He clamped his hands down on her tense shoulders and pulled her back so that her body pressed against his, her back to his chest. Leaning over and putting his cheek against hers, he eased his mouth close to her ear. “You don’t have to be alone anymore. You don’t have to fight your battles by yourself. I want to be your friend…your protector…your lover.”
She didn’t melt into him all at once. Not his Jazzy. She had struggled a lifetime learning not to give in, not to say yes without putting up a fight. And that was all right with him. She could fight as much as she liked. Hell, she’d been fighting her attraction to him for three months now, hadn’t she? He figured she was on the verge of giving in. Tonight.
Caleb swung her around and right into his arms. With her eyes wide in surprise and her mouth opened to protest, he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her face up and against his. Then he kissed her. Hard and demanding at first. Not allowing her a chance to protest. And the moment he felt her weaken, he softened his attack. When she began returning his kiss, her mouth as hungry and passionate as his, Caleb groaned, this prelude to real satisfaction arousing him unbearably.
Chapter 22
Holding her head in place, Caleb ravaged her mouth while his other hand slid down to cup her hip and press her intimately against his erection. For months now she’d been fighting her desire to be with him, to kiss him and touch him and lose herself in him. Instinctively she knew he wasn’t like any other man she’d ever known. Nothing like Jamie.
Forget Jamie, she told herself. Put him, his death, your arrest, and everything else out of your mind. Enjoy this night, savor every moment of being with Caleb.
Jazzy wrapped her arms around his waist and rubbed herself seductively against him, loving the lean, muscular feel of him. Her pussy clenched and unclenched as tingles of sexual longing radiated through her body.
Caleb turned her around and, continuing the kiss, walked her backward until her butt collided with the wall beside the door. His lips lifted from hers, then skimmed her cheek, her chin, and down her throat, while his hands explored the outline of her body. She tugged on his shirt until she managed to pull the edges up and over his jeans. While he molded his hands to her buttocks and lifted her up and into him, enough so that her mound pressed firmly against his sex, she slid her hands up and under his shirt. His skin was hot, his belly washboard flat, his tiny male nipples tight and hard.
He licked a path from her neck to the vee created by her button-up cotton blouse, then undid the first two buttons and kissed the swell of her breasts above her bra. She ran her hands around either side of his waist and crawled her fingertips up his broad back. The feel of him was like some strong narcotic, drugging her into a stupor, making her want more and more in order to satisfy the insatiable craving.
He lifted his head and looked at her. Her gaze met his for a millisecond. They smiled at each other, then she unbuttoned his shirt and spread it apart. When she lowered her head and spread kisses from collarbone to collarbone, he reached over beside them and slammed the door shut. Only then did she realize that the door had been open and anyone could have walked by and seen them making out.
Hell, she didn’t care. Nothing mattered except Caleb. Touching him, kissing him, being with him. In every way.
With trembling fingers, she yanked at his shirt until she managed to pull it off him. After tossing it on the floor, she started working on unbuckling his belt, which she did in no time flat. When she unzipped his jeans, he grabbed her hands and laid them flat on his naked chest.
“You’re getting ahead of me.” He finished undoing her blouse, then removed it and tossed it on the floor atop his shirt.
Kicking off their shoes, they tore at each other’s remaining clothing, all the while looking and touching and pausing long enough to grab quick, wild kisses. When Caleb wore only his briefs and she her panties, he caressed her breasts, lifting them, flicking his thumbs over her sensitive nipples. Sexual excitement clawed at her insides, zinging along every nerve. When he lowered his head and sucked one breast and then the other, she whimpered with pleasure. He lifted her hips until she was able to wrap her legs around him. Then he carried her toward the desk while she kissed, nipped, and licked his shoulder. After placing her on the edge of the desk, he pulled her panties down her hips, over her legs, and off. She gasped when he slipped his hand between her thighs and shoved them apart. His fingers danced through her pubic hair and onto her feminine lips. When he inserted two fingers inside her, she lifted her hips to accommodate him.
“You’re dripping wet, sweetheart.”
He massaged her repeatedly until she began undulating against his hand. His briefs disappeared with one swift yank. She threw her arms around his neck as she spread her legs farther apart and welcomed him into her body. He accepted the invitation without hesitation, grasping her butt to position her before ramming into her full force. Clinging to him, wrapping her legs around his hips, she matched him thrust for thrust, as hungry for him as he was her.
So good, she thought. So good. Wilder, hotter, better than any sex she’d ever had before—because she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone.
As their passion built, they went at each other savagely, desperate need controlling their actions. He murmured crude, graphic phrases as he screwed her. The more he talked to her, the more excited she got. She wanted this incredible loving to go on and on, but knew she was on the verge of an orgasm that couldn’t be stopped, couldn’t even be slowed down. He was so big and hard and every lunge hit all the right spots, bringing her closer and closer to fulfillment. And when it was so good she didn’t think she could stand it, it got better. Her climax hit her like a tidal wave. She gasped, then bit down on his shoulder to keep from screaming with pleasure. Her release triggered his. He hammered into her until he came. While he trembled, he kept moving inside her until he squeezed every ounce of pleasure from his climax.
They clung to each other, their hearts beating loudly, their breathing fast. He clasped her neck tenderly and caressed her cheek with his thumb while he looked into her eyes.
“It was even better than I thought it would be,” he told her.
“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?”
While he held her close, she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. They stayed like that for quite a while. Naked. Their bodies damp with sweat and smelling strongly of sex.
Finally he said, “ Let’s get dressed. Then I’ll walk you home.”
“Will you stay the night?” she asked.
“I’ll stay as long as you’ll let me stay.”
Everything was red. Bright red. Like a watery crimson veil coloring the whole world. Then suddenly black clouds swirled around the scarlet liquid.
Genny had been in the kitchen, preparing herself a cup of bedtime herbal tea when the vision hit her. At the very first inkling of what was to come, she sat down at the table and braced herself. She had no control over these visions. They came to her awake and asleep. Day and night. She hadn’t called for Dallas because she knew that both he and her dog Drudwyn would sense her need for them and they would come to her.
As the darkness enveloped most of the red, Genny saw the starry sky overhead. Someone was looking up at the night sky. But who? As if viewing a camcorder recording an event, she watched while tall, eerie black trees came into view. Woods. Whoever this person was, they were in the woods. And probably somewhere nearby in these very mountains. Then a cabin came into view. A driveway. An old truck. Everything was dark—black and red and various shades of gray. Someone lay in the bed of the truck. A man. He was red.
Oh, God! Genny gasped and began trembling. The man was dead, his eyes staring sightless up at the night sky. His throat had been slit. He was naked. Genny screamed when she saw that the man’s genitals had been removed.
“Genny? Genny?” She heard Dallas’s voice as if he was far away and not right beside her as she knew he was. “Damn it, Genny, snap out of it.”
Although she felt strong arms holding her, she couldn’t stop screaming. But she didn’t know if she was actually screaming or if the sound was only inside her head.
He’s dead, she told herself. You can’t help him. Don’t stay here. Leave this place. Leave now before the evil sucks you in.
“Come on, Genny, don’t do this. Get out of there now, while you still can.” Dallas shook her. “I know you can do it.”
The woman was there, too. Not in the truck. Beside it. Keys in her hand. She was going to drive the truck away, dispose of it and the body of the man she had just killed.
“Genny!”
I can’t come back right now, she tried to tell Dallas telepathically. Although they were still working on strengthening their telepathic link to each other and hadn’t quite perfected it, already he was able to connect with her nearly half the time. I see the woman. She’s killed again.
“Be careful,” Dallas told her, and she wasn’t sure whether he’d spoken the words or simply thought them.
The woman was no more than a shadow. Not tall. Not short. Just a dark silhouette. Genny tried to focus on the figure as she opened the truck door, hopped up inside, and sat behind the steering wheel. Genny couldn’t see her face, only the outline of head and shoulders. Who are you? Who are you?
Blackness hovered all around the woman, shrouding her in evil. No, the evil wasn’t surrounding her, Genny realized, it was coming from her. So much anger and hate. And an insatiable thirst for revenge. But this kill hadn’t been for revenge; it had been out of necessity.
Genny shuddered. She would kill again. And soon.
Suddenly and very clearly, Genny saw the back of the woman’s head. She gasped. Short red hair. Jazzy’s color and style. Without a doubt this was the same woman who had brutally murdered Jamie. And for whatever warped reason she was still trying to pass herself off as Jazzy.
Genny fought her way out of the darkness and back into the light. She opened her eyes briefly and saw Dallas’s face as he knelt beside the kitchen chair in which she sat. He cupped her face with his big hands.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Jazzy.” Genny’s voice sounded weak, even to her own ears. These visions drained her of her strength, often weakening her for hours.
“What about Jazzy?”
“Call her.” Drudwyn whimpered as he nuzzled Genny’s knee with his nose. She lifted her hand, which felt as if it weighed a ton, and managed to stroke his furry head. I’m all right, boy, she told him. She and Drudwyn had been communicating without words since the mixedbreed animal had been a puppy, sired by one of the mountain’s few red wolves.
“You want me to call her now?” Dallas asked. “At this time of night? It’s nearly midnight.”
“She…she needs an alibi.”
“Damn!” Dallas pulled Genny into his arms and pressed her head down on his shoulder. “What did you see?”
“She’s killed again…the woman who murdered Jamie.”
Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, a mating dance as old as time. A man and a woman in the throes of a passion so powerful that they were oblivious to everything else. The sheets tangled about their arms and legs as they tossed and turned, rotating positions again and again. They had made love twice already, once downstairs in her office and once here in this bed, which they had nearly destroyed. The bedspread hung haphazardly half-on, half-off the bed, and the handmade quilt lay crumpled on the floor. One pillow hung precariously on the edge at the foot of the bed and the other rested vertically alongside the head of the bed.
They had explored each other’s bodies thoroughly. Touching. Tasting. Pleasuring. Enjoying. He had known it would be good with Jazzy. The best sex he’d ever had. Because for them it was more than just two bodies experiencing physical gratification. Something inside him—something primeval—had recognized her as his mate the first time he laid eyes on her.
His other lovers didn’t matter; neither did hers. Not even Jamie, and she had loved Jamie. There was a rightness to them that came once in a lifetime. That’s what mattered—that soul-deep connection. It could be like this only with Jazzy. And he had to believe that she felt the same. Otherwise none of this made sense.
Caleb flipped her over on her back and took the dominant position. He lifted himself off her just enough so that he could look at her—that beautiful, flawless face; that silky smooth skin; those large, luscious breasts. His sex, buried inside her, throbbed. She lifted her hands to caress his chest. The moment she touched him, he pulled back, then thrust into her deep and hard. Gasping, she grabbed his shoulders and responded to his frantic, pounding lunges. He came first this time, the sensation making his ears ring and head explode as he jetted into her. While he climaxed, she moved wildly beneath him. Within half a minute she had an orgasm that went on and on and on, the aftereffects lingering. Just as he slid off her and onto his side, the telephone rang.
Who the hell? he wondered. It had to be well past midnight. They’d left Jazzy’s Joint a little after ten. He’d noted the time right as they were leaving to come upstairs.
Jazzy groaned.
“Want me to get it?” he asked.
“Mm-hmm.” She snuggled against him as he reached over her to the bedside table.
Caleb grabbed the receiver. “Yeah?”
Silence. Then a man’s voice said, “McCord, is that you?”
“Who wants to know?”
Jazzy lifted her head and looked inquiringly at Caleb.
“It’s Dallas Sloan,” the voice on the phone said.
Sloan wouldn’t be calling at this time of night unless something was wrong. “What’s up?” Caleb asked, already aware that he didn’t want to hear whatever it was. Not tonight. Not when everything was so right between Jazzy and him.
“Genny had another vision,” Dallas said. “Another man has been killed, his genitals whacked off. Genny is certain that it’s the same person who killed Jamie.”
A hundred thoughts fought for dominance in Caleb’s mind. How would this affect Jazzy? Would she be blamed for the murder? Or would this remove suspicion from her?
“Has it already happened?” Caleb asked.
“Genny’s not sure, but she thinks, yes, it’s already a fait accompli. She wanted me to get in touch with Jazzy first before I call Jacob and we start searching for the body. Genny says that Jazzy needs an alibi. Genny saw the woman’s hair again. Same color and style as Jazzy’s.”
“Holy shit! Not again.” Caleb tightened his hold around Jazzy’s slender waist. “Well, she’s got one. We’ve been together since nine o’clock and before that dozens of customers saw her at Jazzy’s Joint.”
“Stay with her,” Dallas said. “Don’t leave her until we know for sure the deed’s been done.”
“Call us as soon as you know something, will you, Sloan?”
“Will do.”
The minute Caleb hung up the phone, Jazzy rose up and over him, her face only inches from his. “That was Dallas? Why did he call? Is Genny all right?”
When Caleb sat up in bed, he brought Jazzy up with him into a sitting position, then draped his arm around her naked shoulders. “Genny had one of her visions. She saw another man murdered—his privates cut off the way Jamie’s were. She’s sure it’s the same woman because she had short red hair, just like yours.”
Jazzy took a deep breath. “I have an alibi this time. I haven’t been alone all evening.”
“If nothing else, this murder should give the district attorney second thoughts.”
“Did Genny recognize the man?”
“Dallas didn’t say, but probably not or he would have mentioned a name.”
“They’re going to start searching for the body, aren’t they? Genny will go with Jacob and Dallas.”
“They’ll call us when they know something.”
“Maybe we should—”
Caleb pressed his index finger over her lips. “No.”
“No?”
“We are not going wit
h them. We’re staying right here.”
“You’re getting awfully bossy all of a sudden,” she told him. “Just because we slept together, doesn’t mean—”
“I don’t think we’ve done any sleeping,” he said. “At least not yet.”
“Damn, you know what I mean. Just because we’re lovers now does not mean you get to give me orders.”
He grasped her face between his fingers and thumb, forcing her to look at him. “We’re more than lovers, aren’t we?”
She stared at him, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
“Okay, I don’t have the right to give you orders, even if you were my wife. But what we have, who we are to each other, does give me the right to protect you.”
“You want to protect me?”
“Protect you, take care of you, make you happy.” He released his tenacious hold on her face.
“You, Caleb McCord, are one of a kind.” She kissed him. A tender, loving, grateful kiss.
Hugging her close, he rested his chin on the top of her head. “I was just thinking the same thing about you, sweetheart. There’s nobody in the world like you.”
She drove the truck to within half a mile of where she had dumped the green Jaguar. Along this stretch of road there were numerous steep ravines suitable for what she had in mind. She’d covered Stan Watson’s body with a tarpaulin she’d found in the massive steel toolbox attached to the truck bed. Luckily she hadn’t run into another vehicle since she’d left Honey Bear Trail fifteen minutes ago. Before leaving, she had gone into the woods and buried the bloody knife she’d used on Stan—his own knife!—only a few feet away from where he’d buried her black plastic bag. It could be years—or maybe never—before anyone discovered that sack and its contents.
She hadn’t wanted to kill Stan. She hadn’t even known him. But once he’d seen her digging that hole in the ground, out in the woods, she’d had no choice. She had been merciful. She’d killed him quickly. And she’d even given him a farewell fuck. It was the least she could do for an innocent man.
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