Rapture

by J. R. Ward

  Cue even more of the silence.

  Lifting his lids, he measured her. "I know it sounds crazy, but...I woke up naked on Jim's grave, and I think I was put there. Everything before that is a blank, and yet I have this sense that I'm suppose to do something, that there is purpose in my being here...and that I don't have forever."

  Mels pushed her hair back and cleared her throat. "The blank part is because you've got amnesia."

  "Or maybe it's because I'm not supposed to remember. I swear...I've been to Hell. I was trapped there with these countless other people in a prison where all there was...was suffering. Forever." He rubbed his sternum, and then left his hand where it was, over his heart. "I know it here, in my chest. Just like I know that you and I were supposed to meet the night we did, and we're supposed to be together right now. And yeah, that's nuts, but if the afterlife doesn't exist, why do so many people believe it does?"

  Mels shook her head. "I don't know the answer to that."

  "I'm glad you're here," he said.

  The longer she didn't reply, the more he knew he'd pushed her too far...except then she smiled in a sad way.

  "My father believed in Heaven and Hell. And not just in theory. Kind of ironic, given how he ran his life. Then again, perhaps he felt like he was personally in charge of the 'wrath of God' side of things on earth."

  "He was a churchgoer?"

  "Every Sunday. Like clockwork. Maybe he thought it would get him off the hook for some of his more...shall we say, physical corrections of behavior."

  "Nothing does that."

  As her eyes shot to his, he wanted to curse. Way to go--making it sound like her pops was in the basement. "What I mean is--"

  "He did a lot of good things, too. Saved women and children from horrible situations, protected the innocent, made sure people got what they deserved."

  "That should work in his favor, then." Lame. So lame. "Look, I don't mean to suggest--"

  "It's okay--"

  "No, it's not. I don't know what I'm saying." He put his palms up. "Don't listen to me. It was just...a shitty nightmare--yeah, nothing but that, and I don't know...a goddamn thing."

  Liar. Such a liar. But the subtle signs of relief in her, from the easing of her shoulders to the way she released her breath low and slow, told him it was worth it. One hundred percent.

  "His name was Thomas," she said abruptly. "Everyone called him 'Carmichael,' though. He meant the world to me--he was everything I looked up to. Everything I want to be--God, I don't know why I'm talking about this."

  "It's okay," he said softly--because he was hoping that if he didn't make a lot of noise, she would keep talking.

  No such luck. She stopped, and he was surprised by how much he wanted her to go on. Hell, he'd take any kind of conversation: her grocery list, her thoughts on air pollution, whether she was a Democrat or a Republican...the theory of relativity.

  But man, details of her past? Her parents? That was true gold.

  "What about your mom?"

  "I'm living with her, actually--since he passed. It's...kind of strained. I had so much more in common with him. With her? I feel like a bull in a china shop. She's nothing like he was."

  "Maybe that's why they worked. Opposites attract and all that."

  "I don't know."

  "How'd he..."

  "Die? In a car wreck. He was in a squad car on a chase, and the perpetrator's vehicle blew a tire. Dad swerved to avoid hitting them, lost traction himself, and ended up slamming into a parked utility trailer. They had to cut his body out of the driver's seat."

  "I'm...so sorry."

  "Me, too. I miss him every day, and even though he's gone, I'm still trying to impress him. It's nuts."

  "I think he would be proud of you."

  "Yeah, I'm not so sure of that. Caldwell is a small pond."

  "It's the one he played in."

  "Not as a low-level reporter, though."

  "Well, considering the way you've treated me, how could anyone not feel right about the way you turned out? You have been...really good to a stranger."

  Mels stared across the bed at him. "Can I be honest with you?"

  "Always."

  There was a long pause. "You don't feel like a stranger to me."

  "It's the same for me," he said softly. "I feel like I've known you my whole life."

  "You don't have any memory."

  "I don't need specifics on this one."

  She looked down at her hands again, at those blunt nails. "Listen, I need you to tell me about that gun--"

  "Like I said, I got it from Jim, when I was at the garage to see him. I took it because I didn't feel safe being unarmed."

  "So Heron is alive, and I'm right that the twin thing's a lie." Her eyes met his. "I need to know."

  He rubbed his face. "Yeah, it is--but let me be clear. His reasons for playing dead are his problem, not mine. I'm not involved in that shit, and it's going to stay that way."

  After a moment, she nodded. "Okay, thanks for telling me. And I guess I can forgive the guy considering he saved my life tonight."

  Matthias did a double take, his palm tingling like it wanted to find that gun. "Saved you? How?"

  As Matthias sat up in the bed, he was suddenly looking like a very dangerous guy, his body tense, his expression filled with a protective anger that made him seem capable of nearly anything--in her defense.

  Mels shifted around, that attraction she'd felt before surging.

  "How did he save you," came the growl.

  "Well..." As she searched for words, she loosened her coat, letting it slide from her shoulders and pool in the chair. "I was at St. Francis following up on some work, and there was a construction zone. Some guy was working overhead, and the ceiling wasn't strong enough to support his weight or something. A bunch of girders and tiles fell down--and like, from out of nowhere, this Heron guy jumps into the room and puts his body in the way. He caught it all, even though God only knew how much it weighed. And then the construction man fell through the opening. He'd had a heart attack, I guess? We were meeting with one of the guys who works in the morgue and he started CPR right away. It was bizarre."

  Matthias took a deep breath. Like he was profoundly relieved.

  And reactions like that were the reason she trusted him. In spite of all the other stuff.

  Mels shook her head. "It was just a freak-accident/close-call kind of thing. But man, I was lucky he was there."

  "Can I ask you a favor?"

  "Sure."

  "Come over here." He held out his hand. "And not because I'm going to make a move on you. I just..."

  Mels got to her feet right away and crossed the distance between them, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him, her body leaning toward his. As he took her hand, he rubbed the inside of her wrist with his thumb.

  The stroking, more than any words he could have spoken, made her feel precious.

  "I'm really glad you came here," he said, again.

  "So am I."

  Reaching forward, she took the sunglasses from his face, and his eyes dipped down like it was hard for him to let her see him properly.

  "I told you, you don't have to be ashamed," she said quietly.

  He laughed with an edge. "About what?"

  "The way you look."

  His eyes swung back. "What if I told you that wasn't the problem."

  "Then what is?"

  "I'm not sure you want me to answer that."

  Leaning in, she traced the scars at his temple, and brushed over the brow above the eye that no longer worked. "I like the truth."

  He cursed low in his throat. "Goddamn it, woman...you're killing me."

  "No, I'm not."

  Matthias's lids closed for a second, like he was digging deep for self-control. "Do you know what I'm regretting most at this moment?"

  "What?"

  "That I didn't know you before. That way I could..."

  "Could what?"

  As he focused on her mouth,
she had a quick urge to lick her lips--and as she gave in to it, he shifted under the covers like his body needed something from her.

  Man, it was hot in the room all of a sudden.

  "I want to make love to you, Mels. Right here, right now. Matter of fact, I've wanted you all along. The instant I saw you in the hospital--that's when it happened for me."

  Okay...wow. And maybe another woman could have played things coy--but she wasn't interested in games.

  "Me, too." God, had that come out of her mouth? "I mean, look, it's been a while for me, so this is all a huge surprise...but there was something different about you from the moment I--" She had to laugh a little. "The moment I hit you with my car."

  That hand of his captured hers again, the stroking resuming.

  "Thank you," he said.

  "For what?"

  "I don't know."

  She wasn't sure she believed that. "Do you really think you're not attractive?"

  "You just saw me in boxers."

  Mels shook her head. "I'm not one of those shallow chicks who needs a guy all jacked up with muscles. There's so much more to it than that."

  "Maybe, but I'm pretty certain you'd like your man to be able to have sex with you."

  Mels opened her mouth. Shut it. Opened it again.

  "Exactly."

  Shit. That probably should have occurred to her, given the other scars on his lower body....

  "Straight up, Mels, the only reason I haven't completely jumped you is because I can't. I...can't." He threw up his free hand and let it fall back down to the bedspread. "And you know what sucks? I've been with a lot of women."

  Annnnnnnd that made her chest hurt. "Before you were injured..."

  He nodded. "Of all the things for my memory to come back on, right?"

  Cue another kick in the solar plexus. "You remember them?"

  "I hate it--because I would trade every single random fuck for just one night with you." He brushed her face with his fingertips and then brought his thumb to her mouth. With the same gentle pressure he'd put against her wrist, he caressed her lower lip. "I'd give up every one of them. Matter of fact, it feels like...a curse to have finally found someone like you, only to have it be too late. And that's where it's at. It's too late for me, Mels, and that's how you're killing me. When I look at you, when I see you move, when you smile or take a deep breath, I just...I die a little. Every time."

  Mels felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, an emotion she couldn't define striking her heart and making it ring.

  "You liked kissing me," she said roughly.

  "No. I loved it. I want to be doing it right now. I want...to do other things to you, just to make you feel good. But that's as far as it would go--and whereas that's more than enough for me, I know at some point, tonight, tomorrow, next week...it's not going to be enough for you."

  She pressed a kiss to his hand. "I thought you were leaving."

  "I am. That was just a rhetorical example."

  Maybe. But it gave her a little hope, and she suddenly needed that like she had to have air.

  "Mels, I--"

  Swooping in, she stopped whatever it was he was going to say with her own mouth. At first, as the contact was made, his lips were stiff against her own, but that didn't last. Soon enough, he was moving against her, wanting, taking. Licking. Nipping.

  When she finally eased back, she was out of breath. "Don't make up my mind for me, okay?"

  It was clear she wasn't the only one affected, because his chest was rising and falling with an urgency that turned her on.

  "I don't need sex to be happy with you," she told him. "It's honestly not that important--"

  With a sudden surge, he all but pounced on her, pushing her back against the mattress and kissing her hard and deep. As his body covered hers, his tongue entered her, owning her in a way that was so complete, she hadn't realized until that moment exactly how anemic any other man had been.

  That heat that had sprung up exploded, the blood in her veins going into a roar in the space between heartbeats.

  And that was before his hands started to undo her clothes.

  As things went all Barry White and shit in the hotel room, Adrian backed out of there quietly, passing through the closed door and emerging into the hallway.

  Jim had turfed the babysitting to him and taken off as soon as the reporter was at the Marriott, and that was all fine and dandy--but he wasn't into live porn unless he was personally involved, thank you very much. He was, however, completely into giving that pair plenty of Devina-free time. Shutting his eyes, he placed his palm on the wood of the exit he'd used and put a seal on the room, not just at its entrance, but all around the inside and into the bathroom.

  Then he settled against the tone-on-tone wallpaper and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  Now he knew why Jim smoked. Helped pass time when the dead zones came.

  Man, that poor bastard Matthias, he thought. Then again, there were worse things than having a limp dick. Plus, that was what happened when you stepped on land mines or bombs or whatever the hell it had been: You blow your shit up, you can't expect to be able to bone your female--

  Down at the other end of the hall, the elevator doors opened and a woman stepped out, along with a daughter who was probably five or six. The former looked like she'd been through a war--or at least a lineup of bouncers: her hair was a mess, her sloping shoulders were strung with bags, and a lone suitcase was trailing after her on wheels like a sulking dog. The kid, on the other hand, was all firecracker, bouncing up and down, running up and back, her voice shrill enough to shatter glass.

  Or, in the alternative, make you want to break it with your own head.

  Adrian sat back while the parade went by him, keeping himself invisi. But that didn't last--the little girl picked up on his presence, slowing to a stop and staring at where he was standing.

  "Come on, Liza," the mom said. "We're down this way."

  "Mommy, there's a angel here--"

  "No, there isn't."

  "But mommy, there so is! There's a angel right here!"

  "There is no one there. Will you come on?"

  As the child just looked at him with big hazel eyes the size of car tires, Exhausto-mom came over and did a drag-away.

  But mommy dearest had nailed it, he thought.

  He didn't feel like an angel. Never had, really--and Eddie's death had taken away any small sense of responsibility to live up to the name. That dead SOB had been the standard to measure himself against. The one who was good and true. The compass...

  Unable to stay still, Ad pushed himself out of his lean and headed for the elevator. Jabbing a finger into the down button, the doors opened immediately, the car that the mother/daughter pair had used still in place. On the ride down, he made himself visi, fixed his hair in the bronze mirrored panels, and straightened his leather jacket.

  The prep work did nothing to improve his image. Then again, the problem was his expression. He looked like he was ready to bite someone's head off.

  Ding!

  As the doors opened, he stepped out and long-legged it to the bar. Unfortunately, the place wasn't seedy enough to attract the kind of woman he was after: no half-dressed Goths in the mix, with Prozac smiles and knees that liked to fall open--but that didn't mean he couldn't find a volunteer.

  Taking a seat in a darkened corner, he let his need for sex waft out from his body.

  And whaddaya know, every woman who came in, walked by, or even registered for a room all the way across the lobby looked in his direction.

  The waitress who'd served him and Jim the night before came right over. "Hi."

  Her smile was half-lidded and really not professional. Especially as her eyes drifted down everything he had to display.

  Which happened to include an unapologetic hard-on.

  "What can I get you?" she drawled.

  She was good-looking in a way that was tied primarily to her youth. Skin was glowing, hair was lush and health
y, body was banging. A closer gander at her features suggested that if you added twenty years and twenty pounds she'd be anonymous in middle age, but he was all about the here and now anyway.

  "They give you any breaks at this place?" he said in a low voice.

  "Yeah." Smile got even bigger. "They do."

  "When."

  "Ten minutes."

  "Where can I have you."

  Her lips parted like she needed more oxygen. "Where do you want me...?"

  "Here. Now." He glanced around the bar. "But that would give people a helluva show."

  As his eyes swung back, he looked her up and down, and pictured fucking her from the front, her legs wide around his hips, his cock going in and out as he watched the sex....

  Okay, the theory didn't really excite him as much--but that was the difference between porn and true penetration. The actual? That was what he was after.

  The conversation with his waitress around The Plan was hushed and quick, but it wasn't a business transaction. She was not a whore being bought; she was a red-blooded woman who wanted a good fuck just like he did.

  With things set, Adrian left the bar, his body humming, his heart cold as a meat locker. As they'd discussed, he hung a louie and took the ornate stairwell down to the spa. On the descent, the sound of his heavy boots echoed up into the marble ceiling, and the scent of sea salts and minerals and perfumed oils made him want to breathe through his mouth, not his nose.

  He sneezed when he got to the bottom, but at least he didn't have to go through the glass doors of the spa. If the shit smelled this strong on the outside, the interior would probably melt his sinuses.

  Taking another left, he went down a whitewashed hall that was marked with black-and-white photographs of half-naked chicks in geometric poses. The door at the end was marked with a discreet Staff Only sign, and he waited at it with no patience whatsoever, breathing that thick air that clogged his lungs.

  Shit. He couldn't breathe--

  His waitress opened up and grabbed his hand. "This way."

  It was a different world on the far side. No pictures, no smooth walls, just old, exposed brick and flooring that had a worn groove down the center. But it wasn't like he'd come here to enjoy the scenery--at least, not the hotel's.

  Looking over her shoulder, the female smiled in a manic way, like this was more fun than she'd had on her shift for, like, ever. "If anyone sees us, you're my cousin from out of town, okay?"

  "Sure, whatever." Provided no one caught them in the act. Kissing wasn't going to be the half of it.