OVER HER DEAD BODY: The Bliss Legacy - Book 2

by Sheedy, EC

  “It’s fine.” Hell, it was barely a scrape.

  “Sit,” she ordered, again.

  When he didn’t move, she added, “Paul’s not the only one at risk of infection, you know.” She waited.

  He sat, winced when she dabbed some kind of germ-killing hot sauce on his bloody head.

  “Baby,” she whispered under breath, then dabbed some more.

  He grabbed her hand. “Care to tell me why you were Florence Nightingale with him”—he gestured with his sore head to the upper floor—“and you morph into Nurse Ratched the minute you touch me?”

  She pulled her hand free, dabbed again. Harder this time. “Because I’m angry.” She tugged out a square bandage and pasted it on with the same lack of finesse she’d used earlier.

  “Who’d have guessed?” Gus touched the bandage gingerly, got up, and took himself a safe distance away.

  “What you did was stupid. You could have been”—her mouth tightened—“And I told you to get rid of the gun. You didn’t.”

  “Might as well have, for all the good it did.” He wished to hell he had got a piece of the guy, slowed him down long enough to ask him what game he was playing—and who he was playing it with. Maybe when Keeley gave him a chance to think of something besides her, and where the hell she was, he’d be clear-headed enough to figure it out, but for now at least, with everyone snug in their beds, the not-so-quietly-fuming woman in front of him had his full attention.

  She didn’t know it—yet—but looking down the barrel of a gun had reorganized his priorities.

  “Give it to me,” she said, her voice crisp, her hand out, palm up.

  “It’s in a safe place.” He walked toward her. He had no intention of getting rid of the gun until this mess was resolved. He lifted her chin and looked into her face, all tight with anger—and concern. “It’s not the gun that’s bothering you.”

  She gave him a scathing look and jerked her face from his hand.

  “You’re angry because I didn’t make love to you last night.”

  She rolled her eyes. “The ego speaks.”

  “You’re irritating me, Farrell. Talk to me.”

  “I’m irritating you? Dear God!” She put her face inches from his, her eyes shot with fire. “You don’t want to make love with me. Fine. I’ll cope. But you roaring off to play hero with guns, knives, and assorted artillery? That doesn’t play with me, Gus. You could have been—”

  He kissed her to shut her up, kissed her because he wanted to, and because that gun Mace had pointed at his gut had changed everything. But before things went further, he had to sort a few things out. He set her away from him.

  “I need to tell you why I’m here,” he said and paused. “Hagan Marsden hired me—”

  “You told me that.” She touched her just-kissed mouth.

  “I didn’t tell you everything.”

  “Have you ever?” She looked as if she were mad all over again.

  “No. But I had my reasons.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “Hagan knows where April is.” He took a couple of steps away from her. “He said he’d tell me if I got him something to use against Dinah.”

  “Oh, Gus …” She closed her eyes and shook her head.

  He couldn’t read her reaction, but it was either pity or disappointment. He didn’t like either choice. After a moment, she added, “And, of course, you agreed.”

  “Yes.”

  “You really were going to sell Dinah out. You never were working for me, were you?” The last came out softly as if there were pain attached.

  “Yes. And no.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I see.” She took a step back. “And you’re telling me this now, why?” She studied him, her expression unreadable.

  “Because the lies are over,” he said.

  She looked wary. “Another change of allegiance, Gus—or a change of heart?”

  Gus couldn’t think of a better choice of words. “The latter—and I need you to believe me.” The admission had him feeling raw, exposed. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way his breath snarled in his throat or the way his heart pounded. Yet he stood stone still waiting for her answer.

  She nodded her head, slowly, thoughtfully, then turned her back on him and walked to the kitchen window where she stared out into the darkness for what seemed goddamn hours. When she turned back to him, he expected questions, a demand for promises. He was half right.

  “What will happen now?” she asked. “How will we find April?”

  We…

  He swallowed hard. “Did you hear what I said? I lied to you.”

  “I heard.” She let out a long breath. “Is that the last of them? The lies?”

  “Yes.”

  “Absolutely the end? Not even a small white one lying around waiting to pounce?”

  He shook his head.

  “Okay, then.” She pushed at her hair and nodded as if agreeing with herself.

  “That’s it?” He took her head in his hands, forced her to look in his eyes. He had to be sure about this, absolutely sure. “You’re not angry?”

  “Of course, I’m angry. But you did ask me to forgive you, so I—” She stopped and her brow furrowed. “Didn’t you? Ask me?”

  “In my own roundabout way.”

  “Then I do. Forgive you, I mean.” She paused. “Although I’ll never, never understand you.”

  “You don’t have to. All you have to do right now, is trust me—and let me kiss you.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Sound okay to you?”

  She nodded.

  He kissed her deeply, pulled her flush to his body, to where he burned for her. He loved this woman. He loved her hair, her baggy jeans, her ugly shoes, and her even uglier nightgown. Lifting his head, he smiled against her mouth.

  “You’re smiling.” She touched his mouth with her finger. “You don’t paint. You don’t do dishes—and you don’t smile. Ever.”

  “It’s been known to happen.” He smoothed her hair back. “There is one other thing.”

  “What?” She looked wary again.

  “I was thinking how much I hate that pink nightgown. Any chance you’ll burn it?”

  When she started to protest, he put his finger on her moist, just-kissed lips. “And there’s something else I want.”

  “You want to talk at the strangest times. We’ve got people upstairs, all kinds of unanswered—”

  “I want you to think about the long term. I want you to think about us waking up together—morning after morning. I want you to think about the future. Our future.” He kissed her before she had a chance to answer, selfishly taking advantage of her surprise at his question, the soft slackness in her mouth. “Because if you want more than this, you’re going to have to make an honest man out of me.”

  CHAPTER 18

  At his words silence invaded the room, so deep it was impenetrable, a solid where air should be.

  The word shock didn’t describe Keeley’s wide eyes and slack mouth. She looked as if he’d stunned her with a laser.

  He set her away from him. “Well?”

  She took a couple of steps back, looking dazed.

  “Well?” he said again, bending his head to catch her eyes.

  “You’ll have to cut me some slack here. Getting from you walking out of my room less than twenty-four hours ago to the, uh, ever after thing is a stretch. I need a little time.”

  “Take all the time you want, as long as it’s less than sixty seconds.”

  “First off.” She took a breath. “What you said, mornings, future, all of that. It sounds suspiciously like a proposal of … marriage.”

  Gus thought about that. What he knew about marriage he’d viewed from an outside window, and looking in he’d seen cheating wives—and husbands, alimony fights, and drug-inspired violence. As institutions went, it was easier to see himself standing in a cell block than at an altar, but if that’s what it took
to have Keeley … “That would be okay with me.”

  “Okay?” She frowned.

  She wasn’t getting it and it was his fault. He’d never tried to get more from a woman than an orgasm and a call back. Shit! “What I’m trying to say is I don’t want one of those sleep-and-run things your priest—”

  “He’s not my priest, he’s my friend.”

  He ground his teeth, started again. “I want more than—” He stopped to sort through the clutter of words in his head, the mess of feelings in his gut. “I want more from you than I’ve ever wanted from a woman. And I want you to want more from me. To expect more. I want the sleep part of Barton’s equation, but not the run part.” He looked at the ceiling. “And I’m sounding more like a goddamn fool with every word I say.”

  Silence. So heavy it damn near sank him.

  She moved closer and touched his face. “I think you sound wonderful, but …”

  Jesus, the lady said but! The word sounded like a death knell.

  “As you said before, we’re all wrong for each other. You with your cool silences, your detachment. Me with my involvement—which is neither cool nor silent. And definitely not detached.” She sounded a little breathless. “You with all your—and don’t hate me for saying this—experience with women. Me with … none of that.”

  It didn’t sound as if she expected a response, so he opted for the cool silence again. The experience thing stung, but it was what it was. So he waited, and gained a full understanding of the heart-in-throat phenomenon.

  “Which means we’d have to work hard to make it work, be seriously committed.”

  He nodded. No problem there.

  “And I won’t leave my work here. You’d have to live at Mayday House.”

  His chest lightened, his throat loosened; another nod. Hell, he’d live in an igloo in Alaska if she were in it.

  Silence again, then, her face sober, she said, “You’re talking about a possible life sentence here, Gus. And I’m not an easy person. Never will be. Are you absolutely sure that this”—she waved a hand around the old room, then straightened and met his gaze—“That I am what you want?”

  “Never more sure of anything in my life.”

  “And this isn’t something you feel obliged to say because I was a nun, or because of Glen Barton?” Her tone had an edge of nerves, and she grasped both his hands, held them tight to her chest.

  He thought about that. “Partly,” he said. “Then there’s the other part, the one that won’t let me imagine my life without you in it.”

  She studied him with those lie-detector eyes of hers, but he couldn’t read her face, couldn’t figure what she was thinking. What she’d say. Suddenly, she let go of his hands, shook her head, and took a step back.

  He braced himself.

  “The thing is …” Her expression softened, turned wry. “That’s a perfectly good nightgown—”

  Ignoring the flood of relief that nearly took him to his knees, he stood his ground and smiled. “A man has his limits, Keeley.”

  “Oh, well,” she said, sighing dramatically. “Two out of three ain’t bad.” She moved back to him, into his arms. “My answer is yes, August John Hanlon. For the foreseeable future there’ll be no running. I’ll stay right here, until the day after forever.”

  Whatever chill was left in Gus’s sleet-covered heart thawed; he held her fiercely. He’d given her his life, and he would die to protect hers. She was his. “I want to make love to you, Keeley,” he whispered into her hair and felt her arms tighten around his waist.

  “I want that, too,” she answered.

  “My place or yours?”

  “Yours. It’s closer.” She touched his scar, kissed him softly, then smiled into his eyes.

  In his room, they fell on the bed together, breathless. When they were side to side, staring into each other’s eyes, Keeley kissed him again, then put her head back on the pillow and continued to look at him. “I love you, Gus,” she said. The words were simple, but the expression on her face was a complex mixture of honesty, fear, determination, passion. “And I will love you forever.”

  He pushed some red curls off her forehead, couldn’t take his eyes off her face. He wanted to say something profound but came up empty. Hell, he’d never been much for words at the best of times.

  He kissed her hair, her forehead, her eyelids, breathed her scent deep into his lungs. His heart.

  In the end the most profound words came on their own, just marched front and center. Potent, life-altering words he couldn’t hold back, didn’t want to hold back. “And I love you, Keeley.”

  They were new to him, these words. Not the word love; he’d used that often enough, but always in the heat of lovemaking, then it was, I love this, I love that. But never you. You was the word that changed everything. The word filled him with warmth in places long deadened by cold and loneliness. It occurred to him he’d never thought himself lonely. Until the gray of it lifted from him, he hadn’t known it was there.

  She kissed him then, deeply, her tongue circling his mouth making her wishes clear. Then she moved her lips to his ear and whispered, “I want to make love with you, Gus. I want to make love with you forever.”

  Something in him settled, rested in a way it never had. “You’re big into the forever stuff, aren’t you?” He nuzzled her hair, soaked up the fragrance of it—the fragrance of her. “Trouble is, forever isn’t long enough.”

  He undid the buttons on her shirt, slipped his hand in, and cupped her small firm breast. “You’re perfect” He touched her nipple, already hardening, drew a circle around it, listened to her sharp intake of breath.

  She kissed his jagged scar. “So are you.”

  They undressed in slow motion.

  Gus taking off her shirt, undoing the clasp of her bra. Taking time to taste her skin, to know the curves and contours of her.

  Keeley slipping his belt from its loops, undoing his zipper. Taking time to enfold him in her hand, run her finger along his hard length, until he jerked and pulsed in her hand.

  Until he couldn’t think.

  They didn’t get to naked before he was kissing his way down her stomach, savoring her wet heat, savoring her. But if he were going to stop, it had to be now. He kissed her thigh, then shifted off the bed.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, hot and disheveled in his bed. And confused.

  “Protection.” He turned toward the bathroom. She grasped his hand, pulled him back. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m healthy, if that’s what you’re asking.” When it came to STDs, Dinah said he was phobic. He always used protection, always had checkups, and insisted she do the same. Hell, he had a kid to raise. He wasn’t about to leave Josh by being stupid.

  “Me, too. And I’m on the pill.”

  He was surprised, and it probably showed, because she looked faintly embarrassed.

  “Rough menstrual cycle,” she added. “The pill helps.”

  He got back into bed. “I hate to be the beneficiary of that, but—”

  She smiled. “You’ll make do, right?”

  Gus stretched out beside her, propped his head in his hand, and looked down at her. “I’ll definitely make do.”

  She hesitated then and he cocked his head.

  “You should know I’m a little nervous.” She gave him one of her direct looks, the one with a hint of stubborn.

  He gave it right back. “The me-being-experienced-and-you-not thing? Right?”

  She averted her eyes briefly, then ran her hand down his bicep. “Yes.”

  He quivered, then smiled. “You should be nervous.”

  The look she gave him was wary.

  He went on, “Because I’ve never made love to a woman I’ve loved. Who knows what might happen?” He tilted her chin, lifting her face to his. “This is my first time, Keeley. My very first time.”

  She nodded slowly, then clasped his hand and kissed it. “Good,” she said and took a breath. “Now where exactly did we leave off?�
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  Gus slid down the bed, kissed his way down her stomach, and lifted her to his mouth. “Right about here.”

  She groaned, opened for him, and Gus, lost in the scent and softness of the woman he loved, did what he’d learned to be expert at—for the very first time.

  Two hours later, Gus dragged himself from sleep, his head pounding. No. The pounding was on his door. As he tried to clear his head, he glanced at the bedside table clock. Not quite eight.

  He’d been dreaming …

  “What is it?” a sleepy voice said from near his shoulder.

  Not a dream. Thank God!

  “Someone’s at the door.” He leaned over, kissed her forehead. “I’ll get it.” And get rid of them.

  Keeley smiled at him, then dove under the quilt.

  He pulled on his jeans, ran his hand over her hip and headed to the door.

  It was Bridget. “I’m going into town, but that woman’s come back. She’s downstairs.”

  Gus shoved his hair back. “What woman?”

  “She’s looking for Keeley, but I can’t find her anywhere.” She tried to look around him and he blocked her.

  “What woman?” he repeated.

  “Christiana something.” She took a step to his left and looked past him to his rumpled bed. “She was here a few days ago.”

  “Tell her Keeley will be right down.”

  She was still looking at his bed when he closed the door, maybe a bit too firmly, in her face.

  Keeley’s head emerged from the covers, her hair a messy blaze of red. He took a breath. All he wanted to do was stare at her, drink her in.

  “Christiana’s here,” he finally said. “She wants to see you.”

  “I heard,” she answered, but made no move to get up. “We’ll have to tell everyone. About us. Right away. I’m the world’s worst sneaker-arounder.”

  “Fair enough, but who’s everybody and why should we sneak?”

  She slid to the edge of the bed, gathered up her clothes, and started to get dressed, then stopped. “You’re right.” She looked at him, her jeans zipper still open, no shirt on. “But I’d feel better all the same.”

  Gus sat on the bed she’d just left, his attention snagged by her naked breasts. “We’ll take out an ad if you want.” His breathing quickened. “You’ve got a fantastic body. I could sit here and look at you all day. On second thought”—he reached for her— “I’d rather touch, and taste.” He held her by the waist, curling his fingers into her firm flesh, and buried his face between her breasts, shifting to blow on a nipple, take it in his mouth.