Standing in the Shadows m&f-2

by Shannon McKenna

  She stopped, as if she'd been turned to stone.

  Connor was lounging against his car. His long, rangy body was dressed in battered khaki cargo pants and an olive drab T-shirt. His hair was loose, blowing around his shoulders. His face was grim. Wary.

  Plastic-wrapped clothing slid out of her arms and scattered every which way over the steps.

  "Well!" Mom said. "You took your own sweet time showing up!"

  Cindy gave her mother a horrified look and scrambled to gather up Erin's fallen clothes. "Mom! Don't make it worse!"

  "Worse? How could it possibly be worse? Stabbing villains to death? Gouts of blood? Threats of rape, torture, and murder? She can't sleep, she won't eat! Don't talk to me about worse!"

  Connor's face softened. He almost smiled. "Nice to see you again, too, Barbara."

  "Don't you get smart with me, Connor McCloud. I am very annoyed with you, and I've had a bad week."

  "Me, too," he admitted. He turned his gaze up to Erin.

  Her mother flung the clothes into the van. Erin was still transfixed. The silence dragged on. It reached deafening proportions.

  "Hi, Erin," he said gently.

  The simple, innocuous words released a tide of emotion. It swept over her, made her body quake and shudder. "Hi," she whispered.

  Connor glanced over at Barbara, Miles, and Cindy. "I was hoping to get Erin to go for a ride with me," he said. "You all mind?"

  "Ask her, not us." Barbara jerked her chin in Erin's direction. "She's the one who's been holding her breath for a week."

  "Mom!" Cindy moaned. "Stop! You'll ruin it!"

  Connor looked at Erin. "Erin? Will you come for a ride with me?"

  Somehow, she unlocked her muscles enough to nod.

  "We'll get out of your hair, then," Mom said. "I'm sure you have a lot to talk about. Connor, she hasn't eaten yet. See to it that she does."

  Cindy shot her a hopeful thumbs-up as she slid the van door shut. Miles folded his impossibly long self into the passenger seat. Barbara yanked the driver's side door open, and hesitated.

  She stalked over to Connor, grabbed him around the waist, and gave him a fierce, stiff hug. Then she took a step back and swatted him on the chest, hard enough to make him wince and leap back.

  "Ouch!" He rubbed the spot, indignant. "What the hell?"

  She made a frustrated sound.

  Connor leaped between her and his car and held out his arms protectively. "Don't you dare touch my car, Barbara. I love this car."

  "Idiot," she muttered. She glanced at Erin as she hurried to the van. "Call me," she said. "Don't make me worry, whatever you end up doing. I just can't handle it right now."

  "OK," Erin said faintly.

  They waited until the van turned the corner and was lost to sight.

  Connor rubbed his chest. "I'm going to have a bruise. Christ. That woman is dangerous."

  "Mom's dealing with a lot of conflicted emotions right now."

  "Huh. Aren't we all," he grumbled. "As long as she doesn't come to terms with them using a tire iron, we'll be fine."

  It was time to move her legs, but if she bent them, the starch might just go right out of her, and she would fall flat on her face.

  Which, now that she thought of it, was exactly where she'd been for the past week. She unlocked her knees, a smidgen at a time. She took a step, then another. She made it to the car without falling.

  He held open the car door for her like a perfect gentleman. Not sweeping her into his arms or covering her with kisses or anything great and reassuring like that. No, he politely opened the door for her as if she were his eighty-year-old maiden aunt.

  She slid into the car with a murmur of thanks.

  Connor drove the car, and she searched through the database of her mind for one of the zillion prepared speeches she had made. They were nowhere to be found. She could only stare at his chiseled profile, at the beautiful line of his jaw. Scratches and bruises were still fading on his face. She wanted to kiss every last one of them.

  "Looks like you were moving," he said.

  His voice was so neutral. She could deduce nothing from it. "Yes," she said. "I'm putting most of my stuff in Mom's attic. Just taking a couple of suitcases with me."

  "Where are you headed?"

  She echoed his casual tone. "Portland, to start with. A friend of mine lives in a group house there. I figured I'd temp while I send my resume around, see who bites. Just for a change of air. It'll be fun to live with girlfriends again."

  "A change of air," he repeated.

  "Yeah, it's time," she faltered. "I have to get going on my career. Cindy and Mom are going to be fine now, so I'm free to… to—"

  "Free to go," he finished. "Good thing I came by when I did. I might have missed you completely."

  "Oh, no," she said hastily. "I meant to call you before I left."

  "Just to say good-bye." His voice was hard.

  He parked the car in front of a white two-story house with a deep, wraparound porch surrounded by rosebushes and hydrangeas.

  "Where are we?" she asked.

  He looked at her silently for a long moment. "This is my house."

  Her gaze skittered away from his. "Oh. It's, ah, very nice."

  "Come on up," he said.

  She followed him up the walk through a green, lush lawn and peeked around herself as she followed him in.

  The place was simple and tidy. Starkly furnished, but with warm colors. Parquet floors, a rust-colored rag in front of a navy blue couch. A fireplace. State-of-the-art speakers and sound system. A few carefully placed pictures on the walls, mostly charcoal landscapes.

  "Come on into the kitchen," he invited her. "Your mom said you hadn't eaten. Can I fix you some lunch?"

  "No, thank you," she said.

  "A drink, then? I've got cold beer in the fridge. Or iced tea."

  "A beer would be fine," she said.

  Connor pulled two long-necked bottles out of the refrigerator. He popped them open with his key chain, grabbed her a glass from the drain board. He pulled out a chair for her. For the first time, she saw past her own anxiety and noticed that his face looked strained.

  He sat down across from her. "Why didn't you call me, Erin?"

  The question lay between them, heavy and important. She poured out a glassful of beer, stared into it, and told him the simple truth. "I felt too awful," she said. "About not believing you."

  "Don't feel bad about that," he said. "I wouldn't have believed me either. No one would have. It was so bizarre, I barely believed myself."

  She shook her head. "All that violence and malice and hatred. It made me feel… small. Squished out of existence."

  "Your mom said you're not sleeping. Nightmares?"

  She nodded.

  "They'll pass," he said. "You're very strong."

  Tears prickled her eyes at his quiet comprehension. She tried to reply, but the words tangled into a burning knot in her throat.

  "You know how I figured it out, in the end?" he asked.

  She dug for her Kleenex and gestured for him to go on.

  "I went to the clinic," he said. "Sean saw Tonia there when I was in the coma. I checked it out. The only Tonia Vasquez who had ever worked there was in her sixties, and retired years before."

  "Oh," she said. "I see."

  "And that wasn't all. They showed me the guest register."

  Erin covered her face and braced herself.

  "I found your name there, Erin. Every single day that I was in that coma, you came in to see me."

  She peeked through her fingers at him, and tried to smile. "Whoops," she whispered. "Busted."

  He did not smile back. He just waited.

  Erin let her hands drop. "I heard somewhere that it can help people in a coma, if you sing to them or talk to them or read to them," she said. "I can't sing, and I had never been able to think of anything to say to you even when you were conscious, let alone in a coma. But I can read. I remembered once you said you liked th
rillers. I bought a Dean Koontz novel, Fear Nothing. I picked it out for the title. Then I got Seize the Night, since it was the sequel."

  She paused. He just waited, eyes averted. His face was as still as if it were carved out of granite.

  "At the end of Seize the Night, the hero, Chris, proposes to his girlfriend," she said. "It made me cry. I closed the book, and I started to talk to you. For the first time, I just held your hand and talked."

  He let out a jerky sigh, and rubbed his face. "What did you say?"

  Tears were running down her face. She dug a Kleenex out of her pocket and mopped them up. "I told you how I felt about you. How much I wanted you to wake up. How badly I hoped that someday we could be together. That was the last time I came."

  His head jerked around. "Why?" he demanded.

  "Because that night, you woke up," she said.

  He looked baffled. "Why? Why stop, after all that? Why didn't you come to see me anymore?"

  She blew her nose. "Oh, please. There you were, barely conscious, in terrible pain, just finding out that your partner had been murdered. I thought some silly, crushed-out girl demanding your attention was the last thing you needed. I was embarrassed. I didn't want to bother you."

  He stood up, so suddenly his chair shot back and crashed against the wall behind him. "Bother me? Jesus, Erin. Is that why you didn't call this week? You were embarrassed? You didn't want to bother me?"

  "Connor, I—".

  "Why the hell do you think I woke up?" he asked furiously. "Did it ever occur to you to ask yourself that question?"

  She pressed her hands over her mouth and shook her head.

  He threw his hands up. His face was tight with pain. "I would've come back from the dead if I heard you say you wanted me."

  He stalked out of the kitchen.

  She lunged for him and grabbed his arm. "Connor?"

  He spun around. It was impossible to tell who grabbed who. They fell toward each other, giving in to the immense, inevitable force of gravity. They came together in a wild, desperate, clinging kiss.

  Somehow they ended up in a trembling knot on his living room carpet. She scrambled on top of him and twined herself around his body, shoving his T-shirt up. She was starving for the sumptuous details of his beautiful body, every dip and curve, every bulge of hard muscle, every sensitive hollow, every silky tuft of hair. He was real, he wanted her, and she craved every salty, earthy, delicious inch of him.

  He grabbed her wrist. "Wait. Slow down."

  "No?" She rubbed the glow of heat between her thighs against him. "No?"

  "No more playing around," he said flatly. "I want it all. I'm not putting out again until my ring is on your finger. So don't even start with that sex goddess stuff." His bright eyes challenged her to object.

  A smile started, deep inside her, in the secret place where blushes and tears were born. A joy so deep and explosive, her body shone with it, expanding into infinite space. "You're serious?"

  "No ring, no sex," he said sternly.

  "You are kidding, right? You couldn't deny me. I won't allow it. I'll use all my powers to seduce you. It's a matter of pride."

  He propped himself up onto his elbows. "Forget it. I'm no fool. I know how this works. Why buy the cow if you get the milk for free?"

  She laughed, but her eyes were overflowing. "That's so crass."

  Connor pushed himself up, dug into a tattered pocket on his cargo pants. He handed her a small black velvet box, and looked away quickly. "I've been carrying this around with me for more than a week," he said. "If you don't like it, we can look for something else."

  She jammed her soggy tissue against her nose and flipped it open.

  It was an antique ring. A faceted oval aquamarine, rich with shifting shades of pale, milky blue and green, was suspended within a filigreed circle of platinum. It was ethereal, unique. Exquisite.

  The colors in the stone swam and blended in her eyes, into a swirl of green, blue and white light. Her throat was too tight to speak.

  "I didn't figure you for the traditional diamond type," he said warily. "This, well… it fit my fantasy of something you might like."

  "Your fantasy fits me fine," she whispered. "It's so beautiful."

  He took the box from her and pulled the ring out. He looked into her eyes. "Will you wear it?"

  She held out her left hand without hesitation. "Yes."

  He slipped it onto her finger. He pressed her hand against his mouth, and held it against his cheek. "Oh, God," he said shakily. "That was really scary. And I got through it. Look at me. I'm still alive."

  The ring glowed on her hand, as if light were shining behind it. "It fits perfectly," she said softly. "We don't even have to size it."

  "I already sized it. I tried on one of your rings. It came to right here, on my smallest finger. I just told that to the jeweler."

  She was staggered. "You were already convinced? Back then?"

  "Hell, yes. God favors those who are prepared. That's what my crazy daddy used to say, as he taught us how to build a bomb or perform an emergency tracheotomy."

  She laughed, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you, Connor. I'm sorry for every time I wasn't brave enough to tell you so."

  He kissed her tears away. "Do you trust me, Erin?"

  The longing in his voice made her heart ache. She pressed her forehead to his. "With my life, with my heart. With everything. Forever."

  A shudder went through his body, as if he were shaking off the shadow of some old lingering fear. "Will you come upstairs with me?"

  "I would go anywhere with you," she said.

  They scrambled to their feet, and he took her hand. She followed him up the stairs and into a big, sparsely furnished bedroom. Golden afternoon sun slanted through bamboo shades. Simple white walls, an antique dresser, a king-sized bed with a rough, textured coverlet of silvery charcoal fabric. There was a long handmade chest beneath the window. It was plain, almost medieval in its simplicity.

  He watched her look around his room. Each step they went through felt like a holy ceremony. A series of doorways that led them ever deeper into the most secret and tender parts of each other.

  "I love your room," she said gently. "It suits you."

  "I've dreamed of luring you in here for so long," he said. "I even changed the sheets this morning. For luck."

  Erin tugged her T-shirt over her head, unhooked her bra, kicked off her sneakers. "God favors those who are prepared?"

  "Yeah." His cheeks flushed as he stared at her. He laughed at himself and rubbed his hand over his face. "Jesus. How do you do this to me?" he said, in a wondering voice. "I feel like I'm thirteen, again."

  She shimmied out of her jeans and panties, and shoved his chest. He sat down on the bed as if his knees were too weak to hold him.

  "So?" she teased. "I'm wearing your ring, Connor. Nothing else. I held up my side of the deal. What are you going to do with me now?"

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his hot face against her belly. "Everything," he said. "Everything you want. Anything you can dream of. For the rest of our lives."

  She buried her nose in his fragrant hair. His lips moved against her skin, his hands moved over her body. He knew her so well, all the ways to make her quiver and go soft and wet and desperate for him. He slid his clever fingers between her legs, stroking her with loving skill.

  She swayed, her knees buckling, and grabbed his shirt.

  "Enough teasing." She yanked it up over his head. "It's been ten days, and I want you. So get ready to put out, Connor McCloud."

  She shoved him down onto the bed and attacked his belt. He laughed up at her in pure delight. "But we just got engaged," he protested. "I thought that a tender, romantic vibe would be more—"

  "Think again." She yanked the cargo pants off and stared down at his sleek, powerful body with hungry eyes. "You can be tender and romantic afterwards. When I'm tired."

  "OK," he said cheerfully. He lunged for the beds
ide stand and rummaged in the drawer until he found an unopened box of condoms. She loved the way the muscles in his arms and back and belly flexed and rippled. He rolled the condom onto himself, jerked her down on top of him, and rolled her over.

  It was delicious, exactly what she craved, to curl herself around his lithe, hot, muscular body. Everything she wanted to do with him, all the pleasures she wanted to bestow upon him crowded through her mind at once. She resented the constraints of time and space that forced her to do one thing at a time. She wiggled into the position she wanted. She was one hot, aching glow of need, her sheath throbbing with each pulse of her heart. "Now," she begged. "Please."

  He filled her with himself, and the first wave of pleasure broke over her then and there, before he even began to move.

  She fell apart in his arms, in a cleansing, healing storm of tears.

  "Oh, Erin," he murmured. He cradled her face, kissed her tears away.

  She moved beneath him, still weeping, and finally understood the nature of the truth she had faced in Novak's house of horrors. Chaos did rule. But love had lifted away the shadow of Novak's twisted loathing from that truth. Love had exalted it.

  Love was chaos, too. She couldn't control it and didn't want to try. Everything beautiful and wild and free was part of that chaos. She finally caught a glimpse of the rich, beautiful design that underlaid it. She would never resist it again: surprises and wonder, heat and light and laughter, blazing color and raucous noise. Messes and mistakes, change and growth and risk. Magic, and love.

  Everything that made life sweet, that gave it meaning.

  Connor lifted his face from hers. "Come to Vegas with me," he said. "Let's get married tomorrow."

  "But I… but we—"

  "I want it nailed down. I want my wedding night with my beautiful bride, and I want it now."

  She laughed. "But it's a sure thing. We just have to wait until—"

  "I've waited long enough."

  "That's a dirty trick," she told him sternly. "And this isn't the first time you've played it on me."

  "What trick?" He fluttered his lashes, all innocence.

  "You know. Springing something big on me while we're making love. When you're inside me. It gives you an unfair advantage."