Northern Pennsylvania
The bitter cold woke him.
A shiver ran through Pete, rousing him from sleep. He blinked, opened his eyes and peered into utter darkness. For a moment he didn’t know which way was up. Then he
registered the frigid leather beneath his cheek and the dead weight of his arm pinned beneath his body.
He pushed up slowly and immediately regretted the movement. The dull throb he’d felt behind his eyes when he’d been lying down kicked up to the roar of a Dolphins game when he moved upright, and he closed his eyes again. He rubbed frozen fingers against his temples to abate the pounding in his skull and cringed as pain sliced through his skin.
What the…
He pulled his hand back, tried to squint to see what the wetness was on his fingers. It felt sticky and cold. Blood?
Okay, drinking himself into oblivion had been a really dumb idea, although he couldn’t remember drinking anything after dropping Maria off at her apartment. He must have fallen somehow and hit his head. Regardless, a thirty-eight-year-old man should know better.
When he felt certain he wasn’t going to black out, he opened his eyes and quickly realized something else wasn’t right.
He was still in the limo. He could feel the cold Italian leather cradling his body, the hard floor at his feet. Around him was a blanket of some kind. He reached a hand out to test his surroundings and met vinyl and wood surrounding the wet bar.
He paused and listened, tried to figure out what was going on. The limo wasn’t moving, the engine wasn’t on, and there were no voices or even sounds for that matter.
Where was he? In an underground garage? If so, then where was the driver? Why had he been left in here all alone? And who had put this blanket on him?
His adrenaline shot up, and he moved closer to the window, cupped a hand against the glass and peered outside. Nothing. A black void met his eyes.
Slowly, and with cautious movements because his stomach
was rebelling with every shift, he moved to the other side of the vehicle and did the same. Through the tinted glass, he could just make out what looked like a dim light coming from a distance away. A door? It looked like it, cracked open a few inches. If so, he was definitely in some kind of garage or building.
He pushed toward the Mercedes’ back door, caught the handle and gave it a shove. The exertion sent the pounding in his head up another notch, and he groaned. As he eased out of the vehicle, he wondered if staying inside hadn’t been the smarter choice. It was fucking freezing out here.
He wrapped his arms around himself, pulled the tux jacket tight against his body to conserve heat, and took slow steps toward the door ahead. The light was soft, as if from a lamp, and warmth radiated from the room before he even reached the threshold.
Heat was good. No matter what was on the other side of that door, it was better than staying out here and freezing his nuts off.
He placed one hand on the solid wood, more to steady himself than anything else, and pushed.
It was an apartment of some kind. The room stopped churning long enough so he could make out a TV in the far corner. Beat-up furniture filled the space. His wobbly gaze landed on the figure curled up in a ball on the sofa.
“Hey,” he said in a raspy voice he barely recognized. He cleared his throat as the figure stirred. He’d tear off some-one’s head if he didn’t get the hell out of here and back to his suite at the Waldorf pronto. There was an Alka-Seltzer there with his name on it. “What the hell is going—”
The figure sat bolt upright, blinked several times and stared at him with big, brown, stunned eyes. And suddenly he couldn’t remember just what he’d wanted to know in the first place.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered.
The blood rushed from his head and went due south, leaving him lightheaded and shaky. No way this was happening. He was still drunk. That was the only explanation. He was tripped out on some seriously bad champagne and hallucinating because
this
wasn’t real. He wasn’t staring at Katherine Meyer alive and in the flesh because she was
dead.
She rose slowly from the couch.
Stunned into silence, all he could do was stare as she rubbed her hands against her thighs and took a cautious step toward him.
It looked like Kat. A variation anyway. This woman’s hair was nearly black and cut short as a boy’s. But the face—holy hell—the face was the same. The same wide doe eyes, the same pouty lips, the same dark mole on the upper right side of her mouth.
“Pete. You startled me. I…are you okay?”
It sounded like her, too. His eyes widened in disbelief.
Her gaze darted over his face. “You look a little better. How do you feel?”
How did he feel? Like he’d just been hit by a bulldozer, head-on.
He barely managed to catch the door handle for support before his legs gave out. His mouth dropped open, a thousand questions fired off in his brain, and though he tried to form words, he couldn’t get his lips to work.
Hallucinating. You’re hallucinating, man. That’s the only explanation.
“I tried to move you, but you were like dead weight, and I, well, I’m a little tired after everything else. So I got you a blanket and left the door open. I know it was cold out there…”
Her words trailed off. And she closed her mouth quickly at what he knew had to be his stunned expression. Then sank her top teeth into her bottom lip the way Kat always had when she’d been shy or uncertain about something.
“I guess you’re ready to chat. I think it’s safe to say you look a little surprised.”
Surprised?
No fucking way.
The room jackknifed. He knew he was going under like a class-A pansy, but he couldn’t stop it. His vision blurred and darkened until the only thing left was utter blackness and the sound of a voice he’d never been able to forget.
“Pete. Oh, Pete. Please wake up.”
He knew that voice.
Through a fog, Pete struggled to consciousness. He’d been here before. Knew he was dreaming. Knew it was stupid to let himself get sucked in again because he’d invariably wake up feeling ten times worse than he did now.
But her scent was strong. Clean, fresh, reminiscent of the night-blooming jasmine she’d always loved. Yet some-how…bolder, spicier, more
her.
Before he could stop himself, he reached out to wrap his fingers around her arms and draw her close.
Her skin was as silky soft as he remembered, her heat warming the coldest space deep in his chest. His eyes drifted open, and through a haze he saw her face. Her perfect, familiar face.
Okay, dumb, but…even if it was a dream, it was still her.
“Kat.” He slid his hand around her nape and pulled her mouth to his.
Then groaned at the first touch.
She hesitated. He felt it, then pushed the thought right out of his head as he tightened his arms around her. Her soft purr as she melted against him spurred him on. He kissed her again, fell back onto the floor and brought her with him.
“Pete,” she said against his mouth. “Oh, I shouldn’t…”
Yeah, he shouldn’t either. He was gonna have the mother of all wet dreams on his hands when he woke up, but who the hell cared anymore?
His fingers found the hem of her sweatshirt, and he pushed it up, ran his hands along the smooth skin of her back, around to her ribs. She drew a breath at the slight touch, let it out. Whatever protest had been on her sweet, tempting lips faded as she kissed him back.
His erection sprang to life. He clutched her hips and pulled her tight against him. That sexy purr coming from somewhere deep inside her turned to an achy mew he knew from experience meant she was as desperate for him as he was for her.
He deepened the kiss, knew he’d never last if she kept rubbing up against him like she was doing, if she didn’t lose those clothes and set his pounding arousal free, climb on top of him and take him right here, right now.
Hell, he didn’t even care that in this twisted fantasy he was lying on a cold cement floor, that his head was still throbbing from a monster hangover or that his toes were nearly numb. All he cared about was getting her naked and burying himself inside her until that hot sweet scent of hers surrounded him and she screamed his name and came with a ferocity that…
Wait. He could
smell
her.
Time seemed to stand still as the impact of that realization plowed into him.
His heart ratcheted up a notch. She continued to kiss him while he went cold all over.
In all his delirious fantasies about being with Kat again—the ones he’d never cop to, no matter what—he’d always been able to see her, to feel her, even to taste her to some degree. But never, not once in all the times he’d had this recurring dream, had he ever been able to
smell
her.
Now he could.
She was also on fire. Like liquid heat against his skin where she burrowed closer to him.
You couldn’t smell dreams, and they sure as hell weren’t warm.
Confused, caught between a dream state and reality, he gripped her arms, pushed her back and squinted to look up into a face he’d never expected to see again in this lifetime.
“Kat?” He croaked out the word, didn’t dare move as those wide, molten chocolate eyes ran over his features.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “It’s me.”
No way.
He bolted, not sure what was happening. All he knew for certain was his kinky sex fantasies had never taken this detour into insanity before. He scrambled from the floor and was nearly knocked over by a wave of nausea that made him grip the door handle again to keep from falling to his knees.
She was up and next to him before he could catch his bearings. “I know how this looks, but if you just give me a minute, I can explain.” She sounded frantic. A little scared. And completely wigged out.
Holy fuck. That made two of them. “What the…” The pounding hit his skull again with the force of a jackhammer, and he pressed his fingers against his temples. “This isn’t real,” he muttered to himself as he gave his head a strong shake. “Can’t be real. I’m hung over. Really hung over. That or I’ve got a brain tumor.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “MRI. That’s it. I need a goddamn MRI.”
She reached out for him. “Let me—”
He flinched and jerked away from her hand. If she touched him again he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to think straight. And right now he really needed to clear his damn head so he could figure out just what the hell was going on.
She dropped her arm like he’d burned her, reached up with one hand to wrap her fingers around a pendant of some kind hanging from her neck. “The least you can do is listen to what I have to say, Pete. Believe me, I wouldn’t have dragged you into this if there was any other way.”
He barely heard her words but registered the bite. Though at that moment the only thing he could focus on was the charm hidden in her fist.
He pushed her hand away and fingered the silver medal between her breasts.
St. Jude. Patron saint of lost causes. Kat had always worn it. Never took it off. And the sudden memory of that medal falling against his chest as they made love was as vivid and real as the warm and solid weight now in the palm of his hand.
His eyes shot to her face.
She was real. This was happening, and, holy hell, she was
alive.
The world fell away. He let his instincts rule his body. In a move so fast she gasped, he grabbed her hard, pulled her tight against his chest and kissed her with everything he had in him.
“Kit-Kat,” he mumbled against her lips.
But as quickly as the joy and elation erupted inside him, it fizzled and died.
She was alive. Had been all this time and hadn’t tried to contact him. Not once in six years. Not when he’d blamed himself for what had happened or bawled like a baby over her death or wished like hell he could trade places with her. No, instead of finding him like he would have done if the
situation had been reversed, she’d been living somewhere else, healthy and happy and obviously…whole.
He broke the kiss, pushed her to arm’s length and stared down at her. “You’re alive? After all this time? You’re…alive?”
Her muscles went rigid beneath his hands. “I know this is hard for you to grasp, but I have reasons for everything I’ve done. I didn’t plan any of this tonight. I didn’t plan for you…”
She looked down at his shirt and closed her mouth.
Plan this. Tonight.
Her words ricocheted around in his head as his memory came back in a rush. And with it, reality formed a knot in the pit of his stomach.
“You were at the auction house. You’re the woman I saw in the crowd.” The one he’d chased after like a lovesick fool.
“I—I’d hoped you hadn’t seen me.”
Hadn’t seen her? He dropped his arms. That knot twisted. His brain skipped ahead, flashed on Maria’s mouth against his in the limo, how they’d tumbled to the floor and he’d looked up into the rearview mirror to see eyes that were the same exact color and shape as the ones he was staring into now.
“And in the limo. Was that you, too?”
She nodded slowly. “After I saw them, I just needed five minutes to talk to you. I swear that’s all I wanted, but then everything went to hell and back and,” she threw up her hands, “then I didn’t have a choice.”
A choice?
He suddenly didn’t like where this was heading. This wasn’t the reunion he’d always fantasized about.
Kat tensed, obviously reading his expression. “Before you go getting those half-cocked ideas of yours—”
“Half-cocked ideas?” he snapped. “You’re alive and yet you couldn’t once pick up a goddamn phone and call to
let me know you
hadn’t
died in a car bomb in Cairo after all? What, did it slip your mind?”
His headache took that opportunity to stab him right in the middle of his forehead. He slammed his eyes shut, pressed his fingers to his temples and bent over at the waist to ease the throb. “Son of a bitch.”
“Oh, Pete.” She rushed toward him. “Don’t pass out on me. I can’t handle that again. I don’t even know how much they gave you.”
“Gave me? What the hell are you talking about?”
She stopped inches from touching him with a nervous look in her eyes. “I…um…” When he raised his head to stare at her, she lifted her arms and finally dropped them on a sigh. “A sedative. I don’t know how much you got, but you’ve been out cold for the last five hours.”
He eased up slowly. “Whoa. Wait. Are you saying you
drugged
me?”
She opened her mouth to speak but closed it quickly without answering.
That was when it all hit him. The auction, the limo, the dark, the cold, and her here alive, alone in this room. She hadn’t sought him out. She’d been at the auction for another reason entirely, and something had happened there to force her into ambushing him. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized she’d obviously been playing him from the moment he thought she’d died. Maybe even before that.
And wasn’t that just fucking ironic?
At that moment, with his head pounding and his stomach weak, he didn’t give a flying fuck what she wanted from him or why she’d brought him here. All he could think was that she’d been alive all this time while he’d been…half dead inside.
“I’m outta here.”
He moved back out the door he’d stumbled into, ignoring the shock that flashed across her face. Light from the
room behind him poured into the garage, highlighting the limo and the wall of tools on the far side.
“Pete, wait.”
Yeah, right. Not in this lifetime. Not ever again.
He headed for the massive door on the far wall. Footsteps echoed behind him as he fumbled with the lock, but he didn’t turn, didn’t look at her. Tried like hell not to think of her.
A wave of snow blasted across his face when he managed to get the door open. He held up his hands to block the biting wind, took a few tentative steps out into the snow.
Where was he? No city lights twinkled in the distance. His dress shoes sank into eight inches of powder. He stumbled.
The darkness and never-ending flakes slapping his face made it impossible to see, but the rational side of his brain said if there was a garage—wherever he was—then there had to be a house. And houses had phones.
“Pete! Please come back inside. You’ll freeze out there!”
As juiced as he felt, he didn’t think it was possible to freeze. And no way in hell was he going back in there with her.
Okay, this was stupid.
Kat shivered in the cold air, wrapped her arms around her waist and tried to breathe.
How long had Pete been gone? Two minutes? Three? She couldn’t see him anymore, had no idea at this point which direction he’d gone. He was dressed in a tuxedo, for crying out loud. Considering the frigid temperatures, he wouldn’t last out there long, and he didn’t know where he was or where he was going. Besides all that, there was no way he could see in that blinding blizzard.
He’d figure that all out, right? There were no houses within miles of this property. Woods bordered the north
side, pastures and farmland the other three. Common sense would tell him to come back to the warmth of the garage, wouldn’t it? Even with her there?
She gnawed on the end of her thumbnail, completely unsure what he would say or do next. In her head she rationalized this was a good thing. She finally had the golden pharaoh. He knew she was alive. If something happened to him now, well, at least he’d be partially prepared. He wasn’t her problem anymore. Never really had been, come to think of it.
Her traitorous heart, on the other hand, screamed this was bad news. He could die out there in the cold, or worse, escape and then be found by Busir. Either way, by bringing him with her tonight, she’d just signed his death certificate.
And wasn’t that a peachy thought? Everything she’d done the past six years meant nothing because he was too proud to give her five minutes of his frickin’ time.
She shook off the thought and told herself he’d be back. Once he discovered they were isolated and realized there was no one around to help but her, he’d have no other choice.
At least she hoped so.
She toyed with the medal at her chest. And stupidly thought of that kiss.
Hot
came to mind. Reminiscent of the kisses he’d drugged her with in Cairo, but more urgent. Immediate. Her cheeks heated at just the memory. And like the fool she’d been back then, she’d fallen for it again tonight. Opened for him like a flower, sank into his body. Hadn’t even thought to fight it.
Twice!
Idiot.
Hadn’t she learned her lesson where he was concerned?
Kat stared out into the snow once more and finally gave in to common sense. She couldn’t leave the door
open any longer. Every minute she did, the temperature in the building dropped in increments.
She flipped on the outside light so Pete could find the building in the snowstorm and closed the door. Then she backtracked into the apartment and cranked the furnace up higher, grabbed blankets from the closet and laid them by the register to warm. She went into the closetsized kitchen, found a teakettle and filled it with water.
Having something to do made her feel marginally better. When the water was on the stove heating, she went back to the door to the apartment she’d left open and leaned against the jamb while she waited.
Fifteen minutes passed. Twenty. No sound but the wind howling outside.
Where was he?
As a clock somewhere in the apartment ticked off the long seconds, she bit her lip. Toyed with her medal some more. And though she tried to fight it, couldn’t help but think of the way he’d looked at her tonight when he’d discovered she was really alive. Of the way he’d looked at her from the very beginning.