by the cops. He eased off the gas and headed toward the I-5 ramp going south.
Thanks to his boss, he knew a place near Tacoma, a place miles from anywhere or anyone out in the country where he could take all the time he needed to dig a grave. He knew the guy that owned the land would be none too happy if he found out Brandon hadn’t shared the girl with the others. Or traded or sold her to them for that matter.
That was the agreement he’d made. He always had to share what he’d snared. But sometimes a guy had to do what he had to do.
As Brandon drove past Sea-Tac Airport in the misty fog of early morning, as a jumbo jet rumbled overhead about to land from some unknown destination, he worked on his story. He didn’t doubt for a minute that the group would want an accounting of how he’d spent his time tonight. He’d failed them already by not bringing them the redhead. Because of that, he’d had to suffer their wrath. Not only that, he’d lost his cut of the take. Ten grand would’ve kept him from having to get a job. Now, he might have to go to his brother-in-law and beg for a spot on his third-shift roster loading smelly fish onto trucks. Having to get a job would definitely cut into the time he spent roaming, hunting down his next quarry.
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