The Choice

by Jean Brashear

  “Have you done this before?”

  “I don’t drink much.” Hardly ever, really. She’d experienced firsthand what a mean drunk could do to a defenseless kid.

  “Pity. All right, then, curl your hand like this and lick the web between your thumb and forefinger.” He demonstrated, then poured salt in the wet spot.

  Jillian followed.

  “Now suck the lime, lick the salt, then take a shot.” He held the bottle, waiting.

  She complied, hissing at the tartness, licked the salt, then took one swig and shuddered.

  “There you go.” Hafner beamed proudly. “When we hit the bottom of the bottle, I’ll let you have the worm.”

  “No more for me, thanks.” She shivered again. “I’d better go.”

  “Naw, there’s a robe in the cabana. Go put it on, then you can use your towel to dry your hair.” He nodded toward the enclosure. “Pretty red hair, like the glow of the sunset,” he nodded morosely. “Pretty red-haired girl.” He sank onto the cushions. “Go on, Jillian. Or do you want me to get it for you?”

  She shook her head, then moved away.

  Inside the dark cabana she found a small closet, pulled off the towel and wrapped her hair. Then she opened the door and reached inside, unable to see the contents. Her fingers settled on lightweight terrycloth that she drew out, shaking it to be sure no spiders or night creatures had nested within.

  When she reached the door, preparing to don it, a shaft of pool light slanted through the door and her eyes took in the dark purple fabric, the metallic gold stripe that sparkled in the light.

  She went still. Belinda had owned a robe like this, one that Jillian had made for her as a joke because it was royal purple and she had called Belinda Queen B. She’d even embroidered that on the inside collar, Queen B. Jillian’s fingers shook, and she dropped the robe.

  “Jillian? Did you find it?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’ll be right out.”

  “I’m coming after you,” he called in sing-song.

  She heard the scrape of his chair and his unsteady step. Cursing the darkness, she stepped outside, hoping to get a quick glimpse of the inside collar band before he noticed.

  But he was already there. Snatching it from her fingers, he held it out for her like a lady’s cloak.

  Jillian slipped it on, her heart gone still and cold. “Whose robe is this?”

  Hafner shifted uneasily. “Just someone I knew.”

  She had to know. “A woman?”

  “Yeah.” He grew very still, staring off into space. “Someone I...” He stared at his hands as though they were foreign objects, then abruptly balled them up and stuck them in his pockets.

  “Who was she to you?”

  Lightning-quick, his gaze sharpened, the predator awakening. “Why do you care?” He pulled the towel from her hair and began to dry it. “She was...no one important.”

  Jillian stood there, allowing the hands of the man who’d murdered her sister to wield a towel gently over her scalp.

  The same hands that had held that curved knife, cut the lime into sections.

  She remembered the autopsy report she’d scanned quickly on the parish deputy’s desk. Unusual lacerations on subject’s body. And Belinda’s throat had been slashed.

  Jillian jerked away, but Hafner was faster. Grabbing her upper arms, the light of madness in his eyes, he yanked her against him. “I’ll have you, Jillian,” he warned and crushed his mouth against hers, stale liquor breath all but gagging her.

  He held her so close she couldn’t get room to maneuver. She struggled to bring her arms up between them. He shoved her against the cabana wall, trapping her. She tried to knee him, but he kicked her legs apart—

  Suddenly Hafner flew backward into the pool, cursing and flailing, coughing and spitting water.

  She gasped for breath, lost her balance.

  Cullinane steadied her. “Are you all right? I got here as fast as I could.”

  Jillian stared at him. “I should have been able...” She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding.

  “He caught you by surprise, and his hold was too tight. You would have broken loose with a little more time.”

  Would she have? Reeling from the shock of the series of revelations, hampered by the tequila, would she have recovered soon enough? And that knife—where had it been while he grabbed her?

  “I don’t know...” Again, she shivered. Did Hafner suspect? Had she given herself away? Or was he only drunk and making a move?

  “Hey...easy now,” Cullinane soothed, drawing her close. Behind him, Hafner’s sputtering slowed. “Get him out of here and put him to bed,” he barked to someone behind her. “He’s drunk.”

  Then they were alone.

  He tipped her chin upward, and his eyes crackled with a tempest of rage and violence and hunger.

  Jillian backed away, fighting for breath, shaken less now by Hafner than by Cullinane. She was upset enough to cling to him, and she shouldn’t—but she was so tired of being strong, of holding him at arm’s length...tired of fighting herself. The power of the hunger he called from her unnerved her. She wasn’t finished with her mission, and this craving sapped strength she desperately needed.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she warned, her voice a near growl. He called to her on some level she couldn’t fight, and she had to.

  “Why not?” his low, dangerous voice challenged. “We’ve been headed for this since we met.”

  “We can’t.”

  “He can’t touch you like that. I won’t let him,” Cullinane raged. His control unraveled as days of hunger, of a need he couldn’t afford, gnawed at him. Made him half-crazy. He could kill Hafner with his bare hands right now and not even blink. Thank God Solly had been close on his heels; left alone at the scene, Cullinane couldn’t be sure what he’d have done. When he’d seen Hafner with her on the monitor, he’d come to attention; when Hafner had glanced at the knife in his hands, he’d leaped to his feet. When Jillian had entered the cabana in the darkness and Hafner had followed, Cullinane had shot from the room.

  But nothing to that point compared with the rage that flashed like chain lightning when he’d come through the trees and seen Hafner closing in on her, forcing himself upon a woman he had no right to touch. Cullinane had no idea how fast he’d covered the remaining distance, only that the white-heat of wrath had seared through his body, wiping out all but the need to make Jillian safe.

  Seeing this gutsy, strong woman scared had been too much. She’d been valiant and resilient through everything he’d thrown at her. The thought of that fierce, bright spirit being defiled by worthless scum like Hafner...

  The walls he’d built for so many years buckled under the onslaught of fierce, primal emotion as the image slammed into his memory over and over: Jillian at Hafner’s mercy. No matter that she could take care of herself, a desperate desire to erase that image seized him.

  It was the match to dry tinder.

  Yet even as he reached out for her, he prayed she’d find the strength to stop him.

  He didn’t think he could stop himself anymore.

  “Jillian...” he groaned.

  Her soft gasp whistled across his lips as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her fingers came between their lips, her voice breaking the pulsating silence.

  “No,” she whispered. “We can’t...I can’t. Don’t you see, Cullinane?” she pleaded. “It’s just...the situation. Simple hormones, that’s all.”

  His lips curved sadly. “You know it isn’t. We’re alike, you and I, in some way I don’t understand. Like calls to like, Jillian. It’s time we answered.”

  “Not...here,” she said weakly, and thank God she had the sense to remember that they were on camera. He pulled her into concealing shadows behind the cabana, beyond the reach of any lens. He held her as gently as he could manage, even as the bonds he’d strapped on the animal roaring inside him began to break, one by one.

  Her body arched against his, her fingers diggi
ng into his shoulders. He blew a soft, taunting breath over the moisture glistening on her skin. If only he could beat back his craving to bury himself in her, he would walk away.

  She’ll get you killed, the remnants of his logic pleaded.

  I don’t care anymore.

  “Cullinane...” Then she abandoned any protest, rising to her tip-toes to pull the leather strip that bound his hair. Her nails grazed lightly against his scalp, little shocks surging through him.

  With a growl, he scooped her up in his arms, threading through tree cover to the outside door to his quarters. Once there, he set her down and fumbled for his keys, trying to hold out long enough to get inside.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he flipped locks in the darkness and prayed like hell they’d make it to his bed before the fire consumed them.

  They didn’t. Couldn’t.

  He’d hungered for her for a lifetime and never known it. How he’d ever let her go now was beyond him, a thought burned away by the heat roaring through his veins, melting all resistance, vaporizing all thoughts of anything but the feel of her, the heavy silk of her hair, the satin of her skin, the endless, aching need to be inside her.

  He battled once more to make himself back away, but Jillian’s nails dug into his shoulders, her lips hungrily seeking his. Electrified by her touch, by the taste of her, Cullinane yanked her hard against him once more.

  Jillian moaned, then sank back to lie across the stairs, drawing him down with her. He held himself above her with arms gone oddly weak. Those long legs wrapped around his waist as he’d dreamed so often, and she pressed her mound against him in the most primal of rhythms.

  He thought he’d explode right then and there.

  “Stop, Jillian.” He jerked his mouth away. “I need you too much. I won’t last if you don’t”

  “No,” she gasped. “Inside me. Now.”

  He wanted that, too, so damn bad. “No. We’ve only got tonight.” He forced himself to release her, to fight for some semblance of control.

  But dark longings screamed, tore at him with vicious claws.

  Jillian’s eyes blazed...and then she laughed, a siren’s laugh, a woman’s dare. Scrambling to her feet like quicksilver, she turned and ran up the stairs in a flash. “Then come and catch me,” she challenged. Standing above him, silhouetted in the moonlight slanting through his windows, she let the robe slither to the floor and began to peel down the black suit, one agonizing inch at a time.

  Desire of proportions he’d never experienced pounded him like waves on the shore, merciless in their roaring, draining him of all rational thought.

  Jillian’s eyes held his. The defiance, the dare in them shot sparks into his belly. If it was a battle she wanted, damn her soul, he would give it to her. With slow, steady steps, he climbed toward her, his eyes never leaving the pale skin as the black suit peeled away.

  He’d been careful so long, held so much of himself back...but Jillian had opened the door of the panther’s cage and thrown away the key, laughing.

  God, she was magnificent.

  Jillian watched his approach with a shiver of delicious fear, her whole body alive and tingling. As he climbed almost within reach, she turned, suit half-off, and ran into the room, the far side of the huge bed her target. She never saw any of the rest of the room, only the steel-gray expanse glowing in moonlight.

  At the touch of a hand on her shoulder, she whirled and lost her balance, falling backward onto the bed with a gasp. Cullinane towered over her, his smile a white slash against bronzed skin, a warrior ready for battle.

  She lay there, mesmerized by the sight of hands reaching with tantalizing slowness to finish the striptease she’d begun. His long, strong fingers singed her skin where they touched her, his eyes daring her to move as the clever fingers tormented and burned.

  With maddening control, he slid the garment from her inch by inch, his gaze sweeping her body, his eyes glowing with unholy fire. With one hand, he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, smiling as her gaze followed his fingers, greedy for the sight of more. Stripping off his shirt, he watched her eyes trace the path of his scar, her fingers rising as if she could soothe remembered pain. For one long, poignant moment, his gaze softened.

  Then she smiled, slow and wicked. “More.”

  He sucked in a breath. “Christ, you make me crazy.” He stripped in haste, then sank to his knees before her.

  The brush of his long dark hair along the tender inside of her thigh shivered through her body, tightened her nipples. Her hands curled into fists, crumpling the spread between her fingers. She couldn’t stem a gasp.

  His head rose, eyes burning white-hot, low voice slicing through her defenses. “I want you crazy, too.” Challenge sparked from him as white teeth gleamed from the grin of her darkest longings. He rose to kiss the curve of her hip with exquisite tenderness.

  Jillian moaned.

  She slid one foot up the inside of his thigh, her instep caressing the swell of hard muscle, his own indrawn breath her reward.

  His smug expression disappeared in a smoldering instant.

  Her scarlet toenails slid across the straining fullness at his groin. His hands trapped her wrists at her sides.

  The clash of wills vibrated in the air.

  He’s no one special, she vowed, but Jillian knew she lied to herself. He was beyond special...and very, very dangerous. A shaft of fear pushed her to battle the spell he wielded over her. She locked her legs into bands of taut muscle and tried again to resist him.

  His eyes gleamed, strong hands caressing. Lowering his head to her vulnerable center, his warm breath shot ripples of need through flesh already primed for his touch. A small nip on her tender inner thigh, a lick to soothe, he used his mouth to torment her with a thousand touches over every inch of her but where she wanted him most.

  Her nipples rose, her back arched, her whole body trembling. “Please...”

  That wicked smile again.

  Then, with one single, soul-shattering stroke of his tongue, he sent her flying over the edge.

  Cullinane drank in the essence of her as she came apart in his arms. He wanted more, wanted to mark her indelibly, to make sure she never forgot him, no matter what happened in the future he refused to think about now.

  Damn her for making him crave this. He didn’t want to, couldn’t afford to, was out of his mind to entertain the idea.

  But his body didn’t care. Surging toward her, every nerve clamoring for him to take her, Cullinane descended into the darkness of his hunger, reason smothered in the undertow of forbidden longings. He was only aware of her thighs softening, her lips slightly parted, her breasts ripe for his mouth to suckle. Whatever reason remained, he ignored. Possessive instincts as old as mankind throbbed through his body, messages he wouldn’t deny any longer.

  She should be his. He would make her his own, if only for these few hours.

  Rocks could be dissolved slowly, one drop of water at a time, but Jillian was a raging river rushing over his control, dissolving resistance with everything she was, every move she made. The voice that said don’t do this was lost in the torrent of his longing.

  “Jillian,” he whispered. “Let’s set the sky on fire.” Stretching the length of his body over hers, groaning at the feel of her naked skin along his, he sought her lips once more.

  He’d said they were damned, and they would be, but for now, it was heaven he found in her kiss. Spearing through the darkness of his despair, surfacing in the torrent of need rushing through him, her kiss emerged, a cool, clear sweetness that his tainted soul longed for.

  Oh, God, she should be mine.

  Maddened by the knowledge that it was impossible, Cullinane rose above her. “Look at me,” he commanded. Whiskey brown eyes bright with wonder, soft with sorrow, laced with longing, met his gaze.

  He opened her to him, spread her knees over his arms. “For now you’re mine.”

  With one powerful thrust, he made them one.

  Jillian’s bac
k bowed as he filled her, a cry rising in her throat, her eyes glazing over as ecstasy claimed her. The climax hit her like a wave, sucking her under, drowning her in sensations too powerful to resist. A guttural moan clawed its way upward.

  Gasping for breath, Jillian scrambled in panic, seeking the surface of sanity, some safety, some solid ground. But just as she thought she might make it, Cullinane withdrew, and her every nerve seemed to follow him.

  Naked, vulnerable, stunned by the power of what he could draw from her, her gaze fastened onto his like the only island in a storm-tossed sea.

  Passion and power crackled and flashed in the heated silver eyes, the sorcerer calling her to step into another realm.

  Shivering with nerves, Jillian opened herself to him, answering the challenge—stepping to the edge of the world, summoning the courage to leap into a place she’d never been.

  Diving his fingers into her hair, Cullinane’s eyes flared with triumph and promise. With the next powerful thrust, he shot them over the edge of the world she knew.

  Jillian’s head arched back as his mouth sought her throat, flying farther with each stroke, her body tumbling through space, Cullinane her only anchor. Streams of sparks shot through the air around them, wind rushed through her hair. But she was frightened no more, exhilaration rushing through her veins like molten gold. Clasping her legs around him, she met every thrust with all the power of the body she’d honed.

  It was a mating of titans, earth meeting sky, a bonfire of two hungry souls.

  Her skin on fire, Jillian burned up in his magic and welcomed the dying.

  * * *

  Cullinane watched her sleeping in the moonlight, fiery locks spread over his pillow as he’d so often dreamed since she’d stormed into his life.

  He should have expected her to shake him to his roots, he knew that now. He’d never been out of control like that, never felt such hunger nor such soul-deep satisfaction.

  He’d played with fire...and now came the ashes.

  He wished he could steal her away to some hidden place and keep her in his bed until he could shake this thirst for her that seemed endless.

  Which meant, of course, that she was an even greater threat to him than he’d ever imagined. If it were only him involved, he’d keep gambling. He’d gladly burn up in Jillian’s wildfire, understanding now that he’d never truly lived until she’d warmed his cold, dead soul.