Dangerous Lover (15 page)

He nodded. “You want to move the car closer to the room?”

“No, this is fine. I registered with a made-up plate number. They didn't bother checking but if it's parked outside the room, someone might notice. Though I doubt it.”

She led the way and he fell into step beside her, surprising her when he took the key from her with one hand, and took her elbow in the other. “Seventeen. Right here,” he said, and he unlocked the door. He held it open while she walked inside.

He hadn't said a word about her getting one room rather than two. And he didn't mention the great big king-size bed that took up most of the space inside it, either. He noticed it, though. She saw him noticing. He stood in the open doorway and his gaze stayed on that bed for a long time. Then he finally walked into the room, tossed the key on the dresser, closed the door, and turned the lock.

“You, um, hungry?” he asked. “It's been awhile since we stopped for a snack.”

“No, I'm good. Kind of eager for a shower, though.”

“You go ahead,” he said. “I'll grab our stuff out of the car. Maybe snag a couple of colas from the machine outside.”

“Make mine diet.”

“Got it.”

He headed out, and she went straight to the shower. She took her time, made it long and hot and thorough, the way she hoped he would be later on. She smiled at that thought, and wondered how it would be, their first time together. Guilt niggled at her, down deep. Guilt that she could be thinking about him, about sex, when one of her best friends was dead and three others were in danger, and when his brother was clinging to life in a hospital and was probably in danger as well.

But she needed this. She needed relief, release. Sex. With him. And she knew she'd done all she could do today. There was nothing else that could be accomplished until they'd rested.

Besides, sex could generate energy as no other act could. She'd use that to strengthen their chances.

She needed him tonight. No question. She hoped he wasn't going to make her come right out and ask. She hoped he knew, that he could read her. Then she shrugged and decided she wasn't going to leave any room for him to doubt.

Her own doubts, though, those were harder to silence. She felt a little cheap, being so willing and so ready to jump into bed with a man who probably could care less about her. It would be meaningless to him, he'd told her as much.

But not to her. And this might be the only chance she ever had to be with him, to be with the man who was her destiny. How could she possibly pass that up? It was stupid and self-destructive to care this much when he cared so little. But knowing that didn't change it. She couldn't help the way she felt.

She heard him when he came back in, but finished at her leisure, figuring it would be good to make him wait a little. Anticipation and all that. When she finally finished, she stepped out of the shower, dried off and wrapped a towel around her, under her arms. Then she stepped out of the bathroom.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed. The TV was on, but he wasn't looking at it. He was looking at her. And she was pretty sure he was thinking about taking that towel off her.

She ran a self-conscious hand through her hair and smiled. “No comb or brush in there.”

“Your bag is here.”

“Yeah.” She didn't go to it though.

He said, “I, um—I guess I'll hit the shower myself now.” He got to his feet, walked past her to the bathroom door.

“Don't be long, okay? And watch your stitches!”

He stopped there, with his back to her, and she saw the way his head came up and his spine went a little tighter. “Five minutes,” he told her. “Ten at the most, but, uh, I'll shoot for five.”

“I'll time you.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, and there was fire in his eyes when they met hers. Oh, yes. He got the message, loud and clear. She lowered her eyes and turned away, embarrassed and nervous as hell. But mostly, she was just turned on, right to her toes.

D
on't be long.

Did that mean what he thought it meant? Part of him hoped like hell it did, and part of him was sure having sex with her would be a huge mistake. She had ideas. Romantic notions about soul mates and love at first sight and predestination, all rattling around inside that gorgeous head of hers.

Sure, she
said
it wouldn't matter. That they could just enjoy each other and see where things led. But she only said that because she thought she knew where they were leading. To some kind of happily-ever-after scenario that probably included a cat and a picket fence and a white wedding.

Hell.

Part of him wanted to climb out the bathroom window and vanish until morning.

It wasn't a big enough part of him, though. The rest of him was clamoring for her, and he didn't think he had it in him to deny himself the pleasure. And he would make sure it was mutual.

He ought to be too sick with worry for his brother to be able to so much as think about sex. But for some reason, he'd believed her when she'd told him Casey would be all right. Way down deep where logic couldn't reach, he believed her.

He took his shower in record time, using the hotel-issue soap and shampoo she'd left in the tub for him. His five minutes were probably closer to three, but he took up the extra ones by brushing his teeth and checking himself out in the mirror. And then he stood there, naked, thinking he probably ought to put something on. Marching in there buck-naked would seem pretty damned presumptive, wouldn't it? And maybe a little arrogant.

Okay. All right. He slid his shorts back on, and was shocked that his hand was shaking a little when he gripped the doorknob.

Hell, you'd think he was a trembling virgin. He wasn't. He was certain he wasn't. But this was big, major, and he didn't fully understand why.

He got a grip on himself, stiffened his spine, and opened the door.

She lay on her side, facing him with a sheet over her. Her bare arms were out. One unclothed leg was also exposed, clear to the hip, bent a little at the knee and looking sexy as hell. He didn't see a stitch of clothing anywhere and he was pretty sure she wasn't wearing any, though her torso was undercover.

“So are you gonna stand there staring at me, or get in here with me, Cory?”

As if it was ever a question. He moved closer, and reaching out to take the sheet in his hand, he tugged it slowly off her. All the way off her.

Naked. Completely, gloriously, beautifully naked.

A shudder worked through him. It started in his groin and split like a forked lightening bolt, shooting up his spine and all the way to his toes. He swore softly, but didn't move. And he couldn't seem to make his eyes return to hers. They were everywhere except on her face, and they were stubbornly refusing to obey his mental commands to stop staring at her round, soft breasts, the curve of her waist, and the smooth rise of her hip.

“Hey.”

The sound of her voice gave him the nudge he needed. He slid his gaze back up to hers. Slowly.

“Are you having second thoughts or what?”

“Uh-uh.” Well, that was eloquent. Hell, what was wrong with him?

“So why don't you get in here? It's kind of chilly without the covers.”

His eyes shot right back to her breasts again. “I can see that.”

She released a breath. It was soft and a little raspy, and it rubbed his senses until they tingled. Then she reached up, hooked her forefinger over the front of his bulging shorts, and tugged him to the bed, and then onto it.

He wanted to go slow, to take some time to talk to her, to make sure she understood that this didn't mean anything. But that wasn't really an option. As soon as he fell onto the bed beside her, he was kissing her. It was just that fast, like a hammer falling on a nail. Bam. His arms locked around her, his palms skimmed her shoulders and arms, the small of her back where it dipped, her hips, her buttocks. He fed from her mouth as if he were starving, and oddly, that was exactly how it felt; as if he were starving for her, as if he couldn't get enough. He kissed her, licked inside, nibbled on her lower lip and felt her shiver.

And that shiver made him aware of her reactions to him, left him a little less buried in his own. The way her hands were moving over him, over his shoulders and biceps, again and again. She liked the way he felt. Her hips were moving, too, arching in and out against him, as if he were already inside her. And she was opening to him, opening her mouth to his tongue, and opening her thighs until the top one slid over his. His erection pressed against her then. He felt moisture and heat, and he moaned aloud. This was too much. Too good. Too hot. Too intense.

He needed this.

He backed up a little, to give himself a breather, because, damn he wanted this to be as good for her as it was clearly going to be for him. He moved his hand between them, touched her center, gentle and tentative, exploring and curious. At least until she moved and took his questing fingers inside her. She moaned his name and tipped her head back and wriggled against him. She was hot. And so ready. No foreplay necessary.

“I want you so much, Cory,” she whispered. “Please don't make me wait.”

He slid his fingers in and out, and used his thumb to stimulate her even more. Not because she needed it, but because he wasn't sure how long he could last once he was inside her. And he wasn't sure how much longer he could wait to be there.

He slid his mouth from hers, and lower, seeking and finding a breast, a nipple, warm and stiff, and then he sucked and nipped at it while he worked her with his hand, until she was shaking all over and begging him for more.

Okay, time then. Enough waiting. He was about to push her onto her back, but she beat him to the punch. She rolled him onto his, instead, and straddled him. He was surprised, and turned on more than he thought any man had ever been. And then she slid herself over him, took him deep inside her, and he was on the verge of insanity. She held his shoulders, bouncing up and down over him, making her breasts dance for him. He gripped her hips hard, to add more depth to his thrusts, and she didn't resist. If anything she drove down harder, took him more fiercely.

She was panting, taking him and panting. Her head tipped back, and her eyes squeezed closed, while her lips parted. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, come on,
yes!
”

He had to force himself to hold back, to give her time. And then her words changed to whimpers as her orgasm overtook her. He felt her spasming around him, squeezing him, milking him toward a climax that was going to rock him right to his core. Steeling his will, he eased his pace, backed off a little. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay, what?” She drove down over him, taking him deeper again.

“I'm close, I have to….”

“Don't you dare stop.” She pumped herself harder over him, taking him deeper. “Give it to me, Cory.”

And that was it. He was no longer capable of holding back, much less withdrawing. Too late. He groaned as he poured into her, held her hard to take him, and shook all over while he went off like a geyser.
Damn,
it felt good.

She collapsed on top of him, and he held her there, waiting for the blinding pleasure to ebb. It took awhile. She lay on him, stroking his shoulders, kissing his neck and his face and his chest. She was saying something. That it was good, or was it good for him, or something, but he couldn't speak just then. He could barely hear. He was overwhelmed.

He didn't think sex had ever been that good before. And when his head started to clear a little, he told himself that was because he had no memory. But he had a pretty strong feeling that was a lie.

And then his head cleared some more and he realized what he'd just done. He opened his eyes, gazed up into hers. “Damn, Selene, you shouldn't have—”

“Yeah, I should.”

“We didn't have protection.”

Her smile was slow and her eyes all-knowing. “I know my cycles as well as I know the moon's. I'm not getting pregnant tonight. And I promise you, I'm safe for you in every other way.”

“I believe you,” he said, amazed that he meant it. “But how do you know I am? I don't even know—”

“I do. I know. It's all okay, Cory.”

He felt the shock ripple through him. “You telling me you trust your…powers…that much?”

“Mm—hm.”

“But Selene, that's just not logical.”

She propped her elbows on his chest, rested her chin in her hands and stared down at him. “Is that what you trust? Logic?”

“Absolutely. It's the only thing you
can
trust, the only thing it makes sense to trust.”

“Maybe for you. Not for me. And my intuition hasn't steered me wrong yet. It never will. I know that.”

Damn, she was frustrating. She didn't make sense. “You sound just like my father,” he blurted.

Her eyes narrowed, then probed. “Go on. No, no, don't think Cory. Just talk. Just open your mouth and let the words come.”

Cory closed his eyes, as memories swamped him. “He was so sure he and my mother were meant to be together forever. It was over for her years before she died. She wasn't happy with him. I think—I think she might have even fallen in love with someone else.”

“Did you know who?”

“No. I never even knew he existed, for sure. But I know she wanted to leave Dad. She wanted it so much, for so long. For years she stayed for Casey and me. When we were grown and on our own, neither of us thought the marriage would last. But he held on so hard. So unbelievably hard.”

“What happened?”

He opened his eyes, stared into hers. “I asked her once, why she stayed. I didn't really expect an honest answer, so it shook me when she gave me one. He told her he'd kill himself if she left. And she didn't have any doubt he meant it. So she stayed. She gave up her life, her freedom, first for her sons, and then just to keep a dependent, depressed, alcoholic husband alive. She never did leave him, not until she died. And he's been trying his best to follow her to the grave ever since.”

“I'm sorry, Cory.” Her hand was on his cheek. He hadn't even realized that his eyes were burning until he felt her cool touch, so soothing.

“She was a good woman, my mother. She deserved to be happy.”

“She's happy now,” she told him.

“Oh, come on. You gonna start talking about an afterlife or—”

“Not if you don't want me to.”

He was silent a moment, while his brain told him he didn't want her to. He didn't believe in that bullshit. Religion was an opiate for the masses. That was what he believed.

But his lips parted, and his own voice said, “What do you witchy types think happens to people when they die?”

Her eyes had something in them that seemed to be reaching out and bathing him in warmth. She looked at him as if she absolutely adored him. “There are as many theories as there are Witches. Most believe in some kind of reincarnation. Most also think there's a period in between, when we dwell in another realm. Some call it the Summerlands.”

He wanted to scoff at her, and instead he asked, “What do
you
believe?”

“I believe all we have to do is look to nature to tell us all we need to know about ourselves. Death is like winter. It's a rest period, not an ending. Just part of an ongoing cycle. Spring always comes. Morning always follows night. When a tree falls, its seeds spring up into saplings that grow into new trees. Its flesh rots to nourish the earth, that grows the grasses and grains that feed the animals and people. I don't think there's any such thing as death. Not the way most people think of it, at least. I think we go on. And I think we return. Life follows death like spring follows winter like dawn follows midnight. It's all the same.”

She lay down again, not waiting for, or apparently even expecting any sort of reply. He didn't know what he would say if he had to give one. He only knew she was something else. Something different. Wise way beyond her years and somehow…special.

 

She snuggled close to him, relishing the feel of his arms around her, his chest beneath her head, his heart beating hard and steady there. It was….

“It was perfect,” she whispered.

“Thanks. It was good for me, too.”

Good? She hoped it was way more than just good for him, but he probably wouldn't admit it, even if it was. He was still skittish, and that was okay. She didn't need him to confirm what she already knew. She knew it with her heart, with her soul, with her intuition, with every breath she drew. She
knew
he was the one. And it was perfect.

He was already drifting off to sleep. She could feel the way his breaths slowed and deepened, feel his body relaxing beneath hers. She would never sleep tonight. Not if her life depended on it. She was too excited, too crazy in love to even think about sleeping. She could hardly wait until morning, when he would stir awake, and she would make love to him all over again. And then maybe they would shower together and do it again. And dress each other and do it again.