Blazing Nights (A Night Games Novel)

by Linda Barlow

  She approached him wearing only a delicate black bra and matching bikini briefs. "What about you?" She tunneled a hand under his sweater, finding the hard muscles on his abdomen and curling her fingers into them. Her bare legs brushed against his trousers while her fingers fumbled with his belt. Her green eyes met his. "I want to see your body, too." The hand that was under his sweater found his nipple and sensuously toyed with it. The other hand slipped inside his loosened trousers and captured the hard thrust of his cock, making him groan.

  The next thing she knew the room was arcing around her as Daniel swooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. He fell on her, clothes and all, and after a few rapid fumblings with her panties and his trousers, they were naked from the waist down. She could feel his body tremble as he lowered his full weight upon her and parted her thighs. The wool sweater he still wore was faintly rough against her lace-covered breasts. They made no move to finish undressing; there was something fiercely exciting in their mutual urgency to complete the union. His rapid donning of a condom was his only concession to good sense and rationality.

  "You really shouldn’t taunt me," he growled, closing his mouth over hers. His hips drove against her, and she arched to accommodate him, sighing with pleasure as he sank into the slippery folds of her body, filling her exquisitely.

  "I wasn't taunting you." She had wrapped her arms around his back, under the sweater. She could feel the driving tension of the muscles that bunched and relaxed as he began to move within her.

  "You're mine, Kate. I want to hear you say it." One of his hands slid between their bodies to tantalize her breast through the fabric of her bra. Simultaneously he slowed the rhythm of their loving until he was barely moving. He ignored the way her body strained for a quick, violent conclusion.

  "Daniel," she protested as he withdrew. A quick look at his taut expression told her he had somehow marshaled the strength to control his body. Supporting his weight on his strong arms, he slid himself back and forth between her thighs and watched her in narrow-eyed satisfaction as she pleaded for him to forge their union anew.

  "Say it." There was a sheen of perspiration on his brow, and Kate knew he couldn't keep this up much longer. "Admit that you belong to me." His head dipped to tongue an aching, lace-clad nipple. The exquisite friction made her moan.

  "I'm yours, dammit," she cried, pulling furiously at his shoulders.

  He made a noise that might have been an exultant laugh if he hadn't been so close to the limits of his willpower. But he still didn't take her until, incensed, she reached down and fondled him fiercely. He surrendered to her then, driving raggedly into her yielding body, taking her higher and higher until she felt shards of pleasure piercing her and the explosive burst of glory that briefly made their spirits one. Dimly, in the aftermath, she heard herself saying, "Yes, yes, I love you, I love you, Daniel. I'm yours for as long as you want me."

  His mouth met hers, and she felt him smile in satisfaction, but he made no reply.

  Chapter 13

  When Kate opened her eyes the following morning she found Daniel already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching her. Memories of the night flooded her, making the color rise in her cheeks. He smiled slightly and brushed a lock of untidy hair out of her eyes.

  "Morning, sweetheart." His voice was husky with unmistakable male satisfaction.

  "What are you smirking about?"

  He was all little-boy innocence. "Smirking? Me?"

  "You look the way I'd imagine Chester would look if he ever actually caught one of the birds he's always watching through the windows."

  "Poor Chester. He's too fat and clumsy ever to catch anything." He ran a finger down the side of her throat. "I'm a better hunter than he is."

  Kate was astonished at the resentment that flashed through her. He looked so pleased with himself—oh, didn't he just! She rolled away from him, threw back the covers, and got up.

  "Where are you going? It's Monday. Your theater is dark, and I'm planning to work at home today. We can stay in bed."

  "I don't want to stay in bed." She jerked open the curtains and let the sunshine into the room. "I feel like getting up and being active."

  "If it's exercise you want—" he began, but he broke off when he saw the way she was glaring at him. His expression changed, becoming wary, even a little concerned. "Hon? What's the matter?"

  What's the matter? I told you I loved you last night, that's what the matter is. And you didn't even acknowledge my words. "Nothing."

  "Then come back to bed."

  "Not right now." She grabbed her clothes, walked into his bathroom, and shut the door.

  She half expected him to come storming in after her, but, as usual, Daniel surprised her. When she returned, washed and dressed for the day, Daniel was sprawled out across the bed, sound asleep. "You're pretty damn sure of yourself, aren't you, Haggarty?" she said aloud.

  He didn't respond.

  * * *

  A couple of hours later, Kate was curled up on the sofa in Daniel's living room reading Stephen's latest mystery novel on her Kindle when Daniel came downstairs and said a bit sheepishly, "I fell back asleep."

  "There's fresh coffee in the pot on the kitchen counter."

  "You're an angel." He returned from the kitchen a couple of minutes later with a mug of coffee and a bowl of cereal. "Did you get the newspaper in?"

  She'd forgotten that Daniel still had the New York Times delivered to his front door. "No, sorry, I read the news on that." She nodded to her IPad sitting on the coffee table.

  He strolled over to the front door to get his paper. "I'm a Luddite, I know, but there's something solid and reassuring -about dirtying my fingers on real, old-fashioned newsprint."

  She didn't respond, but kept her eyes on her book. Daniel ate his cereal, sipped his coffee, and read his newspaper in silence. Every now and then, Kate could feel him looking at her. She refused to meet his eyes, but her concentration on the book waned as she remembered the night before. She loved the way he made love to her and she continued to find the physical domination he exhibited in bed wildly exciting. Obviously, she liked that sort of thing more than she'd realized. But he was also a generous lover, who reveled in giving her pleasure. He could be sweet and tender.

  Even so, she felt as though she had taken a huge risk last night in voicing her feelings, particularly since she wasn't completely certain about what she'd said. Was she really in love with him? Could you be in love with someone you had only known for a few weeks? She and Arthur had known each other for years before falling in love.

  Anyway, love or no love, Daniel hadn't responded. He had just smiled with a kind of satisfaction that might have been masculine pride or territorial possessiveness. Dammit, she didn't know what that smile had meant, if anything.

  "How's your book?" he asked, speaking for the first time in several minutes.

  She glanced up at him, then back down at her screen. "It's very good. A page-turner."

  "Is it, like, a romance or something?"

  "It's a mystery. An historical mystery, actually, by Stephen Silkwood."

  "Really?" He sounded surprised. "You like his books? They're pretty violent, with that torturer hero of his. The guy's kickass, though. Is that the new one? I haven't read it yet."

  It was her turn to be surprised. She knew Stephen's last couple of books had been bestsellers, but it had never occurred to her that Daniel might have read them. "The author is a friend of mine. Have you really read his books? You read mysteries?"

  "Yeah, sure. I love mysteries and thrillers. You know the author? Seriously?"

  "It's Stephen. You met him. Or at least, you talked to him via the game video voice program."

  "Whoa. Stephen Silkwood is one of your gamer friends?"

  "Yes. We went to college together. He's one of my best friends in the world. He's like a brother to me."

  "Is he one of the guys who got a tattoo for you?"

  She was half-laughing now because he s
eemed so nonplussed at this revelation. "Yes. It's on his butt."

  Daniel's eyes widened for a moment, and then narrowed. She laughed out loud. "Of course he'd get it there. Jeff got his tattoo on his shoulder, but Stephen loves to be outrageous. I think it's his artistic personality."

  Daniel digested this is silence. At last he said, "I've met a few writers, just never one whose books I actually liked. Why's he playing computer games when he could be writing?"

  "Recreation? Camaraderie? It's a fun way for us to stay in touch. When he's on deadline he gets a lot more scarce."

  "I can't believe I didn't know that about you," he said after another pause. "That one of your best friends is an author."

  "There's probably a lot we still don't know about each other."

  "Well, it seems we like the same books." He laughed. "Who'd have thought? I guess it's yet another thing we have in common."

  She made a non-committal sound and went back to her reading.

  Several minutes went by before he asked somewhat hesitantly, "Are you mad at me?"

  This time she set her e-reader down on the coffee table. "Maybe a little," she admitted.

  "I wondered, because you're being unusually quiet today. I'm not always good at telling when women are pissed off. Unless they're yelling. That's a dead giveaway, even for thickheaded males like me."

  She smiled in spite of herself. He was usually so confident. She found it endearing that he felt bemused when confronted with feminine anger.

  "So, what are you mad about? I fell asleep on you this morning, I know, but I wouldn't have thought…" his voice trailed off.

  Did he seriously not know? Maybe he hadn't heard her last night when she'd said "I love you." Twice. He had been deep in an erotic cloud at the moment she'd said it. Had it flown right over his head and under his radar? If so, she certainly wasn't going to repeat it now.

  "I think I've told you before that I feel a little overwhelmed by you at times."

  Daniel pushed aside his newspaper and rose to pace about the room. "What exactly do you mean by overwhelmed?"

  "Just…you're judgmental. And possessive. You've swept into my life like the hurricane that struck on our first night in bed. Hurricane Daniel," she added in a lighter tone.

  "Don’t you trust me?"

  "I trust you. I just…I don't know. I feel as though I'm getting in very deep here, and I'm not sure whether you feel the same way."

  He hesitated, then said, "You're all I want, Kate. Ever since I met you, you've been the only woman I think about. It's disconcerting for me, I guess. I don't usually feel this way."

  This wasn't exactly "I love you," but it felt good to her nevertheless. She was all he wanted? Since she wasn't entirely sure about the love thing herself, this was good enough for now. In fact, it was terrific! She was giving him a big grin when he added,

  "There's one thing I'm still struggling with, though. Well, maybe two things."

  Uh oh. There was a "but?"

  "Which two things?"

  "Well, Arthur, obviously, and the fact that you still love him." He put up a hand as she started to speak. "Which is totally all right. I mean, I get that—he was your first love and your husband, and you lost him suddenly and in a horrible way, so of course you still love him; no doubt you always will. I understand that. I know what it's like to lose someone. It took me years to get over my parents' deaths. I was messed up for a long time."

  He had told her that, she recalled. He'd credited his uncle Jon and his partner Cameron with finally helping him sort things out.

  "I did the opposite of what you've done, I think," he went on. "It sounds as though you've been self-contained, going on with your life in an orderly way, and letting people like your close friends support you. Me, I was defiant. Mad at the world." He paused for a moment, and then began again almost reluctantly, as if he had to force the words out. "I didn't want help. I didn't even want to think about it. So I screwed around, did some drugs, lived recklessly and made a bunch of new friends who were just as wild and out of control as I was. Grief does strange things to you, especially when you refuse to acknowledge the monumental sadness that won't stop clawing at you."

  "Yes," she whispered. She was both touched and ashamed. This was difficult for him. She remembered the deep sorrow in his eyes on the day he had told her about his parents. Sadness was not an emotion that Daniel was comfortable expressing, but that didn't mean he didn't feel it. She had thought he didn't understand her grief, but of course he must know what she'd been through. How terrible it must have been for a young boy to lose first his dad, and then, only four years later, his mom. He'd been a teenager when he'd been left alone in the world.

  "In earlier centuries," he said, "it wasn't unusual for a parent, a friend, a sibling, or a spouse to die young. But today that rarely happens."

  She nodded agreement. "Medical advances and healthier lifestyles have pushed death back. The Grim Reaper's no longer staring us in the face all the time."

  "Exactly. Other people our age may have been separated from a parent or a partner through divorce, but not usually by death."

  "So if we're unlucky enough to lose someone, it seems harder, because we don't have the community support and understanding that earlier generations would have had."

  He nodded and she smiled at him. It was almost as though they were finishing each other's sentences.

  "So I get it, Kate. I really do. But it's still tough for me to know he's always in your mind."

  "But he's not. Lately he's hardly been in my mind at all. That's what I was trying to tell you—"

  He put up a hand again, interrupting her. "And that's not all," he said in a determined tone, as if intent upon airing all his grievances.

  "Right. You said there were two things bothering you. I can guess the other. My mother?"

  He sat down beside her on the sofa. "Yes. Well. Not your mother, precisely, since I haven't even met her, but people like her. Mediums. Ghost whisperers. Trance channelers. Psychics." He paused briefly, and then added, "You see, there's something I haven't told you."

  She waited, worried. He looked so grim. This was turning into the most serious and honest talk they had ever had. "I'm listening."

  "You asked me again last night why I hate those frauds. Why I can't accept the notion that it's all just a lot of harmless fun. I guess it's time explained about my own experience with a so-called trance channeler."

  It hadn't occurred to her that he might have had a personal experience. Why would he ever have consulted a medium? Knowing what she knew about Daniel the Skeptic, it seemed impossible.

  "I told you about my father's sudden death," he went on. "How my mother couldn't handle it. She used to talk out loud to him, the way I heard you speak to Arthur that first night. Only she did it constantly. She couldn't accept what had happened; she couldn't let him go."

  Fine shivers threaded over Kate's skin as she realized where this was leading.

  "She became obsessed with death, and the possibilities of an afterlife. She started going to church a lot more often, but she didn't find the comfort she was seeking there." He stopped, saying nothing more for several seconds.

  "Daniel, listen to me. You needn't tell me if this if it's too painful to talk about."

  He flashed her an appreciative look, but there was pain gleaming in his eyes. It made him look younger and more vulnerable than she had ever seen him. Usually he was so direct and so self-assured, but he was clearly having a tough time handling his emotions.

  "Thanks, but you should know. I mean, it's relevant, isn't it? You have to hear it sometime."

  She swallowed, pretty sure that she knew what he was going to say.

  He cleared his throat and seemed to harden his resolution. "One day my mother was visited by a friend who was into spiritualism. The 'friend' did a reading on my mother, aided, no doubt, by whatever information she had picked up about her and my dad in advance. It’s so easy to get personal info off the web these days, bu
t even back then, the data was starting to become available. The medium convinced my mother that my father was still there, watching over her and taking an interest in her life. She suggested that there might even be a message waiting for her from the so-called Other Side."

  There it was, thought Kate. This was why he had such a loathing of spiritualists.

  "She began attending readings. Soon she was 'communicating' on a weekly basis with my father. Miraculously, she seemed happier, more alive, as if her newfound belief in life after death had given her the strength to enjoy her own life again.

  "Then one day she decided to take me along to the channeling session. I'd been in a couple of fights at school, and apparently my ghostly 'father' thought I needed a good scolding." He paused a moment, his voice bitter. "All sorts of weird things happened, and I was scared out of my wits. When a face vaguely resembling my father's materialized out of the darkness over the medium's shoulder, I was so shocked that I tipped my chair over backward. Purely by accident, I tripped the lever that opened the wall panel where the projector was concealed. My 'father' disappeared, and the medium was so rattled that she fell out of her fake trance and started screaming obscenities at me."

  Kate silently soothed him, surprised at the amount of resentment she felt toward the fake medium. It was people like that who gave her mother's profession a bad name. Iris would have been angry, too.

  "We went back there the next day with my uncle Jon, the attorney. He forced the woman to admit she had been conning my mother for months. There had been no 'messages' from my dad. It was all a hoax."

  "That must have been terrible, for both you and your mother. I'm so sorry."

  He nodded. He was speaking in a matter-of-fact tone now, his emotions well leashed. But his blue eyes still burned with remembered grief. "Mom went into a deep depression that lasted for months. She was never really the same afterward. It was as if everything vivid and alive had been sucked out of her. She was diagnosed with stage four cancer about a year later." One of his hands was tightly clasping hers; the other clutched the arm of the sofa. "That's why I've always hated spiritualists."