by Jaime Rush
“Yeah, he is. Magnus, I think his name is. Something Scottish. A godsend he was. The band's drummer got into a fist fight right before the first set.” He shook his head. “Both hotheads went to the hospital with broken noses. That guy stepped up and said he could use the sticks. And he's right.”
So he likely wasn't a local. Could he be her killer? Anticipation tightened her chest. She watched Magnus through the next four songs, playing as cohesively as if he'd been with the band for years. In between, she chatted up the bartender. “Someone mentioned that tempers have been flaring a lot around here lately. Yesterday a woman threw the gas nozzle because she couldn't get it to pump. Earlier that day, a man nearly punched a cashier because the register didn't ring up the sale price.”
The man's expression turned grim. “I think the tremors have everyone on edge. We've never had them before so we're not used to thinking in terms of earthquakes.”
“Having a serial killer in the area probably isn't helping.”
“I think it's an animal, but either way it's not great for attracting tourists.”
When the band finally took a break, Magnus and the others made a beeline for the end of the bar. The bartender served them a pitcher of beer. Magnus ordered a Guinness, asserting that American beers tasted like piss-water. They launched into a deep discussion on the qualities of beer and why drinking it cold made it even worse (Magnus's opinion, in stark contrast to the other guys'). Magnus's eyes crinkled when he smiled, and he had a low, infectious laugh.
He slung back the rest of his mug and headed toward the back of the bar. He had to pass her on his way, and she watched to see if he was searching the crowd for a potential victim. His gaze remained ahead, maybe where the restrooms were. But as he passed, he turned to her. She felt a frisson of electricity like a mild shock when his brown eyes met hers.
She spoke before he could continue. “You're good. I mean, on the drums.”
“Thanks. I'm just filling in. I was in a band back in Maryland.”
She'd have to see if there'd been any murders in Maryland recently. She held out her hand. “I'm Erica.”
“I’m called Magnus.”
Their hands connected, and she felt the frisson even more. He seemed to feel it, too, because he looked down at their clasped hands.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
She was from Maryland too, originally, but that time of her life brought back too many painful memories. “Kansas City, Missouri.” A lonely apartment she was rarely at.
He released her hand slowly and nodded toward the back. “I've got to hit the loo before our next set.” He arched a thick eyebrow. “Any requests?”
She was startled by the one that popped into her mind: Take Another Little Piece of My Heart. “I Can't Get No Satisfaction,” she said instead. That fit her sex life.
“I think I can fix you right up.” He gave her a smile she was sure had 'fixed up' many a woman. Especially along with his slight Scottish accent. Was he flirting?
The thought tickled her stomach as she watched him weave around the tables, pausing to collect another compliment on his drumming before disappearing down the hallway. Had he meant he could fix her up that way? She wasn't good at flirting, so she knew nothing of the subtleties. Most of the men she had sex with didn't either. In bars like this, it was more like, “Wanna go someplace else?”
Magnus gave her another smile as he passed by on the way to the stage, where the band prepared for the next set. He had a certain grace to his gait despite his size. All muscle, strong enough to…well, to rip out a woman's heart?
Don't get caught up in that boyish charm. Ted Bundy was boyish, too.
Their gazes met throughout the set, which included Can't Get No Satisfaction and, coincidentally, Take Another Little Piece of My Heart. Janis had a tragically short life, a concept that spoke to Erica's soul.
At two in the morning, the band finished their final set to the applause of those who were left. Erica leaned against the bar, facing the stage, blatantly watching Magnus. His gaze went to hers as she clapped, too. He made his way over, rubbing a towel across the back of his neck. If he were the killer, then she could end this now and go back to her little apartment. If he wasn't, she could…
Hope to find what you haven't in all those other encounters? her snotty inner voice piped in.
The thing she craved, probably because she could never have it. Love. Normalcy.
Yeah, take another piece of my heart.
She enjoyed the spark between them as he sat down beside her. It wasn't something she often felt. “Thanks for playing my song,” she said. “How did you know the Janis Joplin one was my favorite?” She tried to give him a playful smile, but the coincidence was eerie.
He dipped his chin a little, all serious-like. “Maybe I'm psychic.”
Whoa. This guy was pushing all the right buttons.
He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and said, “Let me see what else I can pick up. You're from out of town. You're here for…” His eyes opened. “A dark reason.” He wasn't altogether kidding.
She forced a laugh, freaked by how on target he was. “Setting research. I write suspense novels about killers.”
“Ah, that explains it. Any romance in these books?”
Not usually. She had no idea what romance was. “There's sex in them.”
Maybe he'd ask if she needed research help with that aspect. She hoped he wasn't a killer, because something about him…
“Hey, Magnus, we're heading back to Chip's place. You want to go?”
Magnus was leaving. That thought tightened her throat. She expected him to bid her goodnight.
“Do I want to go?” he asked her instead.
“Stay,” she heard herself say.
“I’m good, thanks. See you tomorrow night, if you need me. You have my number.” He waved at them and turned to her. “We could go somewhere quiet.”
She slid from her stool. “Your place?” If she thought a guy was a potential killer, she wanted to go back to his place. That way she didn't have a body to deal with in her own motel room. Although Lightning made it look like they'd died from a heart attack, she didn't want to have to answer any awkward questions.
“My place is about an hour from here. I drove out this morning, just exploring. The guys in the band were going to let me crash at their place for the night so I didn't have to drive back so late.”
He'd lost his place to stay because of her. She assessed him. Unlike psychopaths, Magnus's eyes were deep and rich. Not flat and emotionless. She saw not a killer gleam but a hint of the same hunger she felt.
Bryan Adams's old song, Lonely Nights, played in her mind:
Baby, I just can't stand another lonely night,
So come over and save me…
And more importantly, he probably wouldn't make her disappear when the band and bartender could place him with her.
“Then let's go back to my motel room,” she said.
He followed in a black BMW, taking turns way too fast. Anticipation and trepidation fluttered in her stomach. She felt something with Magnus she'd never felt. That electricity between them. Remember who you are. Why you're here.
How could she forget? She looked at the long sleeves of her shirt, imagining the scars beneath them and what they meant. She'd never had the experience of falling in love for the first time, losing her virginity to a man of her choice. Sexuality had always been wrapped in shame and anger.
Once inside the room, Magnus said, “I'd like to shower up, if that's all right. A night playing in a bar leaves me grotty.” He gave her a playful look. “Want to join me?”
The question took her off guard, the thought of exposing herself like that… “No. Go ahead though.”
He took a quick shower, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He had a beautiful body, tanned, not a scar on him…and an erection that showed through the thin terry cloth. The sight of it stirred that primal part of her.
He must h
ave sensed it because his eyes flared with the same kind of lust. He walked closer, smelling of soap, and pulled her close. His mouth came down on hers, gentle despite his ardor. She didn't like kissing, but he eased her in, nudging her lips apart and tempting her into opening to him.
This was the part of the one-night stand where she didn't feel so damned lonely. When, for the next hour or so, she wasn't alone. This part was okay. She could fool herself that it would be different this time. That she would feel something.
And it was. Magnus kissed her, taking his time rather than pushing her right down on the bed and getting down to business. Which would be great if she weren't messed up. His hands cupped her face, thumbs stroking her jaw, his kisses growing more intense. He eased her out of her shirt, kissing her neck and shoulders with a tenderness that made her want to cry. She wasn't used to this. He unhooked her bra and started to pull it away. Yeah, he knew what he was doing.
“Wait,” she whispered, holding her bra to her breasts and backing up toward the door. She hit the light switch, plunging them into darkness.
“Why'd you do that? I can't see a bloody thing. And I want to see you.”
“I don't feel comfortable with the lights on.”
Silence as he perhaps pondered that. “Is it some kind of hang up? I can help you get over that. Because what I saw was beautiful.”
He might even mean it. He sounded sincere, anyway. She moved back into his embrace, letting her bra fall away. “I don't want to get over it. I just want it dark.” She unzipped her pants and shoved both them and her panties to the floor, then groped for his hand and pulled him down to the bed.
“Are you self-conscious—”
“It's not that.” The words had come out tersely.
He started to back away. “If you're uncomfortable—”
“No.” She reached out, feeling the expanse of his chest, and then went lower and wrapped her fingers around his penis. “I'm very comfortable. In the dark. Please humor me.” She didn't usually say 'please.' Usually she let them leave if they balked.
He released a breath, but she couldn't tell whether it was out of frustration or in reaction to her hand on him. Either way, he relented, lying down beside her. She kissed him, wanting to feel his mouth on hers again. He ran his hands down her body, over her stomach, nestling in her pubic hair. His fingers rubbed provocatively back and forth as he moved from her mouth to her jaw and down her neck.
Desire swirled through her, different from anything she'd ever felt. She felt the urge to let go, to flow down that lazy river. But letting go meant losing control, so she pulled herself back.
“You alright?” he asked, running the words together.
Had she stiffened? He was eerily perceptive. “Fine. Wonderful. But you don't have to do all this…kissing and touching. I know guys want to get to it. I'm fine with that.”
She thought he lifted his head because she no longer felt his mouth on her collarbone.
“Is that what blokes want? To shag and be done with it?”
“Yes. And it's okay, really.”
“Erica, I don't know what kind of blokes you've been with, but I like to take my time. And I like to make sure the woman I'm with gets as much out of it as I do. I want to hear you screaming and panting before I'm done.”
Those words shivered through her. Except screaming would mean losing control, something she never, ever did.
“No, please, just…shag me. I want you so much I can't wait for anything else.” She wondered if he could hear the lie in her breathless words.
“You don't want me to go down on you?” He sounded baffled. “Women tell me that's the only way they can get off. And there's nothing like the sound a woman makes when my tongue—”
“No, I don't want that.”
“You're sure you want any of this? I mean, I'm up for it, but you seem conflicted.”
“I do want this, and I'm not conflicted.” She did want it. Her body ached for it, and something else, something deeper. Why was he questioning her? He was getting easy sex. Isn't that what most men wanted? “I want you, Magnus. I want you inside me. Now.”
She pushed him flat on the bed, then climbed on top of him. She took him in hand and fumbled with the drawer where she'd thrown a condom. Even though she'd promised herself she wouldn't do this again.
He was no doubt the biggest guy she'd ever been with. Blindly, she smoothed the condom down over him. Easing in took longer than usual, stretching her, but he filled her in a way she'd never felt before. His hands came up to her waist as he guided her motions. But he wasn't trying to speed her up. No, he was taking his time. She set a fast pace, expecting him to finish in a minute or two. Then he could leave, and she could torment herself for giving in again. This was something her body wanted, but her soul always resisted.
Instead, Magnus rolled her onto her back and kissed her. She started to move her head away. She didn't like kissing, but something inside her responded to his mouth on hers, coaxing her to open to him. She did, and his tongue traced lazy circles around hers. Before she could think about it, she was matching his movements, joining the kiss.
“Can we turn on the light now?” he said between kisses.
“No. I like the dark.”
His hand skimmed down her arm. “If it's the scars you're worried about, I don't care. You feel beautiful.”
She squeezed her eyes shut at those words. Was this guy for real? She could only shake her head, afraid her voice would give away how that made her feel.
“Next time,” he whispered against her cheek. He caressed her breast and then rubbed his thumb over her nipple. “Next time I will see you.”
She shivered at the declaration, unable to tell him that there wouldn't be another time. There was never more than one encounter.
He positioned her legs on either side of his waist, gripping her hips and entering her again. The angle allowed him to drive into the deepest part of her, sending crazy sensations shooting through her. He drew one hand to her nub, where he stroked as he thrust. She had never had an orgasm, but she felt something as they moved together. Pressure building inside her, a throbbing where he touched her. She had never been with anyone like Magnus, a man who wanted her to experience pleasure. Who insisted on it.
He took his time, varying the rhythm. Several minutes had gone by, ten, maybe twenty. She'd lost track of time, forgetting to hope this finished fast. Hearing his breathing come in shallow pants, his low groan of pleasure, stirred her. Her breaths were coming faster, too, and her body was moving of its own volition, shifting for a better angle, speeding the pace.
Losing control. Enjoying him too much.
Mentally she pulled back.
His body jerked, his grip tightened, and she felt him throb inside her. He called out, “Jessie!”
Now she physically pulled away, stumbling off the bed.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to—”
“Call me by another woman's name.” She gained her footing. “Look, it's no big deal. We hardly know each other.” But she heard the anger and hurt in her voice, which didn't make any sense because they did hardly know each other.
With a click, the light snapped on, filling the room with glaring light. He wasn't going to hide from his blunder. In fact, he met her gaze head on. “It's not what you think.”
She snatched up the sheet and covered herself. “Sounded to me like you were thinking about another woman.”
He looked thrown off, shaking his head. “It wasn't like that.” He went into the bathroom while she pulled on her clothes.
When he came out, she asked, “Who's Jessie?” The question came out in that terse voice again.
“She's my brother's girl.”
“You were imagining your brother's girl while you were doing me?” The words fairly screamed out of her mouth. “That's despicable on two levels.”
He rubbed his hand over his face. “I wanted the lights on. I wanted to see you, but you've obviously got some kind of
hang up.” He shook his head, pulling on his jeans and then grabbing his shirt and shrugging into it. “For some reason, coming threw me into this nightmare I've been having every night. I…” He looked as though he were in agony. “I can't explain it without sounding crazy.”
“So you'd rather me think you an asshole than crazy?”
He blinked at her harsh words. “It's probably better that way. You're right, I'm an arsehole. I was hoping being with you would drive Jessie out of my cells because I felt a similar something with you that I did with her.”
Felt what? she wanted to ask but held the question back. “So you were using me to get some girl out of your system?”
“Like you were using me to get release. At least that’s all I thought you wanted. Then you let down all your walls for a few minutes, and I realized you need more than that.”
“I do not! Please leave now.”
He met her eyes, his filled with a pain she didn't understand. “It's better this way, you despising me. I'm messed up beyond what you could ever understand.”
He left, not slamming the door as she'd expect but closing it softly behind him.
Beyond what she could understand? Holy hell, he was the killer.
He's a psychic killer. Because she swore he could read her mind. The Janis Joplin song, what her soul needed that her mind refused to acknowledge, all too eerie.
Okay, maybe that was going too far. Right now she was only concerned about one thing: finding proof that he was the Heart Ripper and killing him. Erica stepped out of her room the moment his headlights slashed across her door. She was going to follow him.
CHAPTER 3
The beast clawed at him. Magnus felt the slice across his throat, the warm blood pouring down his skin and the pain. He saw Jessie's horror-struck expression as he fell to the ground. Can't help her. She'll die.
“Jessie!”
He woke as he did every morning, that one word filled with his terror at the fact that he couldn't help her. He bowed his head, scrubbing his face. She's alive and fine. Why do I keep having the nightmare?
And why had it popped to mind when he'd been with Erica? What an arse he'd been, though not intentionally. If she'd left the lights on, maybe he'd have been looking at her and not gotten caught up in the memory. Bloody hell, he hoped having an orgasm wouldn't trigger the flashback. Erica was the first woman he'd been with since being infected with Darkness.
