Blood and Fire

by McKenna, Shannon

  “I can’t do that,” he said.

  She covered her face. “Oh, Bruno. For God’s sake—”

  “You don’t understand, Lily.” His voice cut through hers. “I’m not just being difficult or stubborn. I literally cannot . . . do . . . that. I can’t cut you loose, put you on a fucking bus. Not an option. Sorry.”

  “And if I just, you know, disappeared?” she offered. “Would that release you from this compulsion?”

  “No,” he said. “I’d come after you. And I’d be sorely pissed.”

  “I’ve had enough of pissed people coming after me lately,” she flared. “I don’t need it from you, too.”

  “Fine. Shut the fuck up and accept my help with no back talk. You don’t have any choice.” He walked over to her, put his hands on her shoulders, looming. His energy overwhelming her. “I’m bigger than you.”

  She stared up at him for a moment, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you dare try to intimidate me,” she said through her teeth.

  “Just trying to find out what works with you.”

  “That won’t work, ever,” she informed him. “It’ll just piss me off. So, this compulsion to protect me, it’s because we had sex, right? So now you think you’re somehow responsible for me?”

  His fingers tightened. “Don’t start, Lily.”

  “That’s stupid, you know. And wrong. Antique bullshit.”

  The dim room seemed suddenly smaller, hotter. She shoved his hands off her shoulders and tried to stare him down. But she was falling in, getting lost in the fathomless darkness of his hooded eyes.

  “Let’s not go anywhere near that,” Bruno said.

  “Sorry, but I’m no better at keeping my mouth shut than you are,” she said. “You’re letting out a really scary god-king-of-theuniverse vibe, and it bugs me. Being bullied does not make me shiver with sexual excitement, Bruno. It just makes me say sarcastic things, which then escalate to screaming obscenities until the offending behavior stops.”

  “Oh, man. I’m in for it then,” Bruno said. “Lucky me.”

  He’d retreated behind some wall in his head. She hated the way it felt. So conscious of herself as a woman, and yet so incredibly alone.n>

  “You can’t make these decisions for me,” she told him. “I owe you my life, and I’ll be grateful forever. But as soon as you turn your back, I’ll be out of here, like the whack job that I am.”

  “So I just won’t turn my back on you,” he said. “Ever.”

  She clenched her jaw until it throbbed. “You are hopeless.”

  “And you are tired. You should sleep,” he said. “We can’t resolve this argument tonight anyhow. Go on, lie down.”

  She glanced over at the bed and bit her lip.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “You get it all to yourself.”

  Dismay congealed in a cold, gluey lump in her belly. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on physical intimacy. Anything would do. A hug, a back rub, a cuddle. Or anything else he could dream up. Sign her up for that. She was strung out on the way he made her feel. Had been for weeks, ever since she’d started, well, stalking him.

  “Where are you going to sleep?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said gruffly.

  “As fucking if! That’s ridiculous! There’s only one bed! As tired as you are, you’re sleeping in a straight-back chair? Am I so scary?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Pretty much.”

  “For God’s sake, Bruno! Relax! Your virtue is safe with me!”

  “Virtue, my ass. Somebody stays awake. It ain’t gonna be you.”

  Lily tried for a reasonable tone. “I’m not going to be able to sleep if you’re sitting on a chair, clutching your gun and glowering.”

  “I’ll clutch and glower quietly.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t lie down unless you do. That’s final.”

  He shook his head, frowning into the fire. She put her hand on his shoulder. His muscles jumped and twitched beneath her hand.

  “Please, Bruno,” she whispered. “Please, rest, too.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Fine, whatever,” he growled.

  So it was that half an hour later, they were both stretched out on the bed, fully clothed but for their shoes. Bruno had insisted that she lay inside the comforter with himself outside of it, leather jacket draped over his shoulders, his back to her.

  She stared at the bulwark of his shoulder. He wasn’t asleep. He was motionless, but she sensed the frantic mental activity in his head.

  She was beyond sleep. Punch-drunk. Weirdly, she no longer really cared what he thought of her. Why stress about it? She had nothing to hide. He knew things about her no one else knew, not even Nina. Things she hadn’t even known herself, until she seduced him. Like that she was a wild hellcat in bed with him, for instance. Wow. Who’d have guessed? Hard to reconcile with her self-image. Lustful Lily, sex maniac. And the fact that he thought she was a fruitcake, and therefore, no longer eligible for wild hellcat sex. Damn. That really stung.

  She didn’t want to think about it, but the thoughts were thinking her. Howard had been diagnosed as schizophrenic. She’d known he was crazy for years. His madness was part of the landscape of her life.

  But where did that leave her with these knife-wielding assassins? If Howie’s Magda story was bullshit, then what reason could there be for those guys to chase her . . . unless there was something that she didn’t remember? Had she somehow manad to piss off dangerous people . . . and couldn’t remember why? Say, blackouts? A split personality?

  No. Not possible. That was absurd. Howard was crazy, but not her. Not logical Lily. No woo-woo crapola for her, thank you very much.

  Right. Crazy people never allowed for the possibility of being crazy. That lack of mental flexibility was a hallmark of craziness.

  And oh, man. If she stayed on this train of thought any longer, it would take her over the broken railway bridge and dump her in the abyss. She had to derail, or she’d have to metabolize all the sleep-killing fear and dread chemicals now dumping into her blood.

  So she did the one thing that she knew would wipe her brain squeaky clean of all thought, rational or otherwise.

  She reached out and touched Bruno’s shoulder.

  15

  Bruno arch

  ed like she’d slapped him with electric paddles. “Jesus, Lily,” he hissed. “You startled me.”

  “You shouldn’t turn your back on me if I’m so terrifying.”

  He let out a sigh. Shook his head. And did not turn.

  “You need to relax,” she said, stroking him. “I can’t imagine that would be easy, though. Being in bed with a madwoman and all.”

  “Goddamnit, Lily. Shut up with that crap.”

  “Um, no. I can’t. Sorry,” she murmured. “I’m just stressed. Makes me do that nervous-talking thing. You know. You do it, too, right?”

  “Sometimes. Lately, I’ve been working on keeping my yap shut. The results look promising. I recommend it.”

  She cuddled closer. He stiffened. “You, advocating self-control?” She slid her hand beneath his jacket. “That’s kind of funny.”

  “Don’t,” he muttered. “Please.”

  But she couldn’t resist. She found the bottom of his sweatshirt and slid her hand inside. Her breath caught as she connected with hot, smooth skin, the big, graceful contours of his back, the ridges of bone, the slabs of muscle. Powerful and ripped. His body was superdeluxe.

  He arched back with a gasp as she explored the curve of his shoulder blade, the small, bumpy muscles that overlaid his ribs. She let her fingers slide up his spine until they touched the cowlick at his nape. It was shaved almost to stubble to tame the curl, but she could see the tender swirl, the circular pattern. It filled her with yearning.

  She wanted to kiss it. And didn’t have the nerve. Tormenting him was one thing. She could brace herself for him to be stern, to make her be good. But she’d shrivel and die of shame if he rejected her
tenderness.

  Her hand slid to his waistband. Inside, to the cleft of his ass.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was strangled.

  “Oh, Bruno. That’s just sad. If you have to ask.”

  “Christ.” His voice was pleading. “Don’t do this.”

  She snuggled closer. “In a way, it’s liberating.” She pressed her lips against the curve of his neck, breathing in his hot male musk.

  “What’s liberating?”

  She nipped him gently. “That you already think I’m deranged.”

  He twist to glare at her. “I never said that!”

  “Actions speak louder than words. The point is, since I’m crazy, I’m not responsible for anything. I can do, well, anything. Wow.” She slid her hand around his front, let her fingers trail down that silken arrow of chest hair. “It opens up my horizons like never before.”

  He grabbed her hand, clamping it against his belly so that it couldn’t creep lower. “Don’t.”

  “And this situation forces you to be the grown-up at all costs. Mr. Mature. It’s a role you’re not used to playing, right?”

  “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing bad,” she soothed. “You don’t deny yourself much. Who could blame you? You have money. You’re good-looking. You enjoy women. They enjoy you back. You avoid responsibility.”

  He sat up, glaring. “So I’m a frivolous playboy asshole?”

  “Shhh,” she soothed. “Don’t yell at me, Bruno. I’m unstable, remember? I might freak out on you.” She stuck her thumbs in her ears, waggled her fingers. “Stay very calm. Don’t set me off.”

  He got up, turning away from her. “Stop pushing me. Please.”

  The vibrating tension in his voice sobered her giddy mood. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to do that.”

  He turned to her. “You want me to fuck you now.”

  It wasn’t a question. She didn’t have to answer it. A good thing, because she couldn’t speak. She just gulped and waited. Hopefully.

  “I don’t have any condoms,” he announced. “I just had the one, in my pocket this morning. That’s it.”

  Oh. Geez. She was taken aback. Such a prosaic reason.

  “I would have had to ask Aaro to buy condoms for us this morning when we stopped for groceries to be prepared for sex,” he said. “And I just didn’t have the stomach for it.”

  She cleared her throat. “I, ah, don’t blame you one little bit.”

  “I assume you’re not on the pill. Being on the run and all that.” He paused, hopefully. “Unless you have an implant, or something.”

  “No,” she said quietly. “No implant. No something.”

  He blew out a heavy sigh. “So there we are.”

  “Can’t we just . . .” She flapped her hands eloquently. “You know.”

  “Yeah, I know. In a normal universe I’d say, sure we could. I’m usually good when it comes to sexual control. But not with you.”

  She wondered if she should be offended. “Why?” she asked. “What’s so special about me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Going to bed with you is like getting on the ultimate fun house carnival ride. The door closes, and the ride starts, and it’s bigger than I am. And it ain’t over ’til it’s over.”

  “Oh. I, um, see.” She was blushing, abashed.

  “If it went like it did at Tony’s apartment, I’d come inside you. I won’t remember why I shouldn’t. I won’t remember my own name. Sex with you turns me into a mindless, screaming fuck machine.”

  Ooh. Wow. Her lower body clenched deliciously at the thought.

  “Well,” she said delicately. “I think you’re exaggerating a tiny bit.”

  He shook his head. “No. Not at all. Not evhed.

  They stared at each other. The prickles on the back of her neck turned into racking shivers. Shimmering heat pooled low in her body. Thoughts, hopes, possibilities shifted between them. Into probabilities.

  Then, into a certainty. She felt the moment it happened. The energy, changing all by itself. Without moving a muscle, without saying a word, his male energy was suddenly blasting out at her, unchecked.

  “Listen to me, Lily.” His voice was low. “Decide if you really want to get on that fun house ride. You’re right. I’m not Mr. Mature. I can’t resist you, because I don’t really want to. You know the risks.”

  “Will you at least, you know, try to not—”

  “Yes, or no. I can’t promise anything. Get it through your head.”

  She stared at him. Some small, faraway part of her brain was appalled at how stupid, how irresponsible, how insane this was.

  She was acting like an addict. Strung out on her drug of choice. After all the fear and howling emptiness, she could not resist the bright, glowing way he made her feel. In his arms, she felt free. Powerful. He was the only thing on earth that made her feel that way. She’d heard junkies describe their highs like that. And she didn’t even care.

  She folded the comforter down on his side, inviting him in.

  Bruno’s leather jacket hit the floor with a thud. He peeled off his sweatshirt, yanked off his socks, with jerks that seemed almost angry. He shoved his jeans down and stepped out of them, naked and beautiful. Offering himself, but not with arrogance. In spite of his strength, some subtle part of him had surrendered to her.

  He needed her, too. She saw it in his face, his eyes. No matter what he thought about her problems. She wasn’t alone in this fear, this hunger. Heat swelled in her throat. Tear fog swirled in her eyes. She got up, faced away from him. Silly to get gooey and emotional just because he was taking her up on her aggressive offer of sex. Any normal guy would do that. In a heartbeat. It wouldn’t change things one bit. But at least he’d come down off his high horse. He wasn’t trying to protect the crazy girl from her own folly. That was something.

  She wiped her face, sniffed back tears, and walked around the bed, taking a long, hungry look. He was dazzling. Every detail so specific, so inevitable, so perfect. Every hair on his body, lovingly designed and placed just so, adding up to a perfect synthesis of male beauty. And she couldn’t wait to grab that thick, hard cock pointing at her so urgently. To make good, athletic, prolonged use of it.

  She flicked tears off her face with her fingers and struggled to stay on top of herself. It was impossible, but it was foreign to her nature not to try. Bruno waited. The silence was so full. Thick, like honey. Palpable and heavy and sensual. She swam through it, moving closer to him with the slow drift of utter inevitability.

  Barely an inch of space between them now. The heat throbbing off his body touched her, caressed her. She contemplated the brown oblongs of his nipples adorning his thick pecs. The pattern of his treasure trail. The placement of the moles on his shoulders and chest.

  He took her hands, held them to his face. Pressing his mouth against her palm, the pad of her thumb. He placed them against his chest, and they gasped at the rippling jolt of exchanged energy. It crackled through her, lighting her up like a star.

  The kiss was inevitable, but they waited for it, circling it slowly like they were afraid of it. Once their lips touched, that carnival ride would start. Good-bye, rational thought. Not that she felt all that rational now.

  He grabbed handfuls of her sweater, peeling that and her undershirt off, leaving her tousled, shivering. Covering her breasts with her arms, feeling foolish. Flustered and shy, even now.

  He tossed the sweater away, brushed her hair off her face. Her nipples barely touched his chest, but they lit up as if they’d been kissed, suckled. His cock bobbed against her jeans. He brushed hair behind her ears, tracing her cheekbone. He pulled the band off her braid, unraveled the kinky, fuzzy mass of her hair.

  “Great hair,” he murmured, rubbing his face in it. “Love the hair.”

  Her giggle choked into a gasp when he shoved down her jeans without bothering to unbutton them. He helped her step out of the je
an shackles, leaving them in a tangle on the floor. “Nice panties,” he murmured, cupping her ass. “Very hot.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

  He jerked the garment down. “OK, fine. Lose the panties.”

  She peeled them off her ankles and basked naked in his heat. If snowflakes fell on them, they’d dance and hiss, like drops on a griddle.

  Snap, something gave in. He grabbed her, or she grabbed him, she couldn’t tell who initiated what, and the fraught silence exploded.

  It was like they’d attacked each other. She felt so uniquely, specifically naked wrapped around him, straining. A live wire, thoughts and feelings exposed. Their mouths moved, opened, tongues twining, moaning. She thrummed, burned, with a need that had no name. Not just sex, but a heart-splitting ache, a sharp yearning for something far deeper. She craved him. Wanted to crawl inside him, body and mind, heart and soul. She wanted to walk inside his dreams. She was jealous of his past, possessive of his future. She wanted to wrap herself in him like a blanket, twine herself through his body, braid herself into his life. Into his very veins and blood, until they could never be untangled.

  The world shifted and spun, pulling at her body. She barely noticed him bearing her down onto the bed. She was wrapped around him, tears spilling over. His pleading mouth called them forth like a fountain, a cleansing rush that left her fresh, clear, and still more desperate for his big body arching possessively over hers. Pinning her onto the bed while his mouth drew forth her soul and claimed it.

  She gave it up so eagerly. As if to withhold it would kill her.

  His lips moved down her throat, leaving a path like moonlight on water. Slid to her chest, cupping her breasts, lapping and suckling, and forget moonlight, it was the sun now, shining right out of her chest. She was blinded by the intensity, almost frightened as the light in her brightened, the sensation swelled, sharpened, and . . . what . . .?

  Energy pumped through her, each jolt a blinding explosion . . .

  When she came to, she shook. He was hugging her so tightly, air could barely enter her lungs. Ah. OK. An orgasm. A huge one. And he’d only been touching her breasts. Whoa. This really was a fun house ride.