Changed (Second Sight)

by Hunter, Hazel

  Whether Geoffrey told the truth or not didn’t matter. Mac wasn’t going to take a chance. He headed toward the sound of the sirens.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “MAC, REALLY,” ISABELLE said for probably the fourth time. “I’m fine.”

  If she’d have let him, he’d have carried her up the stairs. He was nearly doing that now with his arm around her waist. They stopped in front of the apartment’s front door as Mac took the keys from his pocket and unlocked it.

  “The doctor said it could be as many as twelve hours,” Mac said, shepherding her through the door.

  She wore his jacket, had actually woken up underneath it in the back of an ambulance. Though she’d been disconcerted and groggy, she hadn’t felt nauseous or even dizzy. Even so, Mac had insisted on a blood test. Several people at the commune had already begun to show the first signs of botulism poisoning.

  “Mac, you’re sure they’ll be okay?” she said as he closed the door. “The women in the kitchen?”

  “Yes,” he said turning to her and taking her by the shoulders. “Really. The medics gave them antitoxins and the babies ought to be just fine. Apparently neither the medicine or the food poisoning cross the placental barrier. They’ll be sick for a while but hopefully that’s all.”

  Even now Isabelle couldn’t quite process it.

  Maurice had tried to kill them all. Men, women, children. Everyone. When they’d taken him and Geoffrey away, Maurice had been incoherent and babbling. Isabelle had to grimace at the image of Geoffrey’s damaged and swollen face.

  “Still no memory of what happened?” Mac asked.

  Isabelle shook her head. She’d been trying to remember all the way home.

  “No,” she said, holding the jacket closed in front of her. “The last thing I remember is being on the deck with…”

  She didn’t need to remind Mac.

  He nodded but she saw his jaw muscles flexing furiously and his fingers tightened on her shoulders.

  Though she’d thought the reading of Daniel and Botox would have to do with Geoffrey, it turned out that Botox was actually a form of botulism. Daniel had ferreted out Maurice’s intentions while he’d snooped around on every computer in the commune. The Botox purchases, the lab equipment, Maurice’s notes. He knew what Maurice might be up to. What still wasn’t clear was whether Daniel knew who he was.

  Dr. Maurice Giraudot had once run a fertility clinic in Florida. Accusations that he’d fathered the children of some of the infertile couples had swirled around the clinic in its final months. A medical assistant had gone missing and then the entire business had burnt to the ground in a horrendous fire.

  “I can’t believe Daniel knew what Maurice intended,” Isabelle said quietly.

  Or maybe she just didn’t want to believe it. Had he changed so much or had she never really known him?

  She shook her head.

  Or maybe it’s me who’s changed.

  Once upon a time she’d been content to be with a man who’d insisted on the gloves. She looked down at them. And now, with Mac–a man that she’d never even dared to dream existed–he wanted the gloves off as much as she did. Except that now, it might not be possible.

  “It’s possible he didn’t know,” Mac said. “You read Botox, not botulism.”

  Isabelle blinked, coming back to the present.

  Yes, she thought, Botox. It’d been how Geoffrey had been poisoned. As she and Mac had suspected, he’d been receiving injections for his face. What he didn’t know was that the last dose had been lethal. Because the repeated Botox shots would have granted him some immunity from the commune’s poisoning, Maurice had administered a deadly injection from which only the antitoxin had saved him.

  “Either way,” Mac said, putting his arms around her. “You were the key.”

  “Me?” she said, looking up at him. “No.”

  “If it hadn’t been for your readings,” Mac said smiling, “there’s no telling how many people might have died.”

  Isabelle shook her head smiling a little.

  “You were the one who discovered the botulism,” she said, still holding the jacket wrapped around her. “You were the one who figured out they were selling babies.”

  She thought of Daniel again and what he had tried to do. She shuddered.

  “Are you cold?” Mac asked, his eyebrows knitting together. “Are you feeling nauseous?”

  “Mac,” she said. “Honestly, I’m fine. I just…”

  “What?” he said quickly. “Do you need to lie down? Are you–”

  “I just want to take a shower,” she said. She looked down at his jacket, the shiny, black material draping to nearly her knees. “And I think we’ll need to have this cleaned.” He frowned a bit and cocked his head at her. “It smells of…well, Geoffrey.”

  •••••

  Maybe it was a good thing that Isabelle didn’t remember. Frankly, Mac hoped she never did. As she slipped off his jacket, Mac saw her ripped blouse. Though his anger flared, the image of Geoffrey laying in his own urine quickly tempered it. Mac took the jacket from her. In the rush of finding her and discovering the botulism, he’d ignored the smell but Isabelle was right. Geoffrey’s cologne was all over it because he’d been all over–

  Isabelle took off the ruined blouse as well.

  “I think this has to go in the trash,” she said, letting it fall on the floor.

  “Right,” Mac muttered, staring at her.

  Her hands went behind her and he heard the zipper of her skirt. Then that fell to the floor too. As she stepped out of it, she held out her gloved hand to him for support and he took it in his. The image of her laying unconscious flashed into his mind.

  “When I saw you there,” he said lowly. She’d been taking off her heels but paused. “I saw that you still had your gloves on.” He took a deep breath. “And I was relieved,” he said, exhaling. “It was strange. It was so important.” He looked at her hand in his, ran his thumb over the back of it, rumpling the fabric of her glove. “I didn’t want anyone else to…or for you to know anyone…” He shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “I do,” she said, both her hands closing over his, as she drew him toward the hallway. “I know exactly.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE STEAMY MIST from the warm water drifted through the bathroom. As Isabelle took off her bra, she watched Mac unbuckle his belt and drop his pants to the floor. Then came the too-tight shirt. He quickly peeled it up, past the corrugated leanness of his flat abdomen. His mounded pecs stretched upward but the fabric caught around his broad shoulders. After just a moment, though, the shirt cleared his head. Isabelle had paused but quickly slipped off her panties–and stopped.

  She stared at her gloves.

  His security clearance. I can’t wear these in the shower.

  She glanced at the water-beaded glass and then at the bathroom door.

  “We can’t live,” Mac said, fixing her with his gaze, “for a moment that may never come.”

  For a few seconds, Isabelle could only stare at him as she processed what he’d said. He’d known exactly what she was thinking. It was almost like being read. Though they hadn’t talked about his work, suddenly it felt as though they had. There was always the chance she might read something she shouldn’t–something she couldn’t.

  “But Mac,” she began.

  He closed the distance and gently pulled them together.

  “That’s not really living,” he said.

  She quickly shook her head.

  “Even if that’s true,” she said. “It’s better than the alternative. It’s better than–”

  “But that’s just it,” Mac said, caressing her face. “You can’t lose me anymore than I can lose you.” He took her face between both his hands. “How, Isabelle, after everything we’ve been through,” he said lowly, “can you still think you’re the only one who feels like that?”

  She blinked at him, at the raw intensity in the quiet questi
on, at the torrent of emotions that it suddenly unleashed: a painful pang of regret; a staggering rush of relief; and a swell of love so deep and so strong that… There could only be one answer to Mac’s question.

  Isabelle unfastened the clasp on her glove. As Mac looked down, he let go of her face. Her hands shook as though she’d never done this before but as the first glove came off, Mac held out his hand. Slowly, she laid the trembling material in it. The second one came off easier and, with a slow and deep breath, she laid it on top of the first. Mac’s gorgeous smile said everything–beaming and infectious–and she had to smile nervously in return. But as he turned to place the gloves on the counter, Isabelle saw his upper back. Deep purple bruises covered his shoulder blade.

  “Mac?” she said quietly as she instinctively reached out to him. The reading began immediately. No sooner had her vision gone gray than an excruciating pain stabbed between her shoulders. “No,” she muttered, arching her back to get away from it. She gasped at the ache in her ribs. She saw Mac’s big hands twist someone’s shoe. The back of his head throbbed with a sharp pain.

  “Isabelle,” he said and she felt his fingers around her wrist.

  Though the reading ended, the pain lingered.

  “What…” she gasped. “What happened to you?”

  His arms wound around her, his skin warm against hers, which was suddenly clammy.

  “What happened to me?” he said. There was a pause. “Oh that.”

  “Your back,” she said, careful not to touch him. “There was a fight?”

  The images began to slot into place. There had been a fight. Two men and…Darren?

  “Mac,” Isabelle breathed, her vision still a murky gray. “Are you okay? Your ribs–”

  “I’m fine,” he said, rocking her gently.

  He hugged her a little tighter.

  “But the pain,” she insisted. “It’s not fine.”

  “Isabelle,” he said. “Trust me. It’s fine.” She felt his hand caress the side of her face and she closed her sightless eyes to his gentle touch. “In fact,” he said lowly. “I’ll prove it.”

  She felt his body flex and lean toward her. And, as she curved hers to match, their lips slowly and softly met. Full and throbbing, his lips pulsed with life. He kissed her gently, moving his mouth sensually over hers. Their lips moistly clung as he lingered, before capturing her upper lip between his.

  Though the reading had faded, even Mac’s long, drugging kiss couldn’t shake the memory of the pain, the betrayal by Darren, the attack of those two men.

  Mac had never said a word.

  But as his mouth continued to stroke hers and his muscled chest pressed into her, Isabelle found herself being moved backward toward the waiting water. For a moment, she’d forgotten why they were even here. Slowly, he helped her over the threshold and, as the warm water poured down her back, she heard the shower door close.

  •••••

  Mac took his time. Though the stench of Geoffrey was everywhere, Mac remembered another shower when he’d been in a maddened rush–a downright frenzy. He kept his lips on Isabelle’s as long as possible. Soft as petals, he could have kissed them forever. But as the warm water began to flow through her long, black hair, he let her go.

  Though he’d sensed her eyesight had returned, he watched as she turned to the water, reached for the shampoo and began to wash her hair. Sheets of water cascaded down her sinuous back. He took the soap, lathered it in his hands, and gently massaged it into her shoulders. Though she paused and Mac thought he heard her sigh, her fingers began to rinse the suds from her hair. Slowly, Mac worked his way down to her hips, her buttocks, then her thighs. His fingers slid through the soapy film, around her soft and curving flesh. He knelt on one knee, the spatter of mist wetting him, as he smoothed his slippery hands all the way down to her ankles. He smiled to himself as the memory of his first impression of her came to mind–that of her shapely legs.

  As she finished rinsing her hair, she revolved in place and tilted her head back. Water cascaded from the tips of her bare breasts. The plump mounds shimmered in front of him as Mac’s slick hands wound their way upward: over the fronts of her thighs, around her round hips, and under the swelling flesh. Isabelle’s lips parted with a gasp as he gently palmed and then kneaded them. They were soft in his grasp, tender, and, as he stroked the velvety, pink tips, they quickly tightened and turned a dusky rose.

  Her breathing quickened and, as her diaphragm flexed in and out and the skin there glistened and seemed aglow, Mac knew he had to taste it. He released one breast, drew her hips forward, and laid his open mouth on her. Mac closed his eyes to the incredible sensation–like warm, sweet honey. Trickles of water drifted past his lips which began to gnaw into her. His tongue sampled her, lapped at her, and traced a slow, steady line downward. One taste led to another as he alternately sucked and nibbled. As his tongue dipped into her navel, he felt her tense and his arousal throbbed in return.

  As both his hands slid to her hips, his tongue pressed lower. Like a man who’d only just discovered he was starving, he devoured the creamy flesh between her hips, his nose pressing into her, inhaling the fresh scent of clean skin. Though his hardened shaft ached to fill her, there was no stopping him now. He moved lower still, into the soft mound of wet curls, and finally over the edge. And, as the tip of his tongue probed into her soft cleft, a ragged gasp escaped Isabelle.

  “Oh, god,” she whispered.

  •••••

  Tiny points of light flashed behind Isabelle’s closed eyes. The heated tension in her abdomen had coiled impossibly tight. Her skin seemed as though it were on fire. And, as she automatically widened her stance, the sweet warmth of Mac’s mouth between her legs threatened to completely melt her.

  Just as a moan was forced from her throat, Mac’s tongue touched her in a place that was suddenly needy and too sensitive all at the same time. Her breath caught.

  Pleasure flooded into her mound, her abdomen, and rocketed up her core. Her breasts ached with it. Her lungs burned with it and, as she steadied herself with fists against the shower’s tile, she shuddered. As though in answer, Mac’s tongue fluttered across her sweet spot. She groaned at the intensity, the molten need he’d stoked. Her hips needed to grind. Her body had to find release. She had to have Mac inside her.

  But not yet.

  As she wound her fingers into his hair and began to pull him up, she quickly lowered herself.

  •••••

  Mac was a moment getting oriented as the water that had bathed Isabelle’s back washed over his chest but, as her hand closed around his arousal, he put a hand to the wall to steady himself.

  She had to be reading him, touching him like this–

  Suddenly, her lips were on him.

  He sucked in air through his teeth as his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. Warm and soft along the rigid shaft of him, her mouth caressed him. But her stroking tongue was like fire along his already super-heated length. His heart went wild as she scorched him with her lips and cupped him with her hand. Blood roared in his ears, pounding, deafening. Wildfire surged through his groin just as her mouth claimed the engorged tip.

  It was too much.

  He tried to tell her to stop but he couldn’t find his voice. Ecstasy throbbed so deeply and so fiercely that his other hand landed hard on the wall with the other as he struggled not to explode. Isabelle stroked him and licked him, pleasure and pain spiraling together, until his last shred of self-control was nearly gone.

  And as a tortured, primal groan erupted from his chest, Mac suddenly reached down and roughly pulled Isabelle up his body. In one swift motion, he dragged her thigh to his hip, pressed her abdomen against his, and sank himself home.

  •••••

  With Mac’s ferocious groan still echoing in her ears, Isabelle felt him surge up into her. She clung to his neck, unable to see, except for the wildly, erotic images flowing through her senses. Nothing remained from the day. Only
savagely carnal images filled him as their bodies finally came together. He saw himself thrusting; his penetration deep; claiming her body, possessing it, filling it.

  Even as his plunging thrust lifted her, her body answered his. The aching, anguished need he’d built in her erupted like a blow. Frenetic, staccato pumping seized her hips and she felt Mac losing control as his body responded in overdrive.

  They were merging. In her thoughts. In his. In the way he imbedded himself into the deepest part of her.

  He groaned over and over as he fiercely ground his molten member into her. She breathlessly gasped as air leapt from her lungs. She whimpered and writhed. And Mac thundered into her, faster and harder.

  Wild desperation shot through her. She clutched his shoulders, losing herself with each frenzied thrust. He swelled inside her as a sweet but painful sensation suddenly blossomed.

  She could barely breathe.

  And then, whether it was Mac’s voice or his mind, Isabelle didn’t know. But his words pierced the frantic pounding of their bodies as clearly as though he’d spoken.

  “Give me all of you, Isabelle.”

  Her release was immediate as Mac’s climax slapped up into her. She screamed against his throat as rhythmic convulsions seized her lower body. Overwhelming spasms surged through her, along his swollen shaft, exquisite, intolerable. Lightning bolts of pleasure, so pure it was blinding, suddenly shattered them.

  Mindless ecstasy took over as their bodies thrashed. They rode the glorious waves, breathless, as it swept them over the edge. Though Isabelle still clung to Mac, oblivion claimed her. A dizzying explosion of feelings, hers or Mac’s she didn’t know, didn’t care, crashed through her. It left her lightheaded, as though she might float. Time slipped away and the only sensation was the harsh rush of their breath. As a last groan of male satisfaction rumbled in Mac’s chest, Isabelle found herself exhaling in a breath of final completion.