Born to Darkness

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Heat flared again in his eyes, but he was observant and he’d clearly noticed that she hadn’t yet taken off her left boot. And he finally moved closer, coming around to her side of the bed. “You need some help with that?”

  “I’m a little afraid to take it off,” she admitted.

  He stopped. And it was clear he was going to ask a question, like, When, exactly, did you hurt yourself?

  She didn’t want to lie to him, certainly not by more than omission—not after he’d been so honest with her. So she said, and it wasn’t a lie, “It’s been feeling much better, but I think that’s partly because the boot provides support. I’ve just mostly left it on. Since the injury.” She left out the part where it had felt startlingly better after he’d touched her in the bar. And after that kiss, as well …

  “That’s one way to go,” he said. “What did the doctor say?”

  “Well …” Mac made a face.

  Shane laughed, and his smile was like a sunrise and God, wasn’t that some of the corniest shit that had ever sashayed through her brain. What she should be thinking, right about now, was Justin who? No need for any rainbows after a storm on a tropical island, or the perfect silence of an early morning snowfall, or a glorious sunrise or sunset or moonlight or spring flowers or puppies or fluffy newborn bunnies. And yet …

  He’d crouched next to her still-booted foot and looked up with a neon-blue flash of eyes to say, “You do know that there’re a lot of little bones in your feet and ankles, right? You might have a stress fracture, and not even know it. You really should get it scanned. If you want, I’ll go with you, to the hospital.”

  He was just so beautiful and sincere in his kindness—and okay, yeah, he totally wanted to fuck her. That was really why he was here. But he was sincere in his desire, too. There was no ugliness involved—at least not that she could feel from him. He didn’t have any issues at all with sex. He liked having it, and he was okay with himself for liking it.

  And he absolutely wanted her to peel off her sports bra—she knew that because he kept looking at it, like he was trying to figure out where the clasp was so he could get it off of her.

  “No clasp,” she told him, as he knelt there before her, like some kind of knight in shining armor come to rescue her. “It pulls off, over my head. And going to the hospital isn’t a good idea.”

  He instantly took her words the wrong way. “Of course. I understand. I wasn’t thinking—”

  “Not because you’re blacklisted, Navy. I don’t give a shit about that,” she told him. “But medical records aren’t private anymore—something you should be aware of, as you adjust to life in the real world. There’s actually a Med Center where I work, where I can see a doctor and it can be kept confidential.”

  He nodded, looking up at her with those eyes, that face. “If you want, I can help you get over there.”

  Mac had to clear her throat. “I think it’s okay,” she said. “My foot. I think I just … Could use some help. Getting my boot, and these pants. Off. Kinda right now?”

  “But if you’re in pain—”

  “I am,” she agreed. “In pain. But it has nothing to do with my foot.”

  “That’s not good,” he murmured, so she pulled off her bra, and okay, sue her, but she adjusted as it went up over her head. She’d never be buxom, but there wasn’t a woman alive who didn’t have at least a little bit of extra body fat. Unlike most women, Mac had skills that allowed her to move it around and make it work for her, when she wanted.

  And with this man looking at her like that, she wanted.

  And he liked what he saw when her bra came off—that was clear. He was also surprised, although he tried not to show it. But he couldn’t help himself from glancing at the bra that she tossed onto the bed and saying, “Wow, those things really …”

  “Squash you flat,” she finished for him. Also not a lie. Not completely.

  And Mac knew he wanted to take his time and look at her, but he also wanted what she wanted, and that wasn’t going to happen until she got her pants off, so he focused on the task at hand.

  “How about I anchor your boot in place, and let you …” He did just that, bracing the bottom of her foot against his thigh, like the sexiest shoe salesman alive, while he held both sides of her boot in his big hands, careful not to twist her ankle. “That way you can do it as quickly or slowly as you like.”

  Mac was breathing hard. And not just because this was going to hurt, but because she could feel him, even through the thickness of her boot. His leg. His hands. What the hell kind of power did he have, that just by touching her, her own power was exponentially greater than?

  Like, one plus one equals four hundred and eighty-five.

  Like, if he touched her again, skin against skin, she was going to go up in flames. And since she didn’t want to jump this man with one boot on and her pants flapping around her leg …

  “Band-Aid pull,” she told him. “Hard and fast. Hold on tight, okay?”

  “You got it.”

  “For the record? Hard and fast works in other departments, too.”

  “Duly noted.” He met her eyes. “I find myself inspired enough to start using smiley face emoticons, so …” He gave her a big, happy, toothy smile.

  She was laughing as she yanked her foot free. “Oh, shit! Shit!” Tears rushed to her eyes, and she knew she’d really fucked up her ankle on those stairs, if it still hurt this badly despite her ability to block her pain. Of course the fact that she’d been walking around on it probably hadn’t helped.

  Shane was hovering now, afraid to touch her as he said, “Hey, hey, you okay? Let me see. May I see it?”

  Mac shook her head swift and hard, no. She didn’t want to take off her sock, because if just thinking about having sex with this man had made her injury heal to the point where she could run … And yeah, sure, her boot had been on, giving her the support she’d needed, but still …

  Imagine what was going to happen when he pushed his way inside of her. Dear God … She unfastened her pants and shoved them down her thighs. “Help me.”

  “Mac, come on, I don’t want to hurt you—”

  “I’m fine. Just grab the legs of my pants, Laughlin, and pull!”

  He certainly was a good little soldier, because he followed her command, which left her flat on her back on her bed, wearing only her panties and that single sock. Shane, however, was still completely dressed.

  But not for long. He dropped her pants, then quickly adiosed his T-shirt, tossing it, too, onto the floor and revealing an upper body that was worthy of the cover of the priciest men’s fitness e-zine. Shoulders, arms, abs—he was sculpted like an athlete. But those muscles weren’t for show. They were fully functional.

  And unlike Mac, he did have tattoos—a collection of art that you’d expect from a boy who’d been idealistic enough to join the Navy. The barbed wire that encircled his bicep, the requisite anchor on his forearm, a cartoon frog in dive gear grinning from his shoulder. But there were unexpected words and symbols, too. A line from that old John Lennon song, Imagine all the people living for today, a single rose, a peace sign, and the Chinese characters for truth and honor positioned gracefully over his heart.

  While she was looking, reading, admiring, he was kicking off his own boots and taking off his pants. He pushed down his shorts—tightie whities, no big surprise there—along with his jeans. He got his socks off, too, which left him even more naked than she was, speaking of big surprises.

  Which, again, was no real surprise, considering his height and weight—and quiet confidence. He was the whole package, all that and more, and he knew it.

  He was also that rare creature—a fair-haired man who actually tanned—and he’d obviously recently been somewhere warmer and sunnier than spring-means-it’s-thirty-seven-and-raining Boston. And yeah, that’s what she was admiring—his tan and the sun-bleached hair on his muscular arms and legs.

  She pushed down her panties, cautious of her injured foot, aw
are as hell that he was watching her, too, taking care to give her the space she needed, even as he lowered himself next to her on the bed.

  He was still all about her injured foot, but as he said, “I really think you should let me see—” she reached for him, and she was right.

  The skin-on-skin contact was unreal—blistering-hot and blinding—and she heard herself laughing as she kissed him, as he damn near devoured her in kind.

  “What the hell …?” she heard him breathe, between kisses, but even with his disbelief, he was laughing, too. And when they both tried to get even closer—Mac by rolling him on top of her, between her open legs, and Shane by trying to pull her up to straddle him—she had to resist him only slightly. He instantly surrendered, as if he trusted her to know what would hurt her and what wouldn’t.

  He trusted her, too, to know how much of his weight she could take, and when she pulled him even closer, he didn’t hold back. He just kept on kissing her, with the solidness of his chest against her breasts, his powerful legs intertwined with hers, and his erection … It wasn’t until she reached for him, to wrap her fingers around the hard length of him, to move him into position, that she bumped into his exploring hand. And she realized he was doing the equivalent of one-armed push-ups as he stopped kissing her for just long enough to pull back and look into her eyes.

  He looked a little stunned, and she must’ve looked equally shell-shocked as he pushed his fingers inside of her, just a little at first, but then deeper, touching her, stroking, even as she took hold of him and did the same. And then his expression wasn’t surprise, it was pure, found-heaven ecstasy.

  And he breathed, “Holy shit,” and she felt him start to come, so she lifted her hips, and he got his hand out of the way to let her push him hard and deep inside of her.

  And it didn’t feel as good as she’d imagined—it felt better—as he took control. He’d taken her hard and fast comment to heart, and, again, trusted that she wouldn’t let him hurt her, trusted that she wasn’t some delicate and fragile flower that he might crush or break.

  Mac could feel the pleasure—overwhelmingly absolute—crashing through him, and if she hadn’t already started to come herself, it would’ve pushed her over the edge. As it was, her own orgasm blasted through her, and she closed her eyes because that same white-hot, blinding light was back, like they were making some kind of return entry from outer space, burning up through the atmosphere. And she clung to him, her body straining to meet his, to receive him, as the heat, the rush, the thrill kept surging, rocketing, spinning …

  This shit was fully out of control, and she was, too, and she knew it—and she loved every freaking second of it.

  God, when was the last time she’d felt like this?

  Never.

  She’d never felt anything even remotely this crazy. But like all good things, it came to an end. And there they were, out of breath and gasping for air, atop the blankets and sheets on the bed that she’d bought all those months ago, where Justin had screwed his new girlfriend before leaving town for good, thus putting into place the chain of events that had put Mac into Father’s bar at the same time as this Boy Scout who’d just sent her to heaven.

  She could hear him panting, catching his breath, and feel the pounding of his heart—he was still pressed that close.

  “Holy fuck,” Shane gasped, and she laughed because, really, that said it all, didn’t it?

  He laughed, too—a warm rumble that she felt more than heard. It was then that he kissed her, his lips so soft against hers. It was such a contrast to the hard-core sex they’d just shared. It was sweet. Tender. The kiss of a lover, not that of a hookup she’d met mere minutes ago in a bar.

  But then he laughed again, and said, “Did we do that?”

  And Mac realized then that her eyes were open, but the room—the entire apartment—was dark. All of the lights had gone out.

  “Just kidding,” he said, as he kissed her again—a shadow back-lit by the dim light from the streetlamp on the corner, filtered in through the cheap window shades she’d bought and installed when she’d realized the ancient mini-blinds were transparent. “Must’ve been a power surge. Where’s the circuit box?”

  “In the kitchen,” she managed to say, even as his question echoed. Did we do that?

  Before she knew it, he’d pulled away from her and out of her—all that heat and full body contact just suddenly gone. And she must’ve made some kind of sound of distress, because he was instantly back, kissing her again—his mouth possessive but no less sweet.

  “Don’t go anywhere, baby,” he breathed. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  And Mac couldn’t stop herself from grabbing his arm. She couldn’t keep herself from asking, “Who are you?”

  Shane laughed again—more heat in the darkness, his breath warm against her cheek. “Funny, I was going to ask you that. Right after I asked the more important question: Can we do that again?”

  “I’m ready whenever you are,” she managed.

  He leaned in to kiss her, longer this time, slower, and she felt herself melting against him. “Hmm,” he said. And then he got off the bed, but not to vanish into the kitchen. Instead he went to the window and pulled up the shade, just a little. Just enough to let some silvery light shine into the room so that Mac could see him. So that he could see her.

  “That’s better,” he said, as he rejoined her on the bed, smiling into her eyes. He then proceeded to look her over very thoroughly.

  Mac laughed as he turned her over slightly, then lifted first one of her arms and then the other. “What are you—”

  “So far no tattoos,” he confirmed. “Although maybe under that sock …”

  Her ankle barely hurt at all anymore, and she reached down and pulled off her sock. She wiggled her toes, rotated her foot to the left and then to the right. She’d always healed faster when she had sex, but she’d been right. Because this time? It had been off-the-charts.

  “Wow, it really doesn’t look that bad,” Shane said.

  “It cramps sometimes,” she said—again not a lie, but not exactly the truth. “But see? No tattoos.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “One more place to check …” He gently but very firmly pushed open her legs as she laughed again. “Definitely no tattoos. Although maybe I should look more closely …”

  Smiling, she pushed herself up onto her elbows to watch him as he kissed the inside of her thigh.

  Shane looked up into her eyes, smiling back at her. “For the record,” he said. “If you want more? I’m always ready. And if I’m not? I’ll improvise.” He looked back down at her, then met her eyes one more time before leaning in to kiss her again. And again. And …

  Mac heard herself moan.

  And this time?

  She came in slow motion, with her fingers laced through Shane Laughlin’s beautiful hair.

  FIVE

  The line between being a man and a god was a thin one that was far too easy for a Greater-Than to cross.

  Bach couldn’t help but think about that as he drove Anna Taylor to the Obermeyer Institute.

  She hadn’t given him her consent.

  Of course, once they arrived at the Institute, and she saw the guard at the gate and the sign-in procedure, she’d feel more at ease. And then she’d see the bustle of activity, even this late at night. And then she’d meet Elliot and talk to him, and all of her remaining doubts would vanish. Elliot had that effect on people.

  Elliot would also help Bach explain who had taken Nika and why.

  Until then, Bach had to keep up the constant reassurances so that Anna wouldn’t panic—which meant that he was going to spend the next twenty minutes inside of her.

  And okay, that came out wrong. Even as just a fleeting thought, shared with absolutely no one, it was inappropriate.

  He was going to spend the next twenty minutes inside of her head.

  Which was probably a thousand times more intimate than any sexual act could ever be.


  Bach carefully double-shielded his own thoughts, because letting slip the fact that he was thinking, even peripherally, about sex right now, while he was inside of Anna’s head … That wouldn’t be good.

  He focused on the positive. He was going to find Nika.

  Still, he could feel Anna’s discomfort rising as he signaled for the entrance ramp onto the Mass Pike. He glanced over to find her watching him, her dark brown eyes wide, and her pretty face illuminated by the light from the dash.

  “We’re going to find your sister,” he said, echoing the very words he was planting in her mind, along with Joe Bach can be trusted, you’re safe with him, everything will be explained at the Obermeyer Institute. “But it’ll help me to know the details of her abduction—who was the last person who saw her and when. Do you know if she made it to school today, or was she grabbed before she got there?”

  Anna nodded. Bach knew she believed that the sooner they found her sister, the better—although she had no real idea of the danger that Nika was in, that she herself was in, too. She was also a firm believer in action, and she hated the fact that—for at least the next twenty minutes—she was being forced to sit still.

  And even though Bach was inside of her head, there was a difference between providing calming assurances—and tromping around, uninvited, while helping himself to her memories and thoughts. He also knew that talking about this would make her feel—at least a little bit—as if she were doing something to help get her sister back.

  “The last person to see Nika,” Anna told him, “that I know of, so far, is her English Lit teacher, Erika Hodgeman. I spoke to her on the phone. Nika was in her final class of the day. Nothing seemed unusual, she wasn’t upset, she’d handed her homework assignment in, aced a pop quiz. I asked Ms. Hodgeman if she knew whether Nika had made any new friends recently, and …” Anna shook her head. “She said she didn’t really know, but that Nika came into class alone, and left alone. Same way she always did.”

  “So she left school,” Bach said through Anna’s burst of sadness that her little sister was still struggling to fit in, “at what time?”