Melanie realized that if she had hoped that the process of washing dishes, no matter how unusually they were put away, or their few minutes of conversation would have eased her anxiety, would have soothed her chaotic thoughts, she found she’d been destined for failure. The proximity to him, the warm water, the floating service, the sudden tense silence all only conspired to exacerbate the jagged-edge uncertainty that raged inside her.
No matter how much she might delay, three place settings and a couple of pans had only taken so long to clean. And no matter how much she might wish the night over, the morning dawning, her heart was beating in staccato rhythm, her lips were dry and her breath shallow and reedy. Because the raw truth was, she did want to fulfill her part of the bargain. She did want the night spent in Teo Sandoval’s arms. No matter how wanton that might make her seem, no matter how foolish, she wanted to feel his lips upon hers, wanted him to make love to her.
Even though he frightened her senseless.
When it was perfectly obvious that nothing was left to be washed, and nothing was left to be said, Teo turned and left the room. Melanie watched him go with near heart-stopping reaction, felt she could see him still despite the closed door. Her legs were trembling, her hands shaking so hard she could scarcely manage to fold the already wrung dishcloth. She set it over the faucet and still couldn’t make herself leave the kitchen.
Slowly, silently, the kitchen door swung back open. But Teo wasn’t there. It was an announcement, an invitation. A command.
Feeling as though her body belonged to someone else, Melanie found herself moving through the doorway into the large living room. She walked as far as Teo’s bedroom doorway.
She stopped, shocked to discover he’d already removed his shirt, was standing in the center of the room, barefoot, his broad, muscled chest naked and covered in a fine dusting of black hair. His long dark hair hung loose on his shoulders, his eyes locked into hers.
A single candle was burning on the bedside table. The flame seemed to flicker along Teo’s burnished skin, reflecting in his muscles, rippling along his torso, his shoulders.
She felt her mouth go even drier. And she experienced an odd longing to lightly brush the hair on his chest with her hands, discover if it was as soft as it looked.
“I can’t do this,” she blurted out suddenly, and didn’t bother to explain what she meant. She wanted to join him—he’d never know how much—but she needed more than a cold-blooded bargain. She craved to know him as a man, but not as payment to El Rayo.
Teo never moved, never shifted his eyes from hers as the door softly snicked closed behind her. She didn’t need to turn to see its blank face, its dark portend.
“I…I need to be able to listen for Chris,” she said desperately. What was she saying? That she would stay with him, but to keep the door open? What was there about the door closing that seemed to make her teeter over the edge of decision?
“I can hear him,” Teo rasped, obliterating that objection. He stepped forward. And yet again, until he stood only inches from her. She could smell the herbal mixture he must use for shampoo, the wine they’d shared for dinner, felt the sharp tingle of electricity that seemed to be emanating from him. Or was it coming from herself, joining him in some unique chemistry that the two of them seemed to share?
“I was wrong,” she said. “I mean it. I can’t do this.”
Again he didn’t answer, but lifted a large hand to her face. Lightly, slowly, he traced the curve of her cheek, her jaw, with the edge of his thumb. He outlined her lips, her eyebrows and the wildly throbbing pulse in the hollow of her collarbone.
She stood there as though hypnotized. And perhaps she was, but she couldn’t delude herself that it was Teo doing the hypnotizing, except by his feather-soft touch, his deliberate reflective caress.
“You are a beautiful woman, señora.” His lips curved in a near mocking smile. “I’m very pleased you accepted my terms.”
She swallowed heavily and wanted to tell him that she no longer did accept them. She even parted her lips but hesitated when he lightly flicked one of his own fingers with his tongue then shifted the moisture to her lips, massaging them softly, meaningfully.
Melanie was never more frightened in her life. And never wanted to lean into any touch as much as she did at that moment.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Teo fought the desire raging through him, fought to rein in the storm. He had never felt more truly El Rayo than tonight, than now. God, let me have some measure of control, he thought. But how could any man even pretend control around a woman as beautiful and as vulnerable as Melanie Daniels, especially when she stood inches from him, her lips parted, her breath coming and going raggedly?
And most especially when she had come inside this room knowing full well what he expected from her, what she had agreed to offer.
He wanted to crush her to him, to take and take and take. To drown himself in her. And for a few precious hours, make believe he was like any man with a lovely woman, pretend that sharing himself could come naturally, that touch could be a viable part of his life.
But in such a pretense a union with her would have to be one derived from mutual desire, reciprocal agreement. And he’d forced her to accept his terms…day and night. And now she was saying she couldn’t comply. Didn’t she understand anything about him? He didn’t need her compliance. He could strip her naked with a glance, pin her against a wall—or to his bed—with a stray thought.
She’d agreed to his damnable bargain, and he’d be more than damned if he released her from it now.
“Señora…” he murmured, still not taking his eyes from her wide gaze. “The minute you agreed to stay, your fate was sealed. You have no choice.”
“Teo…” she said, using his name directly for the first time. Unaccountably the single word seemed to reach deep inside him, though it was neither a plea nor a demand. The feeling half scared him, made him angry at her, angrier at himself. She had used his name three times now, the magical number. Once in the rain, once while asleep in his bed, and now again, her lips brushing his finger as she did so.
She couldn’t leave him now, couldn’t leave the room. Didn’t she know that? He lowered his hand, ignoring how it trembled in need to continue touching her, to do more than simply stroke.
“For six months, you belong to me,” he said. Underscoring his meaning, he sent a thought to the bed and ripped back the covers, tossing them to floor. He saw her start in surprise, watched as her eyes flicked from the empty bed to the pile of blankets on the floor. But she didn’t move backward. She turned her eyes back to his and he saw they were emerald green now in understanding, perhaps in fear.
He wanted to curse at her, to demand that she not fear him. And he wanted her to simply move into his arms, wanted her to come to him, to desire him. To need him as much as he needed and wanted her. He wished he could tell her so, wished he could reach into her mind and plant the thought, the dream. But she was closed to him. Had been almost from the first moment he’d seen her.
“You’re wrong,” she said slowly, and if her face was pale, her lips suddenly dry, her voice tremulous, her gaze didn’t so much as waver. “I belong to no one. A woman always has a choice. It’s her right.”
He sent a bolt of lightning across the clear sky and felt it explode against the stars, the cold night, heard the thunder echo in his soul, saw its aftermath etched on her still face.
Slowly, carefully, hearing the menace in his own deceptively soft voice, he said, “Don’t talk to me of rights, señora. You know nothing about them. They do not exist here. Here, you are mine.”
“You do not own me,” she said coldly, and he felt a measure of pride for her. And regret. She was telling the truth. She might be in his home, might have sought his aid, but she wasn’t seeking anything more. He might even manage to have her body, but he didn’t have her mind, her heart. In forcing her to uphold her end of the bargain—his bargain—he would be using her as he himself had been used
, against his will, against his desire.
He felt the confusion, the want in him striving to break free, and again sent the unchecked energy to the universe. The sky crackled and shards of light played on the skylight, refracted from her green eyes. Her lips parted in fear, in some measure of understanding, and yet she still didn’t move away from him.
Some dark, long-buried part of him shivered in reaction, in question. And in answer, he told himself firmly that she did feel something for him, some yearning. He’d tasted it upon her lips, felt it in her trembling response to his kisses both the day before and that morning. And he could see it now in her jutting nipples, her shallow breathing.
Seeing this, knowing this about her, he suddenly understood why he’d been angry with her over her acceptance of his terms. He’d felt her want of him, a want almost as strong as his for her, but he’d been the one to force her into a corner, pushed her into this bargain. And he was angry when she’d agreed to the bargain because he was human enough to want her to want him, to come to him as a lover might.
He didn’t want the desire to be one-sided. He knew a man would have to be dead not to want her, but what about what she might feel for him? No one could possibly know better than he just how different he was than other men, than all other men. But that didn’t stop him from wanting her running her hands over his body, her mind opened to his, a plea for him on her lips. That was why he’d been angry with her, was angry still: for not wanting him, for his having had to coerce her into it.
He slid forward and slowly, deliberately, cupped her face in his hands. She stiffened but didn’t pull back. He held her so for a few seconds, trying to break through the gate in her mind, trying to read her thoughts from the depths of her emerald eyes.
Almost as if of their own accord, his fingers began gently kneading, massaging her temples, the hollow beneath her ears. Want me, he commanded silently. But her distant expression didn’t shift. Want me, he told her with his hands, drove home with his unwavering gaze.
Something seemed to alter in her eyes, some hint of desire, perhaps of confusion, and he slowly drew her forward, pressing a kiss to her soft, unresponsive lips. He stayed there, leisurely teasing her lips with his tongue, with his mouth, scarcely touching her, until he felt her lips quiver and heard a soft moan issue from what seemed her very soul.
He deepened his kiss, holding her to him, dropping his hands from her face to caress her shoulders, her back. She moaned again and seemed to sag against him, almost as though in relief. When her hands lifted and tentatively touched his face, stole into his unbound hair, tangled there, he pulled away slightly and met her confused gaze.
He said nothing, though thunder crashed above his bedroom, almost as if asking the question he couldn’t voice, seeking the answer she would never offer.
“You’ll be damned for this,” she said finally.
A shaft of pure agony ripped through him. Nothing she said would have made more sense to him than that simple phrase. And nothing could have been truer.
“Señora,” he said softly, “I thought you understood. I’m already damned.”
Melanie wanted to run from the room, wanted to lean into his hands, ached for herself, yet found herself hurting more for the boy Teo Sandoval must have been, for the pain that had created the man standing before her.
She, who distrusted most of the world, and with good reason, couldn’t begin to fathom the depths of Teo’s distrust, his deep-rooted anger and sense of betrayal.
He’d coldly, fearsomely, proved his point with his theatrics, his torn-aside bedcovers, the closed door, the lightning whipping across the sky, eerily reflecting in the skylight. He could have had her at any moment after she pounded on his door demanding entrance to his cavelike home. And yet he’d chosen to have her believe he had solicited her cooperation in his terrible bargain. Why?
His lips again descended to hers and as she had done in that dark corridor, and again in his strange kitchen, when sunlight had danced upon his shoulders, she couldn’t help arching to meet his hands, straining to meet his kiss. What was it about this lonely, forbidding man that drew her so?
She had managed to lie to herself throughout the day, telling herself that he’d forced her into this bargain, that her body was small payment for Chris’s safety, his learning of Teo’s secrets. But with Teo’s hands upon her, slowly molding her waist, the hollow of her back, his lips teasing her nearly senseless, she understood the truth. She’d agreed to his bargain because she wanted him. Because he drew her like no one had ever done before. Because in his mystery, his frightening abdication of the world, he held a dark, lonely allure that captured her imagination, her own lonely desire.
He drew back from her, silver blue eyes darkened with desire, nearly violet in their introspection, their distance. He again raised his hand to her lips and slowly, hypnotically, traced the curve of her mouth, smoothing them, soothing and sending shivers of response coursing through her.
Unconsciously, her lips pressed a kiss against his fore-finger. She thought, watching him, that his eyes widened, that something flickered behind the heavy lids.
“Teo…” she breathed. “Please…”
Teo knew he was lost. He longed for words to give her, beautiful phrases that would carve out some alternate future, but with her unframed plea ringing in his ears, the kiss on his hand echoing through his entire frame, the words would wait, and sadly, he understood that they would have to wait forever.
Because there were no pretty words. For him there was no ordinary future, happy mommy, daddy, family, happy home. For him there was only extreme solitude. There was only the lonely present and the dark, infinite future of empty nights.
But she was granting him tonight. And perhaps tomorrow night. Perhaps six months. And for six months he would know a window of living, loving. That he would have to make it last a lifetime couldn’t be allowed to matter now.
Her body arched against him, letting him know what he couldn’t read in her thoughts, couldn’t see in her face. Her hand rose to his cheek and she brushed her thumb along the muscle jumping in his jaw. Was it a question or was it the answer he’d been looking for?
In question himself, he slowly cupped a full breast in his hand. She moaned as he grazed a turgid nipple, imagining he could feel her satin skin through the silky material of her blouse. She closed her eyes and let her head fall a little to the back, allowing him greater freedom. It was all the answer he could have asked for.
Her buttons slid free of their catches and a stray thought pulled the blouse free, exposing her to his hungry gaze. The swell of her breasts above the lacy bra was creamy, lightly freckled. A pulse beat wildly above her defined collarbone. Her eyes flickered open, then closed.
He trailed his finger down her throat, pausing at the throbbing pulse, then lower, to the cups of her bra. He was shaking almost as much as she. He savagely sent a burst of energy from him, from the room, to the heavens outside, and heard the sharp crackle of lightning, saw it reflected through the skylight.
She didn’t open her eyes as his fingers peeled the lacy material from her breasts, freeing her to his hands, his gaze, and finally his mouth. He heard and felt her breath catch as his hands tested the weight of her, and then his mouth slowly laved, then suckled her turgid nipples.
Her accepting moan let him know how little she might be considering their bargain and his heart leapt in fierce triumph. Words might be important on some plane, somewhere, but for now, for this moment, it was enough to know that she did desire him, that she was a willing partner in this unusual agreement.
Melanie arched to meet his mouth, her breasts aching for his touch, the laving tongue, the soft graze of his teeth. Without conscious thought, her fingers tangled in his long, silky soft black hair and she pulled him even closer.
He slid his hands behind her without stopping his assiduous attention to her breasts. His palms flattened along her buttocks and he curled his fingers beneath her, and, surprising her, lifted her,
draping her legs around his narrow, tapered waist.
She heard the sharp report of thunder outside somewhere and instinctively knew it came from Teo, but didn’t care. Perhaps even reveled in it. It could have been issuing from her, she felt that strong, that powerful, that out of control.
She felt her blouse slide from her shoulders and knew neither his fingers nor gravity played any part in its slippage. He had removed it with his mind. But this time, he hadn’t done it with any intention to startle or frighten her. And this time, she’d wanted the obstacle removed.
As she clung to his shoulders, riding him, arching to meet his avid mouth, she felt the remainder of her clothing disappear, a tingling sensation rippling over her skin as the cool air in the room, the abrupt transition from clothed to naked, kissed her bare body. And equally swiftly, equally smoothly, his own clothes melted away as a tremendous clap of thunder exploded above them.
He carried her to the bed and slowly lowered the two of them to the down-filled mattress. They seemed to sink into the cloudlike bed in slow motion, and perhaps Teo had somehow worked his magic to make this a reality. She didn’t know, and didn’t care. All she knew was that his mouth was as firm and knowing as his hands, and that his touch was working its magic on and for her alone.
She had a feeling of deliberate abandon, a sensual wantonness she had never encountered before. And she reveled in being studied, explored by this unusual man, this stranger who struggled so furiously with his telekinetic powers and yet remained so slow and gentle with her.
As he leaned over her, his hand lightly stroking from knee to breast, tickling almost, his eyes were lit with some unexpressed emotion, and clap after clap of thunder echoed across the sky outside. Shards of lightning flared bright and sharp against the curved skylight and they seemed parts of herself, barriers she’d carried too long shattering before her eyes.
Sharing the Darkness Page 12
