Midnight Disclosures

by Rita Herron

  Then her fingers danced across his chest. Brushed his nipples. Tangled in the coarse hair on his chest. He hardened, his control on the edge of shattering. Nothing had ever felt so titillating.

  Her fingers trailed lower, inched into the waistband of his boxers, and she began to slide them down his hips. He watched her, saw rapture and seduction plainly written on her face, the faint wicked smile lighting her mouth spiking his fever even more. Her fingernails teased the firm muscles rippling in his thighs as he raised his hips. Then he was naked. Claire reached for his sex, cupped it in her hand and began to stroke him.

  “Claire…”

  “I dreamt about doing this,” she groaned. “And this.” She licked at his skin, then lower to his nipples, suckling him as he had done to her.

  He nearly exploded, groaning in pleasure-pain.

  She smiled into his chest, then tried to shift lower, teasing his belly.

  “No, not yet. It’s been too long, and I’m too close.”

  Holding his raging need for release at bay, he kissed her again and stroked her skin, her hips, then lower where he eased her legs apart. She shifted into his hand, and he pushed her legs wide, then slid his fingers into her slick moistness. His lips found a path down to her breasts again, and he teased her nipples, his heart pounding when she trembled beneath him. She was tight, sweet, moist, waiting for him to fill her.

  He eased her to her back, making her wait longer.

  “Please, Mark.”

  “First, I have to taste you.” She gripped his shoulders to stop him, but he was desperate to have his way. His body quivered from the fire spreading through his veins as he kissed her belly, then trailed hot, wet kisses lower to her inner thighs, before dipping his tongue inside her.

  She bucked upward instantly, but he pushed her legs further apart and tasted, exploring, sating his hunger for her at last.

  “Please, I need you now.”

  This was the Claire he knew. She asked for the things she needed, she gave but she took from him as well. “I need you, too.” He rose and looked at her face, his heart squeezing. He wanted her to open her eyes, look into his and see how much he wanted her. The thought that she couldn’t see him nearly broke his heart.

  He’d have to make it up to her with his touch.

  “Hold on, baby.” Shifting above her, he cupped her hips, lifted them upward and eased his length inside her. He was aching, and only she could offer him what he needed. He filled her, pushing inside slowly so she could adjust to his size, then moved deeper and deeper, groaning with satisfaction. He had finally come home.

  CLAIRE ARCHED her back, throwing every ounce of her being into their lovemaking. As much as she wanted to see Mark’s face, her other senses were on overload. The scent of his skin was exhilarating. Sensations rippled through her as she ran her hands over his body. She memorized the hard planes and angles, the coarse hair on his chest and legs, the scrape of his beard stubble against her.

  She reveled in the moans that erupted from his throat, in the hungry way he possessed her, in the gentle way he slid his finger between her lips so she could taste herself. She sucked his fingers one by one, her body quaking as he slid the tip in and out of her mouth. She raked her fingers down his back and over the steely muscles of his hips, then wrapped her legs around his waist, smiling when he clenched in response.

  Mark’s lovemaking was primal as he thrust inside her, harder and faster. She held on, clinging to the edge of control, afraid to jump off the ledge without him, but the power in his touch tore down her defenses, and she felt herself slipping over the edge.

  “Come for me, Claire,” he whispered on a throaty moan.

  He withdrew slightly, leaving her begging for him to fill her again, then he stroked her with his erection, tormenting her until she could stand it no longer.

  She flipped him to his back, straddled him, then lowered herself on his hard length, throwing back her head and body in wild abandon as she ran her hands over his chest. He was thick and hard and made her whole again.

  Mark gripped her hips, supporting her, his lips finding her breasts and suckling her again, the erotic sound sending pinpoints of pleasure through her. She quivered, crying out his name as the sheer bliss of being with him again carried her through the storm. Mark met her explosive climax with a final grinding of his hips that triggered his own release, the two of them floating to the stars together.

  In the aftermath, Mark rolled Claire to his side, cradled her in his arms and dropped soft kisses into her hair. Claire closed her eyes, not wanting anything to intrude on the moment. For the past year, she had lived in a vast, endless sea of darkness.

  Mark had given her a sweet moment of light.

  She held on to that euphoria, allowing his touches and kisses to soothe away the horror of the past, and the reason Mark had come back to her. As if he could read her mind, they made love again, slowly, sweetly, tenderly.

  Finally sated, they fell into an exhausted sleep, lying spoon style together as they shut out the reality of their world.

  But still, Claire couldn’t promise Mark that she would ever see again.

  Worse, she still bore her shameful secret.

  Their time together couldn’t last forever, but she would cling to it for just a little longer.

  HE FLEXED his hands and gritted his teeth, willing himself to stop shaking, but pure frustration and rage trembled through him. Claire was in bed with Mark Steele.

  She had been a bad girl.

  He was so disappointed that tears filled his eyes and trickled down his unshaven jaw. He swiped them away with his sleeve, then clawed at the red welts on his arms, willing those away, too.

  At least Claire wouldn’t be able to see them. She would only see the good inside him, just as she did her lunatic patients.

  Claire was supposed to be his. She had said goodbye to Mark a year ago. So why had she allowed him back in her life?

  Because he didn’t know her secrets. And she wanted to keep it that way.

  Yes, Claire was a naughty girl, keeping things from him.

  He unpocketed his cell phone, punched in her home number, and exhaled to steady his breathing. He refused to act nervous. No. He would stand his ground and fight for Claire like a man.

  The phone rang three times before she answered. “Hello.”

  He closed his eyes at the sound of her sultry voice. “Hello, Claire.” He hesitated, knowing she was sitting up now, realizing he’d gotten braver by calling her home.

  “Claire, he doesn’t really love you, not like I do.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Have you told him about the miscarriage?”

  Her breathing grew ragged. “Tell me who you are.”

  “I can give you another baby, Claire. We can replace the child you lost with one of our own.”

  He smiled at himself, then froze when the phone clicked into silence.

  How dare she hang up on him!

  Had Steele been listening?

  A smile creased his lips at the thought. It would only be a matter of time before things fell apart again for Claire. And he would be there to pick up the pieces.

  Just as he had the time before.

  She still had no idea that both times he’d set the wheels in motion to bring her to him.

  And this time, when he finally had her, they would be together forever.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Claire dropped the phone, choking on her own indrawn breath. How could the killer know about her baby? Other than her sister and the hospital staff who’d treated her after the accident, she had told no one. Except…

  “Claire?”

  Mark had heard the conversation. The minute the phone had rung, she’d indicated it was the killer, and he’d picked up the extension in the den. He stood at the doorway, his silence deafening.

  She pulled the sheets up to cover herself, hating the fact that he could see her naked and vulnerable when she couldn’t look into his eyes and read his t
houghts.

  Then again, maybe it was better she couldn’t see, or she’d have to face the condemnation in his eyes. And she should have kept the caller on the line for the trace—

  “Did you get his location?”

  “No.” His voice rushed out in a haunted whisper. “What did he mean about the baby?”

  “I don’t know,” she said in a hoarse voice.

  “Don’t lie to me, Claire.” He strode toward her and dropped down onto the bed. Claire shifted against the pillows to escape, but he gripped her arms. “What was he talking about? Did you have a baby?”

  Claire shook her head, tears blurring her eyes and sliding down her cheeks. “No.”

  “Were you pregnant?”

  The time for reckoning had come. She could hide no longer. She closed her eyes and nodded, a sob escaping her.

  His fingers tightened almost painfully around her arms. “Was it mine?”

  Pain clawed at her throat and chest. “Yes. Of course it was yours.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you were gone,” Claire cried.

  “What happened?”

  She closed her eyes, seeing the bloody water all over again. He seemed to realize he was holding her too tightly and dropped his hands. Silence stretched tautly between them. A bird twittered outside, the wind brushed a branch against the windowpane.

  Claire heard

  “Tell me what happened, dammit.”

  She reached for her robe, dragged it on, tightened the belt. She was so cold. “I had a miscarriage,” she cried. “I was going to tell you about the baby…at the airport that day you were leaving…”

  “But you never made it to the airport because of the accident?”

  She nodded, memories flooding her. “I was so excited,” she whispered, then gestured toward the heart-shaped frame on her nightstand. “I bought that little picture frame. I was going to give it to you, and put the first picture of our baby in it.” Her voice broke off.

  “You lost our baby in the accident?”

  She nodded again, then wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold herself together, but the pain was too much. She doubled over and released an anguished cry.

  ANGER, SHOCK, HURT, all bombarded Mark, robbing the air from his lungs. While he’d flown off to save the country thinking Claire hadn’t loved him, she’d been on her way to accept his proposal and tell him that he was going to be a father—only she’d had a car accident. Worse, she’d lost their child.

  Then she’d woken up sightless and alone.

  He should have been there to save her and their baby. Or at least to comfort Claire afterward, to help her through the recovery process.

  The guilt of losing his men and now his child felt like a crushing weight on him. He had no idea how to rectify the past. And he certainly didn’t deserve a future with Claire, not after he’d let her down.

  But he couldn’t stand to see her in pain.

  He tentatively reached out to hold her, but she curled away into a ball on the bed. A sharp stabbing pain tore through him at her withdrawal. No wonder Claire had been so distant when he’d first arrived.

  She blamed him for deserting her.

  If he hadn’t been leaving that day, if he hadn’t asked her to come to the airport to send him off, she wouldn’t have been driving in that storm. Then she wouldn’t have had the accident.

  And they might have had a baby.

  He pictured a little girl or boy with Claire’s blond curls and realized he’d lost the chance for that when he’d chosen his job over Claire. Now he understood why she’d run from him when he’d tried to get closer to her again.

  And to think, he’d felt sorry for himself, that she hadn’t come to the airport, that he had nobody to come home to, when he could have had a wife and child. Just like Abe…only Abe was gone, too….

  Reeling with emotions, he went to the bed. He had to make her see how sorry he was.

  “Claire…” he choked, then cleared his throat. “God, Claire, I’m so sorry….”

  She tried to quiet her cries, and his heart ach. He crawled onto the bed beside her and curved an arm around her, pulling her to him spoon style. She stiffened, but he refused to release her. Instead, he tightened his arm around her and tried to absorb the tremors in her body. “I didn’t know, Claire. If I had…if I had I would have come back. I would have found a way. You have to believe me.” He pulled her closer, nuzzling her hair, guilt clawing at him. “I’m so sorry I let you down, that I wasn’t there for you…for our baby…”

  Claire’s tortured breath rattled out. “I…wanted to call you,” she whispered. “But then…then I couldn’t…I couldn’t talk about it.”

  He stroked her hair, his other hand slipping to her stomach, but she stiffened again, and he moved it to her side.

  “I know your job is important,” she said, her tears subsiding slightly. “It’s your life.”

  “You’re important, too,” he said, his emotions on the surface. “You have to know that, Claire. And I thought you understood why I had to go. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  “I know.” She swiped at her eyes, then turned to face him, the desolation in her eyes rocking him to the core. “And I thought I was doing the right thing by not calling you.”

  Because she couldn’t forgive him?

  He couldn’t bring himself to ask the question. Instead, he slid his fingers along her hairline, itching to sink his fingers in the strands and bury his pain by sinking himself inside her.

  But she obviously didn’t want that. And she hadn’t thought he could give her what she needed or she would have called him.

  Claire slid from his embrace and sat up, turning to face the wall. “Please, Mark, go now. I need to be alone for a while.”

  Reeling with emotions, he swung his legs to the other side.

  She stood, facing the wall, and his boots hit the floor with a thud. “For God’s sake, talk to me.” His voice rose, then he circled the bed to her, and gripped her arms, forcing her to face him. “Yell at me, scream at me, hit me if you want to. Hell, blame me, just don’t shut me out again.”

  She shook her head, her voice so low he could barely hear it when she spoke. “Please go, Mark. I can’t deal with this anymore.”

  She looked so fragile. And she was still so far away from him. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  Her labored sigh drifted on the air between them. “But you’re going to,” she finally said.

  “No, let’s hash this out.”

  “I don’t want to hash it out!” Claire knotted her hands into fists. “I’m tired, Mark. It’s been a long day, a long month, hell, a long year. I just want to be alone. Can’t you understand that?”

  Emotions and indecision wound his stomach into a knot. Did she really hate him that much? If he forced her to talk, would he push her over the edge?

  Her lip trembled, and even though she couldn’t see it, he caught her turning in the direction of the small picture frame again. Caution won out.

  “All right, but I’ll be back.” He leaned forward and gently brushed a kiss across her temple. “This isn’t over, Claire. We will talk again.”

  She bit her lip but didn’t reply. He hesitated at the doorway, drank in her beauty, then walked outside, cold and alone. An image of that empty picture frame flashed into his mind, and he scrubbed a hand over his face.

  He hadn’t realized he’d been crying until he felt the moisture on his fingertip. He wiped it away, then felt another fall in its place.

  Dear God, how had everything become such a mess? How could he forgive himself for hurting her and their baby? And how could he make Claire love him again?

  MARK HAD NO IDEA where he was going, but he had to take a drive. Knowing he couldn’t leave Claire unprotected, he phoned Detective Black and waited nearby until he sent a squad car to watch Claire. Then he drove and drove and drove, hoping the hum of his engine would drown out the roar of his aching heart.
/>   It didn’t.

  Finally, he glanced at the sign and realized he was in Brunswick, South Georgia.

  The small town where Abe had lived.

  He automatically reached inside his pocket, felt for the dog tags and knew why he’d ended up here.

  He should have come sooner.

  It took him ten minutes to find the small clapboard house that his friend had been so proud of. For a few seconds, he sat and simply stared at the yard. The small bicycle on its side. A swing set in the back with a tree fort. Abe had told him about building it with his boy.

  Bone-tired and bracing himself for Marie’s accusing eyes, he parked and walked up the sidewalk. The heat was sweltering, his shirt sticking to his chest, the cloying scent of his own fear surrounding him.

  He had been a coward not to visit her.

  Seeing Abe’s face in his mind, he raised his hand and knocked on the door. He owed this to his buddy.

  Seconds later, he heard footsteps and a small red-haired boy opened the door, his front teeth missing, a petite red-haired woman rushing up behind him.

  “Kevin, I told you not to open the door to—” Her voice died as she saw him.

  “Marie? I’m Lt. Mark—”

  “Steele.” She nodded. “I know who you are.”

  He swallowed hard, wondering if her son knew.

  “Come in.”

  Her invitation surprised him. The boy was the spitting image of his father, only Abe hadn’t been innocent, not after a few months in the war.

  “I would have come sooner, but I was in the hospital, and then…” He let the sentence trail off, then realized he was being a coward again. “I didn’t know what to say

  “I’m glad you’re here, Mark.” Marie’s smile grew teary as she patted her son’s head. “Kevin and I wanted to meet you, to talk to you.”

  She gestured toward the small plaid sofa and he stepped over some toys. Kevin sat down beside him, hands on his upraised knees and stared at him, his knees poking through the holes in his jeans. He wore an Atlanta Braves T-shirt. How many times had Abe talked about taking his son to his first game?