Obsession Falls

by Christina Dodd

  She smiled. “Something does.”

  Lacey escorted him to the door.

  He faced Kateri. “You know, I don’t want to be sheriff forever. What with Elizabeth’s difficult pregnancy, I might be leaving sooner than I’d planned. I keep thinking—if your physical condition keeps improving, you’d be good in the position.”

  “Me?” Kateri was taken aback. “As sheriff?”

  “Sure. You’ve got military training. You know firearms and you know what to do in an emergency. You’re a natural leader. You’re part Native American, and most of them seem to think you’re some kind of…” He hesitated.

  She helped him out. “Seer.”

  “At the least. So maybe you could alleviate some of the hostility from that direction. Plus there’s the other side of you—you work at the library, you know everybody in this town. You know everybody’s problems. Most people like you.”

  “Except Mrs. Branyon.”

  “I said people.”

  They both grinned.

  “Anyway. The salary sucks and the hours are crap, but it sure pays better than Virtue Falls librarian.” He opened the door. “Think about it.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  He stepped out and shut the door, leaving her alone.

  And she couldn’t help it. She did think about it.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Summer came out of a sound sleep, fist swinging even before she got her eyes open.

  The blow went wild, glancing off Kennedy’s shoulder.

  He grabbed her arm. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me.”

  She stared at him, not quite comprehending. “Kennedy.”

  “Who else would it be?”

  Jimmy.

  Slowly she sat up and looked around.

  While she slept, the sky had cleared. The sun had risen. It was a crystal-clear early autumn morning … and the Hummer was parked in front of the Hartmans’.

  “We’re back, safe and sound,” Kennedy said.

  She rubbed her eyes and groaned. “I, um, wanted to go to my apartment.”

  “We’ve got to go over our strategy.” Kennedy still looked alert. “And your apartment is too small for the two of us.”

  She was still groggy, but she managed a good glare before she scooted toward the open door.

  “I’ll get you.” Sliding his hands behind her, Kennedy pulled her to his chest and lifted her out of the vehicle.

  “Not necessary.” Her mouth was dry. She’d probably been lying on his lap for hours, snoring. And drooling. Not that she cared. After the day she’d had—was it yesterday?—he deserved to see her at her worst.

  John stood beside the car, heavy-eyed and exhausted. He’d been on the road for twenty-four hours in difficult driving conditions, and she cast him an apologetic glance. “Thank you,” she called.

  “You bet. Glad you’re safe. Try to stay that way.” He gave a wave, got in, and drove off.

  Kennedy continued to hold her in his arms and strode toward the back porch.

  The welcoming house, the sunshine, the dried plants in the flowerbeds: they felt surreal, as if something dangerous watched from far too close. “Are we safe here?” she asked.

  “As safe as we can be anywhere. Game-wise, Brachler got a head start on us. But he’ll play by the rules. He wants to think he can beat me fair and square.” Kennedy climbed the stairs, let her slide to her feet—although he kept his arm around her waist—and checked the security system. He entered a sequence of numbers—a different sequence than she had set up—and opened the door.

  “Can he? You said you were evenly matched.”

  He picked her up again and headed inside, and slammed the door shut with his foot. “I think so. If I can convince the Prize to throw her lot in with me.”

  “A good strategy. How are you going to do that?”

  He looked down at her. A lock of dark hair hung over his forehead. He smiled, a sexy, world-weary tilt of the lips.

  Oh, God. That single smile reminded her of their first kiss, of irresistible attraction and fierce lust. But she had morals. And principles. Principles that he had mortally offended. “Look,” she said, “I hope you don’t expect sex.”

  He strode down the hallway into the living room.

  She continued, “Because I am not soon going to forget that moment when I asked for your help and you turned away from me and let Jimmy kidnap me and load me onto his magical helicopter of death—”

  Kennedy put her down hard and fast, pinned her to the wall, and kissed her.

  She pushed against him.

  He pulled back a bare inch. The world-weary smile was gone, replaced by savage fury. “Did he hurt you?”

  Taken aback, she said, “Hurt me? You’ve seen me. All of me. I’m fine.”

  “I mean … did he…?”

  She got it now. “Rape me? I don’t remember much”—more than she had before; more than she wanted—“but no. He didn’t rape me.”

  “Then what’s that?” Kennedy pointed at her neck.

  Uneasily, she shrugged. “I don’t know. What is it?”

  He took her shoulders, moved her into place in front of the decorative mirror, and pushed her sweatshirt aside.

  On the soft, pale junction where her neck and her shoulder met, she had a small, round, black hickey. She pushed her neckline back farther, looked harder, unable to believe what Jimmy had done.

  That bastard. Rage rose like the tide. Rage, and horror, and dread. As hard as she could, she smacked Kennedy on the arm. “What is it with you guys? Are you teenage boys using me to score off each other?” She smacked Kennedy again, pointed at her neck, and said, “What role does a hickey play in your goddamn game?”

  He caught her fist. In a staccato voice, he said, “No role. James always wanted what I have. He wants me to know—”

  “That he raped me? First of all, he didn’t. I haven’t had sex.” She maintained eye contact. “Okay?”

  “Okay.” Kennedy’s savagery faded. A little.

  “Second of all—don’t you ever say that again.” She let the rage overflow. “You do not have me. I am not yours!”

  She could see the response that hovered on the tip of his tongue. She doubled her other fist, ready to smack him again.

  Finally Kennedy settled on, “He believes you are mine.”

  “Or maybe he admires me.” Her voice rose. “Maybe he thinks I have strength, determination, knowledge, and luck. Maybe he has faith in me because I live when I should die, I know what I should not, and I recognize him when no one else does.”

  Something must have been off about her delivery, for Kennedy stepped back and watched her as if he could see more than she meant to show him. “Why do you think that?”

  She had been quoting Jimmy’s letter, of course. Unwisely quoting it, for it was better not to have to show that to Kennedy. She didn’t think he would be pleased about the message, and regardless of the fact that Jimmy mattered nothing to her—nothing—she would still be embarrassed and uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” she snapped. “Probably I’m delusional.”

  Solemnly, Kennedy said, “He’s right. You have all those qualities. I’m sorry I insinuated otherwise.”

  “I’m sure you are. I am thoroughly disgusted with you both. Two little boys playing deadly games.” She tugged at her sweatshirt. “I need a shower.”

  He followed her toward the bedrooms, and when she tried to enter the one that was not the master, he caught her arm. “Please. I need … I need…”

  She would have pushed him away.

  But his fingers trembled.

  “All right,” she said. “Spit it out. What do you need?”

  “I need you. I need you like I need my heart to beat, my lungs to breathe. I need you, or I am not alive.” Tears wet his lashes. “Summer … I love you.”

  She slapped her hand over his mouth. “Shut up,” she said in a whisper. “Just shut up.”

  Those big, blue, damp eyes pleaded with her.


  Still whispering, she said, “I heard him. In the wine cellar. I heard him. He said, ‘I’m going to destroy his family, his friends, his business, everything he’s fought for and loves. Kennedy, you can fight for me. I need you to fight for me. But don’t love me. Please, don’t love me. It’s a death sentence.”

  Kennedy took her hand away from his mouth and entwined their fingers. “It’s too late.”

  “No, it’s not.” She looked around. “Maybe he didn’t hear you.”

  “Whether James is or isn’t listening doesn’t matter. He knows. How could he not? He’s been watching me, and for over a year I have been obsessed with you. Why do you think he chose you to be the Prize?”

  “One year is nothing for Jimmy. He has been patient for so long, waiting for his revenge.” Like everything else about Jimmy Brachler, that made her very nervous.

  “I’ve been patient, too.” Kennedy wrapped his arm around her waist. He leaned close. His lips brushed her ear. “You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t have to love me. But let me make love to you.”

  “No.”

  “Let me carry you away from this place, this time. Let me help you forget yesterday and tomorrow. Let me make you happy.”

  She stood stiff and resisting. “No.”

  “I can make you happy, you know. You want a shower. I can serve you. I will service you. You’ll stand naked under the warm gush of water. I’ll kneel at your feet. With soft, scented soap and my own bare hands, I will wash you, starting with your toes and working my way up.” His voice grew deeper and richer. “As I slide my hands over your slick, bare skin, I will massage each muscle, I will kiss you, lick you, pleasure you. No place will go untouched. The soles of your feet. The sensitive backs of your knees. Between your thighs…”

  She swallowed.

  “I will move slowly. So slowly. I know how to wait for my gratification. My pleasure will come from the chance to pamper you. I will glut myself on the sight of you, the scent of you. I will wash your clit, use the handheld shower to rinse you. I will taste you, use my tongue to bring you to orgasm.”

  His conversation proved how very talented his tongue could be.

  “I will service you with my fingers, lightly at first, barely brushing your skin”—with his fingertips, he circled her ear—“then with greater and greater intensity until you scream out my name, and beg for more. Do you know what I will do then?”

  She shook her head.

  This time, his tongue circled her ear, then he whispered, “I will obey you. I will give you more. You’ll put your hands against the wall and bend over. I’ll glide my hands over your beautiful, taut ass and between your cheeks. I’ll be washing you, of course, like a dutiful servant. But really, I’ll be preparing you. Tormenting you with the promise of sensual satisfaction.”

  “Oh.” She was breathing. But raggedly. Barely.

  “I’ll wash your spine, follow each vertebrae from bottom to top. I’ll rub your neck and your shoulders. I’ll fill my palm with shampoo. I’ll knead your scalp, easing away all the tension, replacing it with”—he leaned into her hair and inhaled, and whispered—“desire.”

  She wet her lips with her tongue.

  “By now, you’ll beg me to take you. But I won’t yield, will I?” He waited as if he expected an answer.

  So she shook her head.

  “No. Because I promised to bathe you. All over.”

  “You could … wash me … afterward.”

  “I could. I will. But not yet. First I turn you to face me. I’ll soap my chest, and I’ll rub myself against your beautiful breasts. We’ll be warm and wet, slippery with bubbles. I’ll slide my hands between us. I’ll cup you here … and here … and I’ll indulge you, make you gasp, make you scream, make you fall from the cliff of desire.”

  She could hardly breathe.

  He drew back, his blue eyes vivid with promise. “So. Would you like me to shower with you?”

  Reaching down, she grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. She dropped it on the floor and walked toward the bathroom. “Follow me.”

  * * *

  At noon, Kennedy crashed, flat on his back on the bed, one arm flung out, one wrapped around Summer, as he tried to recover from two anxious nights with little sleep and one morning spent in a slow bacchanal of sex that promised and teased. And delivered.

  But last night in the car she had slept. Now she stretched languorously, and eased away from his embrace. She had things to think about. Things like … Kennedy said he loved her.

  She didn’t want it to be true. She didn’t want to believe it. But how could she not? He was a man of cool intelligence. Surely he knew if he was in love for the first time.

  Did she love him?

  No.

  Yes.

  She didn’t know.

  Her feelings for Kennedy were as tangled as a cat’s skein of yarn. He had spent a year researching her, searching for her, and when she contacted him, he had immediately come to Virtue Falls. He had believed her story. He had sworn to rescue her. Then at the first sign of trouble, he had doubted her.

  She understood why Kennedy saw the world in black-and-white. The stories of his parents and their larcenous lives: they were wrenching. Those people had damaged young Kennedy’s ability to completely give his trust. But he made promises with his words and his body; he had no excuse for abandoning her.

  How did she forgive that kind of betrayal? Because of Kennedy’s undeserved contempt, she had spent one more fearful night and one more desperate day, a pawn in a destructive game she had barely known existed.

  And it was so much worse than that.

  Jimmy hadn’t raped her. No. But because Kennedy turned away from her, Jimmy Brachler had seized the chance to replace Kennedy as a lover. In her mind only; she’d told Kennedy the truth when she said they hadn’t had sex.

  Yet high in that helicopter, Jimmy had stripped her out of her costume. He had taken advantage of her drugged quiescence to touch her breasts and between her legs, and to her eternal humiliation, while she clung to him, he had brought her to orgasm. Violently. Twice.

  Each time he had laughed.

  Now Summer rolled away from Kennedy, curled into a ball, hid her head against her knees. But she couldn’t hide from the memories that bit into her soul and mind and tore away confidence and self-respect.

  She could give excuses for her own behavior. The drugs, of course. They removed every inhibition. But more than that, she had believed she was going to die. She had believed that this man who manipulated her body intended to throw her from the helicopter. Visions of falling from the helicopter into the forest blended with the old, black fears of falling from the ledge in the bottomless cave.

  Supplies for survival. A flowery note. Whispered words of support.

  Humiliation. Nightmares. Death.

  Those were the two sides of Jimmy Brachler.

  He terrified her. She knew he was a murderer, a thug, a thief, the worst human being she had ever imagined. Yet … he drugged her, hypnotized her, seduced her, made her want him. More important, she remembered those moments when he had let her touch him. He had whispered that he wanted her to win the game. He wanted her to live. She was the only woman who was his equal. He wanted her.

  Kennedy had done as he had promised. For a few hours, he had made her forget. But nothing could keep the fear away for long.

  In Empire of Fire, Jimmy’s name was Venom, and she knew why. He had marked her, poisoned her world with dark fantasies and cruel fears.

  No matter what, Kennedy couldn’t help her vanquish those. She would have to do that herself.

  She was the Prize. She had two choices.

  She would win. Or she would die.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  In a rush of appalled adrenaline, Kennedy came awake. He sat up in the bed he had shared with Summer.

  He was alone.

  He threw off the covers and dashed out into the living room. He skidded to a stop in the e
ntry … Summer sat at the computer desk, dressed in his sweats, sipping coffee and jotting down notes.

  She looked up. She surveyed his naked body with appreciation. “Happy birthday to me.”

  Off balance and confused, he asked, “Is it your birthday?”

  “No. But we can pretend it is.” She smiled. Then she looked back at her notes. “I’ve been researching Empire of Fire, wondering if I can see something you’ve overlooked. Why don’t you get dressed? I’ll make us a late lunch and we can talk.”

  Sensible. Logical. But affectionate? Or even casually lustful? No.

  He went into the bedroom.

  As he dressed, he recalled the times when, during one of his affairs, the woman had told him that she loved him. He had always thanked her. Finally, she had said, Can’t you just tell me you love me, too? Can’t you lie?

  He couldn’t, and he didn’t understand why she would want him to.

  Now, despite a gallant effort to resist, he had to admit to himself that what he felt for Summer was more than obsession. It was love. All-consuming, blazing-fire, shattering-stars, euphoric love. So he hadn’t been able to help himself—he had told her.

  She hadn’t even thanked him.

  Worse, she was remote. He had spent the morning making love to her, hours poring over her body, assuring himself she was all right, unharmed, and if not his, then at least not Jimmy’s. Kennedy had made her happy. They had gone to sleep together, and now … this.

  He came back in jeans and a black T-shirt, carrying his running shoes, to find canned tomato soup and toasted cheese sandwiches waiting on the coffee table, and Summer in the easy chair polishing off the plate of food she held in her lap.

  His stomach growled; making love for hours had a way of working up an appetite. “You have a bright future as a chef.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, sat on the couch across from her, and tore into the sandwiches. When he looked up, she was watching him and grinning.

  He relaxed a little. There was the affection he’d been looking for. “Did you find anything out?”

  “A few things. As I understand it, to win the game, we have to find Jimmy’s den and defeat him. So I’ve been making a list of possible lairs garnered from my concierge responsibilities.”