"Wait!" Drake called out to her.
He splashed through puddles, followed her onto the rain-slicked grass. She skidded to a stop, hunched over the waist-high wooden sign in front of the building. He slipped, almost fell, then caught himself and quickened his pace, not certain if she stopped because of him or because she was getting sick.
He raced over to her, caught her in his arms. "Are you all right?"
She hadn't gotten ill, but she was gasping for breath, hyperventilating. Wrapping his arms around her for support, he pulled her back against his chest, bent his head over hers.
"Breathe, slow, slow," he coached her. Her heart skittered like a hummingbird beneath his hand. Finally her breathing slowed to normal. He spun her around to face him.
"Can we please start over?" He wiped rain and strands of her hair out of her face. God, how long had he imagined the feel of her skin beneath his fingers? She tilted her face up to his, and he could see she was just as terrified as he was by all this. He framed her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers.
Her mouth opened beneath his, inviting him to deepen the embrace. He leaned her back against the sign. A small sound, half sigh, half urging, caught in her throat.
Oh yeah, there was nothing wrong with this, he thought as the cold and the rain and the house of death behind them all vanished from his awareness. There couldn't be, not when everything felt so right.
Even if it probably was the biggest mistake of his career.
CHAPTER 25
Drake couldn't remember getting Hart back into the Mustang, but somehow he did. Before he released the brake and started the car, her hand slipped onto his right leg. Drake tensed. Her palm slid down to the inside of his thigh and began a slow, firm stroke up. He sucked in his breath, the heat of her touch as jolting as a shot of good whiskey. It burned through his jeans, moving relentlessly toward his groin.
"Take me to your place," she whispered in the darkness.
He almost stalled the car in his urgency to comply.
It wasn't a long drive to his building on Ravenna Way. Hart remained silent, her only response when he tried to speak was to squeeze her fingers against his groin, inflicting a wave of pain and pleasure that choked any words before he could utter them. His mind churned with conflicting emotions. This was not a good idea. He couldn't get involved with a witness--Miller would break him for certain. The clammy touch of fear pierced him as he remembered Pamela and how that had turned out.
He had purposely avoided any romantic entanglements since last summer and Pamela. It wasn't safe, it wasn't fair to them--let's face it, he told himself, you just weren't ready to handle it. And, he realized as he pulled into the garage beneath his building, he wasn't certain he could handle it now. For the first time in his life, Drake felt nervous around a woman.
He reached out a hand to help her from the seat. She looked up and met his gaze with a calm radiance, a certainty that made him tingle all over. Hart's smile promised that this night was not a terrible mistake. Her hand tightened over his, so small and delicate, yet so strong. He led her through the door and up the polished oak steps to the third floor.
"I need to tell you something." Somehow he managed to put together a coherent string of words by the time they reached the landing in front of his door.
She lay a finger over his lips, took the keys from his trembling hand, and opened the door to his apartment. "It can wait," she told him, pulling him inside, her hands already working the wool jacket from his shoulders.
Drake barely had the presence of mind to remove his Glock and deposit it on the foyer table. Hart tugged his shirt open, sliding her lips over his chest. She pushed the flannel shirt back to his elbows, and he was caught, helpless as an inmate in a straight jacket. Which worked out just great, because if Miller ever found out about this, temporary insanity would be his only defense.
She feathered one hand down his back with a delicious, tickling movement that jolted through his nerve endings. Her fingers came to rest at the sensitive spot at the base of his spine, moving in small circles, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body.
Judas H! Where'd she learn to do that?
"I really need--" his voice was hoarse and throaty.
"Shh. Do you have condoms?"
"Yes." The single syllable was all he could manage as her hand slid under his waistband.
"Trust me, everything will be fine. No more talking."
As she released him from his jeans, he knew she spoke the truth. Drake wrenched his arms free from their cotton bindings and buried his hands in her hair, tilting her face up so he could look into those fathomless brown eyes as he kissed her.
Cassie opened her mouth to him and was jolted by his hunger; it matched hers in intensity. Their bodies tangled together, hands and mouths exploring, pleasuring, tantalizing. She had the impression of a large open space where the city lights illuminated them from tall windows. As she and Drake moved in their dance of passion, the dim light embraced them in an ethereal glow.
As if this wasn't real.
It couldn't be real,
was her last formed thought before she surrendered herself to her urgent need to forget herself, forget this awful, dreadful night.
Drake propelled her backward against a leather couch. His hands left her for an aching moment, just long enough for him to shed his clothes. Then they returned to her, their light touch skimming over her as he pulled her clothing from her. Now both naked, on equal ground, they regarded each other.
Cassie felt her breath quicken as she saw that he was already hard. She looked up and met his eyes, two stars caught in the dim light, eyes that seemed to see right into her soul. Feeling wicked, she allowed her fingers to lightly trace the length of him.
She was rewarded when he grabbed her shoulders and shuddered beneath her touch, exhaling a low, animal moan.
"Condoms," she whispered, her lips close to his ear, her breath ruffling his hair.
Drake turned his head and kissed her roughly, his tongue scraping over her teeth, his fingers tightening their grip on her shoulders. Their eyes met, small sparks reflecting the light from outside. Suddenly he stopped, pulled away for the barest of moments, before kissing her once more.
This time his touch was tender. His lips trailed down to the sensitive area at the base of her throat. He paused, tasting her, her pulse throbbing against his mouth. She inhaled, had to fight back tears once more, the sudden intimacy overwhelming.
Intimacy wasn't what she'd come here for. Intimacy wasn't what she needed. Not tonight, not after what she'd just seen. She wove her fingers in his hair, yanked his face back to her, capturing his mouth in hers. His eyes narrowed as she usurped control, then he gave her a small, quick nod. Not surrender, more like a challenge.
He lifted her into his arms, carried her into another room and lay her on the bed. Cassie turned her head, listened as he rustled in the bedside table, smelled the musk and sweat of his sheets. There were only two walls with windows in this room. The city lights spilled in, unimpeded by shades or curtains.
His form appeared over top of her, and she smiled in anticipation. He reached above her head and pulled a pillow out, sliding it under her hips as she spread her legs around his waist.
"Now," she told him, rewarded by the flash of his grin. When he waited, she leaned forward, reaching for him, guiding him. Still, he held back. She felt him throbbing inside her. Her muscles clenched, pelvis rocked, drawing him in further. He allowed her to work, entwined his fingers in hers, gripping them with an intensity that told her what his restraint cost him.
Finally when neither could bear it another second, his hips arched up to meet hers, and he began to thrust, long slow strokes that increased in speed and intensity. Her mouth was open, but no sounds able to escape as her throat tightened with pleasure. His lips found hers. He climaxed with a last, long shuddering thrust, his mouth on hers, sharing her breath.
She felt the vibrations tremble through his body, into hers, and she joined him. Then he collapsed on top of her, their heartbeats racing in synchrony.
Drake reached a finger up, wiped the tears from her face. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked in a quiet, concerned whisper.
Cassie's mind was still reeling. For one precious moment she'd abandoned her barriers, and Drake touched her soul, set it chiming like fine crystal, a vibration echoed in every cell of her body. She wanted to savor that feeling, that pure tone of unity, the promise that she was not alone, that for one brief moment in time the universe stood in perfect balance.
Had he hurt her? "No."
CHAPTER 26
Drake pushed himself up onto his elbows, surprised he had enough energy to do that. He felt both drained and energized at the same time. How was that possible? He smiled down at Hart. Who the hell cared?
"I've been wanting to do that ever since I first laid eyes on you."
She flushed at his words, her cheeks glowing in the faint light.
"I feel like we exorcized some demons," he continued in the same low voice. The words sounded strange, unable to encompass the feelings swirling through him, but they were the best he had to offer.
"Demons?" Her eyes popped open, startled.
"I mean, I haven't let anyone, any woman..." He trailed off when she frowned. Guess this wasn't the right time to tell her about last summer. But he needed to. He owed her that.
Hart raised a finger to his lips. "No talking."
She pulled his face down to meet hers. He slipped his lips down her neck until he rested his cheek against her chest, the rhythm of her heartbeat mesmerizing him, banishing all thoughts of Pamela and last summer.
All he could think about was the woman in his arms tonight.
Had to have some Irish the way she colored so easily, he thought, rolling onto his side to watch her. Italian too. And those high cheekbones--Indian? Eastern European? Maybe Greek or Armenian. Didn't matter, the whole was greater than the sum.
And all that hair. He lifted a fistful and held it to his cheek. Soft as lambswool. He inhaled deeply. "I love the way you smell."
She gave him a mock frown. "Excuse me?"
This was so unlike him--why couldn't he just shut up? He never talked this much in bed—and spouting off nonsense at that. Jeezit, what the hell was wrong with him? Drake grinned, he couldn't help himself. "Like a fresh apple when you slice it, and there's this faint blush of color on the inside." His eyes closed as he sniffed deeply of the handful of hair. "Lace curtains dancing in a summer breeze, that's what you smell like."
She let out a short laugh. "Really? I think you're mistaking me for a shampoo commercial."
He shook his head. Leaning forward to nuzzle her neck, he buried his face in her hair. "No, it's you," he whispered. "All you."
Waves of freezing rain splashed over Cassie as she ran. She was late, so late, she'd never make it in time. Dread and panic seized her lungs so that each breath was a struggle. She looked around wildly, searching for a familiar face. There was no one there to help her.
She gasped for breath, forced her legs to keep moving, keep running. The night closed in on her, smothering her, confounding her as she raced through the darkness. Her head pounded in time with her heart, a driving beat so intense it drowned out the sound of her footsteps.
Faster. Faster. Late, she was too late.
Icy fingers of fear squeezed her heart tight, and she collapsed onto the wet pavement, gasping for breath. She looked down at her hands. They were covered with blood.
Fran's pale face stared back at her. Blood gurgled from her mouth and throat, a fountain of death. Her lips moved. "Cassie."
Fran's eyes opened wide, staring into Cassie's even as life faded from them.
Cassie reached out to her friend, her hands dripping blood. But she was too late.
She jerked upright, fleeing the realms of nightmares and memory. Her vision was choked with tears. Cassie covered her face with her hands, muffled her sobs until her breathing quieted. Sweat soaked sheets tangled around her legs. She looked over at Drake. He slept peacefully, his face unlined with worry or fear.
She slipped silently from the bed, grabbed one of Drake's shirts and walked barefoot into the living room.
What was she doing? Fran was dead, and here she was, making love to a man she barely knew. Had she gone crazy?
But being with Drake felt good, felt so right. And she wanted more. Much more.
She moved to the dark windows. Vulnerable. Because of Drake, the way he made her feel, she was vulnerable, weak. Out of control.
Cassie saw her reflection floating in the glass. Pale as a wraith. She reached a hand out, placed her palm against the cold glass, absorbed the chill into her body. The glass was black, a scrying pool. She gazed into it, allowed herself to fall into the darkness of the winter night.
Fran's bloody image floated in the glass, and Cassie was overwhelmed. She was so sorry. Sorry for everything, everybody. Her father's image appeared beside Fran.
I need you to be strong, Cassie.
Then her mother's dark shadow joined them. The worst of all because Cassie could conjure no image, no memory, just a stab of emptiness that threatened to devour her soul. The woman had given everything for Cassie, how could she ever live up to that? Ever repay it?
Grief shuddered through her body and she collapsed, her hand sliding down the length of the window as her body sagged to the floor.
Drake tried to wake up, tried to stop the dream, at least he prayed it was only a dream. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but no sound came. He watched helplessly while Hart screamed. Then her screams were silenced to a croaking gasp, and her mouth filled with blood. He tried to move, to see who had done this to her, but he was powerless to control anything. Helpless to save her, her blood gushing out, covering her face, Drake shuddered and turned away.