Eventually, though, they were pulling up into the driveway at Michael’s house. He fumbled with his phone so he could leave the driver a tip, and then the two of them got out of the car, stumbling a bit as they made their way up the front walk. More fumbling as he got out his keys and unlocked the front door, but then the two of them were safely inside.
Several of the lights were already on; possibly he had them on timers because he came home at strange hours. They were barely inside the door before he was bending down to kiss her, his mouth sweet with rum and fruit juices, hungry, much more demanding than he had been earlier that day.
Audrey didn’t mind, though. She wanted this — no, she needed this, needed his lips on hers, his arms around her. They’d both been as circumspect as they could be around the others, not wanting the crew to guess that hers and Michael’s relationship was no longer quite as professional as they pretended it to be. Now that the two of them were alone at last, they could give in to their need for one another.
They broke apart for a moment, gasping, and Michael took a step toward the stairs. Audrey followed him, knowing what he wanted, knowing she wanted it as badly as he did. They held each other’s hands as they went up the steps, helping to steady each other. Maybe this was entirely crazy, to be drunk and stumbling toward his bedroom, and yet she wasn’t about to call a halt to the whole thing, wasn’t going to stop because she somehow knew she probably wouldn’t have had the courage to do this if she were cold sober.
His room was much bigger than the one where she’d been staying, with an en suite bathroom and a nice little alcove with a window seat. A hardbound book lay on the cushion there, the tassel of a bookmark hanging out of it, but she couldn’t see what the title was.
No time to take a peek, either, because Michael was kissing her again, and she was kissing him back, her fingers tangled in his hair, their bodies pressed together. How long that went on, she wasn’t sure, but then she reached for the hem of his shirt, yanked it out of his pants. His skin was warm and smooth under her fingertips, the muscles of his stomach hard and flat. It was too dark to see much detail, but she could feel the ridges of those muscles, knew they were as heavy and strong as his biceps.
He was pulling at her shirt, too, drawing it up and over her head. It got tossed somewhere in the darkness, although Audrey couldn’t say where. Not that it mattered, because his hands had closed on her breasts, were stroking her through the thin nylon of her bra. She moaned, feeling her nipples harden at his touch, while a welcome warmth began to throb between her legs.
A few steps to her left, and Audrey felt herself bump into the side of the bed. She and Michael both collapsed onto it, mouths seeking one another yet again, while he found the clasp of her bra and undid it, and she grabbed hold of both his jacket and T-shirt and dragged them over his head. Now that her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, she could see something of the contours of his body, the broad shoulders, the sculpted muscles of his arms and chest. He hid all that under loose-fitting jackets and dark T-shirts, but now there were no bulky clothes to conceal how magnificent his body really was.
She didn’t get much more than that eyeful, however, because he bent his head and ran his tongue over her nipple and she gasped, hands once more tangled in his hair as she held him close.
“Yes, Michael,” she whispered. “Oh, please. Yes.”
He made a low, growling sound at the back of his throat, a sound that seemed to thrum through her body. At the same time, his fingers found the button of her jeans and unfastened it, followed by the zipper. Then he worked her pants down, grabbing hold of them and her underwear at the same time.
Now she was naked, but she didn’t care, because then he ran his hand up the inside of her thigh, slipped his fingers into her, stroking her, making her moan again and cling to him. Maybe he really was psychic, because he seemed to know just where to touch her, what to do to intensify the waves of pleasure flooding her body.
And, just like that, she came. Came hard, body clamping down on his fingers, her hands clutching him as the force of the orgasm shuddered through her. It had been a while since she’d been with anyone— longer than she wanted to admit — but she thought she probably would have experienced just as intense a climax even if they’d made love only a few hours before.
“Audrey,” he whispered, and he kissed her again, lips strong, demanding…and yet gentle at the same time, as though he wanted to make sure he wasn’t pushing her into something she didn’t want.
Oh, she wanted this. Wanted him — wanted to taste him, wanted to feel him inside her.
Audrey’s fingers closed on his belt buckle, and she pulled his belt loose, unfastened his jeans. Soon enough, they were on the floor with the rest of their clothes, and her hand was wrapped around him, feeling how hard he was, how big and ready.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to take him into her mouth, to run her tongue over his length. Now it was his turn to moan, which he did — right before he shifted his position so his face was between her legs, and he was licking her even as she suckled him.
She couldn’t scream with pleasure, not with him filling her mouth, but she did moan at the delicious, intense sensation of his tongue running over her clit, even as she felt the pleasure pulsing through her and realized it wouldn’t be long before she came again. This time, it wasn’t as abrupt, came over her with the inexorable, steady pace of the tide coming in, and she paused in sucking him to gasp and cry out, her body once again alive with shimmering waves of ecstasy.
A pause, and then he shifted positions again, starting to pull her down on top of him. As his tip began to enter her, though, he stopped and blurted, “Oh, shit. Condoms — ”
She wanted to tell him they didn’t need them — she was on the pill and not exactly what one could call sexually active — but of course she had no idea how many people he’d been with, or how recently. “Where?”
“Nightstand — top drawer.”
Since she was on top, it was easier for her to reach over to the table in question, open the drawer, and extract one of the little foil packets her fingers had been looking for. She tore it open, then slid it down over his shaft, teasing him a bit with her fingers as she did so, just to show that she was all right with this, that she didn’t mind the interruption.
“Okay?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Okay.”
She pulled him into her mouth again, ignoring the rubbery taste of the condom, and then moved so she could feel him brushing against her once more. A thrill teased its way down her spine at the sensation. Knowing she couldn’t wait any longer, she let herself sink down on him, felt him fill her as their bodies joined.
Dear God, that was good. Audrey moved her hips, rocking so he slid in and out, but slowly, deliciously, wanting to wring every moment of pleasure from this encounter. His eyes were half shut, his hands closed on her breasts, caressing.
Maybe she should have been surprised by how well they fit together, how they each seemed to know what the other person wanted. Michael probably would have called it a psychic connection.
Or maybe they were both just drunk enough that all inhibitions had flown out the window, and there was no time to worry or be self-conscious. Whatever the reason, Audrey knew that she’d never had sex like this before, no second-guessing, nothing but two bodies locked together in ecstasy, movements growing faster, until at last he came, hands on her hips as he drove even deeper into her core, her hands on his shoulders, riding the wave, knowing the climax was close, so very close, until at last it hit, shockwaves moving through her body, so good.
So very good.
And then she collapsed onto the bed next to him, breaths coming hard, fast, the warmth of the afterglow surrounding her. He leaned over, brushed a kiss against her lips. “You constantly amaze me, Audrey.”
Just as he amazed her, although Audrey wasn’t sure she was capable of speech right then. She only stared up at him, caught the glint of his gray eyes in
a bit of light from the street that had made it in past the blinds. There was a tenderness in his expression she’d never seen before, something she might not have even thought him capable of. Then again, the Michael Covenant of a few days ago seemed very different from the man who had just made love to her.
Because it had been lovemaking. Once or twice, she’d had sex just for the sake of sex, and she hadn’t liked it. This was different. It could have been the alcohol fogging her brain, but she didn’t think so. The two of them had joined in a way that made her wonder what this meant for them, for their future together.
It was way too soon to say the words that whispered through her mind, then disappeared. So she smiled up at him and said, “You’re pretty amazing yourself.”
He kissed her again, then pulled away so he could get up and go into the bathroom, probably to get rid of the condom. She watched him go, eyes straining against the darkness to see more details of his appearance, maybe to catch a glimpse of his ass before he disappeared into the bathroom.
However, she couldn’t see as much as she would have liked. And she realized her eyelids were drooping, the strain of the day and the sex and those multiple piña coladas conspiring to send her into oblivion.
Her eyes shut, and she was gone.
Chapter 15
Audrey woke up to the sound of water running, and sunlight doing its best to slip in past the wooden blinds at the window. No morning disorientation for her, though — she knew she was lying in Michael Covenant’s bed, and she knew they’d had sex right here in this bed the night before.
Oh, hell.
This was why she should never drink hard alcohol, should stick to beer and wine. How many piña coladas had she drunk at the Bahooka? Three? Four? She couldn’t remember for sure, but obviously, it had been enough for her to lose all self-control…and sanity.
Audrey’s gaze strayed to the clock on the nightstand. Nine forty-seven. Normally, she didn’t sleep that late, but her body must have been doing its best to repair the damage she’d done to it with all that rum. She never got hangovers…but in general, the more she had to drink, the later she slept in.
The water sound she’d heard was the shower in the en suite bathroom. She guessed that Michael had gotten tired of her Sleeping Beauty act and had decided to go ahead and get cleaned up. In a way, Audrey supposed that was good, if for no other reason than now she had a chance to get her head together, so to speak, before he emerged from the shower.
First things first. Audrey slid out from under the covers and picked up her discarded clothing, then put it back on. Her purse was sitting on top of the dresser, although she had absolutely no recollection of putting it there. At least she did vaguely remember taking a Lyft home from the restaurant, so they’d retained enough sanity to know that neither one of them should have gotten behind the wheel of a car.
She popped a breath mint — no substitute for brushing her teeth, but better than nothing — and got out the small hairbrush she always carried with her and tried to tidy up as best she could. There was a box of tissues on top of the dresser, and she pulled one out and wiped away the residue of mascara and liner from underneath her eyes. After that, she swiped on some lip gloss, and thought she looked better than she had any right to.
Maybe that would give her the courage to face Michael. Part of her wanted to slink out and call another Lyft so she’d be safely gone before he got out of the shower, but only a coward would do something like that. He deserved better than her slipping away without a word. It wasn’t as if he’d seduced her — she’d wanted him just as much as he wanted her. The sex had been beyond good. The problem was….
Well, the problem was that they were working together. And not as co-workers in some safe, boring office job, but doing something that was dangerous and unpredictable. They both needed to be on top of their game. Could they function in such a way and still be lovers behind the scenes? Because Audrey knew they couldn’t be honest about their relationship until they were done filming the series. Never mind that she’d seen Colin flirting outrageously with Daniela last night at the restaurant. Colin was the boss and could do what he wanted. It wasn’t as though there was some kind of morality clause in the contract or anything, but Audrey didn’t like the thought of how it would look if word got out that she and Michael were intimate. The last thing she wanted was to be accused of sleeping her way into this job.
The shower was still running. She guessed that she’d woken up not long after Michael went into the bathroom — for all she knew, it was the sound of him getting out of bed that had pushed her toward consciousness. Her body ached for some coffee, but she thought it was better to wait here until Michael had emerged from the bathroom.
A set of antique bookcases, similar to the ones downstairs but smaller in scale, occupied one wall. Figuring she could pass the time by reading something, Audrey went over to inspect their contents. At first, the collection surprised her a bit — she saw everything from a group of “Goosebumps” paperbacks to what looked like a set of first edition E. Nesbit children’s books, clearly very valuable — and then she realized these must have been Michael’s childhood books, carefully preserved and kept together in his bedroom bookcases.
Would he be angry if she took out one of the books to look at it? She’d be careful, but she thought it would be fascinating to see the original version of a book she’d loved herself in paperback format.
Very gently, Audrey lifted a red leather–bound copy of Five Children and It from one of the shelves. The cover was stamped with gilt, and the leaves were gilt-edged as well. Some of the gilt had worn off, and the red dye had rubbed off the leather in a few places, but overall, the book looked to be in remarkably good shape for a volume that had to be more than a hundred years old.
She opened the book, and at once a piece of paper slipped out from where it had been held between the inside cover and the front page. Frowning, she bent to pick it up, saw that it was a note written in what looked like an older woman’s handwriting, the up- and downstrokes crisp but a little shaky. The paper itself was feminine as well, cream-colored with a border of blue flowers, probably supposed to be forget-me-nots.
The note read, To Michael, for his 10th birthday. Love, Grandma.
Audrey’s first thought was of the woman she’d seen in her vision when she held the book downstairs, but then she remembered that woman had been Michael’s great-grandmother, not his grandmother. Clearly, though, the love of reading had been passed down through the generations in his family, and she smiled a little at the thought.
Maybe now that they’d been intimate, Michael might feel more comfortable talking about his family with her.
Then Audrey’s gaze strayed back to the book itself. A bookplate had been affixed to the front page, something that would have reduced its value as a collectible, although probably Michael’s grandmother hadn’t been too worried about that. What caught her eye, though, was the full name printed on the bookplate.
Michael Anthony Stanek.
At first, Audrey found herself wanting to smile, because obviously Michael had changed his name at some point, maybe because “Covenant” sounded flashier, more in keeping with his public persona. But then her smile began to fade, because “Stanek” seemed oddly familiar to her, as if she’d heard it somewhere before. It wasn’t a common surname, though; she couldn’t remember crossing paths with anyone with that last name.
Then she went cold, her hands shaking so badly that she almost dropped the book.
The man responsible for the Waikiki Massacre had been named Philip Andrew Stanek. Audrey didn’t know why her brain had fumbled over that particular detail, although over the years she’d done her best to put the whole horrifying incident behind her.
And while Stanek wasn’t a very common last name, it could have been a coincidence…except that she knew her parents’ killer had a younger brother named Michael. He’d been a minor at the time of the incident and his name had never been given to the press or
the public, but Audrey knew it because she’d received a letter from Philip’s family only a month after the mass murder, telling her how sorry they were about what had happened, and how heartbroken, and how they couldn’t understand why any of this had happened. That letter had been signed by Leo, Janet, and Michael and Anna Stanek. Anna was Michael’s younger sister.
The door to the bathroom opened, and Michael emerged. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but he was barefoot and still blotting his hair with a towel in an absentminded sort of way. His eyes met Audrey’s, and he began to smile…until he looked down at the book she was holding.
Somehow, her voice was steady. “Do you want to tell me about this?”
He didn’t reply at first, but came over to her and took the book from her still-shaking hands before replacing it on the bookshelf. When he turned back around, the line between his brows had returned, and his expression was cold and blank. “I don’t recall giving you permission to go through my things.”
So he was going to make this her fault? Audrey crossed her arms and glared at him. “I wouldn’t exactly call picking a book up from a shelf ‘going through your things.’ Don’t dodge the question, Michael. Are you — ” Now her voice did tremble and threaten to break, and she took in a breath of air to steady herself. “Are you Philip Stanek’s brother?”
Another of those pauses. Then, simply, “Yes.”
Now rage was flooding through her, hot and powerful. Audrey was glad of her anger, because it gave her the strength to shoot back, “And you didn’t think it was important to tell me?”
“I would have…eventually.” His lips pressed together. “You have to understand, Audrey — I changed my name, did whatever I could to erase the connection between me and Philip. The last thing I wanted was to be judged by what my brother did.”
Unquiet Souls: Project Demon Hunters: Book One Page 21