by Dee Davis
But instead, here she sat, in Nash’s rose garden, watching the lightning slice through the sky. Maybe she was a coward. Or maybe she just didn’t want to say good-bye—again.
“Annie?” His voice reached out through the darkness, caressing her. “I see you still like storms.”
“You were right,” she said, still struggling to keep her demons at bay. “Some things never change.”
“Are you okay?” His brow knotted in a way she remembered so well. She’d known every nuance in those days. Every quirk of the eyebrow and tilt of the lips.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, I’m not.” She hated the idea of admitting weakness. But somehow, here in the face of the storm, she couldn’t find the strength to lie.
“Oh, Annie,” he said, coming to sit beside her, the soft lilt of his voice almost as good as a kiss. “I wish I had the power to make it all go away.”
“You know,” she sighed, “there was a time when I actually believed that you could, but I was a fool. And you’d think that by now I’d have gotten over it—over you.”
“Some connections are hard to sever.”
“And harder to forget.” Lightning flashed as the thunder rolled, the rain so close it teased them.
He lifted a hand, his fingers cupping her face. “You look just the same.”
“You’re blind.” She laughed, the feel of his palm against her skin bordering on heaven.
Time stretched between them, the past and the present blending together until she couldn’t tell the difference anymore. The only thing that existed was the two of them and the storm.
The wind lashed through the garden, the trees and bushes bending in protest, but Annie only lifted her face.
With a groan, Nash took possession of her lips, and she sighed, the taste of him more heady than the finest of wines. She’d forgotten how much she loved the feel of his body against hers. How much she reveled in the strength of his fingers twining in her hair.
She opened her mouth, their tongues dueling, the choreography so familiar she ached with the contact. He deepened the kiss, and she accepted him. Familiar and yet foreign.
“Annie,” he whispered, and she pressed against him, desperately needing to feel him hard against her.
His lips stroked hers, feeding the fire burning deep inside her. Some part of her, the part that still made sense, called for her to stop. But God help her, she didn’t want to. There would be time for regret. But not now. Not here.
Lightning split the sky, the crescendoing thunder chasing behind it. The fury of the storm fed their fire. His hands cupped her breasts as he kissed her, his thumbs circling, desire mixing with pleasure until she could hardly breathe.
“Annie,” he whispered again. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she answered, her voice hoarse with desire. “I’ve missed you so damn much.” It was far more than she’d ever meant to admit. But in this moment, with him touching her, there was no turning back. He reached to pull her into his arms, to take her inside, but she shook her head. “I want it here. Now. In the rain.”
“What about your leg?” He frowned. “You’re hurt.”
“I told you before, I’m fine.” She tipped her head back, the wind lashing through her hair. “Better than fine, actually.”
His teeth were white against the night as he laughed. “In the storm, then.”
And, as if cued, the rain fell, lashing against them with a violence only nature could emanate.
He smiled and pulled her close, his lips making hot tracks against her neck. She pushed against him, wanting to feel closer—to feel a part of him, if only for a moment.
His mouth moved lower, tracing the line between her neck and breast. She arched upward, needing more, and he obliged, sucking her nipple, the resulting heat almost her undoing.
There was something to be said for solitude, but for the life of her, with Nash touching her in the exact way that he was, she’d forgotten why. She arched back, offering herself, and he slid his hand beneath the soft cotton of her sweatpants, his fingers hot as they moved against her skin. While gently biting her nipple, he slid a finger inside her, the friction setting off shivers of pleasure. She fought for breath, even as she pressed closer.
Wanting more. Wanting him.
It had been so long.
He lifted his head, his smile rakish as his fingers began to move faster and faster until she thought she’d die of sheer joy.
“Tell me what you want,” he said as he bent, his kisses blending with the rain as he stroked her neck with his tongue. His finger moving in and out. Each succeeding stroke—deeper. Stronger.
“Tell me, Annie.”
“You,” she whispered, her voice snatched away by the wind. “I want you, Nash. Only you.”
The thunder drowned out her moans as the rain and his mouth and his fingers played her like a finely tuned instrument, pulling the string tighter and tighter, higher and higher, until she felt herself falling, pleasure careening through her in shuddering waves.
“Please,” she rasped. “Please. I want more. I want you inside me.”
Again the thunder rocked through the garden, the sound taking on almost physical proportions. With a crooked smile, Nash lifted her into his arms, cradling her close, kissing her forehead, her cheeks—her lips. His touch infinitely gentle, as if she were his most precious possession. As she shuddered against him, he caressed her, pressing her close with murmured words, nonsensical nothings that held more meaning than any sonnet could ever possess.
Then, eyes burning with passion, he carried her to the gazebo, laying her on a cushioned chaise as the rain fell like a silvery curtain all around them, the cool air scented with roses and geraniums.
She sat up, straddling the lounger, and smiled up at him, running her hands along the curve of her breasts, letting her fingers trail across the swollen flesh at the juncture of her thighs. And then she reached for the hem of her T-shirt, sliding it slowly upward, undulating to the rhythm of the rain. With a slow smile, she pulled it over her head, her hair swinging free as she tossed the shirt aside.
His intake of breath was audible as he watched her hungrily. And she rose to her feet, pushing her sweats over her hips, twisting so that they fell to her feet. Then, after stepping out of them, she waited as he closed the distance between them and reached out to skim his palms along the bare skin of her breasts, his teasing touch promising so much more.
With a strangled gasp, she reached for his shirt, popping buttons in her haste to free him from his clothes and feel his skin next to hers. He shrugged out of his shirt, and with fumbling hands, she helped him remove his pants. And finally—finally, there was nothing between them but the moist night air.
They moved together almost as one, the fierce longing in her heart reflected in his eyes. His mouth possessed hers as she closed her fingers around the hard heat of his penis, the velvety skin moving with her hand. Up and down. Up and down. Desire pierced through her, her own need building again, the fire inside her licking at her as she fought to contain it. To keep her focus on pleasuring him.
Pulling him closer, she traced the line of his teeth with her tongue, then thrust it deep inside his mouth, the motion a prelude—a mirror image of things to come. Then, with a wicked grin, she pushed him back onto the chaise, kneeling beside him as he rolled toward her, offering himself.
Lightning split through the sky, illuminating the rugged planes of his body, and she reached out to trace the jagged line of a scar. So many memories. With a soft sigh, she took him in her mouth, tongue circling, the salty smell and taste of him intimately familiar. Circling the base of his erection with her hand, she moved her fingers in time with her mouth in syncopated rhythm. Moving slowly at first and then faster and faster, feeling him harden beneath her touch, his pulse blending with hers as she sucked him.
Then suddenly she felt him tense, his hands tightening on her shoulders as he pushed her back, lifting her to her feet.
“I w
ant to be inside you,” he growled, his eyes dark with passion.
“Patience,” she said, enjoying her moment of power. Turning her back, she straddled him, taking him in one downward thrust, the feel of his throbbing penis sliding inside her almost too wonderful to bear.
Arms braced on the chaise, she gyrated slowly, reveling in the feel of him moving inside her. Then, with a murmured oath, Nash grabbed her hips and pushed her downward, the pressure exquisite as he took control. For a moment, they balanced on the edge of the cliff. Then, in perfect tandem, they began to move in earnest, her hips pushing downward as he arched up to meet the motion, their slick heat combining, friction sending tendrils of pleasure curling through her body, the sensation ratcheting up, stroke by stroke, as she tightened around him.
This was what she remembered. What she dreamed about. Not just the pleasure, but the belonging. The joining. No longer two souls, but one.
His right hand teased her nipples, while his left moved downward, stroking her, matching the harried rhythm of their thrusting. And then his fingers slid lower, his thumb slipping inside, stroking the tiny heart of her desire.
Gasping with pleasure, she bucked against him, the movement driving him deeper inside, and she tightened her muscles, wanting to hold him—stroke him—to give him as much as he was giving her.
“You ready?” he whispered, the touch of his breath against her ear almost as sensual as his sinewy movements inside her.
“Yes,” she sighed, pressing downward, wanting only to pull him deeper still. “Please, Nash. Oh, please.”
His arms circled around her, anchoring her to him as he thrust upward, impaling her with his strength, their bodies fusing together as they moved faster and faster, their movements frenzied as they followed a sequence older than time.
Lightning flashed and the thunder roared, and the night shattered into shards of blinding white heat. Nash’s fingers closed around hers as he shifted for one last powerful thrust. She screamed his name as he drove deeper, taking her over the edge.
Her vision exploded into fire. White on white. Everything going blank as sensation overrode all rational thought. There was only the two of them, together. Nothing else mattered.
At least for now.
Annie rolled over, reaching for Nash in the dark. After the storm had subsided—in more ways than one—they’d moved inside to his bedroom and made love again, this time more slowly and sensuously. New memories. Annie smiled, then sobered, as her hand met an empty pillow.
No Nash.
Frowning, she glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was still relatively early. Just past midnight. Climbing out of the bed, she slipped into one of Nash’s shirts and headed out into the hallway toward Adam’s room.
He’d managed to kick off his covers, and true to form had flipped around in the bed so that his feet were on his pillow. Annie gently slid the pillow from under his toes and placed it under his head. He sighed once, then snuggled against the blanket as she covered him once again. There was a normalcy to the action that brought tears to her eyes. Her little boy.
And Nash’s.
Annie swallowed, her stomach churning as the words formed in her mind. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he would have wanted to know.
Just because her father had rejected her didn’t necessarily mean Nash would reject Adam. Although he’d made it pretty clear—both then and now—what he thought about commitments and family. Still, the reality of a son was a far cry from an abstract discussion about relationships.
She ran a hand through her hair, looking down at Adam as he slept.
She’d die before she’d let him be hurt. But maybe…
She shook her head. Nash had made no bones about what he’d wanted. About his life. And none of it had included her. Or Adam.
What if she told him the truth now and he rejected her son? The thought made her heart ache. It had all seemed so simple in Colorado. But now, here, standing in Nash’s home, still warm from his bed, she wondered if maybe it could have been different. If she and Nash could have found a way to make it all work.
If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.
Annie sighed, pushing away her tumbling thoughts. Too much had happened too quickly. She needed time to think. Time to make the right decisions. Adam’s happiness was in her hands, and she wasn’t going to let him down. The most important thing right now was to keep him safe. Everything else would just have to wait.
She squared her shoulders and walked back into the hallway, heading downstairs to find Nash. Halfway down, she stopped, the sound of voices surprising her. Instinctively, she crouched low into the shadows of the stairwell, straining to hear the conversation.
“I’m sorry to get you out of bed,” Avery was saying. The two of them were standing in the foyer, but Annie could only see Nash’s back. “But I figured you’d want to know that someone deliberately messed with your gun. She sleeping?”
Nash nodded, his head bent as he studied something in his hand. “Any fingerprints on the thing?”
“Yours… and Annie’s.”
“So you think I was right? That she sabotaged the gun?”
Annie’s stomach clenched, anger warring with disbelief.
“I don’t know what to think. But you said it yourself, she had access to the gun. And the necessary knowledge to fuck with it. The question is why?”
“I don’t know.” Nash shook his head. “None of this really makes sense. Unless maybe she wanted to save the day. Make herself look good so that we’d trust her? What if this whole thing is a ruse of some kind? A way to get inside A-Tac?”
“Seems like there’d be easier ways to gain access. But maybe you’re onto something.”
“Well, whatever’s going on, I don’t like the idea that Annie played us,” Nash said, his voice harsh. “Hell, played me. But the truth is that it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Any chance she’s aware of your suspicions?” Avery asked.
“No way.” He shook his head, his tone almost glib. Annie fought a wave of nausea. How could she have been so stupid?
“Good,” Avery said. “I’d hate to think we’d exposed ourselves any more than necessary.”
“So what do we do next?”
“Nothing. At least for now. We need more proof than just the gun. Along with a workable theory for motivation. And besides, Tom will be here sometime tomorrow. He’s taking her back to D.C. Which, it turns out, may not be such a bad thing.”
“And the kid?” Nash asked. “What happens to him?”
“Not our problem. You just keep an eye on Annie. I don’t want anything else to go wrong.”
“Right.” Nash nodded, his face still hidden in shadow. “Keep her happy. I know the drill.”
Annie gripped the banister with shaking fingers. He’d done it again. Pulled her in. Made her believe. But it was nothing more than a trick. A way to gain her trust. To trap her into saying or doing something she’d regret.
Holding her breath, she waited until Nash and Avery stepped out onto the front porch, then hurried back up the stairs. Instinct demanded that she grab Adam and run, but she’d played this game before, and that meant waiting until the time was right to make her move.
She slipped back into the bedroom, dropping the shirt and climbing back into the bed just as she heard his footsteps on the stairs. Closing her eyes, she feigned sleep, willing her body to relax as he rounded the bed and pulled off his clothes to slide in beside her.
She fought a gag as he pulled her close, his arm around her waist, his leg thrown over her hip. Nothing was gained by losing it now.
“Annie?” he whispered.
She forced her breathing to slow. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
All she had to do was wait.
Sunshine streamed through the window and Nash pulled the pillow over his head, trying unsuccessfully to block out the light. For a moment, irritation won the day, and then he remembered the reason he was so tired.
The storm.
The chaise.
Annie.
With a smile, he rolled over, reaching for her, surprised when his hands met only the cotton of the sheets. He sat up, alarm replacing the remembered heat of the night. Avery’s words came crashing back.
The gun. Annie’s fingerprints. And the possibility that she’d purposely jammed his gun. It didn’t make sense. But he’d meant what he said. She’d screwed him before. He wasn’t about to let one night of mind-blowing sex make him forget that fact.
But she’d been asleep when he’d come back to bed. Looking so damn desirable—it had taken every bit of his willpower not to wake her. Even now, just the thought of her writhing beneath him had his body reacting, hardening. Cursing, he pulled on a pair of sweats and headed for the bathroom, checking the shower, and then down the hall to her bedroom.
Nothing. No sign that she’d been there at all.
He sucked in a breath, his suspicions warring with the memory of the evening’s untethered heat. The intensity had been amazing. Better than before even, if that were possible. He shook his head with impatience, wanting nothing more than to find her and take her back to his bed.
He rounded the corner and stopped, the morning light spilling from Adam’s doorway. Of course. He smiled, striding forward, certain that he’d find her with Adam. Her son came before everything else. She’d even insisted on checking on him when they’d come in from the garden, the moonlight playing against her skin as she smoothed the hair from her son’s eyes. She’d never looked more beautiful.
He stepped into the room, and his smile faded.
The room was empty.
As were the kitchen, the living room, and the dining room. He double-checked the bedrooms, and then, taking the stairs two at a time, he headed for the garden, hoping to see the two of them playing ball or laughing in the sun.
But the backyard was as empty as the house. He clenched a fist, his jaw tightening with anger, as he fought against the obvious. She’d played him. Again.
He checked the front garden, the garage, and even the attic, although by then he’d already accepted the truth.