Hell on the Heart (29 page)

He shook his head. What was he doing out here? Running from the knowledge of who was. He’d known who he was since the age of seven, but somehow he’d forgotten. Leave it to Czigany, the one person able to remind him without words.

Closing his eyes, he gave a silent prayer of thanks, then reached for the door handle. As he stepped back into the living room, the table with the cards symbolically arranged was empty. Cezi now leaned against the kitchen counter nursing a glass of water.

The cards lay before him. He almost laughed. What she’d failed to mention was the very first card was The Fool. No doubt that represented him and didn’t that just say it all?

He noted the dark-haired woman she’d mentioned and the one at the far end, she hadn’t. “This is you?” he asked, pointing to the last card.

Rolf dug his heels into the sheets to push himself higher on the pillows, stretching his ribcage brought pain, but he felt more like himself than he had in days.

Cezi’s Indian said they’d be back in the morning, but the blond guy with the strange eyelashes had already been in to check on him and change the IV bag. Slipping in and out the deck door like the shadow man he was.

The other man didn’t notice. “The shot was a through and through and missed vital organs. You’d have been better off if you’d gone to a hospital that night.”

“The IV bag’s a big tip.” The other man chuckled. Nicholae’s eyes twinkled. “Even when my daughter is angry at me, I know what’s happening. Her asthma probably worried him.”

“You know, Cezi,” Luca said. “She wouldn’t have wanted to get better if Rolf was ailing. I’m sure she convinced them to see him.”

A sudden flash of sadness crossed his uncle’s face and made Rolf’s heart ache for him. “They’re in love,” he said, trying to soften the blow and prepare him for the inevitable.

“I know. He’s at her house right now. I’m trying to decide how outraged to be in the morning.”

Luca patted his brother’s shoulder. “Let’s see if there’s any action downtown. That’ll take your mind off things.”

Nicholae shook his head. “Not in the mood.” He stepped to the door, opening it and tilted his head, listening. A dog barked one short sound, the water slapped the shoreline, but the usual night sounds of crickets and June bugs were missing. Nicholae looked over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna wait ‘til the midnight hour,” Cain softly sang the words to the Wilson Pickett song. “That’s when my love comes tumbling down….”

He snickered to himself. His love wasn’t going to tumble down, but this house would. Everything was set. The limo was packed. The C4 was strategically located. He’d had to scuttle up the stairs to reach his bedroom when the men returned home.

Someone opened his bedroom door a few minutes later, but he’d buried himself in the covers and breathed heavily, snoring lightly for added benefit. Whoever it was, hadn’t crossed the room or touched him. His face was beaded with sweat from his exertions and serious pain racked his arm. Up close he wasn’t sure he could have fooled anyone.

An hour later the television on the first floor blared. He crept to the door and listened. NASCAR? He wanted to know who was here, but more importantly who was missing. If seen, he’d blow everything. He’d have to trust that the explosion would cover his tracks for several hours.

“I'm gonna wait till the midnight hour, when there's no one else around. I'm gonna take you girl and hold you and do all the things I told you in the midnight hour. Yes I am. Ooh, yes I am.”

Cezi nodded at John’s first words since she’d told him about the cards. He’d closed himself off, wanting nothing personal. Nothing out of his control. He believed his skills would survive a showdown with Cain. The cards weren’t definite. Her future was tangled up with his. She’d never had a reading that scared her like this one did.

But every event in her life had led to this moment. The fact she pretended her mother’s words weren’t important and refused to believe anything bad could happen, didn’t make it the truth.

They were alike, he and she. Both lived behind iron masks unable to reveal themselves. Like the three fates, her life, John and Cain’s were intertwined. It was unclear if one could survive without the others.

She saw no point in telling him. Life delivered its curses and blessings on its own timetable.

“Hey, is there a mystery to turning on the water?”

There was. It involved holding one’s tongue correctly while jiggling the level and then stomping your foot in the right place. Even then the ancient equipment worked sporadically.

She knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you decent?”

“Yes.”

A naked butt with dangling bits greeted her when she opened the door. He leaned over the tub, twisting the knobs. His skin was burnish copper everywhere.

“You’re naked!” Men never thought dangling bits were an issue. Slamming the door was an option, but it would be faster to just turn on the water and get out of the room.

“You didn’t ask if I was naked. You asked if I was decent. I’m a very decent man.”

“Move.” She hip-checked him to get him to shift his bulk over so she could get to the levels. “Put on a towel.”

He moved a step or two to give her room but didn’t reach for a towel. From the sideways glances she gave him, nothing drooped in front. No, he was fully aroused and pointed toward the ceiling. And he was huge. Not that she had a lot to compare it to. Sex had been a no-touch fumble in the dark operation for her. His was the first one she’d ever seen on a grown man this up close and personal. Not only that but the thick purple head looked angry.

As she rotated the knobs to the correct position, she altered her position to keep him in her peripheral vision. Well aware he’d stretched his hands above his head and hung on to the circular shower rod that surrounded the tub. His warm masculine scent enticed her to sway closer, but she adjusted her weight and braced her legs to prevent her body from taking control.

“Don’t put too much weight on the rod,” she scolded. “It’s not very secure.” She turned her head slightly as she spoke, but all she could see at that level was the giant penis, so she concentrated on the levers. “How hot?”

“Really hot,” he murmured. Her cheeks warmed. He wasn’t talking about the shower.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Touch me. You know you want to. Stroke me with your soft hands.”

She froze, her mouth suddenly dry. Her blood roared and pulsed heavy in her veins. Her ears tingled and her skin tightened. More than anything she wanted to handle him, to feel what a man was like.

Not just any man. This man. But she’d told herself when she’d acquiesced to his demands earlier this evening they wouldn’t have sex, but that was before she read the cards. Great, now she was thinking about having what her cousins called a pity sex. She couldn’t go there either.

“No.” She twisted the knobs with renewed vigor. Had he messed with every damn one? Get the water going and leave.

His large warm hand touched the small of her back and rubbed small circles that sent shock waves through her body. She yanked the lever for the shower nozzle. Freezing water sputtered then gushed through the holes in the large round head, pelting down upon her hair.

He pulled her back against him and before she could move, wrenched the plastic curtain closed to keep the water from splattering onto the floor. With her back cemented against his front, his erection pressed into her like a rod of steel.

His lips were close enough to her ears that his warm breath caressed her before his whispered words. “Your nipples are hard.” The hand that held her hips secured against him, now slipped around her waist while his other hand cupped one breast and plucked the sensitive pearl at the end, proving his point. Had he not been holding her upright, her knees might have given way. She was shocked to find arousal robbed the muscles of power and that moans could escape, even though she’d clamped her mouth shut.

With an instinct honed by what must have been years of practice, his lips found that sensitive place where her neck and shoulder joined.

“Stay with me. Let me make love to you. We’ll both feel better.”

His words whipped around her. She couldn’t do this. There were lots of good reasons why, but the best she could manage was to shake her head.

He turned her in his arms to face him. “Please.” Fire danced in his black eyes.

It was the ‘please’ that did it. John Stillwater was a marauder. She doubted if he’d ever asked for sex in his entire life. And certainly not where he displayed his vulnerability by adding a desperate word like ‘please.’

She wanted him. One more night with him would add another item to her long list of sins. But if the outcome of the fight didn’t turn out in her favor, then what difference would one more sin make?

What would her dying thought be? Why the hell did I have sex with him? Or why the hell didn’t I?

Frustration laced with desire etched his features. Unable to resist any longer she curled a hand around the hard length of him and watched the flame ignite deep in his intense eyes.

His mouth lowered to hers, hesitating long enough for her to refuse. Instead, she wrapped her other arm around his neck, rose on her tiptoes, and opened her lips to his. His lips curled briefly in pleasure then he took control.

For one night at least he would be hers.

Somehow John shut off the water. Using the edge of the tub as a chair, he widened his legs and pulled her between them while leaning backwards to struggle with the faucets.

Her plump lips tasted like sweet promise. He steeled his reaction, wanting desperately to throw her to the ground and bury his body in her moist heat on the fluffy pink bathmat. Her responsiveness triggered a reaction in him that stole his reason and drove his passion to another level. He battled his body for control.

The smell of her filled his nostrils. Rich and musky like a siren calling to him.

He refused to let his demons reign as they had the first time. He wasn’t a teenager. He had experience and a certain expertise. Tonight she’d scream and cry out his name. She would want him as she’d never wanted another man before. After tonight she’d understand no other man would never satisfy her, not even another gypsy.

The green dress floated to the floor, followed by her bra. As he lifted her into his arms, he was amazed by her weightlessness. She was tiny, but so damn feisty one forgot how delicate her bones were. He could wrap a thumb and forefinger around her entire wrist. How had he managed to avoid hurting her the last time they were together?

Light from the hall angled across the bed. Her excitement was palpable, but this wasn’t new. She gave her body willingly enough, but he needed more. He wanted her heart as well.

Her nipples pouted and puckered for his attention and he bent his head to accommodate each one. She arched her chest to allow him easier access. Still he held back, knowing that sooner or later
marimé
would be an issue. If he had to stop, he would regardless of the cost.

His hand caressed the velvet skin of her stomach, skating against the elastic band of her hip-hugging panties. Too modest to wear a thong, but the prissy little white lace panties defined her personality – daring and sexy, but only to a point.

As his hand strayed lower, she clamped her knees together. “Open your legs, sweetheart. Let me touch you,” he whispered, his lips against hers. She hesitated. He nipped her ear, making her giggle and slowly separate her thighs.