by Dee Davis
CHAPTER TWENTY
MADISON WOKE with a start, the neon lights from Times Square flashing a pathway of pulsing light across the floor. She could almost feel a tangible beat. The city breathing. She rolled over and stared at the ceiling, her mind turning to the man on the other side of the closed door.
Gabriel Roarke.
Just the thought of his name made her shiver in anticipation. She rolled over onto her stomach and pulled the pillow over her head. What she needed was sleep. Or rather, rest—honest-to-God, peaceful rest.
She flopped onto her back again.
Fat chance of it happening here. She toyed with the idea of getting dressed and going home. Surely her father was gone by now. She even went so far as to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, her eyes lighting on the closed door.
Leaving would mean walking right by him, and just at the moment, she didn't trust herself to successfully make that journey. Which meant she was stuck here until morning.
With a sigh, she stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the street. Even at this hour there was activity below. People walking along, some sauntering in groups, others hurrying, on their way home or off to meet friends.
New York—the city that never sleeps.
She laughed at her own silly thoughts. She'd lived most of her life here, and still she found it oddly foreign, as if she could never predict what might come next. It was exciting, but also a little insular, as if she were marooned in the middle of nineteen million people.
A lonely thought. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.
"I thought I heard you moving around." His voice was as smoky as the night. "Are you all right?"
She sucked in a breath and turned to face him. "I was just feeling alone."
"Part of what you do, I guess." He walked toward her, stepping for a moment into the dancing neon light. He'd pulled on his jeans but hadn't bothered to fasten them, the hair on his chest narrowing to a thin line that disappeared into the open zipper.
"No, it's more than that." She had the fleeting thought that she shouldn't be sharing—that it was too intimate— but the words pushed out of their own accord. "I mean, you're right of course, I do spend a lot of time living in killers' minds. Part and parcel of their nightmares. But this is something more, something I've felt ever since I was a little girl. Silly, I guess, but I've never been able to shake it."
"It's not silly." He took a step toward her, the dark engulfing him again. "I know the feeling. Or at least something like it."
There was always the chance that he was taunting her. In the dark it was impossible to see his face. But some part of her urged her to take the chance. To believe.
"It's almost as if you're alone in a room full of people." He spoke softly, as if to himself. "I spent my entire childhood like that. Always on my own, never trusting anyone. And then somehow it just spilled over into my adult life." She heard him release a breath, a sigh. "You may live in the monster's nightmare, Madison, but I have to live with him. Pretend I am him. And sometimes I wonder if there's anything left of me at all."
"What a pathetic pair we are." Her laughter rang hollow, and she felt the momentary fear that in saying it she'd somehow made it true.
"Not pathetic. Just self-aware." He was slightly mocking now, but the words included them both, giving a sense of connection rather than rejection.
She liked the way it felt. Liked the way the darkness enclosed them, a cloak protecting them against the dangers of the night. As if he'd read her mind, he closed the gap between them. His breath brushed across her face, and then he was kissing her, his hunger only surpassed by her own.
She wound her hands through his hair, savoring its soft, springy texture. They pressed together, the heat of the moment combusting between them in a spiral of passion she hadn't believed existed in the real world.
Everything that was hard and unyielding about him came together in the moment, hot and demanding. And she matched him thrust for thrust as their tongues met and dueled. Each of them striving for power. Possession.
There was a current arcing between them, the connection incendiary. He was a take-no-prisoners kind of man and she reveled in the thought of what that might mean. His hands found the smooth plane of her back beneath the undershirt she slept in, massaging in circles, the friction from his callused palms erotic.
He moved slightly, his mouth trailing kisses along her brow line and down her cheek, finding the soft whorl of her ear, his tongue stroking the tender skin, a prelude of things to come. She pressed closer, feeling him hard against her abdomen, and knew he was aching for her as much as she longed to have him hot and ready inside her.
They danced around in a circle, Madison running her hands along the velvet muscles of his chest, while he felt for the hem of her camisole. She leaned back, lifting her arms, her eyes boring into his. In one fluid movement he stripped away the cotton chemise and, with a swallowed moan, pulled her back into his arms, his skin hot against hers, all velvet and steel.
He kissed her, then bit her bottom lip, the sensation somewhere between pleasure and pain, traveling first to her belly and then trailing fire to the wet place between her legs.
God, she wanted this man.
With a blatancy that surprised her, she slid her hand into the open waistband of his pants, gliding along the smooth skin of his abdomen until her fingers closed around him and moved rhythmically up and down.
With another groan, he swung her up into his arms and moved to the bed, setting her amidst rumpled sheets of cool cotton. She arched her back, her hands on her own breasts, their gazes colliding in a heat that was palpable. She let her hands trail slowly down her stomach to the apex of her thighs, teasingly running a finger across the crotch of her silk panties.
Silvery sparks flashed in his eyes. She shivered in anticipation, watching as he pulled down his jeans, his penis springing free, hard and solid, and one hundred percent male. With a smile that would no doubt melt icebergs, he straddled her, two fingers hooking into the elastic at her waist.
He slid the silk off, and she opened for him, her body humming with a life of its own. Dipping his head, he found the tender crest of one breast, drawing the nipple into his mouth, sucking it with a strength that sent heat rippling from breast to groin.
There was nothing soft about Gabriel Roarke, and she realized that making love with him would be much like dancing with the devil, hot and fierce.
He let his mouth trail lower, his fingers massaging the soft flesh of her inner thighs, his tongue finding the hole in her belly, driving in, pressing skin against skin in a way that made her writhe against him, wanting more. Needing more.
His thumb found the soft skin of her labia, and quickly laid her defenses to waste, his fingers sliding deep inside her, his tongue still twisting into her belly button. She swallowed, the delicious tension inside her ratcheting up to levels beyond anything she'd ever experienced.
His thumb flicked against her like a mischievous feather, and she threw back her head and moaned, the sound guttural, coming from deep inside her. His mouth found her then, tongue replacing thumb in a flittering dance that made her buck against him, then struggle to escape the finely drawn pain he was creating.
But his hands found her hips, cupping her bottom and holding her in place, his tongue moving faster and faster, lightning streaking through her with each and every touch. She wanted more and yet she wasn't certain she could survive the passion he was unleashing inside her.
He sucked then as if she were nourishment, food for his soul, and she climaxed. Sensation, white-hot, breaking in icy shards around her, sending her beyond all reason, internal contractions so powerful that she thought she might die. She fought for breath, her mind swirling, and then cried out as the heat enshrouded her and there was nothing but sensation and the feel of his mouth upon her.
He moved, sliding his body along hers, until they lay pressed together, fitting like two pieces of a puzzle. She reached for him, an
d pulled his lips to hers, the kiss slower than before, but no less hungry. This time she explored the hot crevices of his mouth, the smooth surface of his teeth, feeling the heat rise in her again.
This was a game for two, and with a slow smile, she pushed him back, rolling over to straddle him. He reached for her breasts, the feel of his fingers against her skin exquisite. He rubbed both nipples until they were hard and throbbing, mimicking the shaft that pulsed between her legs.
She tightened her thighs, holding him locked against her vulva, the tiniest wriggle sending pleasure rippling through her.
"I need you, Madison." His words were low, almost a growl, and she marveled at his strength, his male sensuality. "Now."
Her lips curved into a knowing smile, and she enjoyed the moment of control, knowing full well that if he chose, he could change their positions in an instant.
Using her hands and legs she massaged his penis, loving the velvety feel of the head, envisioning it inside her, stroking her, filling her.
With a muffled groan, he lifted her with both hands, and together they worked to impale her. He was big and he filled her completely, her slick passageway stretched tight. Slowly, she slid upward, moving almost to the end, and then down again, pushing to take him deeper.
Amazingly the tension inside her was building again, stronger than before, demanding release, promising pleasure beyond imagination, the only reality the sensation between her thighs.
His hands circled her hips and he began to move with her. Up, down, in, out. Over and over again, deeper and deeper, their eyes locked together, a connection beyond the physical.
The heat between them built, flames of passion licking at them both, winding them tighter and tighter, pulling the thread taut, and then, with a shatter of sparks, sending them both flying toward the sun.
*****
GABRIEL LAY BACK against the sheets, loving the feel of her body against his, her heat mixing with his, their breath twining together as they fought to slow the pounding of their hearts. He'd heard the term "little death" all his life, but he'd never really understood its meaning until now.
Madison had pulled things from him that he'd never even allowed himself to acknowledge. There had been more than a meeting of bodies here. Their climax had been intense, more than physical, his mind coming along with his body, the combination devastating and stimulating all at the same time.
Little death.
He smiled, stroking the damp hair from her face, even that simple gesture pleasurable. She shifted against him, turning her head so that he could see her face. Her eyelids were still half closed, her gaze still clouded with passion. He felt a surge of possessive pride. She was a wildcat. Giving as well as taking. The kind of woman a man dreamed of in the dark lonely hours of the night.
"That was wonderful." A lazy smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, then flickered away as if the movement simply took too much effort. She ran a finger along the plane of his chest, stopping to circle each nipple.
"More than wonderful, Madison." Her name sounded sweet in his ears. "Fucking amazing."
Her lilting laughter was better than any music he could think of. "That's certainly one way of putting it. But I can tell you it's not going to get you into the romantics' hall of fame." Her fingers had moved lower, grazing along his flaccid penis, each stroke awakening the fires inside. "Looks like with a little encouragement you might be up for a second round."
No talk of love and romance for this woman. Instead, she shifted so that she straddled his legs, leaning down to take his penis in her mouth, the wet heat getting an instant response. Her hand circled him just below her lips, and gently squeezed as she sucked, his mind turning to jelly as his hormones hit high gear.
She laved him with her tongue, the rasping almost painful to his over sensitized flesh, but wonderful nevertheless, and he twined his hands through her hair, urging her onward, loving the sight of her taking him deep into her mouth.
The spring inside him wound tighter and tighter, pleasure turning to need, need to desire. He wanted to be inside her. To watch her come even as he did. He moved slightly, pulling her head back, and she sat back on her heels, her eyes meeting his.
"Now?" Her smile was a little wicked, her fingers still kneading him.
He nodded, struggling for words, amazed at the emotions she aroused in him. "If you do that one moment longer it will be too late."
Her grin widened, and she moved to lie on top of him, her knees on either side of his hips, her breasts tickling his chest. Oh God, if there was a heaven, surely this was it. With a groan, he pulled her against him, rolling over so that he was on top, one knee between her legs.
It was his turn to torture, and sliding his fingers deep inside her, he began to move, his thumb flicking against her clit, watching as her laughter faded, replaced with passion. She pushed upward, taking him deeper, and then bit at his lips, forcing her tongue inside his mouth, finding the same rhythm as his fingers, her action reversing their roles yet again. The tortured becoming the temptress.
He moved his hand, and lifted his body, bringing it home with one smooth motion, driving deep, feeling her tighten against him in welcome. He stayed still for a moment, enjoying the simple pleasure of connection, the binding of his body to hers, and then unable to stand it any longer, he began to move, first withdrawing, and then driving deep and then deeper still.
She rose to meet him thrust for thrust, their bodies moving in mirror image, up and down, thrusting, parrying. A dance that drove him to the brink of exaltation. His body tightened in anticipation and then, with no further warning, exploded in a symphony of sound and light, the release beyond pleasure, beyond pain.
Madison arched against him one last time, thrusting upward, pulling him deep inside her. And then, crying his name, she came, her eyes wild, her hands linked with his, her body's shudders engulfing him, humbling him.
And just like that, Gabriel Roarke fell in love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE SUN STREAMED through the window, splashing across the comforter and into Madison's eyes. With a groan, she flopped over, trying to grab a minute more sleep, wanting frantically to hold on to her dreams.
Amazingly erotic dreams. She sighed and ran a hand over her breasts, then sat up, clutching the sheets, reality hitting her like a force ten hurricane. She'd slept with Gabriel Roarke. Well, sleep hadn't exactly been on the agenda. To underscore the fact, her muscles rebelled as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her eyes sweeping the room for some sign of the man.
His jeans were missing from the floor.
Surely a bad thing.
Or was it a good thing? Relief warred with alarm, leaving her giddy. On the one hand, she'd had the most adventurous night of her life. On the other, she'd strayed into dangerous territory. Caring about Gabriel Roarke would be a one-way ticket to heartache.
Despite the amazing connection between them, he'd admitted to being a loner, and more than that, she knew him to be something less than a liberated male. And her last experience in that department was enough to make her run for cover. She'd fought too hard to recover from the damage Rick had inflicted to jump right into that kind of relationship again.
But then, Gabriel wasn't Rick.
Her mind was quite emphatic on the point, and her body echoed the sentiment with a shiver of corporeal memory.
She pushed her hair from her eyes, confusion warring with desire inside her. She didn't regret last night, not one mind-shattering minute of it. She'd even be up for a repeat performance, but not if it cost her her heart.
Of course the point might be moot. Gabriel had apparently had similar qualms, the fact that he was currently MIA mute testament to the hard truth of the matter. The thought hurt a good deal more than she would have liked it to, and she realized that a part of her had already surrendered to the man—to the feelings she had for him.
Damn it all to hell.
She swung out of the bed, defiant in her nudity. Besides, th
ere was no one here to see her. She'd just take a shower, find her clothes, and get back to business as if nothing had changed between them. It'd be a cold day in hell before she'd let him know the power he held over her. A romp in the hay. That's what it was. And that's the way she'd keep it.
Better leave it there than to take it to the next level, where he was sure to revert to the protective nature of the species and object to the risks she took. Again the small voice in her head whispered that he was different. That he understood her need to walk the line. That he was, in fact, a kindred spirit.
But her feelings were too new, too fragile, and she quashed them before they could fully root, determined not to let her heart read more into the night than had honestly been there.
She searched the room for her abandoned clothing, finding her undershirt draped over a lampshade and her panties tangled with the covers at the foot of the bed. Heat crept across her cheeks, and involuntarily she raised her hand to her face, reliving every moment of the night before.
What the hell had she been thinking?
She hadn't, of course, that was the point. She hadn't been thinking at all. With a sigh, she sank down on the bed, her bravado vanishing as quickly as it had come. She wasn't the type to sleep around. And certainly not with a colleague. And yet, here she was—sitting in a hotel room without a stitch of clothing after a night of.. .well, suffice it to say, great satisfaction.
Sitting alone.
That was the operative word, really, wasn't it? Despite the connection they'd had the night before, he hadn't seen fit to greet the day with her. Instead he'd left her here, on her own, making him no different than any other man in her life.
With a sigh, she pulled on her panties. She was back where she started. And if she lied to herself, she could accept the fact that it had been a great ride. But a part of her, a part she tried to keep sequestered, wanted more. Wanted last night to be about something beyond sex. Something spiritual as well as physical. Something romantic.
