by Jordan Dane
Paralyzed by her past, Jasmine recalled the greatest betrayal of all—the face of her hypocritical mother. The woman refused to help and left Jasmine to her fate—time and time again—with dull, beat-down eyes mixed with a hardened apathy. Her mother denied the transgression by dutifully washing Jasmine's bloody sheets without question, avoiding her child's accusing eyes.
"Fuck you, Mother!" Jasmine cursed the image of the woman's face. The hurt stung like a fresh wound.
After her bad dreams, Nicky had always heard her cries and held her until she fell back to sleep. Sometimes she tried to entice him with sex, but Nicky knew what she needed. He would pull her to his chest and stroke her hair with a tenderness she had never known. The beat of his heart gave her comfort, her ear nuzzled against his warm skin. And his deep baritone reassured her, the words less important than the safety of his arms.
Now, overwhelming grief filled her heart, as if the ordeal of his death had come true, an overdose of the Iboga root. Guilt mixed with profound regret and tears filled her eyes. Without thinking, Jasmine yanked back the bed covers and headed for Christian's room in the dark.
If she couldn't have Nicky, she would have the next best thing.
She crept to his bedroom, her eyes on the pale light spilling onto the carpet beneath his door. In her mind, she devised a story to tell him if he would wake, why she needed to talk. She turned his doorknob, careful not to make a sound.
After she slipped inside, she watched Christian, dead asleep. The combination of his exhaustion and the warm effects of alcohol and the pain meds had done their job. She doused the lights. Without a window in the room, everything went pitch-black. She listened for a change in his breathing. None came. He still slept.
Jasmine tugged at the black silk lingerie against her skin. The flimsy material was damp from perspiration, giving her chills. And to make matters worse, her body tensed with a rush of adrenaline. Slowly, she stepped toward his bed, her body shaking. When a tear rolled down her cheek, she knew she had to steady her nerves. She closed her eyes and imagined the beat of Nicky's heart, hearing the gentle pulse of it close to her ear.
In the dark, she pictured Nicky under the sheets.
In the dark, Jasmine would be with him . .. even if it were for the last time.
CHAPTER 13
Christian felt a soft hand touch his forehead, cool velvet across his skin. He smiled at the sensation as his mind filled with . . .
Raven.
In the twilight of sleep, before he opened his eyes, she stirred his body with little effort. Dream or not, heat rushed through him, churning his blood until his mind filled with nothing but her. Pale skin and enticing curves of flesh came to life in his memory.
"Oh, Raven . . . yes," he whispered, loving the sound of her name in the stillness.
Playing her favorite game of seduction in the early hours of the morning, he kept his eyes shut tight and moved under the sheets, surrendering to her. In the most vivid dream he'd had of her, Raven slipped under the sheets next to him. Cool air kissed the heat of his raging skin. She nuzzled her head into his shoulder, an arm over his chest. Her caress gave him comfort, but with the alcohol in his system, he wasn't in the mood for sleep.
"Come here, baby," he whispered. "I love you."
"Hold me." So faint, he barely heard her. "Just hold me."
With his eyes still shut, Christian rolled to one elbow and stroked the side of her face, pressing his lips to hers. She returned his urgency at first, her tongue entwined with his.
Slowly, he pulled down her lingerie and held her breast, licking her nipple. Slow circles turned into arousing flicks of his tongue. When she moaned, he heard the sound of it ripple through her body.
"No ... please," she murmured. In a show of domination, Raven pushed him onto his back and nestled against his chest once more. "Hold me."
"I'm trying, baby." He rolled on top of her again, cradling her head with a hand, his fingers entwined in her hair. "You feel so good."
He wanted her . . . needed her.
Unable to play the game any longer, Christian opened his eyes, his mind reeling with the vividness of the dream. No lights. Raven had turned them off. That struck him as odd. Something was off. But in the darkness, even with the room spinning, when he caught sight of her faint silhouette under him, he had no interest in anything other than toe-curling sex.
Once more he pressed his lips to hers. And Raven cried out, "Christian . . . please. Stop. I only want you to hold me," she sobbed. "Please stop."
He fought to regain control, but his body still reacted to her. His erection hammered against his pants, straining for release. He stared into the blackness, replaying everything in his head. Why was he still wearing his clothes? Damn it! What the hell? In the dark, he couldn't see much, but a flash memory of the hotel room came to mind. And reality hit hard.
This wasn't Chicago. He wasn't home ... with Raven. Then who ...?
He shoved the woman aside, his erection on a downhill slide, and reached for the lamp on his nightstand. Before he hit the switch, he knew what he would find. The light flooded the room and he discovered Jasmine lying beside him.
"Wha . . . ? Why are you . . . ?" Confusion muddled his mind. He suddenly felt nauseous. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
"Oh, God." Jasmine pulled away from him, avoiding his eyes. She wiped her cheeks and tugged at a lingerie strap, placing it back on her shoulder.
She'd been crying. Male ego aside, a woman crying in bed was never a good thing. And this wasn't a sudden outburst, faked to get out of her predicament. Seeing her like this brought Christian to his knees. Point a gun to his head and he'd still try to outmaneuver his assailant, despite the odds. But a woman in tears left him downright defenseless.
For the first time, she looked as vulnerable as a small child.
He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. On his back and propped on his elbows, Christian stared at Jasmine, his brain completely wasted. He didn't even know what to ask. Had he gone to her room, thinking she was Raven? What kind of lowlife asshole would do that? He looked around the room. When he saw his things, a whole new set of questions crowded his mind.
Jasmine stopped him cold by reaching out a hand. The move caught him by surprise. Although Christian held his face stern, the rest of him melted like a double scoop of Ben &C Jerry's Chunky Monkey on a hot Chicago sidewalk in August.
"Please don't ... let me explain." Jasmine fought to catch her breath with her fresh onslaught of tears. "P-Please . . . this is not what you think."
"Lady, I'm not exactly doing a lot of thinking right now. You better help me out."
She told him about her nightmare, with each detail more shocking than the last. In her dream, she had witnessed her lover's death in all its cruelty. Dr. Phillips and his tale of the Iboga overdose had no doubt instigated her worst fears. She held nothing back, her face twisted in grief. Christian pictured the same happening to Raven and knew exactly how Jasmine felt.
"I needed to be held, like Nicky used to . . ." She stopped, her eyes avoiding his. "That is all. I didn't think you'd wake up." And with a fresh batch of tears, she admitted, "I've lost him, Christian. I think he might be dead. And it's my fault."
She looked so broken . . . and lost. Feeling alone for most of his life, he understood the need for emotional closeness, the touch of another human being. Her need to be held resonated with him. He rolled toward her and wiped a tear away with his thumb.
"This isn't your fault. I'm sure my father brought a lot of this on himself, with the life he chose." Christian lifted her chin and pulled back a strand of her hair. "Look, all you had was a bad dream. We're gonna find him."
Tears in fragile balance teetered on the edge. But her dark eyes brimmed with something else—hope.
"You really think so?" After he nodded, she let a faint smile influence her lips. "You realize this is the first time you have called him your father in front of me?"
Well, I'll be damned. Apparen
tly, she'd been keeping track. Before he could stop himself, the words were out of his mouth.
"Tell me about him."
One in a million odds she would do it, but he had to take a shot. After a long moment of silence, Jasmine started to tell him about his father, the man she loved.
"Nicholas and I met for the first time in a jazz club in downtown Chicago. Believe me, I was not there to enjoy the music. I'd come to kill a man."
"You came to kill someone? Why?"
"The bastard had raped my younger sister." She looked away, fighting the tears welling in her eyes, but gravity won. "She was only nine years old . . . and I could not stop it from happening to her too." Anger flared, a distant hurt revisited. "My uncle had a gambling debt and she became part of the deal when he could not pay."
"You said you couldn't keep it from happening to her too. Did you . . . ?" Hearing the words aloud sickened him. He couldn't finish his question.
"You are a good listener . . . like your father." A sad smile came and went. "Yes. I endured my uncle for too many years. It was too late for me, but when I saw it happening again, I lost it. I tracked down the man who violated her. And I unleashed all the rage I had in me for all those years. To this day I don't remember much of the details, except for one thing. I remember your father."
She wiped her face with her fingers. It took her a moment to start again.
"He forced the blade from my hands and kept whispering in my ear. I don't remember what he said, but my heart slowed and I collapsed into his arms. He took me to his home, made me feel safe for the first time in my life. He bathed me, washed my hair, and put me into bed. A guest room. Never once did he take advantage of me. I became his lover much later . . . when I wanted and needed him far more than my next breath."
"And the police never came for you?"
"No. Nicky took care of that too. I had come for one thing and didn't care what happened to me afterward, but he became my witness for self-defense. He was so convincing, others came forward too. I don't know how he pulled it off, but he did."
"And you never saw your uncle again?"
"We crossed paths once more. On the day of his funeral. It seems my uncle met with an unexplained and most peculiar accident. Closed casket." This time Jasmine's smile stayed. "I've been with Nicky ever since."
Jasmine went on, telling him more about his father. He laid back against his pillows, trying to catch up on a lifetime missed. Although his father was nothing like him in the things that really mattered, like the ethics of right and wrong, he saw bits and pieces of himself reflected in her many stories and felt an eerie connection to a man he'd never met. And with her guard down, Jasmine took on a whole new level of beauty. She had a delicate shyness to her, an extraordinary innocence he found captivating. And with her as a portal, he saw his father in a different light.
How long they talked, he would never remember. Christian didn't exactly hold up his end of the conversation. He faded in and out to the sounds of her voice, his eyelids heavy. He found it hard to stay alert.
Jasmine touched his arm and smiled as he jerked awake.
"Huh? What happened?"
She shook her head. "You know, we are more alike than you know, Christian."
He fought the drugs in his system. It took him a moment to focus.
"I sense you have a place in your heart no one sees, perhaps not even you. I hide such a place from Nicky . . . and he from me. But lovers should not have such secrets from each other."
Jasmine had summed up his relationship with Raven. He had yet to open his heart completely to her, to trust Raven with his dark places.
"What if I never get my second chance with Nicky?"
"You'll get it, Jasmine. Hell, we both need a second chance." He sounded more confident than he felt. "Sometimes I think we get one defining moment to say what's in our hearts. And if we don't grab it, that moment rolls by on a one-way trip."
He could tell by the look on her face, she wondered the same as he did. Had that opportunity come and gone? They both had too much unsaid and too much undone with the ones they loved. After a long silence, Jasmine rolled off his bed and headed for his door. She turned for one last look. He had no idea what she was thinking.
"You okay?" he asked.
Jasmine had a pitiful expression on her face, a depth of sadness uniquely her own. Without a word, she slipped through the door and shut it behind her. Christian stared at the closed door for a long time, until the pain meds washed over him in a second wave. He slumped back onto the pillows and shut his eyes, pulling the sheets to his chest.
"No . . . guess I'm not either."
The Next Morning
Day Seven
Barefoot and dressed in faded jeans with a white T-shirt, Christian stumbled from his room with the worst hangover in the history of the known world. Why had he been so worthy? He could have done without the experience. Not even a quick shower did any good to rake the cobwebs from his brain. He leaned against the doorjamb to his room to steady himself and dragged fingers through his damp hair bleary eyed. Every hair follicle ached to the touch. Even his teeth hurt.
And to compound his misery, the sun glared through the windows to the suite, nearly blinding him. He squinted and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short when he saw Jasmine. Images of her in his bed catapulted through his mind, most of them a blur.
He felt the rush of heat to his cheeks and neck.
"Did anything happen? I remember . . ." He almost clarified his point, but stopped shy of full disclosure. "Well, not sure what I remember. Maybe it was a dream."
"Admit it, you fantasized about me. Plenty of men do, my love." On the sofa, she sipped her coffee with feet up, winking over the brim of her cup. Her usual attitude doled out in heaping doses, except for a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. Jasmine looked as if she were holding her breath, waiting for his reply.
A strained moment passed. Christian chose the path of least resistance.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, but there's only one woman who occupies my three pounds of gray matter these days." His thoughts turned to Raven. "And at the moment, she's not taking my calls."
Jasmine set her coffee down and gave him her full attention. "Funny. I never thought a man used his brain with a woman." She smiled, but the gesture quickly faded. "Your detective could use a lesson in forgiveness. Love should not be discarded so lightly."
An awkward silence.
"I know you mean well," he said, "but stay out of my personal life ... please."
A throbbing pain pulsed over his left eyebrow, but damned if he'd let her know how much he hurt. Catching a whiff of coffee, he walked over to the wet bar and poured himself a cup. Black.
"Thank God some things are no-brainers," he muttered, and took a gulp.
When the hotel phone rang, he winced at the shrill sound, but Jasmine got up to answer it.
"Hello?" She raised her chin and turned her eyes on him. "I see." After a long moment she added, "No, that'll be fine."
When she hung up the phone, Christian asked, "Who was that? You look like we got trouble."
Jasmine took a deep breath. "Yeah, the worst kind."
Without explanation, she hurried to her bedroom. He heard her rummaging through her things, but she rushed out, heading for the door.
"Hey, where are you going?" He narrowed his eyes. "Who was that on the phone?"
"I know we've had our issues with trust . . ." She smiled as she stood in the open doorway. A strange, sad smile. ". . . but this time, you're gonna have to trust me. Some things you just have to do alone." Jasmine left, shutting the door behind her.
What the hell did that mean? Do what alone?
After she left, Christian downed his coffee and set the cup on the bar. He rushed to his room, grabbing the Glock and his wallet, his mind racing. Jasmine wasn't going anywhere without him. Too risky to fly solo. He thought she understood that. But when he got to the suite door and swung it open, he stopped cold.
His jaw dropped. Standing in the hall, with her arm raised, ready to knock, was...
"Raven," he whispered.
This time she wasn't a dream.
CHAPTER 14
In the quiet of the morning, speaking Raven's name gave Christian the feeling of . . . home. Wide dark eyes held him in place and the smell of her perfume mingled with the warmth of her skin. Intoxicating. His eyes, his senses, took everything in. A lump wedged in his throat.
"Christian." Raven took a guarded step toward him, unsure how she'd be received. She held her breath, then spoke, "I had to come."
Her voice shot tingles over his skin.
Before she said another word, Christian wrapped her in his arms and lowered his lips to hers. Nothing felt so right. He forgot all the reasons for her not to come to Brazil.
Now, none of them mattered.
Dr. Phillips stared at himself in his bathroom mirror, having trouble with the Windsor knot in his tie. He'd done it a million times, but today his nerves were shot. Anxiety raced through him like an electrical charge. He had a bad feeling about today.
"Damn it." He yanked the knot apart again and undid the top button of his white dress shirt to get some air.
His predicament had come to a head. He couldn't go back to change things, and moving forward left him wondering: Move forward to where?
Head down, Phillips shut his eyes and flattened his palms on the bathroom counter. Taking deep breaths, he let the sounds of his family downstairs wash over him, hoping their normalcy over the breakfast table would calm his raw nerves. When he looked up, he caught the movement of a dark shadow behind him ... in the mirror.
"What the hell?" He turned around, eyes wide. Abject fear gripped his throat. "What are you doing here?"
Jasmine Lee inched closer. Her eyes never strayed from his. In a low seductive voice she whispered, "Bet you wished you had added security now, don't you, Doctor?"