Bound by Darkness

by Annette McCleave

  “That was very nice,” she allowed. “But I want hot, sticky, skin-to-skin contact. All over.”

  He grinned. “Ah, you want both of us naked.”

  Putting a hand to his trousers, he popped the button free. The soft rasp of a zipper accelerated her pulse and shortened her breath. It was a heady sensation and she welcomed it. From the beginning, the hunt for the coins had been a nightmare, one horrific event after the next. The only moments when she hadn’t felt physically ill were the ones she’d spent with Brian. Losing herself in her dizzying desire for him was bliss.

  The lightweight wool trousers slid off his narrow hips and pooled on the floor at his feet. Underneath, he wore a pair of pale gray knit boxer briefs.

  “What? No silk?” she teased.

  “Not my thing.” He shucked the underwear with amazing finesse for a man whose gaze never wandered from her face, and he posed for a fleeting second, brazen and proud.

  “Hmmm.” She resisted praise. Men got swelled heads so easily and Brian already thought far too highly of himself. Even so, it was hard not to salivate over his flawless musculature and his impressively virile response to stimuli. “Not bad.”

  He smiled, not one whit unmanned by her deadpan response. “Sweetheart, you are so going to eat those words.”

  Then he joined her on the bed, sliding up her body until they were face-to-face, pelvis-to-pelvis. Drawing in a deep breath of her fragrance, he nuzzled her neck, licked his way to her ear, and nibbled on the lobe. Lena felt as if she were melting from the inside out. His erection pulsed against her hip, and the heat of her body leapt another degree.

  Want was such an inadequate word for what she was feeling.

  She turned toward him, her lips finding his, starved for contact. He responded with a feverish nip of her bottom lip and she opened to his demand. One of her hands grabbed his and directed it to the plump mound of her breast. With a soft moan, she arched into his touch. Her long legs entwined with his, holding him as close as she could. As close as she dared.

  If only life were as simple as this: two people sharing one burning desire.

  If it were possible to wipe the slate clean and start new, she’d start right here, with Brian. He was the stuff of fantasy—handsome, honorable, supremely competent. But her slate was etched with scars. She’d done things that she could not forgive, so asking him to forgive them was impossible. She was not worthy of the faith he had in her. Especially since she’d changed her mind about giving him the coins.

  But she could pretend.

  His touch on her body alternated between sweet reverence and wild, hungry abandon. As if he was waiting on a signal from her. So she obliged. Her fingers dug into the short waves of his silky hair, inviting him to kiss her even deeper.

  Correctly interpreting her urging as consent for rougher play, he rolled her onto her back, pressing her hard into the pillows, grinding his erection against her mons. One hand tested the firm roundness of her breast and the other her buttocks, kneading and squeezing. His mouth ravaged hers, stealing her breath, bruising her lips, claiming her soul as his.

  “Christ, you make me see stars,” he muttered brokenly.

  The combination of his physical siege and his tortured words sent a wave of liquid need rippling through her body, and she shuddered with delight. Her hands skimmed over the hard planes of his chest and the ropy muscles of his arms. Eager for him to take the next step, she let her knees fall open and lifted her hips what little she could to increase the pressure.

  He responded with a groan.

  His mouth blazed a steamy hot trail down her throat, adoring every inch of her skin along the way. He took her breast into his mouth and aggressively toyed with the nipple—flicking, suckling, biting. Her fingers curled around his arm, an echo of what his caresses were doing to her toes.

  “Take me,” she begged. “Please.”

  “Anywhere you want to go,” he promised. The tip of his cock rocked into her wetness, in and out, teasing and tantalizing. Her body responded eagerly, quivering with excitement. Her hands gripped the bedsheets, twisting and tugging. As the restless tension in her belly increased and the sensations became nearly unbearable, a whimper escaped her lips.

  It was a primitive request he immediately understood. Pulling away slightly, he knelt on the bed before her. Grasping both her ankles, he lifted her legs up, angling them toward her head, fully exposing her. He stared into her face, his eyes hooded, his cheeks flushed. “Okay?”

  Although she felt open and extremely vulnerable, she was not physically uncomfortable. And she loved this view of the fierce passion in his face. “Yes.”

  Then he slowly pressed deeper inside her, filling her. All the way. As far as he could go. The feeling of fullness was so rich and so heady, Lena fell partway into the abyss. Her eyes closed and her womb trembled. But she didn’t want to go alone.

  Her eyes popped open, her gaze seeking his.

  “Hard.” She gasped. “And fast.”

  He didn’t bother with words. He just began moving, stroking deep and sure. Slowly at first, making certain she was truly ready, then picking up the pace and varying the action—sometimes a simple in and out, sometimes with an erotic swivel of his hips that drove her almost completely mad. His knowledge of what tuned her body to a fever pitch was surprising and intensely gratifying. Every withdrawal and reentry shot her to new heights.

  The tension inside her grew tight as a bowstring, and her head thrashed from side to side.

  Release was so close. So very, very close.

  Brian grunted, sweat beading on his brow. “Lena, sweetheart, I’m dying here. You feel too good. Please tell me the dam’s about to burst.”

  The pinnacle was within reach. She could feel it. “Don’t stop.”

  Her urging seemed to give him new life and he pounded into her with vigor, finding and delivering a barrage of sensation to that sweet spot inside her womb. In a moment of sweaty delirium, he bit her calf, and that was all it took.

  “Brian,” she said, her voice a breathless trill as the crest hit her. “Oh yes.”

  Ecstasy poured through her, washing over every muscle, every nerve, every inch of her skin. Spasms racked her womb, clenching him in an intimate and unforgettable embrace. An instant later, Brian was rocked by his own release, a violent shudder that testified to the tenuous hold he’d maintained over his libido.

  “Holy fuck,” he said hoarsely, as he collapsed beside her.

  “Good thing I’m already dead,” he said, kissing her shoulder in a hazy state of numbed bliss, “or that would’ve killed me.”

  Her fingers danced up the middle of his glistening chest. Almost playful. “What happened to the legendary Gatherer stamina?”

  When she reached the very sensitive skin of his nipple, he snared her hand and flattened her palm against the beat of his heart. “You’re lucky I lasted as long as I did. I’m a little rusty.”

  “Really? How long has it been?”

  “Six years.”

  The look on her face was comical. “What?”

  “Six years,” he repeated.

  “You’re kidding.”

  He smiled wryly. “Nope, not kidding.”

  “I don’t believe it. No guy can last six weeks without sex, let alone six years.”

  “I didn’t plan to be celibate for that long,” he said, rolling to his side to look at her fully. The postcoital pink in her cheeks lent her a soft femininity she didn’t normally possess. It stole his breath away. “It just sort of happened. I needed to get my head screwed on right, and it’s taken a bit more time than I anticipated, that’s all.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Were you exploring your sexuality?”

  “Exploring my what?” He grimaced. “Lemme guess. You’ve been talking to Murdoch.”

  Her flush deepened.

  He shook his head. “Trust me, Mr. Billy only wakes up for women. My issues have nothing to do with sorting out which sex I prefer.” He paused. “I’m a heroin a
ddict.”

  Her gaze flicked to his elbow, then back to his eyes, confused.

  “No scars,” he agreed. “But only because I was very careful. I had a high-powered job and displaying track marks would’ve cut off my habit at the knees. So I used fresh, sharp needles every time. And when I got so bad that I no longer cared what shape my works were in, I started shooting between my toes and into my groin.”

  “But you’re a Gatherer....”

  He nodded. “I know what you’re thinking. The rapid-healing thing prevents Gatherers from getting drunk, so how can I possibly get high, right?”

  She nodded.

  “I can’t. Even if I spent every last dime I had and flooded my veins with smack, I wouldn’t get a buzz.” In the first few weeks after he died, he had contemplated doing that more times than not. If Death hadn’t repeatedly kicked his ass, he probably would have.

  “Doesn’t that mean you’re not an addict anymore?”

  “No.” He fell back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. The stucco swirled in an artful wave pattern. “I’m a recovering addict, but still an addict. The craving is always there in the background, quietly calling me. The only thing that makes my life bearable is the high I get battling demons. To some extent, I just traded one fix for another.”

  Silence met his words, and he glanced at her.

  The sight of tears pooling in her eyes made him swallow uncomfortably. Pity he didn’t need. But by some miracle, the looming hug-and-pat was averted. After a seemingly endless moment, she blinked, banished the impending waterworks, and conjured a weak smile.

  “Were you addicted to sex, too?”

  He chuckled. “No. I just didn’t think inflicting my screwed-up persona on unsuspecting women was a smart thing to do. I figured I’d get my act together first.”

  “And here we are, six years later.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m not entirely sure why I let it go this long. But after the first two years, I stopped thinking about it.” He snorted. “Wait, that’s a lie. I never stopped thinking about it. Truth is, I never ran across a woman I wanted to fuck as badly as I wanted to fuck you.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’s so romantic.”

  He leaned over and kissed her. “Like I said, I’m rusty.”

  “I guess I should be flattered that you chose to end your sexual hiatus with me,” she said, thoughtful.

  His heart sank. All that effort to avoid saying something stupid, only to find his actions had spoken louder than any words. She’d seen right through him.

  “Makes sense, of course,” she added. “With me, there’s no expectation of a relationship. As Gatherers, we’ve forfeited the dream of a house, kids, and marriage. We can just enjoy ourselves. Great sex whenever it’s convenient, with no strings attached.”

  She was right. It made perfect sense.

  So why did her very cool and logical response spark a freakin’ bonfire in his chest? Why was it okay for him to want to avoid a relationship, but not okay for Lena to want the same? Was his ego that huge that he couldn’t deal with her being less than completely enamored ? If so, he was a number-one, class-A, redneck jerk.

  Either that or he really was falling in love with her.

  His gaze lifted to her face. Ah, shit.

  There was a sharp rap on the door, followed by the muffled sound of Carlos’s voice. “Food’s here.”

  Lena sat up and swung her feet to the floor. “Well, there’s one advantage to wrapping things up quickly. Dinner will still be warm.”

  “It wasn’t that quick,” he protested.

  She leaned back and patted him on the arm. “You’ll improve with practice.”

  In the space of a heartbeat, he had her flat on her back and pinned to the bed. Her damp hair had sprung into delicate chocolate curls and they framed her face. God, she was beautiful. “Admit it. I might be quick, but I’ve never left you hanging.”

  She grinned, her brown eyes sparkling. “True.”

  It was oh-so-tempting to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, to tell her how easily she made his damned heart swell. But that would take them places that were definitely off-limits. He pressed a hard kiss to her lips and then let her up. “I’m going to jump in the shower. After we eat, we’ll do the locator spell on Tariq.”

  “Okay.”

  As Brian watched her grin fade, his gut knotted. He’d done it on purpose, mentioning Tariq. To make the moment a little less intimate, a little less close. But putting the memory of why they were here back in her eyes sucked more than he could possibly have imagined.

  The road to self-respect, it seemed, was riddled with potholes.

  It made Lena’s flesh crawl to use Romany magic, but she intoned the words of the locator spell with the same care and diligence she would any other. It was that or confess the secrets of the Horus amulet, which she was not prepared to do. The moment she scattered the requisite scorched rat bones upon the suite’s lovely black-and-cream Egyptian carpet, a circle of mist appeared and a collage of city images began to layer within it. The pictures came quickly, then slowed. The last image to pop into view and hover above the bones was a busy Cairo street.

  “Al-Muski?” Brian asked, as he peered over Lena’s shoulder at the mystical vision. “Is that what the sign says?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s where we’re headed, then,” he said, gathering up the bones.

  There was a very real possibility Tariq would swiftly change locations, but Lena didn’t argue. She grabbed up her purse and followed Brian and Carlos down to the hotel lobby. “I’m not convinced this will amount to anything,” she said as she slid into the back of a Mercedes.

  “What’s the problem?” Sliding in beside her, Brian tucked his wallet in the inside breast pocket of his jacket and buttoned it down.

  “Al-Muski is a market in Islamic Cairo,” she explained, glancing at him. His postshower hair care consisted of running a hand through the dampness and letting the locks fall where they might. An irresistible and charming effect, no doubt intentional. “Popular with both tourists and locals. It will be very busy.”

  “I see your point. If it’s as crowded as you say, he’s going to be hard to find.”

  She glanced out the tinted window at the late-afternoon sky. They’d have about two hours to search the market before sunset adhan. Finding Tariq before then was critical, because the evening call to prayer would disrupt the search. Her hand slipped into her purse, her fingers blindly seeking the hard edges of the puzzle box. Sunset would also mean another lost day.

  With less drama than a cabbie but equal skill in navigating the crowded streets, their hotel driver delivered them to the corner of Al-Muski and Al-Muizz li-Din Allah. When Lena smiled and thanked him for his help, the elderly man kindly reminded her to barter for everything, handed her his business card, and left them to their own devices.

  The street was choked with people, cars, and merchandise-stacked tables. Movement in any direction was a challenge. Exhaust fumes from an endless stream of vehicles, the mingled bleats of honking horns and hawking vendors, and the slow-boil heat of a spring afternoon attacked their senses.

  “Oh my God,” Brian said, staring at the crush.

  “Exactly.” Lena rose to her tiptoes and craned her neck for a better view of the street. “We’d cover more ground if we split up, but getting permanently separated is a real possibility.”

  “You’re sticking with me,” Brian reminded her, snagging her arm as he spoke. “But Carlos can take the other side of the street.” He glanced at the young Hispanic man. “Think you can manage not to get lost?”

  Carlos rolled his shoulders in a careless shrug. “Worst case, I hoof it back to the hotel on my own. No big deal. What do you want me to do if I spot the mark?”

  “The mark?” Lena said, with a short laugh. “He’s a friend, not a target.”

  Carlos’s eyes met hers. “You said he intends to keep the coins. And no offense, but being a friend of
yours isn’t the best credential a guy could have.”

  He didn’t trust her. Fair enough. She didn’t trust him, either. She nodded. “Did you download his picture to your iPhone?”

  “Yeah. Won’t need it, though. I remember what he looks like.”

  “Good,” said Brian. “Let’s go.”

  Carlos disappeared into the thick crowd, and they pressed forward, eyeing every passerby with diligence. Tourists mingled with natives. Sellers with weary eyes and smooth tongues did their best to capture a sale, while hawkers—sometimes children—tried to entice pedestrians into the shops that lined the street. Most of the shoppers had bared heads, even the women, but their attention was often bent to the wares piled up on tables. Food, trousers, scarves, robes, leather goods. Almost everything imaginable. Garbage was strewn about, mostly wrappers discarded by vendors as they restocked the tables, but also a few plastic bags and empty food containers.

  Lena drew on her heightened sense of smell, trying to wade through the mingled aromas of fried tamiya, spicy koshary, petrol fumes, and body odor. But the sheer quantity of scents overwhelmed her nose. Still, she gave every slender suspect a thorough assessment. If Tariq was here, she intended to find him.

  As they neared the center of the market, she scrutinized the slow-moving stream of people and those standing about with increased care. The amulet had been more precise than the locator spell. This was where the Egyptian man should be. Her gaze slid over a very plump fellow with a shiny face, a skinny blond tourist clutching her purse to her chest, and a stocky man with large ears that stuck out from his head. The market seemed an odd place to meet a buyer, but Tariq’s decisions were anything but predictable these days.

  Brian nudged her elbow. “Him?”

  She glanced quickly in the direction of his subtle nod. A thin man leaned against the stone arch of a shop front, his curly hair trimmed short, his brown eyes locked on the shy girl with whom he was conversing. There was a definite similarity to Tariq’s lean face, especially in the nose and chin, but it wasn’t him.

  “No.”