Darker Than Desire (30 page)

But not by much.

She wasn't going to feel a lot better until she talked to Jensen and figured out just what was going on here.

Scowling, she turned.

The glass she had in her hand fell from numb fingers when she saw the silent form standing in the doorway across from her.

*   *   *

Until he saw her, David hadn't realized just how tight that knot of tension had grown.

He still wasn't ready to believe what his mind was telling him. It wasn't possible.

But the facts were adding up. In some fucked-up world, it might actually be true.

In case that fucked-up world was
this
one, he had to take matters into his hands, but first he had to see for himself that Sybil was okay. Jensen had promised she'd put a cop on Sybil's house, but that wasn't enough for David.

Not that he'd told Jensen.

She'd told him that she'd be putting a watch on Sybil's house, that she had Detective Thorpe out there for a while, then Officer Gardiner would head out to see Sarah.

While they
talked
. Okay, they'd talked. Jensen could get her ass to work on finding Sarah. David would do the same. Jensen might not like it, but she didn't know Sarah like he did.

And he had to look at her. Had to see her, had to understand
why.

But for now, across a room gone dark, all he could see was the pale oval of Sybil's face and the glitter of her eyes and need hit him so hard, he thought he'd die from it.

The glass fell from her hand, hitting the floor with a muffled thud, and a ragged sound left her throat.

Her mouth opened as he crossed the floor to her.

Leave
.

That was what his brain said.

He'd only come here for one reason, to make sure she was okay before he took care of everything else. Maybe, just maybe, when that was done he'd be ready to look at other things, all the emotion and the knowledge that had been brewing inside him before Jensen had shown up at his house.

Sybil had been right.

He'd known it all along, but the thought of letting himself feel again—feel
more
—left him feeling stripped and bare and he just shut down at the thought of it.

But that was for later. First he had to make sure Sybil was safe. Drew was safe. That they
stayed
safe.

David had seen what he needed to see.

But it wasn't enough, he realized.

Nothing had ever been enough, not with Sybil. Time hadn't been enough. Sex hadn't been enough. The few stolen hours in the night hadn't been enough. Hearing her whisper his name hadn't been enough. The closest he'd ever come to
enough
had been a few days ago, when she'd whispered she loved him and they'd spent the afternoon wrapped around each other in that miserable excuse of a bed.

The closest he'd ever come to
happy
had been the day they'd buried his grandfather.

The day she'd told David she loved him.

“What are you—”

The rest of the words were crushed under his mouth as he caught her up against him. She tasted like beauty and pain and her and he thought he'd die if he didn't have more.

Walk away … from this. From her … How am I supposed to do that?

Her fingers curled into his shirt, and for one perfect moment she clung to him.

And then pain ripped through him as she drove her foot down on his instep before tearing away from him.

“You son of a bitch,” she said, her voice low and soft.

Breath coming in heavy bursts, he stared at her.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

Losing my mind
.

He almost said it. Almost. Then he just shook his head. He should leave. Fuck it all, he knew he should. Instead, he took a step toward her. “I had to make sure you were okay.”

Her lip curled. “Why wouldn't I be?”

Taut, heavy moments of silence passed. They hadn't told her.

Closing his eyes, he tilted his head up while the anger pulsed and pumped through him.

Floorboards creaked and he slowly lowered his head, lifting his lids enough to stare at her through his lashes. Sybil was just a foot away now, and even in the dim light he could see the flush on her cheeks, the glitter in her eyes. “
Why
wouldn't I be?” she demanded again.

“Max. Louisa. Brumley. Taneisha.” He said each name softly, watched as her lids flickered. “Each of them had a connection to me.”

“But—”

She stopped. “Connected how?”

“Max was my grandfather.” He turned away and moved to the window. Through the slats of the shades he could see the police car, but it didn't make him feel any better. After all, he'd gotten in, hadn't he? He had a key and the locks on the back door were solid, but would they stop somebody who really wanted in?

“Max?”

He turned to look at her. “Yes.”

He waited. Sure enough, she spun away and started to pace. “Your grandfather. How?”

“My mother's father. My … grandmother, she and Max had a few nights together, and then she up and left town. Didn't come back until my mother was three or four. Neither Max nor Mary knew until then. Max and Mary got married before he joined the army.” David shrugged, restless, thinking about how different life might have been for him, for his mother, for everybody, if Max had been involved in his daughter's life. He'd offered. He'd tried. But …

No buts.
The past was just that. Over and done.

Brooding, David hooked a hand over his neck and focused on the floor. “He was my grandfather. I've known awhile. I've got his hands. His eyes. I saw a picture in his house and you see it, you can't miss it.” Without looking away from the boards of the floor, he sighed. “He's gone, because of me. Louisa is dead, because of me. Because she was pissed off and yelling at me at the funeral.”

“That's bullshit.” Sybil's voice, cold and dismissive, cut through the tense silence.

Sliding her a look from under his lashes, David asked softly, “Is it?” Without waiting for a response he turned away. “Brumley shot at Hank, but I pushed him out of and I got shot. A few minutes later, Brumley is dead.”

“And what about Taneisha?” Behind him, he could hear Sybil pacing, her feet whisper quiet on the floor. “
She
didn't try to kill you, even if she was pissed off at you.”

“She was out at my place.” Out at his place, where he'd felt that weird sensation of eyes crawling all over him.

“I know that,” Sybil snapped.

At her words, he turned and lifted a brow.

She met his gaze dead-on. “She was there, but it's not like she tried to kill you.” Sybil's gaze raked over him. “If she had, you'd look a little more battered.”

That was entirely likely. But he shrugged and said, “Max didn't try to kill me, either.”

For a long second Sybil just stared at him, and then she spun away, shoving her fingers into her hair, and tangled them there, tugging like it might unravel the problem. “I don't understand, David. Maybe I'm a little slow here, but I'm not following. Exactly what is the connection here and why am
I
supposedly in danger?”

He turned to look at her, standing there framed by the dim light filtering in through the window. It gilded her body with soft light, but her face was lost in shadow. Hunger swamped him. Need battered him.

Slowly, he crossed the wooden planks of the floor, stopping in front of her so he could look into her eyes. Reaching out, he curved a hand over her neck, half-expecting her to pull away.

She just stared at him.

“Max was an old man, lying in his bed, and somebody smothered him. You're asking me to help you make sense of somebody who could do that.” He edged in closer, unable to ignore the siren call of her nearness. “Louisa was a nosy old bitch. I didn't like her, but in the end, she didn't matter to me. But somebody beat the hell out of her—she was beaten to death, Sybil. It's just that simple. Taneisha came and laid into me because I hurt you. And while Brumley sure as hell deserved to die, he's dead because he missed Hank and shot me. The connection is
me
.” He rubbed his thumb over her lip. “Now … why else do you think you have a cop sitting in front of your house?”

Sybil curled her lip. “I don't see any reason for Thorpe to be sitting in front of my house. We're over, right? You don't want that
ugliness
from your life to affect mine,” she said, her voice scathing. “Put out an announcement in the paper or whatever you have to do. You dumped my ass.”

She curled her hand around his wrist, tugged his hand down until he no longer touched her.

The loss of contact was like a visceral pain. “Go on, David. You don't need to worry about me, okay? Thorpe is out there, and if I hear or see anything I'll call him, flash the lights or whatever. You don't need to concern your—”

*   *   *

The flash in his eyes was the only warning Sybil had before she was trapped between him and the door.

His hard body crushed up against hers, one big hand framing her face while the other was braced over her head on the door. “Shut up,” he muttered.

She blinked, caught off-guard by the sheer fury in his tone.

Well, for about two seconds.

Then she shoved up against his chest. He didn't move. “Excuse me?” she snarled, remembering at the very last second to keep her voice down. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”

He boosted her up, one heavy, solid arm wrapping around her waist and hauling her up until they were nose to nose. “Yes. I said
shut up
, Sybil. Do I need to spell it out?”

“Put me down.” She spoke the words through clenched teeth, something hot and heavy pumping through her. She wasn't sure if it was hunger … or rage. But under it all was misery. A knot formed deep in her chest and she curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching for him. “Do you hear me? Put me down.”

He didn't listen and she balled up a fist and swung it out. He caught it in one hand, but since he had his other arm wrapped around her waist he couldn't block her other punch. In the end, he spun around and took her down on the couch, catching her wrists and pinning them over her head. “You son of a bitch,” she hissed, bucking against him. “Get off of me and the hell out of my house. You don't get to do this! You…”

Hurt, angry words built inside her and she bit her inner lip to keep them from spilling out.

But then he touched his lips to the corner of her mouth.

“Sybil…”

Squeezing her eyes closed, she thought,
No—

In desperation she jerked her knee up, but he just rolled, moving off the couch and taking her with him until she sprawled across his chest. He still held her wrists. “You don't get to do this,” she said again, her voice hitching. “You can't just walk away, break me like that, and then try to come back.”

“You're not broken,” he murmured against the hollow of her throat.

“What in the hell do you know?”

He turned his face toward hers and she heard it as he breathed in, like he was trying to breathe
her
in.

“You're too strong for that. For me.”

Shows what you know
.

She twisted against his wrists again. If she didn't get away from him soon—

He moved again, and this time she ended up on her back with him splayed between her thighs—and he'd let her wrists go. Groaning, she reached up, catching the heavily muscled torso as he settled his weight down on hers.

“Tell me to go.” He said the words against her collarbone.

“I've already done that.”

He flicked open one of the buttons on her sleep shirt. “Say it again. I should go. We can't keep doing this. It's not good for you.”

That familiar ache spread through her. “I don't see why you get to decide that,” she whispered, her voice sounding hollow, even to her own ears. “I decide what's good for me. Not you.”

His lips brushed against hers. “You should be with somebody who makes you happy.”

“I didn't spend ten years with you because you made me miserable, David.” She sniffed, the ache in her chest expanding. “Well, not until recently. Recently, you've made me really miserable.”

His thigh pushed between hers.

She shuddered at the feel of it.

He was right.

They shouldn't do this again. Because he wouldn't stay. If he couldn't
be
with her, all this was going to do was hurt her again. Break her.

But when he flicked open a button on her nightshirt, and then another, all she did was open her eyes and watch him. When he pressed his lips to the skin he'd bared, she curled her hands into his hair and pressed him closer.

And when he stripped her nightshirt away, she was the one to urge him to his back and mount him.

If they'd have another night, she'd make the most of it.

She didn't tell him she loved him, though.

She'd done it once, stripped herself bare and watched as the shutter fell over his eyes.

No more.

He bucked underneath her and his fingers tightened on her hips, leaving bruises as he shuddered and came, her own orgasm crushing her in its grip. Tears burned in her eyes, and in her chest there was a bittersweet ache.

*   *   *

He lay on his stomach, face turned to stare out the window. He didn't remember when he'd picked her up and carried her into her bedroom, but he'd done it.

Now Sybil lay tucked up against him, one arm across his lower back as she slept. That he could take her touch was one of those little miracles he'd never taken for granted, one of those little miracles he didn't know if he could live without.