by Debra Webb
Too bizarre.
An image of men in white coats flashed through her mind. They had been in that swamp, too. Maybe not the guys in the white coats, but men they had sent to find her.
What did they want?
As soon as she got past one threat, something else popped up. What was with this sudden let’s-get-Darby trend?
She shut off the water and stood there, unmoving for a long moment. No. That wasn’t true. The men in the white coats had always loomed over her life. They just hadn’t known she was here until now.
She’d played quiet mouse all these years and stayed safe. Now, in the course of a few days, she’d been exposed to the danger that had always been there deep in the shadows of a past she couldn’t remember.
As foolish as she knew it was, a part of her felt as if Aidan understood. He knew, maybe simply sensed, that there was more for her to worry about than Jerry Lester.
Not once in her life had she felt as connected to another human being as she did to Aidan. It went way beyond the physical…beyond mere attraction.
She thought of that hollow feeling that had always haunted her. As if some part of herself was missing. She’d wondered if perhaps she’d been a twin and her sibling had been lost early on in pregnancy. She’d read about it. One in eight pregnancies started out as twins, she remembered.
But this connection she and Aidan shared, although every bit as intense, was not the brotherly-sisterly kind. This was the man-woman kind. The me-Tarzan-you-Jane kind.
Her life was a wreck.
She was supposed to start her new job today and look at her. She pulled the towel from its bar and swabbed her body dry.
Two police officers were stationed in her courtyard, one near the elevator on this very floor. She knew Willis hoped Lester would come after her, especially considering she’d tipped his hand and led the police to his one ace in the hole. But he hadn’t minded that she’d done that. He’d enjoyed the show. Reveled in the attention to his work.
Willis needn’t worry.
Jerry Lester was never leaving that swamp.
She had no explanation for her conclusion, only that she felt it with utter certainty.
After she’d dried her hair and slathered on some lotion, she pulled on her terry cloth robe. It felt good. She glanced at her lucky sweater lying on the foot of the bed. Why on earth had she bothered digging out that old thing? She’d worn it at home all the time during her high school years. When she studied…when she worried…most of the time, she admitted. She’d even taken it to college with her. But after her parents’ death, she’d had no use for it.
Luck had failed her.
Maybe all the painful things she’d experienced lately had subconsciously made her long for the old ratty garment. She picked it up and smelled the fabric. It smelled like home…like her room…like the past. Maybe some part of her had just felt compelled to reach out for comforting mementos of the past.
She should go home more often. The time she and Aidan had spent looking through old family photo albums had soothed her, made her feel connected to her parents once more. She’d needed that.
As she brushed her long hair she thought of something else she desperately needed right now.
Him.
She had no intention of pretending anymore. The memory of him holding her beneath that water…giving her his last breath. If those men had found them, would they even be alive right now?
Not for another moment was she going to sit on the sidelines and wait for life to happen to her. She was going to make it happen. If she could mentally track a serial killer, she could damn sure have an intimate relationship with a man she was fiercely attracted to.
When she moved into the living room it was semi-dark. The curtains drawn tight, allowing only a narrow shaft of light here and there where they didn’t completely meet. Shadows and light played around the room, reminding her all too much of last night’s journey into the depths of nature’s primordial world. She scratched the back of Wiz’s head as she passed the sofa. She’d filled his food and water bowls and changed his litter box after letting him in this morning. Obviously she wasn’t the only one who’d spent the night prowling around.
Her breath caught as the door to her apartment opened. She relaxed when Aidan stepped inside. He’d apparently gone to his own place across the hall to shower.
Heat infused her as her gaze paused first on his bare chest where that trademark black shirt lay open. Clean black trousers had replaced the ones he’d ruined in the murky swamp. And his feet were bare. She smiled, suddenly fascinated by the shape and length of those masculine feet.
“You need sleep,” he said, that deep voice rougher than usual. The sound rasped over her nerve endings, made her shiver. “I’ll keep watch.”
She moved closer to him, reveled in watching him watch her. “And what about you? Don’t you need sleep as well?” She thought about the way he’d carried her through that swamp for hours. His strength was incredible, unending. How was it possible to have such physical endurance? Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she’d imagined the whole night. Then she remembered the way he’d kissed her beneath that dark water. The way he’d held her close to his chest, close to his heart, while he trudged through that swamp. Need shuddered through her. He was truly incredible.
Another memory bobbed to the surface. The way he’d been afterward—mechanical…autonomic. Even his voice, the cadence of his speech, had been different. Just how much of himself had he been forced to shut down to go above and beyond normal physical limitations?
“You must be exhausted,” she suggested. It wasn’t a question. He had to be. No normal human could have done what he did and not be totally wiped out.
“I’ll be fine. You should sleep.”
That handsome face was carefully schooled to a neutral expression. He didn’t want her to know…wouldn’t let her see what he really felt.
She moved another step closer. “I don’t want to sleep.”
“When the adrenaline wears off, you’ll want to sleep,” he countered.
She took a position less than a foot away from him and tilted her head back to look at him. “What do you suggest I do until then?”
He licked those sexy lips and opened that amazing mouth to make some response but words, apparently, failed him.
“Kiss me, Aidan,” she murmured. “Kiss me like you did when you were trying to save my life.”
Long, slender fingers cupped her face. Artist’s fingers, she mused. But so strong, so skilled in far more things than she knew. As those sensual lips descended to meet hers, one thought rose above all others.
Secrets.
This man had many, many secrets.
His mouth moved slowly at first, savoring, teasing, softly, tenderly, as if he had forever or wanted desperately to memorize every detail of her taste.
She stopped thinking, lost herself in his kiss. His lips were firm and yet soft at the same time. He controlled the pressure, the depth of the kiss.
But she wanted more.
Her arms went up to his shoulders. She pushed the shirt away and smoothed her palms over his wondrously sculpted torso. Flames roared through her, igniting every part of her as she felt the smoothness of his skin, the hardness of male muscle covered in sleek satin. Up and over that sensual landscape her fingers reached until they found a home in his silky hair. And then she traced the planes and angles of his face.
As good as his kiss felt, she had to see. She pulled away to allow her mind the added stimuli of seeing what her fingers felt.
He stood very still as she learned his lips with the tips of her fingers…felt the heat and softness. The squareness of his jaw, the lean planes of his cheeks. High cheekbones, the slender bridge of his nose. A strong brow, unlined by age. He couldn’t be much older than her.
Her heart bumped against her sternum with each frantic beat, with each shallow breath. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs, couldn’t stop touching him. She wanted to know every pa
rt of him.
He lifted his hands to her face and touched her the same way. His own respiration grew rapid and shallow, a perfect match to hers. He pulled a handful of her hair to his face and inhaled deeply, closed those glittering dark eyes as if that were very nearly more than he could bear.
She tugged free the sash to her robe and shrugged out of it, allowing it to fall to the floor in a half circle around her feet. His eyes opened and that impassioned gaze traveled down the length of her and back, then settled on her eyes.
“You are so beautiful.”
He turned her around and pulled her back against him, held her that way, with his arms cradled around her waist and his chin against her hair until she could no longer bear the friction of his trousers against her bare bottom, the feel of his hardened sex restrained behind the fabric.
As if reading her mind or sensing her need, he drew back a few inches and kissed her naked shoulder. Slowly, he kissed his way down her back, moving her long hair aside as he went. When he reached the curve of her hip, he knelt, his hands bracketing her waist. He kissed her hip, then lower, until he reached the next curve where her bottom met her thigh. Then he turned her around.
The image of him kneeling before her took her breath away. His gaze never leaving hers, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss next to her belly button. Her entire body quivered in response.
His fingers glided over her skin, the caress so light she wasn’t even certain he actually touched her though she watched his every move. Downward, tracing the shapes of her legs only to make their way along her inner thighs, those long masculine fingers set every inch of her on fire.
He kissed his way up her rib cage until he encountered her breasts. He pressed his face between them, the feel of his breath on her skin fueling the frenzy already out of control inside her. This was too much. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t wait any longer.
She gasped when he stood, towered above her. Before she could think of what he intended, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the kitchen. He sat her on the counter next to the fridge. Another gasp slipped past her lips at the cold feel of tile beneath her bottom. She shivered…started to ask what he was doing, but his focused movements overwhelmed her ability to speak.
Leaving her sitting there, he fumbled in the freezer compartment, then came back to her with a handful of ice cubes. He dropped them on the counter. Something intensely carnal surged inside her as the cubes slid this way and that.
There was something primal in his eyes…something savage. She sucked in a sharp breath at the ferocity of it.
He picked up one of the ice cubes and touched her. She caught her breath. With slow, aching precision, he made a path down her chest, over her breast and around her nipple. Her eyes closed. She pressed her head back against the cabinet, her fingers clutching at the counter on either side of her. He licked at the water left behind by the ice. Suckled at her breast.
She had to touch him…couldn’t resist. Her fingers threaded into his hair as he alternately cooled her flesh with the ice and set her aflame with his mouth. She whimpered and moaned, begging without words for him to stop torturing her. But he was relentless. He would not stop touching her, tasting her, tantalizing her skin with the fire and ice.
His mouth moved lower, closer to the part of her throbbing for his attention. He hadn’t even touched her there and she felt ready to explode.
Images filtered through her mind—the two of them, their bodies connected in the most intimate of ways. Him plunging into her, her rising to meet his every thrust. He filled her so completely, over and over again.
Orgasm came in an unexpected rush.
She screamed his name.
He was there. Not the fantasy…the real thing. Kissing her, whispering sweet words to her. Just envisioning making love with him had made her come. How would she ever bear the real thing?
She felt herself being lifted, felt him crush her against his chest as he carried her. She couldn’t make her eyes open, even when he lowered her onto the bed.
She reached for him, but he was no longer there. Her eyes opened, searched the nearly dark room. The sound of fabric sliding over skin drew her attention to the foot of the bed. He straightened, tossed aside his trousers and briefs.
He was magnificent. Perfect. Every powerful muscle defined so beautifully. Her eyes marveled in the strength of his masculine body, in the generous size of his sex.
Like a sleek panther about to close in on its prey, he climbed onto the end of the bed, moved onto all fours, that glittering dark gaze focused intently on her.
Trembling like a lamb about to be presented up for slaughter, she reached out to him…needed to make the connection complete.
He drew back slightly, just out of her reach.
She scrambled onto all fours, matching his dominant stance, ready to fight for what she wanted. They watched each other warily for a few moments, then he made the first move. He twined his fingers in her hair and pulled her closer. She turned her head when he would have claimed her mouth.
Her heart thundered, her mind whirled with confusion. He wanted her…she wanted him. But she didn’t understand why he didn’t take her completely, or why she taunted him. She simply could not help herself.
He pressed his lips to her ear and whispered roughly, “Are you sure this is what you want?”
She turned her face to his. “Yes. Aren’t you?”
He wanted her. She knew he did.
He cradled her face in his hands and drew her mouth closer to his. But instead of kissing her, he murmured, “I’ve never stopped wanting you.”
She nipped at his lips with her teeth. “Then take me. I’m yours.”
“You’ve always been mine.”
His mouth closed over hers and the confusion and uncertainty melted away. He lowered her onto the bed, coming down on top of her. Her legs went around his as his weight settled against her. The slightly rougher feel of his, dusted with masculine hair, made her giddy.
It felt more right than anything she’d ever experienced. They belonged together. The intimate knowledge settled over her, inside her.
His fingers entwined with hers, he nudged her and she spread her legs wider in invitation. Her whole being yearned for him…needed only him. He stared deeply into her eyes as he pushed slowly inside her. The resistance he met gave him pause, he hesitated. But she urged him on, wriggling her hips and trying to open wider.
He kissed her—long and slow—until she relaxed so completely that she couldn’t think of anything else but his lips moving on hers, his tongue teasing hers.
He pushed deeper inside and she came again even as he made the seal complete, filling her to capacity and then some. He drank in the sounds of her release as if it were an intoxicating brew, held her hands tighter, pressed his hips more firmly into hers, absorbing ripple after ripple of her pleasure.
She didn’t know how many minutes had passed with him kissing her mouth, her face, her throat. She might have blacked out…still couldn’t catch her breath. He moved his hips only a little, as if he feared hurting her.
He was holding back, allowing her to enjoy all the pleasure while he restrained himself. She pulled her hands free of his and pushed against his chest.
“Turn over,” she demanded, a new kind of determination charging through her. This wasn’t supposed to be one-sided.
He paused in his ministrations. His eyes were slightly glazed but not nearly enough. He was still hanging on to control.
“Turn over,” she ordered, pushing harder against his chest.
He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. She bit back a wince when the position sent him deeper inside her. He was so damn big. His hands were on her waist instantly, lifting her just enough to ease the pressure. She pushed those masterful hands away and scolded, “It’s my turn now.”
He curled his arms around the pillow under his head and lay very still. Well, she’d just see how long that relaxed pose lasted.
&nbs
p; Aidan fisted his fingers into the pillow and clenched his teeth together to resist the impulse to lift his hips. His body pulsed with need. He wanted to tuck her back under him and drive into her until he howled with release. But he couldn’t. She was too small. He’d already caused her discomfort. He closed his eyes and fought to control the desire roaring through his body. He wouldn’t hurt her again.
She started to move and a groan wrenched from his throat. She moved slowly, sinuously at first. He could feel the tension in her body caused by the continued discomfort…yet she wanted this.
He found himself mesmerized by her movements. Her eyes closed, her back arched slightly, her long hair trailed over her shoulders and down her back, making him crazy with want. She rode him slow and easy, her tight walls dragging along his length, making him want to cry out with the incredible pleasure of it.
Up and down, squeezing, tugging. He wouldn’t survive this. Couldn’t take it…no amount of training could have prepared him for the devouring heat…the overwhelming sensations.
She rocked a little faster, pumping him with a rhythm that fired his blood. The thrust of her breasts made him hunger to taste them again. He reached for her but she pushed his hands away, wouldn’t let him touch her. She was fighting another plunge toward orgasm, panting, making small guttural sounds with the effort of keeping up the pace when she wanted to let go.
The first wave of completion swept over him and he lost it.
“No more,” he rasped. He had to finish this.
He rolled her beneath him and plunged into her tight, rippling body. She came around him, the contractions sending him completely over his own edge. He thrust deep, hard, over and over. His entire body spasmed, then relaxed, again and again as the single purest form of pleasure he’d ever experienced flooded his senses. He pumped once, twice more, milking the last of his seed from his body.
His eyes opened, settled on her angelic face.
She was his. Nothing short of his own death would take her from him.
He would protect her from the very men who had created her for him.
