by Kylie Brant
She caught the look in his eye and knew she had to tread carefully. “Sandra could be indiscriminate about the way she used her ability.”
“She used it on you.”
It was a statement rather than a question, and had the power to jolt her. She forgot sometimes just how observant he was. “It caused problems.” The words, simply uttered, were anything but simple. But there was no need to rake up old wounds again. And certainly they paled against the reality they were faced with. “We were never close, and now I’m raising her son. She’s right. It’s ironic.”
“Yeah.” He was silent for a moment, contemplating the label on the bottle in his hand. Then he tipped it to his lips and drank. “Life has a way of working out that way sometimes.”
She made a point to avoid his gaze. There would be no way for him to guess that the irony Sandra referred to was Meghan raising a boy with the same ability that had made her childhood a war zone. No reason, she thought, bringing the spoon to her lips, to contemplate such an explanation for Sandra’s words. There were few battles Meghan had won when faced with the strength of his will. But she’d managed, so far, to protect Danny’s secret. She hoped it would be enough.
“He’s lucky, you know.” When her startled gaze met his, he continued. “He’s had it rough, but he landed okay with you. You’re good with the kid. You’ll do right by him.”
The quiet assurance in his voice was a comfort, and she wished she could believe his words. There were far too many nights when she lay awake, feeling as though she’d stepped through the looking glass. Far too much self-doubt, and downright ignorance, about taking care of the young boy.
She pushed aside the troubling thoughts and concentrated on the man before her. “Well, you’ve fed me, thereby satisfying yourself that I won’t collapse. Now why don’t we discuss my going home again?”
“You can discuss it.” He got up from the table, clearing his dishes and carrying them to the counter.
“A discussion usually involves at least two people,” she pointed out.
He turned, pinned her with a steady look. “I don’t think the full weight of the day has hit you yet. When it does, you shouldn’t be alone.”
With effort she ignored the generosity in his thought and focused on her mission. “I could call a cab.”
“And I could cancel it.” He must have recognized the exasperation crossing her features, for his voice softened.
“This is hard for you, isn’t it? Accepting help from someone else.”
“And it’s easy for you?” she shot back.
His mouth quirked, surprising her. “I don’t think my foster parents ever used the term gracious to describe me once I came to live with them, but I did get used to the idea. Eventually.”
She saw old ghosts in his eyes. “Did you lose your parents, or weren’t they able to take care of you?”
“My mother’s alive.” He brushed by her to reach for her dishes, piled them with the others, and left her to grapple with his words. His answer raised more questions, but she recognized the No Trespassing signs in his expression.
Resigning herself to the inevitable, she said, “I’ll have to be home quite early. I want to be there to get Danny ready for school.”
“You will be.” If he was surprised at her capitulation, he didn’t show it. There was likely no shock in learning that he’d gotten his way. She imagined he was quite used to it. She watched him for a moment as he shoved the dishes in the dishwasher, raising her eyebrows a bit at his technique. Luckily the dishes were shatterproof. He turned, caught her eyes on him. Silence stretched, long enough to be awkward.
“If you want to show me to my room, I think I’ll turn in.” She thought she saw relief on his face as he nodded and started out of the room. Certainly she didn’t share that emotion. She wouldn’t be relieved until she was safely ensconced in her own apartment again. Away from the questions that still badgered her. And away from an enigmatic man whose unexpected bits of kindness meant far more to her than they should.
Late at night, lying awake in bed, Meghan could understand Danny’s fear of the dark. Night was a dangerous time, and fortunately the child’s fears could be banished with a light. Her own demons were less easily dealt with. Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness the memories slithered beneath the doors she kept them caged behind and played across her mind.
She remembered Sandra’s twelfth birthday party. Her sister had insisted that each boy and girl deliver their present to her individually, and had then delighted in announcing its contents before she’d opened it. Meghan supposed that the children had been surprised at the accuracy of her guesses, which had been nothing of the kind. But one by one Sandra had alienated her guests, and when the cake and ice cream had been served, she’d been sitting by herself, her friends huddled in their own group.
Meghan could still recall the look on her sister’s face that day. One of utter desolation. Although she hadn’t been able to identify the emotion then, she could recognize its effect. And she wondered if Sandra had carried that same feeling into adulthood: that feeling of isolation, no matter the crowd. She thought she had. And she ached for the woman who no one could ever get close to. Not even Meghan.
Silently she rose and slipped back into her clothes. Making her way into the darkened living room, she switched the TV on, turning the volume low. And that was where Gabe found her minutes, or hours, later, staring blindly at her sister’s face on the screen.
“You need to sleep.” His low voice glazed her chilled skin with a coat of warmth. He moved in front of her and stopped the VCR, letting the all-night TV programming take over. Standing before her in the glow of the screen, he looked rumpled. The jeans he’d dragged on were unbuttoned, and he was barefoot. But his eyes were alert, his face quietly observant.
“She was like a mouse in a maze.” She didn’t speak her sister’s name, knowing he’d understand. “She’d use her ability in ways that frightened and angered people. And then she would seek the very contact she’d alienated by ignoring her ability for periods of time. She never found a way to have both. And that breaks my heart.”
He sank down beside her on the couch, not saying anything. She was grateful for that. Most people would be driven to platitudes and comforting phrases. It wasn’t comfort she sought now. It was understanding.
“I failed her. I couldn’t do anything back then. I was just a child. But I could have made more of an effort as an adult. She carried turmoil with her like a cloud carries rain. It was simpler to stand away from the storm.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything, Meghan. The result would be the same.”
“But then maybe I could forgive myself.”
Her voice was a mere whisper of sound threading through the darkness. It shouldn’t have had the power to curl inside his chest and squeeze his heart. A lifetime ago he’d been that mouse in a maze, and the memory still throbbed. He understood how guilt and regret could work a person until they felt they had nothing to lose. He’d been lucky to learn differently.
Without a thought he leaned forward, brushed his lips against her forehead. “Let it go.” He heard the weary little sigh she released. His advice would be difficult to follow. But he was certain of the truth in his words. “You can’t change the past, and you sure as hell can’t change another person. Trying to do either will just make you crazy.”
Her face turned up to his, and it would have been the most natural thing in the world for him to touch his lips to hers. He pulled away a little and made the mistake of looking in her eyes. What he saw there tempted him beyond all bearing. Because there was awareness there, and memory. Not the one she’d just spoken of but the memory of the last time he’d laid his hands on her. And the last time she’d touched him back.
His fingers dug into his palms. She couldn’t realize the danger of turning that look on a man; letting him know without words that she was aware of him as a male. It could have unintended results. Far-reaching ramifications. It could, q
uite simply, make a man forget about promises uttered in more honorable moments; unleash a passion that had been kept tightly harnessed.
Her eyes drifted shut, and this time it was she who closed the distance between them; her lips pressing against his; her hand tracing his jaw. The actions shouldn’t have had the power to scrape his skin with edgy needles of torment. She couldn’t know that her slightest touch, spontaneous and freely given, packed a greater punch than the most experienced seduction. He endured the light pressure of her lips for endless moments, every nerve in his body drawing tighter, before she moved a fraction away.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist. “The last thing either of us needs is more regrets.” He saw the comprehension in her eyes. He also noted that it failed to dim the desire there. His blood leaped with lust and something else, something he couldn’t name.
“Then let’s not regret this.”
Her words fired his veins, and he felt a flash of frustration. He wouldn’t be the one regretting this decision in the morning. It would never be him wishing to reset the clock to alter events. But he feared, quite desperately, that she might.
It shouldn’t matter. But he knew, in a place he wasn’t willing to acknowledge, that it had begun to matter all too much.
She caught his bottom lip in her teeth and scored it with her teeth. He managed, barely, to resist crushing her lips in return. If the pace she was setting was guaranteed to give her time to pull back, then he’d give her the time. But even as he thought it his body called him a liar. His mouth was already moving on hers, calling for a response, receiving one. The pace abruptly quickened. And when she lowered her head to trace his collarbone with her tongue, any thought of halting had fled.
He gathered her to him and rose, striding to his bedroom. Following her down on the bed, he tried to quiet the voice inside him that whispered of choices and regrets and tomorrows. She’d have no regrets. Not if he could help it.
His mouth went to her neck. Her pulse scrambled beneath his lips and the evidence of her excitement was satisfying. Her flavor was intoxicating and went right to his head. And when he felt her hands on his chest, stroking and kneading, his senses swam and reason receded.
Meghan flexed her fingers, traced the curve of his ribs. She felt muscles quiver under her touch and thrilled to his response. She’d never before considered the heady power of evoking this kind of reaction. Never allowed herself to react in turn. But there was no thought of controlling the need careening inside her. Since it couldn’t be tamed, it would have to be set free.
He drew her blouse over her head and scored her shoulder with his teeth. The rasp of his beard aroused, the stroke of his tongue soothed. His hands were quick and knowing, a glide of fingers across the top of her breasts made her long, quite fiercely, for a more intimate touch. When he released her bra and filled his hands with her, she couldn’t resist a gasp.
She’d thought she’d known need before, so it was hard to recognize it in this whipping of her pulse, this thrumming in her blood. Impossible to identify the fierce pleasure at the press of naked breast against rock-hard chest. Fires, when stoked, burned brighter. Hotter. She was caught in the heat of one now, a longing flaming in her blood. And as if he recognized that craving, returned it, he pressed her back on the bed and feasted on her.
A whimper escaped her. His quick, knowing fingers cupped one breast, his mouth teased the other. The dual assault was explosive. Her back arched, urging him to take more. He was drawing her up, sensations sprinting and colliding inside her. And when she thought there was no more he took her higher.
Gabe found a savage satisfaction in the taste of flesh, an emotion that should have warned him. Need this fast, this brilliant, held an edge all its own. Brutal demands pounded through his system, honed his desire. Every need, once satisfied, failed to soothe. Every temptation, once tasted, urged him to the next sensation.
He battled for the zipper of her jeans, dragged them over her hips. With swift efficient movements he had her naked, and his blood began to hammer. There were secrets to discover in every long soft inch of her. Secrets that would take a lifetime to possess. And as the moments spun out between them, each spiraling into the next, it was easy to believe that they had at least that long.
Her hands went to the waistband of his jeans, and he helped her remove them. Then there was nothing between them but exquisitely sensitive skin against skin.
They rolled on his bed, a tangle of limbs on dark sheets. Pleasures given and returned. Pleas uttered and answered. He felt her lift one leg to slide it along his, and his vision hazed. He stroked her smooth skin, felt the whisper of muscle quivering beneath, and then moved higher and found her where she was damp and inviting. Slipping his fingers inside her, he swallowed her moan.
She could no longer pinpoint the focus of her pleasure. Hot lashing kisses warred with a wicked touch that teased, promised, then retreated. Sensation battered her system, until abruptly it overloaded and she was flung from desperation to release with a suddenness that sent shock waves of sensation crashing inside her.
Her reaction fired an immediate visceral response in him. The more Gabe took, the more he wanted. It was a hunger that couldn’t be assuaged. He didn’t think of eliminating doubts from her mind now. He didn’t think at all. Need, primal and urgent, clawed through him. He’d never had a woman in his blood, the wanting a hot and savage beat. He explored every inch of her with his hands, and then his mouth. Her taste mingled with the fever in his veins and sent it raging.
There was primitive pleasure to be had in the bite of her nails on his shoulders, of damp flesh moving on damp flesh. Her pulses rocketed beneath his touch. His own echoed them. There was a fire ignited inside him, and he was being consumed. His control began fragmenting, and his touch grew more desperate.
He moved and braced himself over her. There was just enough light to see the emotions flickering over her face, and the sight torched his desire. He slipped inside her, and his world abruptly tilted. The delicate pulsations of her adjustment gripped him, seated him more closely. He drew her legs up around his hips and pressed deeper. He waited for her hips to move helplessly, seeking, and only then did he rock against her, his breath strangling in his lungs. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and each movement of his hips drew a cry from her lips.
“Gabe.”
Her voice was a plea, and it shattered his restraint. His hips pounded against hers, a desperate quest for fulfillment that could never be completely assuaged. He felt the shimmers of release that eddied through her body and felt the desperate clutch of her fingers as she arched and bucked beneath him. And when she moaned his name, he swallowed the sound from her lips and followed her into pleasure.
Chapter 11
The night spun hours to gold. Time shimmered, almost still, as they reached for each other, again and again. When greed was appeased, hunger remained. Satisfaction was fleeting before the wanting would build again.
Meghan watched the predawn sky lighten outside Gabe’s bedroom window and felt a pang of disappointment. Last night it had been too easy to believe that this moment could be suspended indefinitely while they floated above reality. But dawn’s approach heralded a clearer head, albeit on a pleasantly boneless body.
He’d spoken of regrets, but she didn’t have any. At least, not the kind he meant. She could feel no remorse for allowing that glorious heat to burst to conflagration, to rage out of control. But she was experiencing an all-too-familiar trace of guilt. It was one thing to give in to the temptation of wanting this man. It was another to do so while engaged in deception.
She stirred, the thought weighing uneasily, and his arm tightened around her waist. Reluctant to awaken him, she stilled. He put a high price on honesty. Would he make allowances for good intentions? For difficult decisions made for the most honorable reasons? Trepidation tightened in her chest. Somehow she didn’t think so. Although she knew he was a trustworthy man, he didn’t strike her as a particularly forgiving
one.
It occurred to her then that she’d been caught in her own deception. It had seemed so easy at the beginning, when she’d figured to use Gabe the way the department had used her sister. She’d get the information she wanted and give nothing in return. There had been no contemplation of a deeper relationship with the man. In theory the plan could have worked. Reality had proved much more complex.
She still didn’t dare tell him about Danny. It wasn’t a matter of trust; it was a matter of control. Gabe had reports to file, superiors to answer to. Once he shared Danny’s ability with even one other person, the chances of it leaking even further doubled. She had no faith that the department would keep the information private. Not after the debacle with Sandra.
But there was also no denying that anyone who was in her life on a long-term basis would eventually have to be told. Danny was trying hard, but setting boundaries around his ability would take time. And time couldn’t be summoned at will.
She was left with a sick certainty that for her and Gabe, it was quickly running out.
Gabe leaned against the wall waiting silently for Cal to finish viewing the tape. He couldn’t watch it again without remembering Meghan’s face when she’d seen it. Her reaction after. And then the memories shifted, refocused. There had been something in her eyes this morning. Not the regret that he had half feared seeing, but something shadowed. To dispel that sadness he’d tried to distract her, and he thought he’d succeeded. Although she would never again believe his line of saving time by showering together, he thought the time had been well spent. When he’d put her in her car and given her a deep, hard kiss, the only look in her eyes had been desire. The recollection of that look would return again and again to torment him.
