Rolling on top of her, he pressed her into the mattress as he threaded their fingers together. Then, he stretched her hands above her head as he reached for the condom. Quickly slipping it on his aching erection, he settled between her parted legs.
“Isn’t there a saying about the pot calling the kettle black?”
She released a low groan as the head of his cock slid an inch inside her body. “I’m not ambitious, I’m passionate,” she told him.
He slid in another inch. The wet heat of her wrapped around his tender tip, the sensation unbearably exquisite.
“Ambition and passion,” he hissed between clenched teeth. It was increasingly difficult to carry on a coherent conversation. “A match made in heaven.”
She squeezed his fingers, her head tilted back as he pulled out and pressed back in another inch. “Heaven, again.”
“It seems to be the word I associate with you,” he confessed. And it was the truth. Lying on the bed in the shadowed room with Lynne soft and welcoming beneath him was as close to paradise as he’d ever been. “Especially when you’re in my arms.”
She arched her back in a silent plea for more. “Funny. The word that comes to my mind is dangerous.”
“Opening yourself to another person is risky,” he readily agreed. “Are you willing to take a chance on me?”
In answer she wrapped her legs around his waist, her expression one of anticipation.
It was the only encouragement he needed. Holding her gaze, he pressed deep into her body. Her slick flesh pressed against his cock, squeezing him in bliss. They groaned in unison.
Rocking his hips, Kir lowered his head to kiss Lynne with a sizzling desire. Could anything be better? This was the sheer perfection of opposites. Cool sheets against hot skin. Hard muscles cradled against soft curves. Low moans and the thunder of hearts.
Moving together they reached for the heavens.
* * *
Nash woke with a splitting headache and no idea where he was. Christ. It’d been years since he’d blacked out. Not since his college days.
Lying on the hard floor he had a wistful urge to return to those simpler days. He’d do things differently this time. There wouldn’t be any endless parties and sleeping through class. Nope. He’d concentrate on his football, and even if he didn’t make it to the pros, he could find a place to coach, or even become an announcer at the games. Anything but returning to Pike as a washed-up has-been.
Nash groaned, wrenching open his heavy lids.
Dark. That was it. Just complete, utter darkness. What was going on? The garage didn’t have many windows, so it was always gloomy inside, but it usually wasn’t this thick, choking obscurity.
Wondering if he was in that weird place between waking and sleep, he blinked. Still dark. Had he gone blind? No. That was stupid. People didn’t go blind from drinking too much. Did they?
Unless he’d slept through the day and it was night.
With an effort, Nash cleared his mind of the lingering cobwebs and battled to recall where he’d been before blacking out.
He had a vague memory of spending the day at the bar fixing toilets. Hard to forget that disgusting task. And then he’d gone home to drown his sorrows in a bottle of vodka. And then . . . Oh yeah, Chelsea had barged in to yell at him. Stupid woman. Was it his fault he wasn’t some fairy-tale Prince Charming? It wasn’t like she was perfect. Besides, he could barely take care of himself, let alone anyone else.
Dismissing the memory of Chelsea, he tried to concentrate on what had happened after she’d left. He remembered going into the bathroom and then nothing.
No, wait. He’d been standing in front of the toilet when he’d felt a pain in the middle of his back. There’d been a blast of panic as he’d bent over to try and pull up his pants. That was when he’d hit his head on the corner of the vanity and knocked himself out.
Was he still in the bathroom? No. That room was too cramped for him to stretch out. And it felt like cement, not linoleum beneath him. Icy cold cement he could feel from head to toe because he was completely naked.
His heart thumped against his ribs. Shit.
Could he be in the morgue? He’d heard horror stories about people who died and then came back to life in the ambulance or even the emergency room. Maybe whoever found him assumed he was a goner and sent him straight to the death house. God knew the local authorities were a bunch of bumbling amateurs.
Then he gave a small shake of his pounding head. There was a sense of space around him. As if he was lying in the middle of a vast area, not in a cramped cubicle.
Nash was suddenly furious despite the shocking cold. Had someone snuck into his house while he was passed out and hauled him here as some sort of joke?
He was Nash Cordon. Star football player. Business owner. The man who could have any woman in town. The man everyone envied. Muttering a curse, Nash forced himself to a sitting position. He glanced around, unable to penetrate the shroud of darkness.
It was cold. Bone-deep cold, and the faintest hint of a breeze, but he didn’t think he was outside. There was the heavy sensation of a roof over his head. Besides, if he was in the open, he should be able to see the sky. Beneath his bare ass he could feel broken cement and a layer of grime. As if no one had been there for years.
Where was he?
Hell. The word whispered through the back of his mind. I’m in hell.
Shivering as much from the fear as from the cold, Nash shoved himself to his feet and started walking. If the devil wanted him, then he was going to have to catch him.
His bravado lasted for five minutes. The precise time it took for the brutal cold to sink through his bare skin to cramp his muscles. He stumbled, nearly falling. Crap, his feet were already numb, and he had a terrible fear that he was walking in a big circle.
Tilting back his head, he released a furious howl. The sound echoed eerily through the frigid darkness, masking the approaching footsteps. He had no clue that he wasn’t alone. Not until something smashed against the side of his head.
With a grunt he fell to his knees, the sensation of something warm trickling down the side of his neck. Blood? The thought was preferable to his brains leaking out.
“Who are you?” he screeched.
Was there a laugh? Nash panicked. He didn’t know what was happening, but he was absolutely certain that he was going to die if he didn’t get out of there.
Trying to rise to his feet, he felt something slide over his head.
“Where are you going, Nash?” a voice whispered as a thin wire sliced into his throat. “The fun is just about to start.”
* * *
Lynne pressed tightly against Kir as they snuggled in the middle of her bed. It was deliciously unfamiliar. Usually she encouraged her partner to leave as soon as sex was over. Most mornings she had to get up ridiculously early. And of course, there was the very real possibility she would get an emergency call in the middle of the night. It only made sense for her date to go home so she could sleep uninterrupted.
At least that was what she told herself, and her partner.
Now she realized she asked them to leave because she didn’t want them to stay. She loved her privacy. Especially after a hectic day jam-packed with animals and their owners. Peace and quiet were treasures she guarded with jealous zeal.
Kir was different. She had her arms wrapped tightly around his waist as if she was ready to physically prevent him from moving away.
The thought should have horrified her. She never, ever wanted to be one of those clingy women who were willing to sacrifice their intelligence and pride when it came to men. But holding on to Kir didn’t feel like a sacrifice. It felt . . . right. Wondrously, gloriously right.
Tilting back her head, Lynne glanced at the man who was turning her world upside down. She’d expected to find him smiling with a smug satisfaction. After all, he’d made her scream in pleasure. More than once. In fact, they’d made love three times. Each one better than the last.
&nb
sp; Instead she found him staring at the ceiling, his brows pulled together in a frown.
She propped herself on her elbow, a portion of her pleasure fading. Was he regretting what had just happened between them? Maybe wondering how to get out of there without hurting her feelings?
The thought made her mouth dry and her heart thud with a slow, aching unease. “What are you thinking about?”
He turned his head, a wicked smile curving his lips. “I have you naked in my arms. What do you think I’m thinking about?”
There was a heat smoldering in his eyes that assured her that whatever was on his mind, it wasn’t regret. Relief raced through her and she returned her smile. Later she would chastise herself for reacting like a skittish teenager, not a grown, supremely confident woman.
“Even you have limits,” she teased.
His eyes darkened with ready passion. “Is that a challenge?”
“One for later,” she murmured, rubbing her hand over his chest. She loved the feel of his silken skin roughed by golden hair. “Now tell me why you’re frowning.”
“I just realized I didn’t call the office today.”
Oh. It took Lynne a second to process his words. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. “Is that bad?”
He arched his brows. “Would you forget to check on your clinic?”
“No, but I imagine you have a well-trained staff who are paid a fortune to make things run smoothly,” she said. “I have interns who spend a few months training with me before moving on, and a receptionist who slept with my ex-boyfriend.”
“That’s true.” He rolled on his side so they were face-to-face. “It still doesn’t excuse me.”
She pressed her palm against the center of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. She hated that Kir was so hard on himself. “Why does it bother you so much?”
“My forgetfulness is either the result of my advanced age, or I’ve made my decision to sell the business and I’m already pulling away.”
Her hand slid up his chest to cup his face in a silent gesture of comfort. “Or it could be that you’re stressed because your dad just died and there’s a serial killer stalking the women in this town,” she suggested in dry tones. “Maybe it just slipped your mind.”
“It’s more than that. I’ve barely thought of Boston since I came back to Pike. It’s like . . .”
“Like what?”
He held her gaze. “Like I’m home.”
A fragile joy swirled through Lynne at his soft words. Was he saying he might return to Pike? Forever?
Careful not to get her expectations too high, Lynne leaned up to press a kiss to the hard line of his jaw. “You are home,” she whispered.
Chapter 19
Dear Rudolf,
Do you know what I hate about kids today? The incessant whining: Oh, I’m misunderstood. Oh, I’m being bullied. Oh, I’m harassed. And all the while they’re pasting their pimpled faces all over the Internet. Look at me, look at me, look at me. Stupid brats.
Every kid thinks they’re misunderstood or bullied or harassed.
Except for me. Don’t get me wrong, I was brutalized, but that was a gift from my drunken loser of a father, not my peers.
No, to the other kids I was invisible. I could walk by and not one person would notice I was there. Like I was so worthless they couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge my existence.
Can you imagine what that does to a person? Being ignored is the worst. Who cares if you’re mocked for wearing the wrong clothes or pushed in a locker? You can heal hurt feelings or a few bruises. No, being ignored erases you as a human being.
You’re nothing.
You don’t heal from that.
And then there are the lucky few.
The ones that shimmer and glitter and steal all the attention. They suck it away like a black hole. But do they appreciate what they have? Of course not. Arrogant asses.
They moan and groan and pretend life has been so difficult. And worse than that, they demand constant pampering. As if we were all put here to tend to their needs. Petulant children tossing tantrums.
Ah, but sometimes it’s dangerous to get what you want.
Just ask Nash Cordon.
No, wait. You can’t. He’s dead.
And you know what? It turns out he wasn’t ’t nearly so eager to be the center of attention as he pretended to be. Not when it included my personal touch.
Plus, I’ve discovered something interesting. Death is even sweeter in the dark. You can’t see, which is a pity, but there are other senses. You can hear the crunch of bones breaking. And feel the soft flesh yielding beneath a sharp razor. And smell the copper tang of blood as it pools on the dusty cement floor.
And the screams.
Nothing is more sexually fulfilling. I touch myself in private places as those screams echo in the depths of my soul.
Nash Cordon will have one more moment in the limelight and then he’ll fade into obscurity.
Crimson blood stains the pure white snow. Life spills from warm to frozen. Don’t look. The pain is gone.
It was still pitch-black outside as Lynne finished dressing. Pulling her hair into a high ponytail, she left her bedroom and headed into the kitchen. It was no surprise to discover that Kir was already there along with a drooling King, who was watching him butter a stack of English muffins. She’d smelled the coffee while she was still in the shower.
Her heart did a funny flop as Kir turned and smiled. He was fully dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans, but his jaw was shadowed with a morning stubble and his hair was mussed. She’d never seen anyone look more gorgeous.
“You don’t have to get up at this ungodly hour, you know,” she said, her voice breathless.
He shrugged, handing her a mug. “I always wake up early. Besides, I’m discovering an addiction to sharing coffee with a beautiful vet before sunrise.”
She blushed. Compliments always made her feel awkward. “I’m not beautiful.”
He placed a muffin on a plate and set it on the counter next to her. “That’s a decision I get to make, not you.”
“Oh really?” She nibbled the muffin and sipped the hot coffee. She’d never taken time for breakfast. She showered, pulled on her clothes, and headed for the clinic. Now she realized there was something special about this time of day. A promise of a new beginning with a man who filled her kitchen and heart with a warmth she’d never expected.
“Yes, really.”
She held his gaze as she polished off the muffin. Then she set aside the plate. “You might be the boss in Boston, but this is Pike.”
He arched a brow. “So who is the boss in Pike?”
“Maybe we can be partners.”
“Partners.” His eyes darkened with an emotion that made her heart do another flop. “I like the sound of that.”
“Me too,” she whispered.
Kir turned to place his mug on the counter, a hint of purpose to his quick movements. Was he intending to pull her into his arms? Maybe kiss her until she forgot she had a full schedule waiting for her?
She shivered with anticipation, but even as he started to turn, Kir came to a sharp halt.
“What’s that?” he demanded, glancing out the window over the sink.
Lynne pressed against his side, her mouth dry with fear. “What? Where?”
“That light.”
Lynne frowned in confusion. “The streetlights?”
He pointed upward. “No, in the sky.”
Lynne leaned forward, studying the glow that was reflected against the lingering darkness. It wasn’t the hovering dawn. It was something from the ground. “Could it be a fire?”
“It looks too steady for a fire.”
“True. Oh, wait.” Lynne abruptly recalled where she’d seen that glow before. “It looks like the lights from the football field.”
“Do they always leave them on?”
“No. Only when they have a game.”
He w
as silent for a minute, then he squared his shoulders. “I’m going to check it out.”
She reached out to grab his arm. Not because she thought he was overreacting to lights. Right now, anything out of the ordinary was setting off alarm bells. No, she simply wasn’t going to let him go alone.
“We’re going to check it out.” She squeezed his arm. “Partner.”
He shook his head. “Lynne—”
“Have you considered the possibility this is a trick to lure you away so I’m left here on my own?” she interrupted.
He released an aggravated sigh. “You’re too smart for your own good,” he muttered. “Or my good.”
She pulled on her coat, letting King out to do his business before filling his bowls with food and water. They could take him along, but she was still reluctant to leave the house without him there to provide protection. It was going to be a while before she was over the horror that the killer had been sneaking around her property.
Leaving the house, Lynne made sure the doors were locked as Kir started the SUV and scraped the ice from the windows. At last they were driving down the empty street, a tension silencing any urge to chatter. It was probably nothing, she tried to tell herself. Some kids might have turned on the lights last night and no one noticed. Or there was some weird power surge. No doubt there were any number of explanations.
She was still clinging to the hope that it was nothing more than a fluke when they turned onto the road that led past the three-story brick school that had been built a hundred years ago, with a new addition that was awkwardly attached at the back. On one side was a graveled parking lot, and on the other side was a long field framed by a chain-link fence.
They drove past the bleachers that were nearly hidden beneath the snowdrifts, and the scoreboard, until they had a clear view of the field.
Her breath tangled in her throat. Right in the middle of the snow-covered field was a shiny black truck.
“That’s Nash’s truck,” she said in a harsh voice. There was no mistaking the oversized custom wheels and floodlights on top of the cab. “Why would he leave it in the middle of the football field?”
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