by Opal Carew
Dumb question.
“Don’t be embarrassed, cher. You think a man doesn’t want a woman to come every time he touches her? I liked it.”
I had, too, but I wasn’t used to discussing sex in such detail with my body still humming from his. I wasn’t used to discussing sex at all. I’d learned the facts of life in the locker room of my private girls’ school, and to tell the truth... they’d gotten a couple of things wrong.
“Where you come from that you make love like a wild thing and get all red in the face when you talk about it?”
“Love?” This hadn’t been love, at least not for me. Not for him, either, I was certain. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who fell in love.
“Figure of speech.” His voice trilled down my body, leaving goose bumps in its wake.
“Find another,” I snapped, unreasonably annoyed at his cavalier attitude. Though why, I had no idea. I wanted him to be that way. I couldn’t bear anything else.
“You’d rather I say ‘you fuck like a wild thing’? How about ‘screw’? ‘Bang’? ‘Boink’? None of them seemed the right word at the time.”
My lips trembled, and he stared at me, horrified. Then I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help myself. “‘Boink’?”
He smiled, too, then shrugged, the movement making his slick chest rub against mine in new and enticing ways. “See what I mean? Not the right word.”
The laughter had been good, had made me feel almost closer to him than the sex had.
Almost.
Rain dotted my cheeks, sparkled in his hair. Suddenly my hands were free, and I drew a finger down his face. “There’s so much about you I don’t know.”
Amusement fled as wariness took its place. “There are things you don’t wanna know.”
He rolled off me and to his feet in a quick feline movement. Leaning over, he dug his cigarettes out of his pants, then glanced at the still-dripping sky.
“Did you kill someone?” I hadn’t meant to ask that, wasn’t sure why I had. Like he was going to tell me.
The pack of cigarettes crunched as his hand clenched, then he took a deep breath, and as he let it out, his muscles relaxed, his fingers unfurled, and the shiny crumpled paper thudded to the ground. “You know I have.”
I blinked. “Wh-what?”
“Why you ask if you don’t want to hear? I was in the army. I did what I had to do.”
“I wasn’t talking about the army.”
Slowly he turned, his eyes eerily light in the encroaching night “What were you talkin’ about?”
Adam might feel comfortable standing in the swamp buck naked, but I didn’t. I reached for my shirt drew it over my head, and started hunting for my underwear. “A detective came to see me.” Had it only been this morning? “There was a man killed in the swamp.”
“Another animal attack.”
I found the white scrap of cotton and shoved my legs inside. My jeans were soaked. I debated trying to put them on and decided against it. “Not an animal this time. Guy was strangled.”
Adam’s face revealed nothing; however, he didn’t seem surprised. “You think I did that?”
“Did you?”
“Who was this man? Why would I kill him?”
I didn’t know the answer to either question. “The detective wants to talk to you.”
“He can want all he likes.”
“You aren’t going to talk to him?” I asked.
“When I get around to it.”
“He seemed pretty determined.”
“He’ll have to be a lot more than determined to find me out here.”
He had a point.
I jerked my head toward the shack. “This is where you live?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He lifted his brows. “Why not?”
“You’ve got a perfectly good house, if you’d only take care of it.”
Adam’s face became shuttered. “I hate that place. I wish it would rot, but the damn thing never will.”
His vehemence surprised and confused me. “You moved out here because you hate the house, not because you—?” I stopped abruptly.
His mouth quirked. “You heard I lost my mind? Why you come here if you think I’m nuts?”
I hadn’t come here—actually I had, but not the way he meant. I’d followed him. Or at least I thought I had. “Why were you watching me at the mansion?”
He’d been leaning over, reaching for his clothes, giving me an eyeful of his terrific backside. At my question, he stilled for just an instant. If I hadn’t been admiring the view, I wouldn’t have noticed.
“Watching?” He straightened, but he didn’t face me. Instead, he seemed to be scanning the swamp.
“By the cypress trees. When I called out, you left, so I followed you. Didn’t I?”
“Mmm.” He scooped up his clothes, my jeans, and grabbed me by the arm. “I’ve had enough rain. Let’s go inside.”
I hung back. “Why did you lead me here?”
He stared at me from behind the tangled curtain of his hair. “I’m a man. Why you think?”
For some reason the idea that he’d led me into the swamp for sex annoyed me, which was stupid. I hadn’t followed him for a tour of the area. We were mature adults who were attracted to each other. There was no reason we shouldn’t act on that attraction. Just because Adam gave voice to the truth shouldn’t make me feel slutty and guilty and bad. But I did.
“I should go,” I said.
“Not tonight.”
“But—”
He kissed me, lips, tongue, teeth, and I forgot again. Where I was, who I was, the other questions I wanted to ask.
He lifted his head, and his gaze flickered to the swamp, then back to mine. “Stay with me. At least until the storm ends.”
I found myself nodding, even though I got the distinct impression he meant something other than the wind, the rain, and the thunder.
Chapter 15
Adam’s place definitely looked better on the inside. Not much furniture, but tidy and dry—what more could anyone want?
Hot water and a shot of whiskey—Irish, to be sure. I was suddenly so cold, my bones ached. Which made no sense. The storm hadn’t done one thing to dissipate the heat.
“I’ll put your clothes in the dryer.” Adam held out a hand. I stared at it confused. “Your shirt, cher.”
He wanted me to strip in the living room?
His lips twitched at my sudden shyness, but he didn’t point out that he’d already seen everything, touched and tasted it too. Instead he nodded to the nearest door. “Bathroom’s right there. Take a shower, toss out your things.”
“Hot water?” My voice quivered with hope.
Adam nodded. “I live here year-round. Could do without electric, but why? Bought a generator first thing.”
I practically ran into the bathroom, which was small but functional. I turned on the water, tossed my clothes through the door. As I waited for the steam to rise, my gaze flickered over the countertop.
Shaving cream, razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, blow-dryer. I guess that solved the mystery of the un-wet hair, though why Adam had taken time to dry his locks while I wandered the swamp, I had no idea. Maybe he caught chills easily. He should try wearing a shirt and shoes.
Climbing into the shower, I nearly moaned as the water hit my skin. Though I would have liked to stand under the stream for an hour, I made do with fifteen minutes. Then I dried off, wrapped my hair in one towel and my body in a second, and went searching for Adam.
He stood at the front window watching as night descended completely. The thought of going out in that storm, walking alone through the dark, was too much. I would never be able to do it.
My clothes were gone, presumably whirling around the dryer with his. The image of our things all tangled together and warm made me think of other warm things that should be tangled together.
What was the matter with me? Was I suddenly obsessed with sex because it had been so
long since I’d had any, or was I obsessed because I’d had it with him?
He turned, and our gazes met across the tiny room. He’d donned gray sweatpants and a bright yellow T-shirt, which made his skin appear more bronzed and his eyes more blue. I was so out of my league.
“I’ll get you somethin’ to wear while the dryer does its thing.”
I didn’t protest. There was no way I could be in the same room with Adam wearing only a towel and not be distracted by thoughts of him tearing it off of me.
Then again, would that be so bad? What were we going to do all night? Play chess?
I followed him down the hall, standing in the doorway as he rooted through a dresser. The bedroom was as sparse as the living room—nothing but a queen-size bed and a place to store clothes.
I lost the towel. The swish of the terry cloth down my legs, the slight thunk as it hit the floor, were faint, yet his head went up like a dear sensing danger in the forest. His eyes widened, and he dropped the T-shirt in his hand back into the drawer.
“The bed looks comfortable,” I said.
He crossed the floor, stopping just in front of me. Reaching up, he tugged the towel turban from my head. My damp, wildly curling hair tumbled free.
“Better than the ground,” he whispered.
Lightning flashed so brightly I still saw the flare after it faded. Thunder shook the earth; the windows rattled.
“Gonna be a long night, cher.”
“I hope so.”
He led me to the bed, and we passed the long night together.
I awoke in that hour when the moon dies and the sun is born—the darkest time. The storm had raged outside, wild and primitive. Inside we’d done our best to imitate nature. I was both exhausted and exhilarated. Achy and alive.
I turned my head. Adam’s face was so close; his breath caressed my cheek. I resisted the urge to brush back his hair and kiss his brow.
Just sex, I reminded myself. I had a job to do, a vow to fulfill, a life to lead. One that did not include a reclusive former Special Forces officer with too many secrets.
I didn’t believe he’d murdered a man with his bare hands. How could he, and then touch me so gently in the night? There was violence in him certainly, but not insanity. At least not yet.
I frowned at the thought and shifted to glance out the window. My heart seemed to leap into my throat. I wanted to call for Adam, but I couldn’t speak.
A wolf stared through the glass. Huge, black, beautiful. A shaft of excitement, of joy shot through me that I’d at last found something I was searching for. And then I saw the beast’s eyes.
Wolves have brown eyes—dark, light, sometimes hazel. They do not possess orbs of blue. What really freaked me out was the white surrounding the iris. I could swear those eyes were human— and familiar.
They were Adam’s eyes.
I sat up with a gasp, trying to catch my breath, finally succeeding. I looked at the window again. The wolf was gone.
Bracing myself, I looked at Adam. He slept on undisturbed.
I put my palm to my chest; my heart threatened to burst through my skin.
A dream, that was all. There hadn’t really been a wolf with human eyes staring at me with just a hint of desire— though I had to say his expression had been more famished than carnal.
I lay down, spent a few moments breathing in and out, trying to make my heart return to a normal pace, hoping I didn’t wake Adam with my foolishness. After his performance, he had to be more tired than I was.
The memory calmed me. I shifted closer, enjoying the warmth, the scent of his skin, the rhythm of his breathing. I hadn’t realized how much I hated sleeping alone. I drifted, perched on the precipice of sleep, when a tap at the window brought me wide awake again. My eyes snapped open. I expected the wolf; I did not expect Simon.
A soft sob escaped. Just a dream again, had to be. Simon was dead. He could not be outside Adam’s window.
I cringed at Simon seeing me in bed with another man, even if it was a dream Simon.
He tapped on the glass, crooked his finger; so I slipped from beneath the covers and padded naked across the floor.
Simon appeared exactly the same as he had the day he’d died. Tall and a bit gaunt—he’d always forgotten to eat unless I reminded him—his blond hair and blue eyes appeared almost Nordic. I hadn’t known he was British until he opened his mouth. That accent had been my undoing.
When I’d met him he was well respected in his field. By the time he died he was a laughingstock, referred to as “The Wolfman” by people who’d once admired him.
A few days before his death he finally told me why he was willing to risk everything to find something no one else believed in. He’d seen a werewolf as a child in England—out on the moors, in the fog—and ever since, he’d been unable to forget.
I’d rationalized away the sighting as too much American Werewolf in London for a twelve-year-old mind. He’d been understandably angry that the one person in the world who should believe him, didn’t, and when he’d received a call that a werewolf had been seen in northern Wisconsin, he’d gone alone.
I hadn’t believed him, and he’d died for it
Simon laid his palm against the glass. Droplets of rain ran down, skirting his fingers. I lifted my hand and pressed it to the windowpane, too. God, I missed him.
“D-baby,” he murmured.
Only the two of us knew that nickname.
“I’m here, Simon.”
“I’m not.”
“I know.”
He glanced over his shoulder as if someone had called him, then returned his gaze to mine. “I have to go.”
“Not yet.”
He stepped back. Weird. He wasn’t wet, and the rain was still coming down.
Or maybe not so weird after all.
“You promised,” he said.
I’d sworn till death do us part, but in my heart that meant forever. A love like ours just didn’t go away. I felt it now, swelling inside of me, making my eyes tear and my chest tighten. “Don’t leave me.”
“I never have. I’ll be with you until the end of time. You took a vow, D-baby. Remember?”
He’d come to remind me of the vow and not our love? Dream Simon or not, I wanted to slug him.
“I haven’t forgotten. I’ve been chasing legends every which way ever since you died. I haven’t found one damn thing.”
“You have to believe in order to see, not the other way around.”
He’d told me that countless times, but faith, for me, was tough. I was a scientist; I needed proof.
“Be safe,” he whispered; then he was gone.
I jolted as if I’d been startled awake. However, I wasn’t in bed; I was standing at the window. I couldn’t have been sleeping. Unless I’d been sleepwalking.
As I leaned close, my nose brushed the glass. Nothing was out there but the night. I inched back, and my gaze caught on the imprint of a hand.
My heart gave one hard thud before I came to my senses. I’d touched the window in my sleep that was all. To prove it, I fit my palm to the outline.
The fingertips on the glass extended half an inch past my own.
Chapter 16
“Who’s Simon?”
I spun toward the bed. “Where did you hear that?”
Adam rested his head on one palm, his face shuttered. “From you.”
“I never told you about him.”
“Not told, no. You said his name in your sleep. And since you’re sleeping with me, I want to know who he is.”
Had I dreamed Simon or not? I wasn’t certain. If I had, was that good or bad? If I hadn’t, what the hell?
I glanced at the window, but the handprint was gone. Had it ever been there in the first place?
“Who is he?” Adam sounded as if he was speaking through clenched teeth. When my gaze returned to his, I saw that he was.
“Simon’s my husband.”
A flicker of violence passed over his face. “You didn’t t
hink you should mention a husband? I might do a lot of things, but I try not to fuck another man’s wife if I can help it.”
“No. I’m not— I mean we’re not— He isn’t—”
Adam got out of the bed and crossed the floor so fast I barely had time to step back. When I did, I hit the wall. He grabbed me by the forearms and dragged me onto my toes. His grip hurt, but I was too bewildered to protest.
“He isn’t what?”
“Alive.” Or at least I didn’t think so.
Adam released me as if I were a hot potato; I would have fallen if I hadn’t had the wall to hold me up.
“Sorry.” He shoved a hand through his hair.
I wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for Simon’s death or for manhandling me, but I understood his anger. In fact, his fury at the idea I was married made me view him in a different light. Adam Ruelle hadn’t seemed the type to respect marriage vows, to take to heart the myth of one man, one woman, forever. If I’d been wrong about that, I’d been wrong about him. Which only confused me more.
“Forget it,” I said.
“You haven’t forgotten.”
“No.”
“You still love him. I could tell by the way you said his name.”
I wanted to ask how he knew so much about love, but I didn’t. The conversation only emphasized that we were practically strangers, and I wanted to keep it that way.
“I’ll always love Simon. Death can’t change what I feel.”
He stared at me so hard, I got the feeling he wanted to open my head and peek inside, find out what made me tick.
“How did he die?”
I didn’t want to talk about this, especially naked, so I yanked the sheet off the bed and headed for the bathroom.
Adam caught the tail end and held on. “You dream of him.”
I wasn’t so sure it had been a dream, but I couldn’t tell Adam I’d seen my dead husband outside his window.
“I saw a wolf,” I blurted instead. “There.” I pointed. “Big, black, with weird blue eyes.”
If Adam hadn’t been nude, I wouldn’t have noticed him tense. His gaze flickered to the window and back. I was distracted by the ripple of muscle beneath skin, the wave along his abdomen like a softly flowing river.