by J. R. Ward
And holy crap, she wanted him.
Seemed like that was mutual.
Matthias kissed her hard and let her go; then came back at her, like that hadn’t been nearly enough. As his tongue entered her, he kept the liplock going, holding her against his mouth, tilting his head, tilting hers. With heat pooling where it hadn’t been for so long, she was soaring, crazy and wild—and thought, this was exactly what she needed. This was it, right here, with him.
Sex here in this room, on this bed. With him.
Abruptly, Matthias pulled back, like he needed to catch his breath.
“You in a habit of kissing your stories?” he asked in a husky voice.
“You’re not a story. We’re off the record, remember.”
“Good point.” His eyes raked down her body. “I want you naked.”
Mels smiled slowly. “Not exactly a newsflash considering the way you just kissed me.”
With a groan, he came back at her again, maneuvering her down on the mattress, rolling over on top of her. Man, before his “accident,” he must have been really physically dominant with women—not in a violating manner; there was no coercion or sense of being trapped for her. Animalistic was the best way to describe it.
Especially as his leg parted hers, and his thigh pushed into her sex.
Mels surged up against the weight of his chest, and put her arms around him—
With a subtle shift, he held her off, and then stopped altogether. As he pulled away, moved away, there was tension in his face and his body—and not the I’m-about-to-jump-you variety.
“What,” she said hoarsely. “What’s wrong?”
* * *
As Matthias shuffled over to the edge of the bed, his lungs were burning and he wanted to put his head through a wall. Goddamn him, but here he was, with this beautiful, vital woman who had all the signs of serious sexual arousal going for her, and he was…willing, but not able.
He wanted her. But there wasn’t much he could do about it.
Thinking back to that nurse, to that hand job he hadn’t been into, it seemed like some cruel fucking joke that his problem had returned in this circumstance: The distance between him and his reporter was one that no amount of kissing was going to solve. Same with touching or grinding or full-back naked. They were on opposite sides of a grave again; she in the land of the living, he in a cemetery.
For some reason, it made him even more desperate to have her. And with sudden clarity, he knew that in the past, he’d taken whoever he wanted—and had not suffered from a lack of volunteers. But that hadn’t meant he had cared about the females.
Mels, on the other hand? This was different. She was different.
Except he could never have her properly, not with the way his body was.
“What’s wrong?” she said again.
He didn’t want her to know. Even if she found out later, he wanted to preserve the illusion he was a real man for a little longer. Assuming he saw her again.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he hedged. Which was the truth. So much of this whole thing—from waking up at the foot of Heron’s headstone to the accident with her—didn’t feel right. It was almost as if things were being lined up for him, as if his memory had been taken from him for a purpose.
“Neither can I,” she replied, focusing on his mouth like she wanted some more.
She didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who was into random hookups. She didn’t dress like a whore, move like one, act like one. And she was giving off a hesitant but open vibe, like it might have been a while for her, but she really wanted things to happen.
Tell her to go, he thought. Impotence aside, there were so many other reasons they shouldn’t be together tonight. Or ever.
Stretching out next to her again, he tucked his hand around her waist and pulled her to him—but not too close. Not against his hips.
God, she smelled good.
And the feelings were all there in his body, the heat coiling at his pelvis, his heartbeat going urgent, his arms and legs seeming even stronger than they had been. His cock was not with the program, however.
But maybe that was better because he needed to tell her—
“Can I make you feel good?” he blurted.
Okay, that was supposed to have come out as “good night.”
“You already have.”
“I’m damn sure I can do better.”
“Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of excellence.”
As he went in and kissed her again, he wondered what she would look like with her shirt open and her bra off, her breasts ready for his mouth, the smooth skin of her stomach leading him down to other territory.
This was incredibly good, all of it, and it seemed so new to him—and not just because he’d never been with Mels before. It felt like he’d never been with anyone. Then again, as far as his memory was concerned…there hadn’t been anybody before her—
From out of nowhere, an image sliced through his senses. Him and a woman with smooth, dark skin, up against a wall. He had his hand around her throat and her legs around his hips, and he was banging the ever-loving shit out of her—
Matthias jerked back. All at once images flooded his mind, a chronological lineup of every woman he’d been with—young ones, when he’d been young; older, racier ones as he had grown up; then a series of extremely edgy, highly aggressive females.
He saw himself with them all, his body strong and whole, his emotions clear and uncluttered, his heart cold as stone. He saw the women, naked, or half-clothed, armed and unarmed, coming in great bursts of contortion.
“What are you remembering?” Mels asked remotely.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the rush of namesfacesplaces was a deluge he couldn’t get out from under, the onslaught clogging his neurons, rendering him nearly unconscious. And as he sagged, he felt himself get eased back against the pillows, no longer the dominant one.
Bringing his hands up to his head, he cursed.
“I’m calling the doctor—”
Matthias snapped out a hold, catching her wrist. “No. I’m okay—”
“The hell you are.”
“Just give me a minute.”
He breathed shallowly and decided to try giving up the fight. This was the right answer; instead of slamming into him, the memories passed through, the process of the revelations easing. At least…until the end. The final recollection was of him with a…monster of some sort? Must be a nightmare he’d had…but, oh, God, she was hideous, and she was taking him as a way to own him in a dungeon at the base of a long, black well—
Panic acted like jumper cables, hitting Matthias so hard he jerked from the chest, his torso contracting tight. But he kept a hold on Mels’s wrist, making sure she stayed with him instead of hitting the phone.
“Please,” he heard her say.
“No…doctor…it’s fading now…”
Eventually, he released her, ditched the sunglasses, and rubbed his eyes. “You’d think when things came back, it would be slow and easy.”
“Can I please get you some medical attention?” She brought up a binder and put it in front of his face. “See? Hotel services has a Doc-in-a-box on call.”
“No, honest, I’m all right. It was just overwhelming. I think we take for granted how much we store up in here.” He tapped his skull. “Lot of information.”
“What kind are we talking about.”
He glanced away. “Well, I’m definitely not a virgin. And let’s leave it there.”
“Oh.”
There was an awkward stretch of quiet. And then Mels cleared her throat.
“You know what, I think I should go.”
“Yeah.”
She got off the bed. Picked up her coat. Put it on. “Before I leave…” She came over and wrote something on the little pad on the bedside table. “Here’s my cell again—”
A ringing sound came out of her pocket.
“Speak of the devil,” he murmure
d, watching her finish the seven digits before she answered the call.
“Hello?” Her voice was brisk and professional, and he liked that shift of gears, that she could pull it together so fast.
Then again, he liked a lot about the woman.
Mels frowned. “Where? Do we have a ‘who’ on her? How did she die…Really. Yeah, I’m coming right now. I have Tony’s car still—yup.” She ended the call and grabbed her bag. “I have to go.”
“Something’s on the record?”
“And my boss must be having a change of heart. He’s actually sending me to a crime scene.”
“He doesn’t recognize your skills?”
“Not the kind I want him to notice, no.” She paused at the door. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Have you always been a saint,” he murmured.
“Not until I met you.”
Just as she ducked out, he said, “Mels.”
She turned her head over her shoulder, the light from above the door falling on her face. As their eyes met, he would have traded every one of those hookups he’d just seen for a single night with her.
I’m not coming out of this alive, he thought.
So if he ever got a chance to kiss her again, he wasn’t going to stop. And who knew, maybe the second try would be the charm.
Assuming there wasn’t another volume on his greatest-hits-that DVD.
“Wear your seat belt,” he ordered in a low tone.
“Call a damn doctor,” she tossed back with a little smile.
As the door shut behind her, he cursed at it. And then thought about how it had felt to kiss her.
Glancing down at his hips, he found himself wishing he was a whole man once again.
Chapter Eighteen
The bar in the lobby of the Marriott was named after the original hotel owner, Something-something Sasseman. At least, that’s what the waitress told Adrian in a husky, come-hither voice while she took his and Jim’s beer orders. She also found an excuse to drop her pen and bend over, and then walked off like her pelvis had recently been to Jiffy Lube and gotten over-oiled.
Then again, the rest of the clientele in here were leering businessmen likely on the varsity Viagra team, and she was a POA in her midtwenties.
Back in the Eddie days, he would have gone for her in a heartbeat.
Now? File the whole thing under “Meh.”
The booth he and Jim were in was covered in red pleather and made sounds that were juuuuust this side of a whoopee cushion anytime one of them shifted positions. The thing was perfect for their purpose, however: It faced out through the fat aperture of the bar at the lobby. No one came or went without their seeing.
Although, given Jim’s radar, they could have kept track of Matthias and that woman even if they’d been parked in the back lot: The angel had been sure to touch both of them, and even Ad could feel the tracer spells through the levels of the hotel. The pair were six floors up, close together.
Made you wonder exactly what they were doing.
Probably Parcheesi.
Yeah. Right.
As minutes ticked by and turned into a full hour, the background talk from the drinkers around them was the only thing that filled the silence. The beers they had turned into dinner. The time was…endless.
Man, immortality could be a real fucking drag when you didn’t give a shit about anything. All you had was time. Great, yawning maws of hours that perpetually chewed on you with dull teeth, eating you alive even as you remained unconsumed.
Well, wasn’t he a fucking party tonight.
And his mood didn’t get any better as he looked down at his hands. The black stain he’d seen in the shower hadn’t reappeared, but he couldn’t help checking every second and a half to see if it had come back. So far, so good, except for the whole feeling-like-death thing.
It was literally as if his body had been hollowed out, nothing but the space inside his skeletal ribs remaining—
“She’s coming down,” Jim said, finishing up the warm inch of beer he’d been nursing. “The woman’s left his room.”
Ad didn’t bother with the dregs of his draft. He hadn’t liked it to begin with.
Better than Coors Light, though.
“You stick with her,” Jim said as they walked into the lobby. “I don’t want her on her own.”
“Isn’t he the soul?”
“I think so. And assuming he is, she’s the key to this.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at her. That’s all I need to know.” Jim nodded in the direction of the reporter who was stepping out of the lobby elevators. “Get on her. I’m going to wait for Devina to show up here.”
Ad was not interested in getting foisted off on the GF. He wanted to wait for the demon. He wanted to stand nose-to-nose with her and pray for her to make another crack about Eddie—just so he could show her how much she wasn’t getting to him anymore. And then he wanted to stare in her eyes as her frustration flared and she was forced to attack him physically.
At which time he could game-over it. Fight to the death. Go out like a warrior.
The bitch would no doubt beat him, but oh, the joy to take pounds of flesh off her. And the relief to have everything over.
“Adrian? You with me, my man?”
“I want to stay here.”
“And I need you on that female. She’s got to stay alive long enough to influence him. If Devina gets a goddamn whiff of that connection they’re pulling? That woman’s going to end up a floater in the Hudson—or worse.”
As Jim stared at him, the subtext was based on logic—the strongest person had to face the demon, and right now that was not Ad. And not just because he didn’t have Jim’s extra flashy moves.
“Do you want to win,” Jim said in a low voice. “Or do you want to fuck us.”
Ad cursed and turned away, locking onto the trail of the woman and jogging off in the conventional way—because it was too messy to disappear in front of even casual observers.
As she headed for the elevators to the parking garage, Matthias’s chippie walked like she was on a mission, and he envied the purpose. Didn’t envy her her ride as it turned out. The POS had an engine and a roof—other than that, there wasn’t much to recommend the thing.
For shits and giggles, he disappeared himself into the backseat—and onto what turned out to be a Library of Congress’s worth of old papers and magazines. The good news was that she picked just that moment to start the engine—but she still heard the noise of his invisible ass compressing countless pages of newsprint. Whipping her head around, she stared into the space he was taking up, and to be nice, he gave her a little wave, even though as far as she was concerned, she was alone in the damn car.
“I’m losing my mind,” she muttered as she threw them into drive and took off.
Good driver. Quick on the gas pedal, efficient in her routing.
They ended up in the western part of downtown, at a motel that was only a step up from a dog kennel. After they got out—him remaining invisi, her clearly on the hunt—they joined a convention of cops and reporters who were focused on a room over on the left—
Adrian frowned and abruptly plugged into the scene for real. As the woman he was responsible for approached the badges holding the line at the yellow crime scene tape, he breezed past the flimsy barricade and penetrated the crowd of busy-busy at the door.
What the hell, he thought to himself.
Devina was all over the place, her residual stink hanging in the breeze as if a garbage truck had backed in and left a dump of loose-and-juicy all over the place.
Adrian pressed inside and had to cover his nose to keep from gagging from the stench that didn’t reach the sinuses of the humans.
Hello, dead girl.
On the far side of four or five cops, a body was visible through the open door of the bathroom: pale legs, tattoos on the thighs, clothes that were twisted around her body as if she had struggled. Her throat had
been slashed, the blood soaking the sparkly thing she’d obviously considered a shirt as well as the chipped tile she was sprawled on.
She was a blonde—thanks to L’Oréal: The remnants of a hair-color kit were all over the counter, and plastic purple-stained gloves lay in the trash. And her hair was straightened—thanks to the Conair dryer and a short brush that had dark strands at its core, lighter ones at the tips of the bristles.
“Damn you, Devina,” Ad muttered.
“Is the photographer here yet?” a tired looking man barked out.
The CPDs glanced at one another, like they didn’t want to give him bad news.
“Not yet, Detective de la Cruz,” someone said.
“That woman drives me nuts,” the guy muttered, cocking his cell phone and starting to pace.
As the uniforms clustered around the detective as if they wanted to watch the photog get her ass chewed, Adrian took advantage of the clear shot into the loo, going inside and getting down on his haunches.
Hoping he didn’t find anything, Ad lifted the hem of the blood-soaked blouse. “Oh, come on…”
Underneath the sparkles, the pale skin of the stomach had been scored with symbols, runes not meant for the human she had been, or the men and women who found her, or the family who would mourn her.
They were a message from Devina.
That Ad was going to make sure Jim never, ever saw.
Casting an eye back at the knot of uniforms around that detective, Ad double-checked that the cell phone call preoccupation was still giving him some privacy. Then he passed his palm back and forth over the flesh that had been marked.
Fortunately, the skin still had some remaining vitality left in its cells. But the removal was sluggish.
“—get here, now,” that detective bit out, “or I’ll take the pictures myself. You have fifteen minutes to come on scene—”
Ad frowned in concentration, throwing everything he had into the effort. The runes were carved nearly a quarter inch deep in places, and they were rough, as if made by a jagged knife…or more likely, a claw.
“Come on…come on—” He looked over his shoulder. The kaffeeklatsching was over, and the detective was heading back.