Behind Closed Doors (The Mccloud Series Book 1)

by Shannon McKenna

  “Don’t stop.” Her voice shook with breathless urgency.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said shakily.

  “Damn it, Seth. You’re not. You won’t.”

  She incited him with her panting eagerness, and he let go and gave her what she clearly wanted, deep and hard and driving. She braced herself and thrust back to meet him, reaching for her release.

  And he gave it to her. Pleasure stabbed through her whole body, as sharp as a fiery spear at first, and then spreading out in widening ripples of sweet, glowing heat. Every cell in her body trembled like wind-ruffled water. He spurted inside her, filling her again with his scalding heat. They sagged down onto the blanket, still joined.

  Raine pressed her face into the blanket to hide tears she knew he would not want to see or hear, shaken and moved. She could get pregnant. And she would be glad if she were, no matter what. Terrified, but glad. She had seen death that night, and life called to life, all the messy, confusing heat of it. She would never shrink from it again.

  She woke sometime in the night. Her face was sore, her battered feet stung, the wool blankets were scratchy. Seth’s heavy arm blocked half of her lung capacity, and his penis, still deep inside her, forcibly reminded her of certain mundane bodily functions.

  “Seth. Are you sleeping?” she whispered.

  He stirred and kissed her neck with a short grunt of negation. “I’m never sleeping again.”

  She twisted around. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  He pulled out of her and threw back the blanket, reaching for his jeans. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  She wrapped a blanket around herself and followed him through the dim corridor. He opened a door, yanked a chain to turn on the light and gestured her in, closing the door after her.

  The room was so huge the bathroom fixtures looked lost in it. She took care of her business and eyed the ancient, mineral-stained clawfoot tub. It occurred to her how badly she was in need of a wash.

  She peeked out the door. “I want a bath,” she told him.

  “Go for it.” He headed back toward the bedroom.

  She set the water running. The door opened and Seth entered with the electric heater in his arms. He plugged it in and set it on high, crossed his arms and waited. He was so beautiful, in only his jeans. He dazzled her. Even his long brown feet were graceful and beautiful.

  “Would you give me a little privacy?” she asked tentatively.

  “No.”

  He returned her stare, patient and implacable. Water roared into the tub and steam rose up in seductive plumes. Raine gave into the inevitable with a sigh, and let the blanket slide off her shoulders. Seth caught it and hung it on a hook above the heater.

  She knotted her hair up onto her head. It needed washing too, but she couldn’t face having it wet again. She stepped into the water, wincing as it stung her abused feet. She sank into it, closed her eyes and floated, letting the roar of the faucet fill her ears.

  Seth turned the water off when it reached her chin, and she opened her eyes. He sat cross-legged by the tub, gazing at her with unnerving intensity. He took the soap out of the dish and fished out her foot, lathering it. He paid attention to every toe, every bruise and scratch, stroking and petting and massaging her. He lowered the foot into the water, seized the other foot and gave it the same loving treatment. There was no sound in the room but the hollow slosh and drip of water as he caressed her.

  Her heart ached with love for him. “I didn’t sell you out,” she said quietly. “Someday you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”

  He lifted her leg out of the water and ran the soap along the length of her calf. “Oh yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, her voice belligerent. “You’re going to feel like a total shit for not trusting me. And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”

  A smile touched his solemn mouth. “Terrifying prospect.”

  “We’ll see how much you like it when it happens,” she warned. “You already know the truth, if you’d just let yourself believe it.”

  He caressed her knee. “Truth is a relative thing,” he commented.

  “Oh, stop it,” she snapped. “Now you sound like Victor.”

  His soapy fingers tightened and lost their grip. Her leg splashed back down into the tub. He wiped the splashed soapsuds off his face with his arm. “Don’t compare me to him. The way things are going, I doubt I’ll live long enough to find out.”

  She jerked up as if she had been bitten. “Don’t say that!”

  The water sloshed perilously close to the lip of the tub. He was retreating from her. His remote voice made her think of the dream. Her father on the boat, his eyes sunken and shadowy, drifting farther and farther away. “Please don’t say that,” she repeated, fighting tears.

  “Try not to sweat it,” he said quietly. “The angel of death in a black ski mask can jump out of the dark anytime. All you can do is look sharp and seize the moment. Like the moment I’m seizing right now.”

  He pushed her back down against the curved back of the tub. Raine bit her shaking lip and leaned back, abandoning herself to the love she felt in his big hands. He was right. If this was all there was, then she’d better seize every moment of tenderness she could from him.

  She let go and yielded to his tender skill; letting his clever fingers untie every knot, undo her, unravel her. He laved every curve, smoothing her like a potter molding clay. He pulled her up onto her knees so he could wash between her legs, and she held on tight to his muscular shoulders so that she didn’t shimmer and melt down into the water. His slick, soapy fingers delved into every crevice and fold, making bold use of his intimate knowledge of her. She braced herself against him, shaking with the intensity of her feelings.

  Seth pushed her back down into the water, rinsing the suds away. The water, full of soap, had turned as opaque as milk. He reached between her legs, locking eyes with her, and slid his hand beneath her bottom, pulling her to the surface of the water until he could see the flower of her sex, pink and swollen. He touched her as only he could, a magical sensitivity that always knew exactly when to push, when to retreat, when to insist. He pushed and coaxed and caressed until the power tore through her, unleashed. Huge and terrifying and beautiful. A blaze of love and longing that blotted out fear.

  She drifted in the cooling water, feeling newly born.

  All too soon, he was pulling her to her feet. He toweled her off, pulled the blanket off the hook over the heater and wrapped her in it. It was deliciously warm. He scooped her into his arms, and she relaxed against him like a sleepy baby, boneless. No protests or arguments.

  He laid her down on the futon and shoved off his waterlogged jeans. He crouched over her, covering her with his naked, scalding heat. “OK. It’s make-believe time,” he said. “This is the part in the story where you show me how much you love me.”

  She reached for him. “Seth—”

  “Please don’t. The less you say, the more believable it will be.”

  She stared up into his fierce dark eyes. This was as far as he could come towards her. They were so far outside the bounds of the normal, ordinary world that she no longer took anything for granted. A million impossible things might be true, another million solid truths might be sheer illusion. But one thing was for sure. She loved him. He had saved her life. He was beautiful, and brave and valiant. He had told her that he loved her tonight, and he had meant it with all his heart. No one else in her whole life had ever done so much.

  What was true would stay true, whether he let himself believe it or not. And if he wouldn’t let her use words to tell him so, then she would use the only language left to her.

  She held out her arms. She would make him understand.

  The window was black when the low knock sounded on the door.

  Seth lifted his head as if he’d never slept at all. “Yes?”

  “Showtime,” someone said quietly.

  “I’ll be right down.” He flipped on the l
ight and pulled on his clothes in grim silence.

  Raine sat up, trying to think of something to say. Seth ignored her, yanking on the shirt. The bandage had seeped blood in the night. He gave it a brief, barely interested glance and buttoned the shirt over it without comment.

  Panic uncoiled inside her. “You’re following that gun, aren’t you? The Corazon?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Images blazed through her mind. Crimson spattered on white, the blood on Seth’s bandage. His red shirt. Tulips on the floor. The curse of the Corazon. The words flew out of her, with all the urgency of terror.

  “OK, you win, Seth. I admit it. I told Victor everything. Don’t go. It’s a trap.”

  He smiled as he dropped to his knees by the futon, but his eyes were somber. “You are a piece of work, sweetheart. I never know which way you’ll jump.”

  “Seth, I—”

  He cut off her words with a swift, hard kiss. “Be good.”

  He grabbed the padlock, and shot her a quick grin; crooked and oddly sweet. The door closed, the lock rattled and clicked.

  She heard his light footsteps, going down the stairs, and a faint, faraway murmur of male voices. It was always the same; the panic, the frustration. The boat, floating away, and herself too small and helpless to intervene. The headlights danced across the trees as the car drove away. She buried her face in her hands and wept.

  After a long time, she slid back into an uneasy doze. Images melted and reformed in her mind, finally coalescing into the rippling expanse of water that stretched out from Stone Island.

  Thunder rumbled, far-off and ominous. Fitful gusts of wind made her father’s sails billow and flap. He wouldn’t take her with him. He wanted to be alone; always that same apologetic half-smile; sorry, Katya, but I don’t have the energy to be cheered up. I need to be quiet and think. Run back on up to the house to your mother, eh? She needs you.

  What a joke. Alix needing her, hah. The boat drifted farther. He waved to her, and she remembered the dream she’d had that night. She called out to him, blubbering with panic, but he just hoisted sail and drifted farther. When she had dreams like that, something bad always happened. And if Alix saw her with red eyes, she would just say, oh, for God’s sake, stop whining, Katie, I’m losing my patience.

  She curled up beneath the roots of a dead tree that jutted out over the water. Waves had carved out a spot beneath just big enough for an eleven-year-old girl, small for her age, to curl up tight in a ball and watch that faraway sail bob on the water. As long as she could see it, nothing bad could happen. She didn’t even dare blink. It would break the spell.

  She heard heavy, clumping footsteps on the dock. Ed Riggs was the only one who walked like that. Katya had never liked Ed, even if he was her mother’s good friend. He talked to Daddy like Daddy was stupid, when Daddy was the smartest man in the world except for maybe Victor. Ed pretended to be nice, but he wasn’t. And lately, she’d had dreams about him. Like the one she’d had last night.

  He stood on the dock in front of her, watching the sail float and bob against the water, as frail and delicate as a white moth. He watched for a long time, like he was deciding something. She was outwardly quiet but her heart was thudding as he untied the boat, put the motor down and headed out. Diesel fumes floated over to her hidey-hole and almost made her sick. He headed right for that white sail, a black dot, receding until he was too small to see. The wind began to rise, and the water whipped and frothed, surging over the pebbles to slosh over her feet. The sky wasn’t white anymore. It was brownish, yellowish gray, like a bruise. Thunder rolled, closer. It began to rain.

  She kept her eyes fixed on that white moth, afraid even to blink; but the eye spell wouldn’t work anymore, Ed had broken it. She pretended her eyes were a rope that could pull him back, but the white moth bobbed and tossed, resisting the pull of her eyes.

  The dark speck grew slowly bigger again.

  She scrambled out of the hidey-hole, wading over to the ladder of roots. She scampered up to the path. She didn’t want to be stuck between Ed and the water, not after last night’s dream. It was so dark. Then she realized she was still wearing the frog sunglasses. Duh, of course it was dark, but she couldn’t see well enough without them to take them off.

  Ed was almost on top of her before he noticed she was there. His eyes went so wide that she could see the whites all the way around.

  “What did you do to my daddy?” she demanded.

  Ed’s mouth dropped open beneath his thick mustache. His hands were shaking. His whole body was shaking, but it wasn’t cold outside.

  “What are you doing out here in the rain, honey?”

  “Where’s my daddy?” she said again, louder.

  Ed stared at her for a moment, and then squatted down in front of her. He held out his hand. “Come on, Katie. I’ll take you to your daddy.”

  He smiled his nice-guy smile, but a flash of lightning illuminated what the smile really was—something horrible, as if snakes were coming out of his eyes and mouth. Like that horror movie she’d watched on TV one night while the grownups were partying.

  Thunder crashed. She screamed and sprang away from him like a racehorse out of the gate. She was fast, but his legs were long. His hands closed on her arm, but she was as slippery as a fish. She wrenched out of his grip. The frog glasses flew, but she kept running, screaming, into the featureless green blur….

  A knock sounded, and she sat up, choking back a scream. It sounded again; the same polite little tap which must have yanked her out of the nightmare. She wrapped herself hastily in the blanket, her heart still racing. “Come in,” she called out cautiously.

  The padlock rattled, and the door opened. It was the skinny man with the cane, holding a wad of limp looking clothing against his chest. Seth had called him Connor. He regarded her with cool, somber eyes. “Good morning,” he said.

  “You didn’t go with them?”

  His face tightened. “The gimp gets baby-sitting duty.” He indicated his cane. “I’m not happy about it, either, so let’s not discuss it, please.”

  “Why didn’t you just lock me up and go?” she asked. “I’d never get out of this room.”

  “Exactly. Totally aside from the fact that two hit men attacked you last night. If, God forbid, all four of us should get wasted messing with those guys, you would die of dehydration in this room before anybody heard you yelling. We don’t have any near neighbors.”

  She swallowed hard, and looked away.

  “Yeah, makes you think, doesn’t it? Personally, I thought you’d already rolled your dice. You should take your chances with the rest of us. But Seth wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “He wouldn’t?”

  Connor’s eyes flicked over her. “No,” he repeated. “He wouldn’t.”

  He laid a pile of clothing on the dresser. “None of us live up here full time, so we don’t have a lot of clothes here. I scrounged up some of Sean’s stuff from when he was a kid. Don’t know how they’ll fit, but they ought to be better than your nightie.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they will be,” she said gratefully.

  “Come on downstairs once you’re dressed, if you want. There’s coffee ready, and food if you’re hungry.”

  “You’re not going to lock me up?”

  He leaned both hands on his cane and narrowed his sharp green eyes at her. “Are you going to do anything stupid?”

  She shook her head. Despite the cane, she was no match for this man. With that hard, purposeful look on his face, he seemed almost as dangerous in his own way as Seth. All of the McCloud brothers had given her that impression.

  “Thank you for the clothes,” she said. “I’ll be down shortly.”

  The clothes on the dresser were a threadbare, motley assortment. The best of the lot was a pair of low-slung jeans that were tight in the hips, but had to be cuffed three times to find her feet. Rude antisocial slogans had been scribbled over them with blunt felt-tip markers. The only shirt without too many
holes was a shrunken, threadbare black Megadeth T-shirt with the neck ripped out. It did not quite succeed in covering her navel, and stretched perilously tightly across her breasts.

  There was a pair of high-top sneakers whose original color was impossible to determine, warped and yellowed with age. They were inches too long, as floppy as clown shoes, and rasped painfully against her sore feet, but she pulled the laces tight and was pathetically grateful for every stitch of the ragged getup.

  There was a series of framed drawings and paintings on the wall of the stairway. She slowed down to look at them as she descended. Some were charcoal, some pen-and-ink, some watercolors. They were mostly landscapes, animals and trees. Their simplicity and power drew her in and made her think of the vast, silent mystery of Stone Island.

  Connor did a double-take when she walked into the kitchen. “Jesus,” he said, turning quickly. “Ah…oh, yeah. Coffee’s in the machine, right there. Cups over the sink. Cream in the fridge. Bread on the counter, if you want toast. Butter, jam, peanut butter or cream cheese are your choices.”

  She poured herself some coffee. “Those drawings on the stairs are beautiful,” she said. “Who’s the artist?”

  “Those were done by my younger brother, Kevin.”

  She pulled a quart of half-and-half out of the refrigerator and dosed her coffee. “Is Kevin one of the brothers that I met last night?”

  “No,” Connor said. “Kevin died ten years ago. Car accident.”

  She stared at him, clutching the carton. The refrigerator swung open until it bounced against the wall, rattling the jars of condiments.

  Connor gave it a gentle shove. It swung closed with a thud. “That’s one of the many reasons we’re helping Seth,” he said. “The McClouds know how it feels to lose a brother.”

  She stared at the bread browning in the toaster oven. Her mouth was dry, and her appetite gone. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Sit down,” Connor said. “Eat something. You’re awfully pale.”

  She forced down some toast with peanut butter at his urging, and he gave her a flannel-lined denim jacket, the sleeves of which came down five inches past her fingertips.