by P. C. Cast
Footsteps pounded, and then Levi was there, right beside her with his gun drawn. He shouldered her behind him, using his big body as a shield.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded of the girl. Before she had time to answer, not that she could have formed the words, he stepped on her chest to hold her down, crouched and patted her down with his free hand. “You’re lucky you’re not packing.” He holstered his gun and removed his foot, though he did his best to remain in front of Harper.
The girl’s expression smoothed out, becoming as serene as if she’d just woken up from a peaceful nap. “He always keeps his promises,” she said. “I hope you know that.”
“Who?” Levi snapped.
“He wants her,” she replied as if he hadn’t spoken. “Wants his naughty girl. He’ll have her, too. He always does.”
Harper, whose heartbeat had yet to calm, pushed forward to glare down at her, ready to start giving another beat down to finally get some answers. “You better start talking in English or I’ll—”
The girl vanished, on the floor one moment, gone the next. Harper gasped. Levi lost his balance and stumbled forward.
“What just happened?” she rasped out.
“Don’t know,” he growled. “That ever happened to you before?”
“Never.” Surely the girl hadn’t…couldn’t be… Had to be a trick of the light, she told herself. An illusion. Surely. An illusion you and Levi shared? “A…spirit, maybe?” But…how could that be?
“I’ve never been able to see spirits.”
“Me, either.”
He stood, his scowl only growing darker. “Pack a bag. We’re not staying here tonight.”
“Okay.” Harper rushed to obey, trying not to think about what had just happened while only throwing the necessities into a duffel. A duffel that turned out to be twice the size of Levi’s. He didn’t complain, though, just took it from her after gathering his own and escorted her to his car. He locked her in and returned to the apartment, only to stalk out a few minutes later with her painting and supplies.
“Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
He lapsed into silence and drove to a nice hotel across town. But every mile farther away from King’s Landing caused an ache to intensify inside her. The need to go back bloomed…and spread…and consumed. He must have felt it, too, because his knuckles were white on the wheel.
Clearly his willpower was superior, because he managed to procure a room and maneuver Harper inside of it, even though she attempted to pull from his hold several times. He threw their bags on the floor, marched into the bathroom and started the shower. Then he was in front of her, backing her up, shutting her inside with him.
Steam enveloped him, creating a dreamlike haze. “What are you doing?” she rasped. The need to return to the apartment took a sudden nosedive as nervousness blended with excitement.
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Seducing me.”
“Smart girl.”
Her nail found its way to her mouth. “’Kay.”
“We’ll figure all of this out,” he promised, forcing her hand to her side.
“’Kay,” she repeated.
“And just so you know,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching, “a cop would fine you for your insults now and kiss you later. A detective will fine you now, kiss you now, then do a little detecting to find his way to all his favorite parts.”
“’Kay” was said with a tremble this time. The nervousness was taking over, dominating.
He arched a brow. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
He wouldn’t like the thoughts tumbling through her mind. Or maybe he would. He reminded her of Lana, all honesty, no tact. He’d be glad she’d put her fears out there—so that he could put them under his feet, where they belonged. “Well, I’m thinking that this is a big step, and trying not to think about the freak-out I had last time. I’m thinking we just had the scare of a lifetime, and probably need a nap instead of sex.”
“Big steps, big rewards. Freak-out, meet solution. Me. And for two committed people like us, there’s nothing better than sex after the scare of a lifetime,” he said, a layer of desperation entering his voice. “We’re alive. Let’s prove it. I need to prove it.”
In that moment she realized this wasn’t just about desire. Her scream had scared him. He’d expected to find her hurt, or worse. Then, when the girl had vanished, he’d realized he couldn’t protect Harper from that kind of unseen force. Now he needed to assure himself that she was here, that she was okay, and deepen the connection between them so that she wouldn’t somehow slip away.
“Harper.” He gave her a little shake. “Pay attention to me. Class is in session.”
“’Kay,” she said. She was right about his reasoning. She knew she was right—because, when she looked deeply enough, the same need swirled inside of her.
His hands fell away from her. “If you’d rather wait, we’ll wait. I won’t pressure you.”
She placed her palm on his chest, just over his heart. The hard, fast rhythm proved just how desperately her answer mattered. “I don’t want to wait.” He was right, too. They needed to prove it. “I’m into you, this. I just hope—”
“Nope, no worries,” he said, and the force of his relief was almost tangible. “I told you. I know how to handle you now.”
“And that is? You can tell me. Honest. I won’t tell anyone else.”
“Nah. I’d rather show you.” He cupped her cheeks and kissed her, a gentle kiss of comfort and exploration…that soon intensified, becoming something far better. Something passionate.
Soon she was clinging to him, kissing him back with everything she had, rubbing against him, moaning. He stripped her and then himself, and even then the kiss never stopped, their tongues dancing together, tasting, giving, taking, rolling.
“You’re beautiful, Harper,” he said softly. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Must have this man.
“Get it yet?” he asked. “I’m not allowing myself to push you for anything, but I’ll work you until you have to have more.”
“I’m past the point of needing an explanation. Do something!”
Chuckling, he picked her up and set her in the tub. Warm water rained against her bare skin, and she loved the dual sensation of the gentle patter of liquid and the harder kneading of his rough hands. He concentrated on her back at first, going up and down, then moving lower, giving her time to get used to each touch before conquering someplace new.
Any time a negative emotion would try to intrude and she would stiffen, Levi would slow down and concentrate on revving her back up. It wasn’t long before her body was so sensitized her mind ceased to matter.
“I’m ready,” she said. Her hands tangled in Levi’s wet hair, her nails scouring his scalp.
He tugged from her hold, peered down at her, breathing harshly as he searched her face. And, oh, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Rugged, powerful, determined.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He waited, just waited, and realization finally dawned. He expected her to direct him—and so, that’s exactly what she did. She led his mouth to the places she wanted him, and she wanted him everywhere.
He moved far more slowly than before, but the more she moaned, the more she arched into him, the more fervently he worked her, as if the tether of his control was in danger of snapping. Her
desire ramped up and up and up, until her blood was molten in her veins, until her limbs shook and she was arching and writhing toward him—exploding from the pressure as pleasure consumed her.
Straightening, shaking, he said with a half smile, “That was fast.”
“You complaining?”
“Rejoicing. I’ve never been closer to death by heart attack.”
A laugh bubbled at the back of her throat. Humor with sex. How unexpected. But she really, really liked it.
“Sure you’re ready?” he asked.
More than ready. On fire. “You don’t know, Detective Hottie?”
“Just making sure, princess.”
“Did you bring protection?”
He nodded, left the shower and returned with a condom already sheathing the long, thick length of him. He didn’t waste any time, but picked her up, growled, “Wrap your legs around me,” and thrust deep the second she obeyed.
A strangled cry left her. He filled her perfectly and, oh, did her pleasure spark back to life. He pounded hard and fast, and reclaimed her mouth just as savagely.
“Good?” he demanded, and she knew he wasn’t talking about the sensations rioting through her but the thoughts in her mind.
Even so, the answer was the same. “Amazing.”
Faster…faster…harder…harder…until they were both moaning and groaning. He held her waist in such a strong grip, she knew she would have bruises tomorrow. Bruises she would savor, because they would remind her of this moment, of his total possession.
“Harper,” he shouted, climaxing.
“Levi!” She was right there with him, crying out his name, enfolding him in her arms.
For a long while, he remained just as he was, his head resting on her shoulder, the rough pants of his breath trekking over her skin, his heartbeat drumming against her own. She could have fallen asleep just like that, because, despite everything that had happened, everything that would probably happen, she was suddenly more content than she’d ever been, but cool droplets of water began to splash on her, rousing her.
“Shower…turn off,” she begged, then blushed when she realized she’d sounded like a caveman.
“Only if we can do this again in the bed,” he replied, leaning back to turn the knob.
“Only if you’re about a thousand degrees.”
“Cold, baby?”
“Beyond.”
“Well, what my princess desires, my princess receives. I’ll heat you up.”
Dirty little turd. “Well, the prince has just made the princess desire a nap. Alone.”
“Is that so?” He set her on her feet, only to dig his shoulder into her stomach and hoist her up fireman-style.
“Levi! Put me down right now!”
“Why? I’m the prince’s evil twin, who tricked the princess into going to bed with him, and now I’ve decided to hold you for ransom. And as I’m a stone-cold baddie, you’re gonna need to do something to keep me from pillaging your people before that ransom is paid.”
He carried her to the bed, and she laughed the entire way.
CHAPTER TEN
Levi snuggled Harper in his arms, sated in a way he’d never been before. She was such fun, her laughter a study and gift of music. With only a smile she lit him up on the inside, shining a spotlight into hidden places. She fit him, her passion a match for his own, her cries for more an aphrodisiac, her kneading hands a revelation.
As long as he’d kept them both on the edge of pleasure, their minds had been too wrapped up in what was happening at the moment to delve into the dark, dangerous territory of past and future. He’d been right. That was exactly what she’d needed to relax and let go.
Afterward, exhausted from hours of learning her body, he’d noticed the haunted look had disappeared from her eyes. Those baby blues had crinkled at the corners as she smiled and teased him about his insatiability, color had been high in her cheeks, and her lips had been red and swollen from where he’d bitten and sucked.
Now, though, in the silence of the night, enveloped by shadows, Harper asleep and breathing deeply, evenly, he couldn’t stay out of those dark, dangerous places. The two of them had been living in a building with a spirit of the dead. How could they not have known? How had he developed the ability to see into the spirit realm, when everyone he knew who possessed it had developed it before puberty or worked hard to spark it to life? How had Harper?
Harper. His pretty princess. He felt as if he would lose her at any moment, felt helpless as a baby. As if she would simply float away, never to be seen or heard from again. He’d willingly fight her demons for her, but a fist and even a gun could not stop an unseen force, could they?
Despite what he’d said in Peterson’s office, Lana was probably dead. The painting probably wasn’t the future, but the past. Harper had probably stumbled upon her friend’s torture and slaying.
Probably. How he hated the word, but he hesitated to think in absolutes without more proof.
Lana’s death had probably occurred while Harper was missing. And Lana’s undead status would also explain the lack of bruises on her body, why Harper had never noticed any injuries and how Lana had taken off and hidden so expertly.
And, really, Harper’s entire disappearance could be explained by the blackouts—meaning, she had never been abducted. She could have remained in a fugue state, unable to deal with what was happening, from the time she’d found Lana on that table to the time Lana reappeared in her life.
Lana’s spirit would have repressed what had happened, too, continuing on as if everything was business as usual.
A few niggling questions remained, however. Why had Harper’s blackouts continued? To allow her to slowly come to grips with what had happened? And then there was the timing of everything—Levi’s own blackouts, his appearance here, the fact that he could see Lana. Harper seeing her was understandable. The two were bonded. But him? No. Unless…he was somehow bonded to Harper and saw what she saw.
Also, Lana had reported Harper missing, only to go missing herself? Talk about a major coincidence. And yet, that would explain why Lana had never returned to the station and reported Harper as found.
So many questions, new and old, and Peterson might have all the answers. That look of abject sympathy as Harper had spoken of her painting…that promise to do a little digging, spoken in a tone of dread and suspicion…
Peterson clearly suspected something terrible.
Harper mumbled something incoherent and began twisting out of his embrace. Dread worked through him as he loosened his hold. She sat up, stayed still for a moment, stood. Between one sexual marathon and the next, he’d had her place her painting and supplies in the proper places, mimicking the setup of her studio.
“Harper,” he whispered, but there was no response.
Silent, she padded to the table with the brushes and paints. A soft light cascaded over the entire area, allowing him to watch her. With fluid motions she mixed colors, dipped the tips of the brushes and began to paint.
Levi sat up and scrubbed a hand down his face. He stood, nearly tripped as he shoved his legs into his underwear and closed the distance between them. Rather than study the canvas, he studied her face. Her eyes were closed, the length of her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks.
Her expression was scrunched, her skin pale as milk. Protective instincts rose to the surface, and he had to fight the urge to shake her awake, to make her stop. He hated that a horrible image of blood and
pain held her captive, but more than anything else they needed to see the killer’s face.
She worked for hours. Several times she would stop and a tear would trickle down her cheek. He could tell she was trying to jerk herself out of sleep because her breathing would change, becoming choppy, ragged.
He would say, “Keep going, sweetheart. I’m here. Levi’s here,” and she would rally and continue.
He wanted this thing done, wanted its horrors out there, so that they could know what to fight, where to go, what to do. Maybe they’d luck out and get to tell Peterson to suck it.
Finally Harper’s arms fell to her sides and her paintbrush dropped to the floor with a thump. Still she stood there with her eyes closed. He dared a look at the canvas—and nearly roared with shock and rage and fear.
She had painted the killer, and it was Topper as he’d feared. She’d also added more blood. Blood on the walls, on the floor, on the slab. On the man—and on the woman.
On Harper.
She’d painted over Lana’s face and added her own. Oh, the woman still had Lana’s dark red hair, but that face as delicate as a cameo was Harper’s all the way.
Without thought, he swooped her into his arms and stalked to the bed to gently lay her across the covers. He did not want her to see that thing. Wasn’t sure what it meant—wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it meant.
And he’d thought himself helpless before.
She’s not a spirit, he assured himself. He could touch her, could feel the warmth and softness of her skin, smell the sweetness of her scent. She’s alive. Well.
She stretched her arms over her head, arched her back. Her eyelids fluttered open, closed, fluttered open again. She drew in a deep breath, only to go still. Her gaze homed in on him.
“I painted,” she said, her tone dripping with anxiety.
Unable to form any words, he nodded.
“Let me see.”