She held her breath and waited, giving Taranto ample time to drive away and Nick time to remount the stairs and, she hoped, reach the third floor. It would take him longer than usual, due to the bullet wound. She tried to be patient. She knew he’d try to stop her leaving, no matter which side he was truly on. She couldn’t let that happen.
When she thought enough time had passed, she moved to the nearest window. It faced the rear of the house, and beyond it she could see only darkness and slashing rain. It was locked, naturally. She was out of patience with Nick and his locks. She picked up the first thing she saw that was suitable and smashed the window with it. She tossed the marble sculpture of the rearing stallion right through the glass, venting only a small portion of her frustration. If only Nick had been open with her, none of this would be necessary. A tiny voice of doubt whispered in the back of her mind that it might be more necessary than ever, but she refused to listen.
She clambered through, her only thought that she had to save her mother. She had no plan of action, no thought of getting past the gate or of how to reach her mother in time to protect her. She had no qualms about running into the fury of a summer storm dressed in nothing but an oversize shirt and her underwear. She didn’t feel the jagged shard that raked across her upper arm, tearing the cotton shirt, as well as her skin beneath it. She didn’t flinch from the bits of glass that jabbed into the bottoms of her bare feet as she made her way over the wet ground and away from the house.
Chapter 8
When Nick walked through the third-floor study and found the bookcase standing slightly away from the wall, all the blood rushed to his feet. He moved quickly into the apartment, knowing already that he wouldn’t find her there. He felt the emptiness in every room as if it were a presence in itself. He didn’t need the flashing light to confirm it. He shut off the system before the alarm bell could start in.
He spun in a slow circle and pushed a hand through his hair. Where the hell was she? Somewhere on the grounds, he rationalized. She had to be—she wouldn’t take off. Not now. Unless…Nick’s gaze moved to the monitor. Unless she’d somehow overheard his conversation with Lou and believed his act. But she couldn’t have. He had taken the remote…
…and dropped it on the table in the study as he rushed through. He turned now and went to find it still resting there, beside the unplugged telephone. He grabbed both items and ducked back into the apartment. He inserted the phone’s cord into its jack, punched in Joey’s number with one hand, thumbed the monitor to life with the other. He was scanning each room for a sign of Toni when Joey picked up.
“I’m calling it,” he said without prelude. “Pull out, Joey.”
“What do you mean, ‘pull out’? Are you nuts? We just—”
Nick continued flicking buttons on the remote, his gaze intent on the screen. “Lou’s too damn unconcerned about losing that shipment. Almost like he expected it. It stinks of a setup, Joey. Pull out now, and watch your back.”
Joey sighed. “Okay. All right, if you say so. Listen, how’s the leg? I—”
“Later. I have to move.” Nick replaced the receiver slowly. He’d stopped flicking buttons when he’d seen the small sitting room with the smashed window. “My God, if she was in there…”
He closed his eyes slowly, opened them again. She had heard everything. And she’d obviously believed every word he’d said to Lou. He shook himself and went into the bedroom, yanked a dresser drawer completely out and flipped it upside down on the bed. Now that it didn’t matter, she believed his cover story. Her timing was damn near awful. He tore free the envelope taped to the bottom of the drawer, ripped it open and took from it a small leather folder the size of a wallet. He slipped it into his pocket and ran back through the apartment and down the stairs, ignoring the stabbing pain each step sent shooting up through his leg.
In the little sitting room at the bottom of the stairs, the wind blew the curtains wildly. Rain slanted in, wetting the floor and the wall beneath the window. Nick paused only long enough to find a flashlight and then he clambered out the same way she had, noting the trace of blood on the pointed finger of glass at his right. On the ground, he squinted through the downpour to try to make out her shape in the darkness. He shone the beam on the muddied ground in search of her small footprints. If anything happened to that damn little Gypsy, he knew he would never forgive himself.
Toni slipped in the rain-slickened grass more than once as she ran from the hulking mansion. She decided not to go near the front gate, certain that would be the first place Nick would look for her. She headed for the woods in the rear of the house. Maybe the place wasn’t as secure as he’d said. There might not be fencing all the way around, and even if there was, there might be some way over or under or through it.
The trees closed themselves behind her as soon as she breached the first cluster of them, hiding the house from her view. She stumbled onward, rain still streaming between her shoulder blades. It had plastered the shirt she wore to her skin and soaked her hair within seconds of leaving the house. Her limp curls stuck to her face and neck, heavy with cold. She had to blink raindrops from her eyes every few steps just to see where she was going. She pushed on, trying to keep to a straight course, refusing now to think or to feel. She focused her every sense on moving, on seeing through the rain and on putting as much distance between herself and Nick as she could.
She resisted the subconscious masochist that wanted to replay, over and over in her mind, the horrible things she’d heard Nick say. She didn’t want to hear again the change in his voice from the moment Taranto had told him who she really was. She didn’t want to wonder if that knowledge had made a difference to him…had made him hate her as much as it sounded like he did.
A sob tore at her throat as these thoughts ran through her mind, despite her determination not to let them. The seed of doubt grew larger. As the trees grew closer together, they blunted the force of the rain. Pines, she realized dully as their needles continued brushing her arms and their scent reached out to offer solace. The wind couldn’t slash at her here. The rain still came through, though, but more gently, filtered through the boughs. The ground seemed to sink under her feet, as if she were walking on soft sponges instead of several inches of wet, browning needles. They made a soft carpet for her sore, bare feet.
She slowed her pace, beginning to feel the biting shards of glass on which she’d stepped and the painful scratch at her right shoulder. Eventually she had to stop. She’d walked for what seemed a very long distance and still hadn’t come to a fence demarcating the border of the property. She braced one hand against the sticky trunk of a pine and heard its needles whispering above her head as the rain hissed down through them to sprinkle her. She glanced around but could see no farther than two or three trees in any direction. The glimpses of sky she could catch between the sheltering arms of the pines showed her only a bleak, gray thing—the perfect sky to match the way she felt. She couldn’t understand the intense pain that seemed lodged in the center of her chest. But she knew it grew with every step she took…and each time she felt herself doubting him, it grew even more.
She bit her lower lip, and a chill raced up her as the wind found its way to her bare legs. Had she allowed herself to indulge in a silly infatuation? Had she deluded herself with a fantasy image of a man who didn’t exist?
She thought about last night when her heart had iced over at the sight of his blood-soaked leg. She’d been overwhelmed with the need to ease his pain, to make him all right. She’d held him when his fever had climbed. She’d rocked him in her arms as she would her own child, and she’d felt the wrenching pain in him when he’d dreamed of his brother. She’d convinced herself that no man who’d loved a brother as he had could be one of Lou Taranto’s cold-blooded hoods.
She simply couldn’t believe it was all in her imagination. Even now she wished she could turn around and run back to him, fall into those big, iron arms and pour out her fears as he held her and promised her tha
t it would be all right. Only fear for her mother kept her from doing just that…fear and a kernel of doubt that wouldn’t let go.
She folded her arms against the tree and lowered her head to them. “God,” she moaned softly. “Have I been wrong about him all along?”
“You weren’t wrong, Toni.”
His voice was so near her ear that she stiffened in shock. She pivoted, flattening her back to the wet, stringy bark to see him standing mere inches from her. “Don’t try to take me back, Nick. I have to go to her…I have to—”
He caught her hand in one of his, turned it slowly and pressed the flashlight he held into it. He folded her fingers around it. She frowned and shook her head, not understanding. She opened her mouth to ask what he wanted from her, but his finger pressed to her lips silenced her. He caught her other hand and lifted it, palm up. He took something from his pocket and lay it flat on her palm.
Her fingers closed over the leather. She brought it to her face for a better look and caught the scent of it. It was folded in half. She looked at Nick, and a crazy hope leapt up in her breast. She opened the folder and lifted the light to it. The shield glowed in the white light, right beside the photo ID. Nick’s face, unsmiling, beside his full name, Nicholas Anthony Manelli, and the words Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Every muscle went limp, and Toni swore her bones melted. Her hands fell to her sides, and her eyes closed. Nick took the folder from her unresisting fingers and then the light. His hands came back to her in a moment, huge and strong, closing on her shoulders, pulling her away from the solid tree. She gladly traded its support for that of his equally solid chest as his arms folded around her. She felt as if she’d been standing alone in a hurricane. She encircled his neck with her arms, pressed her head to his chest so that it rose and fell with every breath he took. Her goose-bump-covered legs were flush with his, separated only by a thin barrier of wet cloth.
When his arms loosened from her waist, she knew he would lead her back to the house. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t feel strong enough to stand if he stopped holding her now. She clung shamelessly. She felt his head tip backward, as if he were seeking help from above. A moment later his big hand cupped her head, cradling it more securely to his chest. His other arm closed once more around her waist, providing her with the support she’d sought, holding her tight against him. His head came down, and she felt his lips in her hair, at the very top of her head.
She tipped her head back and she saw his eyes, even darker than the darkness of the predawn. The emotion in them reached her and found its mate within her. She felt her response begin deep in the pit of her stomach before his lips claimed hers. And when they did, it became a fire that tried to consume them both.
She parted her lips to admit his seeking tongue, then parted them farther to take it in deeper. She clutched at his shoulder with one hand, while the other buried itself in his hair and pulled him closer. She kissed him hungrily, unable to get enough of him. He groaned deep in his throat as his hands slid down over her hips and beyond the edge of the shirt to her rain-slickened thighs. He brought them up again, lifting the shirt away, cupping her buttocks, impatiently shoving her panties aside to knead her bare flesh.
She felt his fingers slipping over her wet skin and she felt him growing hard against her stomach. She pushed against him, and when he shuddered in response she wondered at her ability to inspire such a reaction in him—a man so beautiful it hurt to look at him.
She worked one of her hands between them and flicked open the buttons of his shirt. When she gained access, she ran her hand over his chest, dragging her nails lightly over his nipples and hearing his ragged breath. Impatient now that she was sure of herself, she pushed the material over his shoulders and seared his chest with her kisses and her rapid, shallow breaths. He let her dampen his skin with her lips for a moment, but then his own patience seemed to grow thin. He pushed her back from him, gripping the lapels of the shirt she wore, one in each hand. He tore it open, and Toni didn’t flinch.
He stared for an elongated moment, as if mesmerized. In slow motion, it seemed, he sunk to his knees, pulling her forward until her breasts dangled inches from his face. His lips closed over one throbbing peak, and she gasped in pleasure. He nibbled, suckled her until she threw her head back, unable to contain her responses. He moved to the other breast, his touch growing more urgent. He sucked it harder, tugging, closing his teeth on the tender crest and sending shocking ripples of awareness zinging through her. She felt the pressure of his teeth, the flick of his tongue, the damp heat of his mouth. She felt the cool rain on her flushed skin, her upturned face, and the chill breeze that played across her thighs. She felt everything.
He reached up to tug the shirt completely off her, then let his hands drift down until they rested just behind her knees. Their gentle pressure told her what he wanted. She lowered herself down to the cool wet blanket of needles until she knelt with him. He spread her shirt behind her and pushed her backward, his eyes glowing in the dark as she slowly lay down for him.
Still he knelt, his knees on either side of her. He hooked his fingers in her panties and tugged at them. She obligingly lifted her hips, and he slipped them down over her legs to her ankles. He took her feet from them, making each gentle touch a caress. When his eyes met hers, she felt no shyness. His hungry gaze moved over her, leaving no part of her untouched. She felt feminine in every cell of her body because of that gaze. She felt more attractive, more powerfully female than she had in her life.
She reached for the button of his trousers and tugged on the zipper. She touched the erect rod beneath them, and he closed his eyes. She closed her hand around him, and his body vibrated. He pulled from her only to rise and kick off his trousers and shorts. Only then did Toni remember his injury. The white bandage around his thigh stood out in marked contrast to his tight, tanned skin and defined muscle. “Your leg—” she began, sitting up as she spoke.
She stopped short when he shook his head once, dropped to the ground beside her, his hands on her shoulders, gently forcing her to lie back. He watched her in silent admiration until she wanted to squirm. He watched the rain falling on her, watched the droplets beading on her body. Finally he straddled her and leaned over her to put his lips to her collarbone, closing them over a raindrop there and drinking it in. The act made her shudder violently. He rose higher and similarly kissed the moisture from her eyelids, her cheeks, her chin and then her throat, where he nibbled the skin with his teeth before moving tantalizingly lower.
It was deliberate torment, she knew, but each moment of anticipation made his next stroke that much more thrilling. He sucked droplets from the skin all around her breasts before putting his mouth to them. He licked every trace of moisture from each one before quenching his endless thirst at her throbbing nipples. He saw how they hardened as he drew nearer. She watched the gleam in his eye when he noticed her reaction and knew that it pleased him.
He moved lower and dipped his tongue into her navel, drinking the raindrops that had pooled there. He prodded it hard with his tongue, as if he could enter it. The gesture was incredibly erotic, and Toni realized that her hips had begun to gyrate in slow, insistent circles.
He rubbed his chin over the curly mat of hair at the apex, then lowered it so his mouth hovered just above. She felt his thumbs touch the lips of her secret center and spread them open, exposing her to the rain, to the cold air…to him. He kissed her there, long and hard. He nipped with lips and then with teeth, driving her to a fever pitch of need. Finally he opened her still farther and applied the punishing lashes of his whiplike tongue.
She groaned loudly, every inhibition forgotten as her fingers tangled in his hair. Her entire being vibrated with sensation. He was going too far, she realized. She didn’t want to experience the magic alone. She pushed his head from her, met his inquiring glance and simply whispered, “Please…”
He lifted himself until his body covered hers. He didn’t need to position himself
to enter her. It happened almost on its own. His heat found hers and nudged inside. He stiffened, hesitated. Toni gripped his buttocks and pulled him to her, groaning in satisfaction when he plunged deep. He drew back and plunged again, still deeper, filling her as she’d never been filled. She arched her hips to take more of him, and his next thrust sheathed him completely inside her.
She moved with him then, lifting her hips high to meet his powerful thrusts, which forced the air from her lungs. She kneaded his skin, kissed his chest, his neck, his face. When his rhythm pushed her toward fulfillment, she whispered his name over and over until he silenced her with a ravenous kiss. It was while their tongues were twined together that the climax threatened to rip her apart with its intensity. She realized vaguely that Nick had stiffened, as well, then bucked within her. He trembled violently before he collapsed on her with a long, shuddering exhale against her parted lips.
His mind kept telling him it was not possible. His body disagreed. It made no sense. It couldn’t have been as explosive as it had seemed. Nothing could be…It had felt like being caught in a tempest and carried through its violence to the paradise at its eye.
Now he had the craziest urge to rock her small, curvy body against his—to kiss every inch of her until she either fell asleep in his arms or asked for more—to brush some of that wet, wavy hair away from her face and look into her eyes and tell her—
“What am I, insane?”
He rolled away from her as the words burst from him without permission. He sat up and held his head in his hands.
She sat up beside him, her shoulder pressed to his. “You think it was insane to make love to me?”
Reckless Angel Page 13