Books by Maggie Shayne (71 page)

She realized she'd regained use of her arms when she found them linking behind his head and pulling him closer. Her mouth opened wide to him, and his tongue plunged into it, stroking hers, twining with hers, tugging at it. He pulled it into his own silken moistness, and suckled the way she wished he would suckle her breasts. They throbbed for his mouth.

Before she'd completed the thought his hands were at her back, between her shoulder blades. His lips burned a path of liquid heat down over her chin, over her throat, along her chest. She arched backward, supported by his hands behind her, one at her back, one at her buttocks. He bent over her and unerringly found one swollen crest with his mouth. Mercilessly he worried it, licking until she whimpered, sucking until she cried out and biting until her hands tangled in his hair, holding him to her.

She couldn't catch her breath. She wanted him so badly it was out of control. Her center throbbed with hot moisture, and longed to be filled. . . with him.

He lifted his head and eased her upward until she had her balance. At some point during the rapacious seduction he had released her mind. She was unsure when, exactly, but at some time she had been free to object, to pull away, to slap him. She hadn't. Instead she'd responded like an animal. She was angry, with herself, with him and with her mind for refusing to give her the memory she needed to make sense of all of this.

He bent down, retrieved her robe and straightened again, slipping it over her shoulders. "You see?" He said it very softly.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Her voice cracked as she asked the question. She tugged her robe together, yanking the sash tight. She couldn't look him in the eyes.

"Not to you, Tamara. I came tonight
for
you. To help you, if you'll permit it."

"Was what you just did to me supposed to help me, too?"

When he didn't answer right away she looked at him. To her surprise his gaze fell before hers. "No," he finally whispered. "I meant to demonstrate. . . . I did not intend to go so far."

She frowned, looking at him—
really looking at him
- for the first time since he'd peeled his body from hers. His eyes fairly glowed with passion and were still hooded. His breaths came in short, shallow gasps, just as hers did. My God, he'd been as swept away by what had happened between them as she had! He moved past her, his hands trembling as he gripped the iron rail and looked down over it into the blue-black night, and the illuminating snow covered ground below. His back was presented to her, its broad strength slightly bowed. Nothing prevented her going back inside.

"I am afraid I've handled this badly," he said slowly and carefully, though his voice was still hoarse. "It is not my wish to frighten you, or to make you loathe me. I care for you, Tamara. I have for a very long time."

She allowed his words to penetrate the confusion in her mind. "I think I believe that."

He turned, faced her and seemed to search for the correct words. "I truly came to you because I heard your cries. I had no other motive. Can you believe that, as well?"

She drew a slow breath. "I work with a young boy who has, on occasion, demonstrated some psychic ability. Several operatives have had sessions with him, besides me. But his powers, however slight, are always a good deal more evident when he is with me. I suppose there's a chance I might have some latent clairvoyant tendency that's been enhancing his. Maybe you did somehow hear my dreams. I won't say it's impossible."

She was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, no matter how outrageous his claims seemed to be. Besides, how else could she explain what had been happening?

Encouraged, it seemed, he went on. "I came to you only because of the desperation in your cries. I swear this to you. I had no idea St. Claire was your guardian." He took a step forward, one hand lifting, palm up, a gesture of entreaty. "Try to imagine how I felt when I discovered it, Tamara. The woman who'd been calling me to her, living; under the same roof as the man who has doggedly pursued; me for months. How could I not suspect a conspiracy to entrap me?"

She listened as he presented his case. She supposed he ; had a point. She would have thought the same if she'd been in his place. "I suppose you had cause to be suspicious." She looked at the floor, bit her lip. She could reassure him without revealing any sensitive information. The truth was, she knew very little that was classified. "I have a low security clearance. Sometimes I think they invented a new one, just for me, it's so low." She smiled slightly when she said that, and she faced him. "I can't count the number of times I've tried to argue Daniel out of this crazy idea that you're. . ." Why couldn't she finish the sentence? She swallowed and went on. "He always counters my rationale with the claim that he has loads of evidence to prove his theories. And I always respond by asking to see the files. The answer never changes. My clearance isn't high enough." She studied his face, but it gave no evidence of whether he believed her. He listened attentively. " I never told him about the dreams. I didn't want to worry him."

He nodded. "Is there a chance he might've found out in another way?"

"How could he, short of reading my mind?" She blinked and looked away suddenly. "Unless..." He waited expectantly. She made up her mind. What she had to say couldn't hurt Daniel. If anything, it might help him avoid a lawsuit if she could stay on good terms with Marquand. She tried to avoid the burning knowledge of her own powerful feelings for a man she barely knew. "There were times when I cried out loud, loud enough to alert Daniel and bring him to my room. He always told me he hadn't heard clearly enough to guess what I'd said in my sleep, but I suppose there's a chance he might not have told me if he thought it would add to the problem."

"Or if he knew I would come to you, and planned to lie in wait."

Until that point she'd done her best to see his side of things. Now her head came up fast and she bristled. "You need to get that idea out of your mind. I admit, Daniel follows you, lurks outside your house and watches everything you do. But why on earth would he want to trap you, as you say? What do you suppose he'd do with you when he got you?"

"He specializes in research, Tamara, not surveillance. What do you suppose he'd do with a live specimen of what he considers an unstudied species?"

Tamara's stomach lurched. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she closed her eyes. "That's ludicrous! Daniel would never... He's the most gentle man I've ever known." She shook her head so hard her hair flew around her. "No. No, Daniel couldn't even entertain the thought."

"You don't know him so well as you believe to." He spoke gently, but his words were brutal. "Has it occurred to you that he might have known of the connection between us all along, that it might have been what drove him to take you in from the start?"

Eyes wide, she stared at him, shaking her head in disbelief. "It would never occur to me to think that. Daniel loves me. I love him! He's the only family I have. How can you suggest" — She stopped and tried to catch her breath. Suddenly her head throbbed. The lack of sleep seemed to catch up to her all at once. Every limb of her body ached with exhaustion.

"You have to at least consider the possibility. He knew about me, even then. I can prove it to you, if—"

"Stop it!" She pressed her palms flat to the sides of her head.

"Tamara—"

"Please, Eric," she whispered, suddenly too tired to shout or to argue any longer. "Please don't do this, don't say these things to me. I feel so close to losing my mind I don't trust my own senses anymore. I'm not sure what's real and what's delusion. I can't deal with all of this."

Her head bowed, her eyes tear filled, she didn't see him come closer. He gathered her into his arms and held her. His arms offered only comfort this time. There was no lust in his touch. "Forgive me, Tamara. My thoughtless words cause you pain. Forgive me. I don't wish to hurt you. My concern for you overwhelmed my common sense." He sighed, long and low. "God, but I've bungled this."

She found too much comfort in his arms. She felt too warm and safe and cherished there. It made no sense. She needed to be away from him. She couldn't think when he was so close. She straightened, stepping out of his embrace. "I think... I think you ought to leave."

The pain that flashed in his onyx eyes was almost more than she could bear to see. He dipped his head. "If you wish." He met her gaze again, his own shuttered now. "Please do not forget the things I've said to you tonight. If ever you need me, you have only to call to me. I will come."

She blinked, not bothering to argue that his claim was impossible. Perhaps he had picked up on her dreams, but they had been exceptionally powerful dreams. He couldn't possibly think this odd mental link of theirs extended beyond the one isolated incident. He didn't give her time to ask. His hand at the small of her back, he urged her toward the French doors. He opened them for her and gently pushed her through. She stepped inside and stopped, suddenly aware of the cold. Goose bumps rose on her arms and an involuntary shiver raced through her. She stood there a moment, then whirled to ask him how he'd gotten onto her balcony in the first place, a question she'd stupidly not thought of sooner—but he was gone. She shook her head hard and looked around her. It was as if he'd never been there.

Jamey Bryant squirmed in his chair, his eyes focused more often on the falling snow beyond the window than on Tamara or the box in the center of the table.

"Come on, Jamey. Concentrate." She felt guilty ordering the boy to do what she found impossible. All day she'd been unable to get Eric Marquand out of her mind. His face appeared before her each time she closed her eyes. The memory of his touch, the way his lips had felt on hers, the security of being rocked in his arms haunted her without letup. The pain she'd seen in his eyes before he'd vanished haunted her more than anything else.

Then again, she still had a tiny doubt he'd been real. He could have been a figment of her imagination, a delusion, a dream. How else could he have vanished from her balcony so quickly? He couldn't have jumped. At the very least he'd have broken a leg. So maybe he hadn't been real.

But he had. She knew he had, and the way he made her feel had been real, as well. Nothing so intense could be imaginary.

Jamey sighed and fixed his gaze on the cube of cardboard between them. He screwed up his face until it puckered and the furrow between his fine, dark brows became three. He leaned forward and his freckle-smattered face reddened until Tamara thought he was holding his breath. Her suspicion was confirmed a moment later when he released it in a loud whoosh and sank back into his chair. "I can't," he said. "Can I go now?"

Tamara tried to summon an encouraging smile. "You really hate this, don't you?"

He shrugged, glanced toward the window, then back to the box again. "I wish I could be like other kids. I feel weird when I know things. Then when I don't know something I think I should, I feel stupid. And then there are times when I get things that don't make any sense at all. It's like I know something, but I don't know what it means, you know?"

She nodded "I think so."

"So what good is it to be able to know something if you can't make sense out of it?"

"Jamey, you aren't weird and you know you aren't stupid. Everyone has some quality that sets them apart. Some people can sing notes that seem impossible to the rest of us. Some athletes do things that seem supernatural to those who can't do the same. That's exactly what extrasensory perception is, something you do a lot better than most people. It's just not as understood as those other things."

She studied his face, thinking he didn't look much comforted by her pep talk. "Maybe you should tell me what it is that's bothering you."

He blew air through his lips, and shook his head. "You know I'm lousy at this. It's probably nothing. I—I don't want to scare you for no reason."

She frowned. "Scare me? This is about me, Jamey?"

He nodded, avoiding her eyes.

She rose from her seat, walked around the table and dropped to one knee in front of him. Since she'd begun working with Jamey six months ago, they'd formed a tight bond. She couldn't have loved him more if he were her own son. She hated that he was agonizing so much over something involving her. Always, he'd been incredibly sensitive to her feelings. He always knew if she felt upset, or under the weather. He'd known about the nightmares and insomnia, too.

"You are not lousy at this. At least, not where I'm concerned. If you've picked up on something, just tell me. Maybe I can explain it."

His mouth twisted at one side. He looked at her seriously. His intense expression made him look like a miniature adult. "I keep feeling like something's going to happen to you... like someone is going to—to hurt you." He shook his head. "But I don't know who and I don't know what, so what good is it to know anything?"

She smiled softly. "There's been a lot going on with me lately, Jamey. Personal stuff. Stuff that's upset me quite a lot. I think you might be picking up on that."

"You think so?" His dark eyes met hers hopefully, then darkened again with worry. "Is everything okay?"

She nodded hard. "I think so. And, yes, everything is working itself out. The nightmares I'd been having are gone now."

"Good." His frown didn't vanish, though. "But I still get the feeling there are people out to get you." He chewed his lip. "Do you know anyone named Eric?"

Something hard, like a brick, lodged in the center of her chest. She gasped audibly, and rose so fast she nearly lost her balance. "Eric?" she repeated dumbly. "Why? Is there something about him—"

"I dunno. I just keep getting that name floating in at the oddest times. I always feel really sad, or else really worried, when it comes. I think maybe that's what he's feeling like, but like I said, I'm lousy at this. I could be reading it all wrong."

She let the moment of panic recede. She'd thought he might say Eric was the one out to hurt her. She still wondered if it might not be the case, but didn't want to let Jamey sense it. She drew several calming breaths and tried to compose her face before she looked at him again.

"Thanks for the warning, Jamey, but I think you're overreacting to this danger thing. Look, why don't you open the box? At this point I don't even remember what was inside."

After a last cursory glance, as if assuring himself he hadn't frightened her, he leaned forward, swung one arm out and caught the box, drawing it to him on the follow through. When he looked inside his eyes widened, and he pulled the video game cartridge out. "Dungeon Warriors! Mom's been looking all over for this—where'd you find it?"

"Your mom didn't look as hard as you thought. I told her not to."

He examined the colorful package eagerly. "Thanks, Tam." He stood, obviously in a hurry to get home and try out the new game.

"Go ahead, Jamey. Your mom's waiting right downstairs." He nodded and started for the door. "Jamey," she called after him. When he glanced back at her she said, "If you get any more of these weird vibes about me, and if they bother you, just call. You have my number. Okay?"

"Sure, Tam." He gave her a broad, dimpled grin that told her his mind had been eased for the moment, and hustled through the door, leaving Tamara alone to contemplate his warning.

* * * * *

She worked late that evening, trying to use her mundane duties to fill her mind. It didn't work. She finally went home to find the house looking abandoned. Of course, it was past dusk, so Daniel and Curtis had already left on their nightly spying mission. Despite his unfounded accusations against Daniel, Tamara felt a little sorry for Eric Marquand. It must get tiresome looking out his window night after night to see them there.

She bounced in her VW Bug over the curving, rutted driveway. Snowflakes pirouetted over the rambling Victorian mansion, caught in the glow of her headlights. Their pristine whiteness emphasized the age-yellowed paint. Tall, narrow windows stood like sad eyes. Rusty water stains like teardrops beneath each one enhanced that fanciful image. Tamara set the brake and got out to wrench open the stubborn overhead garage door, muttering under her breath. She'd argued for an automatic one every winter for the past three, all without success. Daniel wouldn't budge an inch. What he couldn't do to the old house himself simply wouldn't get done. He didn't want a crew of strangers snooping around and that was final.

She drove her car inside, noting the absence of Daniel's Cadillac. A finger of worry traced a path along her spine. She hoped he wasn't driving tonight. The roads were slippery and, dammit all, she'd never replaced the spare after he'd had that flat two months ago. She imagined Curt was with him, and comforted herself with the thought.

She flicked on lights as she moved through the foyer. The phone began ringing before she'd even sat down to remove her boots. She tracked across the faded carpet to pick it up.

"Tammy, it's about time you got home. Where've you been?"

She bit back the sharp retort that sprang to her lips. "Curtis, are you with Daniel?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't answer the question."

"I came straight home from the office, if you must know. I worked a bit late and the roads are slick. I don't want him driving."

"I'll take care of him. Look, Tam, are you in for the night?"

She frowned hard. "Why?"

He hesitated, started to speak, stopped and started again. "It's just, after that incident with Marquand the other night, Daniel and I both feel it would be best if you, uh, try to stick close to home after sundown. I know how much you resent being told what to do, but it would be for your own—"

"My own good, I know." She sighed and shook her head. " Look, I don't have any plans to leave the house tonight. Besides, I thought you guys were watching Marquand's every move."

"We are, but—"

"Then you don't have anything to worry about, do you? I'm heading for a long soak in a scalding bath, and then straight to bed, if that makes you feel any better."

"It does." He was quiet for a moment. "It's only because we're worried, Tammy."

"Yeah, I know it is. Good night." She replaced the receiver before he could make her any angrier, and headed upstairs to follow her own advice about the hot bath. As for straight to bed, she knew better. At work she'd been on the verge of falling asleep on her feet all day. Now that she was home she felt wide awake and brimming with energy.

She toweled herself dry after a soothing, if not a relaxing, soak, and pulled on a pair of comfortable jeans and a baggy sweater. She wriggled her feet into her heaviest socks and halfheartedly dried her hair, before padding downstairs to hunt for something to fill her empty stomach. She'd just settled on the sofa in the huge living room with a thick bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich sliced diagonally on a paper plate, and a can of cola, when the doorbell chimed.

Tamara rolled her eyes, lowered the sandwich she'd just brought to her lips and went to open the door. Her irritation disappeared when Eric Marquand stepped over the threshold into the foyer. She slammed the door after giving a fear-filled glance down the driveway, and looked at him agape. "You shouldn't be here, Eric. My God, if Daniel saw you here, he'd have a stroke!"

"He won't. He and Rogers will remain on sentry duty outside my front gate until dawn, as they do every night, I promise you. They did not see me leave. I took great pains to assure that."

She stood still, fighting the bubbling sense of joy she felt at seeing him, arguing inwardly that it made no sense to feel so about a stranger. It was there, all the same.

"After my behavior last night, I half expected you to throw me out. Will you, Tamara?"

She tried to tug her gaze free of his, but was unsuccessful. "I. . . no. No, I'm not going to throw you out. Come in. I was about to have a sandwich. Can I make one for you?"

He shook his head. "I've already dined. If I'm interrupting your dinner. . . ."

She shook her head quickly. "No, I mean, you can hardly call a sandwich and a cola dinner." He followed her into the living room and sat beside her on the sofa, despite the fact that she'd waved her arm toward a chair nearby. She reached for the dewy can. "I could get you one."

"Thank you, no." He cleared his throat. "I've come because. . ." He shook his head. "Actually, there is no other reason, except that I couldn't stay away. Tamara, will you come out with me tonight? I give you my word, I will say nothing against your St. Claire. I'll ask you no questions about DPI. I only want your companionship."

She smiled, then stopped herself. Did she dare go out with him? After all the warnings Daniel had given her about him?

Eric took her hand in his, his thumb slowly stroking the tops of her fingers. "If you cannot believe my charges against him, Tamara, you should equally doubt his against me. It is only fair."

She nodded slowly. "I guess you're right. Okay. I'll come with you." She stood quickly, more eager than she wanted him to see. "Should I change? Where are we going?"

"You are beautiful as you are, sweet. Would you mind if we simply went driving until something better occurs to us? I don't wish to share you with a crowd just yet."

"Okay. I'll grab my coat and... Driving? I didn't see a car. How will we—"

"Finish your sandwich, Tamara. It is a surprise."

She couldn't stop herself from smiling fully at that, and for a moment he seemed almost staggered by it. "I'm not hungry, anyway," she told him, rushing past him to the foyer and the closet near the front door. "I was only eating to fill the loneliness."

She tugged on her heaviest coat, a long hounds tooth check, with a black woolly scarf around the collar and matching mittens in the pocket. She stomped into her boots. When she looked up again he was staring at her. "Have you been lonely, then?" he asked softly.

She blinked back the instant moisture that sprang to her eyes at the question. It never occurred to her to lie to him. "I often think I'm the loneliest person I know. Oh, I've got Daniel, and a few friends at work, but..." She looked into his eyes and knew he'd understand. "I'm not like them. I feel set apart, like there's an invisible barrier between us." She frowned. "I don't feel that way with you."

His eyes closed slowly, and opened again. Flustered more than a little bit, she hurried through the room and took the telephone off the hook. Without an explanation she trotted upstairs to her room and spent a few minutes stuffing spare blankets underneath her comforter, to make it look as if she were asleep there. She shut off her bedroom light and closed the door.

When she turned, Eric stood there. One brow lifted as he looked down at her. "For St. Claire's benefit?"

"This way I can relax and enjoy our evening," she said softly, her gaze lingering on his lips for a long moment; she saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed. When she lifted her gaze to his eyes, she saw they were focused on her lips, and her tongue darted out involuntarily to moisten them.

"I promised myself I wouldn't touch you tonight," he told her in a voice softer than a whisper. "But I don't believe I can prevent myself kissing you."

"You're bound to, sooner or later," she told him, striving to keep her own voice level. "Maybe we ought to get it out of the way now." He stood perfectly still, not a single muscle moving. She stepped forward, tilted her head back and touched his lips with hers. She felt him tremble when she settled her hands on his rock-solid shoulders. She let her eyes fall closed, parted her lips against his and tentatively slid the tip of her tongue over them.