Cold Memory

by Leslie A. Kelly

  Gypsy would probably have been with them, if not for the fact that she only needed one person right now. They were in his car, heading to her house where they would finally begin the journey both of them had been wondering about.

  She hoped that journey was a long one. She hoped it went on for more than just tonight. But no matter what, she was going to enjoy the ride for as long as it lasted.

  As they cruised through the quiet, small town streets, where the traffic lights changed to just a blinking yellow at nine o’clock, she looked for a voice inside her that said she was crazy to be doing this, now of all times. There was none. The only voice she could hear was the one saying now was the best of times. Because now was all you were guaranteed to have. The past two weeks had proven that. If you didn’t take the now because you feared the tomorrow, what was the point in living at all? Eventually you’d only regret all the things you missed on all those empty yesterdays full of opportunities lost.

  She reached across in the darkness, broken only by the soft illumination of the dashboard, and took his hand. It was protected by leather armor right now. Soon, though, they’d be in her home, surrounded by her things, and he would be utterly vulnerable.

  Then again, so would she, in so many ways.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Oh, hell yes,” he said, replying so quickly she’d barely finished asking the question. “What about you?”

  She took a little longer before slowly nodding. “Yeah.”

  “Even though I’m not the normal guy you want in your life?”

  “I didn’t say I had to have a totally normal guy in my bed.”

  He grinned. “Kinky, huh?”

  She punched him in the upper arm. Funny way to treat the guy you were dying to have sex with, but then their relationship had always had a sort of Lucy/Charlie Brown element.

  “I mean, yes, I’ve always wanted family, a quiet life, completely normal with nothing strange or bizarre like a carnival sideshow for a backyard.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, well, I might still want all of those things tomorrow, or next week. But for tonight, Mick Tanner, I just want you.”

  “I can live with that.”

  What man couldn’t? Of course, he wasn’t like most men.

  “Are you going to be okay with your, you know, thing?”

  He looked over at her, his jaw falling. She snickered. “I meant with your, you know, hand thing.”

  It was one thing for him to touch her—for those delicious hands to roam all over her naked body. When they weren’t making love, however, he would find himself in a strange environment, and would have to go back to putting up self-protective barriers.

  “Gypsy, as long as you’re okay, so am I,” he said. “I will try to respect your privacy, and if I touch anything that leads me into your intimate thoughts, I’ll let go, and I’ll tell you.” He laughed softly. “But I suspect anything I touch is just going to reveal what I already know.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “That you’re crazy about me.”

  “Pretty cocky, Tanner. Just like always.”

  “Look who’s talking. You always were one to take crazy chances.” He lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to the back of it. “Thank you for taking another one tonight.”

  Oh, he could say the sexiest, sweetest, heart-meltingest things. Her insides quivered, like she was a teenage virgin and had just felt a man’s lips on her for the first time ever. Mick’s mouth was soft, sexy, knowing. She had no doubt he could do remarkable things with it—his kisses alone were enough to make her turn into a quivering mess.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Honestly? I’m thinking about kissing you. About how good you tasted last night.”

  “I had to get back in the shower after you were gone.”

  She suspected it had been a cold one. She’d felt the need for that herself, even though it had taken her ninety minutes to drive back to her place in Florida.

  Gypsy didn’t live too far from the hospital, which was near downtown Ocean Whispers. She pointed out each turn, and within minutes, they were pulling into the driveway of her small, single-story house. It wasn’t much—a standard Florida three/two with peach stucco and hibiscus plants out front. But it was hers. She owned it, and she was proud of that. She was also very protective of it, of her privacy, and had never before invited a man inside.

  That was probably a very good thing, tonight. If he did put his hand on a hornet’s nest, the stings would only be from her mind, not from anyone else’s.

  As they got out of the car, she suddenly laughed. “Hey, no touching the basket of yarn on the floor of my closet.”

  “Why, did you do something perverted with it?”

  “My mother sent it when she was in this weird crafty phase. I hate knitting, and did a lot of fantasizing about poking people with those knitting needles.”

  He chuckled as they went up the walk. She unlocked the door, pushed it open and led him inside, flipping on a light. Mick stopped there, looking around, his smile widening.

  He approved.

  Looking at her home through his eyes, she suspected she understood why.

  “I guess you can tell I’m not much of a house decorator.”

  “Believe me, minimalist is my favorite style.”

  Yes. Less of everything meant less for him to touch.

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  He took her hat off her head and flung it like a Frisbee across the room. “Where’s your bedroom?”

  Gypsy cleared her throat and licked her lips, wondering how she could suddenly be nervous. She’d been thinking about having sex with him for days, and had been planning on it during the drive here.

  He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Never mind, I’ll find it.”

  Without warning, he bent down and scooped her up into his arms, holding her new-bride style. Gypsy squealed and struggled.

  “Stop wiggling before I drop you on that curvy ass of yours.”

  “You can’t carry me. Nobody’s ever carried me. I’m too big.”

  He chuckled as he easily walked down the back hallway that led toward the three bedrooms. “I think I can handle it.”

  Oh, yes, he definitely could. With her arms wrapped around his neck, and her hands digging into the taut, flexing muscles across his back and shoulders, she had no doubt he could handle just about anything. For a lean guy, he hid a lot of power. But he wasn’t hiding it tonight.

  He reached the end of the hall, chose correctly, and kicked open the door to her bedroom. Three more strides, and he’d reached the bed. Tossing her onto it, he stayed standing, looking down at her.

  “I want to see you.”

  “There’s a lamp on the table.

  He didn’t turn it on at first. As her eyes adjusted, aided by the light from the hallway, she watched him begin to pull off his gloves.

  Sexy. How could something so easy be so sexy? She had never completely understood the whole point of a sultry striptease that men so enjoyed. But just watching Mick Tanner tugging his tight-fitting gloves off his hands was so erotic, she had to clench her thighs together.

  It was anticipation, that’s what did it. She couldn’t wait for those strong hands to be revealed, for those fingers to stroke her, those palms to rub all over her.

  Before that, though, he reached for the lamp and flicked the switch with his bare fingers.

  “Oh,” she breathed, knowing why he’d done it.

  He was proving something. Proving he trusted her, and asking her to trust him.

  She nodded slowly. “Come into my bed, Mick Tanner.”

  Come let your body be wrapped in these sheets that have never been slept in by another man. Lay down on a pillow that’s never held any head but mine.

  Hold onto the headboard tight as you slam into my body.

  Not said. But completely understood.

  He wore a long-sleeved, button down shirt, and begin t
o flick each button open. Again, that slow, subtle tease built her tension and her anticipation. By the time he’d shrugged it off and tossed it to the floor, revealing a powerful chest with a light swirl of hair, and those amazing shoulders and thick biceps, she was dying for him. Dying.

  “Come here,” she insisted.

  “Nuh uh.” He unfastened his belt, and then his jeans.

  Gypsy rose to her knees on the bed, wanting to reach out and help. But he shook his head again. “You’re wearing a few too many things.”

  She batted her lashes and crawled to the edge of the bed, reaching for his hips and hooking her thumbs in his jeans. Tugging him closer, she teased, “Well, sir, I’m afraid I don’t have any pasties on under these clothes, or a feather boa to wrap around my most wicked parts the way Gypsy Rose Lee and the wicked Esmerelda did. If I start undressing, I might just have to take it all off.”

  “There is a God,” he mumbled as he sunk his hands in her hair, twining his fingers in, stroking it, letting it slide through his grip. “God I love your hair.”

  “Thank you.”

  Hearing the primness in her voice, Mick laughed. “That’s so un-Gypsy like.”

  “Okay. How’s this. Thank you, Mick. Would you like to feel my hair spread all over your big, hard cock?”

  He groaned, “Oh, fuck yes,” pulling her closer, until her head rested against his stomach.

  She smiled against his bare skin, tracing her tongue across the rippling muscles crisscrossing his middle. He was still wearing his unfastened jeans, which hung on his lean hips. She used the belt loops to tug the pants down, following them with her lips and tongue as they went away. She pulled away enough to admire the way he filled out the tight boxer briefs below, feeling hungry and needy as she saw how very much he wanted her.

  How very, very much.

  She reached for the elastic, and began to tug, kissing and nibbling as that rigid erection was revealed. “Umm,” she moaned. “Mine.”

  He quivered as she flicked her tongue out to taste the tip of him, and responded by pulling a step away. Ripping her shirt open, sending buttons flying everywhere, he pushed her back onto the bed and followed, kissing his way down her chest and burying his face in her cleavage.

  “Umm. Mine.”

  Instead of pulling her bra off and giving her the kind of deep, wet, hungry kiss she wanted on her aching nipples, he moved back up, gliding his tongue up her throat, her chin, and back to her lips. Their mouths crashed together in a deep kiss, tongues tasting and tangling.

  Mick didn’t take his mouth from hers as he slid his hand down her body, his groan telling her how much he enjoyed the sensation. Being a tactile person, who loved the feel of silky underthings beneath her starched uniforms, who liked to stroke the velvet softness of a rose petal, and sink into hot, steamy baths, she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be unable to explore the world through touch. It wasn’t that Mick couldn’t, not entirely, but for much of his life, he’d had to confine himself with using his hands to explore only things he knew were safe.

  She wanted to lift that burden from him, if he would let her. If she had the chance, she would do whatever she could to build a world he could easily live in. And touch. She would love to do that for him. Because…because she was falling in love with him.

  Bratty, bad-ass Gypsy had fallen head over heels for the pesky kid who’d once blackmailed her.

  “Not a kid anymore, though, are you?”

  “No ma’am,” he said, finally moving his mouth to the front of her bra and scraping his tongue across her nipple. She arched up toward him, wanting more, silently begging for more. He pulled the strap off her shoulder, tugging the lace away, licking and sucking her into incoherence before moving to pay attention to her other breast.

  “You smell good, you taste good. But mostly, Gyp, you feel so goddamned good.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for another long, hungry, soul-stealing kiss. Their mouths were still joined as he unfastened her pants and began pushing them down. They only pulled apart long enough for him to strip her bare, and himself, too, and come back between her spread legs.

  “Touch me, every inch of me,” she asked, wanting his hands on her. Wanting him to have her body on his hands, knowing how much pleasure that would give him.

  He complied, thoroughly exploring her, tasting, plumping, biting, stroking. Not an inch of her was left unsampled, and she was quivering with need for him to touch a little longer here, and a little harder there.

  He laughed when she tried to urge him, ignoring his own need, which had to be powerful indeed judging by the thick, hard cock pressing against her legs. Laughed and continued his thorough exploration. Building the anticipation. Making her wait. Making them both wait.

  “You’re as bad as a stripper,” she told him. “Tease.”

  “I’m being selfish,” he said. “I just can’t seem to stop indulging myself.”

  She feigned a heavy sigh and threw herself back onto the pillow. “Well, if you must…”

  “I must,” he whispered, moving to her inner thighs, kissing her, breathing on her, stroking her. He used his tongue to bring her to a fast, hard climax, his fingers sliding into her as she rode it out. But instead of moving back between her legs and plunging into her to gain his own release, he simply went back to his conquest of her body.

  She’d never been with a man who was so patient, who so enjoyed every caress. His ability—perhaps a curse in the rest of his life—proved a delightful gift here, in her dark, soft bed, in the dark, soft hours. He showed his physical delight in exploring her with whispers of how beautiful she was, how hot, how desirable.

  “I’ve never touched anything in my life that feels better than you,” he said as he returned from his journeys across the valleys and plains of her body.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips, tugging him close, needing him, desperate for him.

  “I want you. Take me, Mick, please.”

  He did. Covering her mouth with his, he sunk into her, making a place for himself in her body, just as he’d made a place for himself in her bed, her home, her life. And, she knew, her heart.

  Dumbo. Who’d have ever thought it?

  Like everyone else with D’Onofrio Brothers, Penny had been shocked and horrified to hear about Shep’s murder, and Franklin Bell’s heart attack. She was visiting her mother when Val called to break the news. He’d been staying at the carnival, to keep an eye on things. She’d been staying at the Jacksonville place, trying to stay off the detectives’ radar.

  Gypsy had told her she would work something out. In the meantime, she was to remain out of the area, if possible. Sooner or later the detectives would remember her and try to get in touch, but so far, she had lucked out. Her interview had apparently been shoved on their back burner; they hadn’t even tried to call her, judging by her phone log.

  Now, though, with what had happened today, she didn’t want to stay away any longer. She wanted to be there, with the people who’d welcomed her so warmly. She wanted to share in in their worry, and their grief, as they held their collective breath and prayed for the carnival owner, and as they cried over the death of another of their own.

  Val had told her not to come. A few hours later, though, when she couldn’t reach him on his cell, she decided to go anyway. It was after ten p.m. when she started driving, heading straight for the carnival. It had been many hours since Shep’s body had been discovered—on the slide, God!—and she hoped that the investigators would be finished by now. If not, she definitely intended to stay out of sight, concealed in darkness over with the people who were probably gathered around Frank’s office.

  Getting off at the Ocean Whispers exit, she drove the familiar route. She hoped to be driving this again regularly very soon; if the carnival didn’t reopen, she didn’t know what they would do.

  Rounding a curve, she was a bit caught off guard that the Ferris wheel and the other rides were so brilliantly unlit on
this moonless black night. She saw their metal outlines—huge skeletons in a silent cemetery—which made her feel even worse.

  Pulling into the residents’ parking lot, she was surprised by the darkness on this side of the lot, too. Few lights shone from within homes. No people milled around outside, whispering about the tragedies, which seemed like a curse on the carnival at this point. There were no metal trash barrels filled with wood for outdoor fires, no beers being passed around, no hugs and wails and tears. It was as if the whole place had been deserted.

  “Where the heck is everyone?” she murmured, before realizing that, of course they would all be at the hospital. Frank might have had his heart attack hours ago, but there was no way his big, extended family would leave until they knew for sure he was going to be okay. And who knew how long heart surgery would take?

  “Dumb, Penny. Really dumb.”

  Realizing she didn’t know where the nearest hospital was located, she pulled out her phone to call her brother for directions. Before she could even turn it on, though, she heard a sound.

  No. Not a sound. A scream. It cut through the damp night air, echoing a little from across the field. Loud. Terrified.

  Somewhere at the Winter Carnival.

  “Oh my God, not again,” she whispered as her heart exploded and a fight or flight instinct urged her to turn around and flee.

  Her body started to do it, her feet arching toward the parking lot and taking her body with them, before her mind engaged and she skidded to a stop.

  She couldn’t do that this time. She couldn’t run.

  The other day, with Jersey, there had been no screams, no sounds at all indicating he might have been alive. Nor had she been alone—there had been loads of people, including a cop, within close running distance.

  Another scream. And nobody else anywhere near here but Penny.

  She considered getting into her car, locking the doors, calling 911 for help, and waiting for the cavalry to arrive.

  She considered getting into her car, locking the doors, driving to the nearest well-lit store with lots of people, asking them to call 911, and waiting for the cavalry to arrive