by Misty Dietz
“Barnaba knew you were going to Ann’s to get her dental information, right?” He nodded. “Do you think he’d go through the trouble to set you up?”
“I don’t think his nose is dirty, but then I haven’t run in the same circles in a long time, either. I guess the only thing that matters is that he hates me.”
“Tell me.” She paused, wondering if she was insane to fall any deeper into his world, but knowing she was helpless to stop herself. “I’m good for secrets, too.”
Chapter Twenty-three
“It was a long time ago,” Zack said.
Sloane ran a fingertip along his shoulder. “Come on. You had a front row seat for the airing of my dirty laundry.”
He squeezed her leg and sighed. “When I was twenty I started seeing an ER Nurse. She was thirty-two. Then I found out she was married.”
“Oh, wow.”
“When she sunbathed, she took her wedding ring off so she wouldn’t have a tan line. The day I discovered the ring in her nightstand, I told her I couldn’t see her again, so she paid some thugs to beat me with pipes in an alley. Then she messed herself up, so it looked like I molested her. After I got out of the hospital, it went to court. I tried to show it was a set up, but she denied even knowing me. The thugs she’d hired—the ones she claimed pulled me off of her and beat me in their own self-defense—were her witnesses at the trial. The thugs did whatever she wanted because they were afraid of her husband.”
“But who— Oh, Lord. Barnaba?”
He nodded with a small, haunted smile.
“But I can’t believe he wouldn’t suspect his wife was guilty in some respect. Wasn’t it fishy?”
“Sure, but he was only an officer at the time. He had his sights on becoming detective. A scandal like that would’ve been an ugly blemish on his character. He wouldn’t have advanced so easily.”
“So what happened to you?”
“Two years in the pen.”
She pulled her legs off his lap. “No. That’s inexcusable!”
“That’s life.”
“Did anyone believe you? Stand up for you?”
“Archie and Morgan, but Archie’s rap sheet was uglier than mine, and Morgan had prostitution on hers. No one was going to believe either one of them over a cop’s wife. Kasey has a black belt in karate and manipulation.”
“What happened to her?”
“No idea. I haven’t seen her in eleven years,” he said.
“Are they still together?”
“Barnaba apparently divorced her a few years back.”
“I’d think that would make him more sympathetic to you,” she said.
“A proud man rarely forgets a wrong.”
“But it wasn’t your fault.”
“He didn’t see it that way.” He leaned back and waved his hand in the air. “Whatever. It’s in the past.”
Sloane was beginning to piece together a picture of not only a very lonely childhood, but a lost adolescence and early adult years, too. “Where were your parents?”
He began to stand, but she moved up to wrap her arms around his neck, careful of his injury. Softly pressed her lips to his. She felt him stiffen, shoulders tense as though ready for an assault. She tilted her head slightly and pressed tiny kisses against the corners of his mouth, then took his bottom lip gently between her teeth until she felt him shudder and open to her. A soft blue light built behind her eyelids.
His hands grasped the sides of her face so his lips could whisper across her own. When he hauled her onto his lap, she felt a moment’s panic at the loss of control. But then he pulled back, eyes a dark, mossy green. “I’m glad I met you, Goldie.”
She watched the heavy pulse beating in his neck. Her fingers feathered across it. Somehow, even as tortured as his soul was, she knew she could trust this man. He was kind. Loyal. Compassionate. Generous.
Bruised. “I was with you in that tunnel.”
He stilled completely. She rubbed her thumb across his nipple then skipped over his bruised ribs and trailed fingers down his belly until his hips shifted slightly. She felt him hot and full against the cleft of her thighs. She rocked against him.
“Sloane—” A plea.
Oh, she was going to ease him, but first she had to make sure he understood. “Before you found me on the sofa—when I was sleeping—we must have linked up psychically. I was with you—”
“I heard you.” It was nearly a growl. “In my head, I’ve heard you. Several times. How can you do that?”
She didn’t understand it herself. She’d never communicated with anyone this way. Didn’t remember her mother ever speaking about telepathy, either. “I honestly don’t know.”
“You scare the hell out of me.”
“Well, that makes two of us, because I’m scaring myself,” she said.
A shadow of a smile crossed his features before his eyes hardened. “I shouldn’t be here endangering you.” He stood with her in his arms and lowered her legs to the floor. She was sure he would leave now, yet she clung to him, wanting to say so much.
“I need to talk to Colette again. See if I can make her talk,” he said.
Sloane looked at him, really looked this time. Lines bracketed his mouth and the dark circles under his eyes made her heart break. Even his usual swarthy complexion looked pale beneath his black stubble. He was the most virile, stunningly beautiful man she’d ever seen.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.” He gently reached back to disentangle her arms from his neck, but she moved her hands to cup his cheeks. She went on tip toes and pressed her lips to his, feeling a tremor go through him.
“Stop that,” she breathed against his lips. “I decide who I’m with.”
“I picked your locks. I didn’t let you choose.”
“I called to you in the tunnel. Remember?” Large hands curling around her hips told her he did, but he was still going to leave. She could tell by the way he held his body tense, as though fighting the pull to be near her. “You won’t get within twenty feet of Colette without calling down the wrath of her church ladies or the cops. Unless you’re planning on turning yourself in now.”
“I haven’t changed my mind,” he said.
The air around them quivered with an acute sense of waiting. He’d made his choice to evade the cops because he was afraid of being trapped by Barnaba again. Whether or not it was a valid position didn’t matter. He’d drawn his line. And while she couldn’t blame him, she didn’t know how to fight his fear of being betrayed by people who got too close.
Because that’s what this was really about.
She’d seen and felt it as he’d run through the tunnel. Heard him speak about it regarding his affair with Kasey.
She understood his need to keep people at a distance. It drove her, too. The difference was she kept people away to protect them from the consequences of her gift while he did it to protect himself.
All his life, all his lonely life, the people he’d trusted—those who were supposed to love and care for him—had let him down. Beat him down.
Goddamn them all.Which fork should she follow? If she let him walk out her door right now, would her life revert to the way it was three days ago? Would she ever see him again?
Regret is a joy thief.
“I want you to stay. Just a while longer,” she whispered. When he brought her close, she felt his body pressing below her navel. At her shiver, his eyes flared before his head descended to take her lips with the hunger of a starving man, arching her against his body until she was like a strung bow. She opened her mouth to his demand and his tongue pushed past her teeth, seeking every private place until she was breathless, swept up into his urgency. He broke away suddenly, squeezing her, his lips breathing warm air at her temple. “I’d never hurt you.”
On purpose, she thought. But he could so easily devastate her heart. She couldn’t help the thought any more than she could help the way his touch made her burn. Any more than she could help wanting him no matter what obstacles sto
od in their way.
She leaned back to trace the shape of his lips with a fingertip. “I know. You’re not like those who’ve hurt you in the past. I’m not either. But you’re hurting me now by stopping.”
His slow smile leveled her seconds before he peeled her tank top and flannel bottoms off her body with tender deliberation. She trembled, more aware of her skin than ever before. When her clothes lay on the floor, she stood before him in the shifting aquatic lights feeling virginal and confused. He’d seen her naked before. He’d watched, entranced, as she’d ridden his body and flown apart. So why did it feel like this was her first time? Like now everything was different?
Because I love him.
A quaver steamrolled through her nerves—excitement, wonder, and fear winding her up into a miasma of feeling. He backed up a step, his eyes a brand, scorching their way from her teeth worrying her lips, to the tips of her breasts, across the stubbornly rounded expanse of her stomach and curve of her hips to her sex, down the length of her legs, and back up again until his fevered eyes captured hers and turned her insides to magma.
“God, help me, Sloane. I need you. Every beautiful inch of you.”
She could feel his need radiating off his body in waves that threatened to knock her to her knees. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. The intensity of the feelings coursing through her rooted her to the soft rug beneath her feet. She shivered when he finally peeled the shirt over his head.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he whispered, frowning, not touching her but near enough that she could feel his body heat. “Cold?”
“No. I—” She closed her eyes and rubbed her arms, trying to find her old, confident self. When she opened them, she was staring at his large purple bruise and the black panther tattooed across his chest. It was so alive, seeming to move with every breath he took. She reached up to touch it and felt his muscles twitch. Her heart throbbed. So much emotion.
“I need you, too, Zack.” Her words were barely audible. She didn’t move. Hesitating, he watched her for a few moments—enough time for her to realize he understood what was happening.
Surrender.
It was her first. A this is who and what I am when all the chips were down. A glimpse into her soul. An offering with no expectation of reciprocation. She quivered like a mouse before the lion, knowing she’d never be quite the same when Zack left her arms this time.
He held out his hand and led her into the bedroom. He eased her down on the bed with great care, then stepped away to throw open the curtains.
…
Zack turned back to Sloane, swallowing hard. Soft light from the full moon glowed across her body as though in homage to such physical loveliness. If not for the demon in his blood, he would have been content to stare at her for hours. She lay against the pillows, her hair a glimmering wave of silk. She watched him remove his jeans and set a condom next to her, two dark blots distressing her cheeks. She wet her lips, shifted on the bed, and his blood boiled.
No matter what, he was going to take her slow this time.
He’d read her struggle to surrender loud and clear, as though she was talking in his mind again.
The last time they’d made love, she’d been in control. He was beginning to realize that she’d built her life around the mantra of control. She was a strong, independent woman. More so than any other woman he’d ever known. For her, losing control was synonymous with failure. And while he didn’t understand how she connected the two quite yet, he did comprehend the personal consequences that accompanied a sense of failure. So he was determined to proceed carefully.
He moved to the end of the bed, and she sprang up on her elbows, her worried frown pricking little holes in his heart.
“Shhh. I mean to care for you, Goldie.”
“But your injury—”
“I’m okay.” He placed one knee on the edge of the bed, leaned toward her, and smiled, and oh, it felt good. Even in the midst of this nightmare, he’d smiled more often with her in the last three days than he had in the whole last year.
He slid his palms underneath her calves, then swiveled his thumbs to the undersides of her thighs, pushing her legs slowly apart. When his thumbs reached the swell of her buttocks against the bed, he paused, his hands forming a triangle around her heat. “So lovely. Every part of you.”
Her hands fisted in the covers, and her scent—vanilla, woman, sex—kindled all manner of outstanding fantasies in his mind. He blew softly across her skin until goose bumps rose up and down her legs and across her belly.
She gasped, and reached down for him. “Kiss me.”
“Thought you’d never ask,” he whispered as his dark head descended.
…
Sloane’s hips bucked off the bed when his hot mouth and stubbled chin connected with her flesh. That’s not what I meant, you wonderful bastard, her mind screamed and she grabbed fistfuls of his hair lest he move away.
His head popped up, eyes gleaming at her. “I know.”
He’d heard her.
Oh, Lord. Now she’d need to control her thoughts, too.
Her grip loosened on his hair, but he annihilated her next coherent thought with a sweep of his tongue. Pressure was building, coiling, swirling toward one tight spot that seemed to swell ever larger. She writhed against the arms that held her legs in place, but without his restraints she’d feel at sea. His body was her anchor for the energy that expanded, almost painful now, until she finally broke that ceiling, exploded, and then drifted—drifted—in dark waves of pleasure.
Floating down, she felt his body sliding over hers, so hot, his mouth feathering kisses against her hip bone, her navel, the under swells of her breasts. His tongue traced her areola, his erection sliding hot and hard against her legs. He took her nipple all the way in his mouth, and she whimpered. “Give me a second, then I can—”
“Don’t be a coward.” He rose over her, sheathed himself, then parted her legs wide with his own, his broad tip grazing her skin. She lay beneath him, open, quivering, but not sure she was ready for where he would take her.
“Yes, Sloane, right now, there’s no one for you but me.” And he breached her with one long, slow stroke that left her breathless, aching, and painfully aware that it was so much more than he’d said.
Because there would probably never be anyone else for her but him.
His eyes burned into hers as his body ground deep, then stilled until the only movement was the rhythmic pulsing of him inside her. She bit her lip and moved her hips in an effort to ease the ache that was re-building.
“More?”
She wrapped her legs around his waist in answer. His arms shook as he pulled back slightly, throbbing at her entrance. She tried to push herself up at him, but he held himself back. “Then say it, Sloane. Say the words, and I’ll give you anything you need.”
Why? You can hear my thoughts, damn you.
“I want to hear you say them out loud.”
No.
“Yes,” he said.
“No! Yes! Oh, yes. I need this. I—” Love you, she thought, and his body took hers with wild abandon. Every point of contact between their bodies shimmered with light, a conflagration of energy finding its perfect balance.
Acutely aware of her own heartbeat, she sank her fingernails into the shifting muscles of his back. He grabbed one of her legs, pushing on the back of her thigh and changing his strokes so they were a shorter, sharper angle, rocking against her pelvis until she gasped for air as a whole new world of ecstasy beckoned her.
“Look at me, Sloane.”
She did and found him watching her, his eyes black, fathomless, as though he’d crawled inside her very soul. So much pleasure. There was no place for her to hide. What do you see inside me?
And then all thought vanished.
Her vision grayed and suddenly exploded into a mass of impossible blue light that flashed across her brain, removing inhibition and ambiguity. She screamed his name and felt him spasm. I
n moments, he collapsed and rolled onto his back, bringing her with him so she was resting halfway across his trunk and legs, her head pillowed on his shoulder. They lay that way for a long time.
Whoa. Just, whoa.
For her, sex had always been healthy, fun, recreational. Then she moved on. But now, what she’d lived through with Zack…
How could she move on after an experience like that? He’d gone someplace within her no one else ever had.
Wait! She reared up, alarmed that he might have read her thoughts again. But he was sound asleep, his eyelashes forming jet black crescents against the dark circles under his eyes.
Ah, now you’ve done it. You’ve fallen for a complicated, dangerous man.
Earlier, he must not have heard her sudden declaration of love because he really hadn’t reacted. Thank God.
So her butt was covered for now. No way was she going to gush any feelings yet. They still had too many horrors to iron out.
She should crawl out of bed and turn on the radio to see if they were saying anything new about the case. But she wanted to savor this time with him.
Softly, she brushed a hand across his bruised midsection and the swarthy skin low on his abdomen. His penis jerked, but his lips were still parted in slumber. Her eyes tracked back down his body and saw that he was now slightly hard again. She smiled, nestled more comfortably into the crook of his arm, and tried to go to sleep. But he shifted and his hand brushed her nipple, making her ache once more.
As she rolled away to take a cold shower, he flattened her on her belly, hooked his arm under her pelvis to raise her hips, and mere seconds after the foil ripped, he entered her from behind. She moaned as he undulated against her, his left hand grasping her hip, the fingers of his right hand massaging her in the most perfect spot.
His breath rasped over her skin, a blanket of sensation. “God, woman. Your need called to me in my sleep.”
Oh, how she wanted to deny it. But she was already climaxing.
Chapter Twenty-four
Zack walked into Sloane’s kitchen bare-chested, towel-drying his hair, and gave her a grin that would melt a freightliner of ice. She turned to the stove to plate the eggs. She’d managed to get out of the shower first. Or perhaps crawl out would be a more apt description. Her cheeks heated when she recalled how the cool tiles had felt against her back as she’d clung to him, the steam cocooning them in an Eden of erotic sensation.