Unseen

by Nancy Bush

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It sure as hell does,” Will argued.

  “I didn’t know whether you were friend or foe, okay?” Gemma burst out. Her shivering intensified, so Will started shrugging out of his jacket, his eyes on the road.

  “Here,” he said without looking at her.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Reluctantly she slipped it on, smelling his scent, feeling his residual body heat.

  At the Weatherfords’, Tim’s mother Vera simply shook her head. “Timmy’ll come home when he’s ready,” she said. “He always does.”

  “We could go to the ridge,” Gemma began, but Vera would hear none of it.

  “If you find him and bring him back before he’s ready, he’ll just go back there.”

  “But it’s miserable out!”

  “Doesn’t matter to him.” Vera was soft-spoken but firm. “Go home. Get out of your wet clothes. Thank you for caring, but he’ll come home.”

  “You’re sure?” Will asked her.

  “Yes, sir.”

  They got back in the car and drove through the dark night. Everything was close and dark. Inside the car was a warm mustiness, their own heat cocooning them inside together.

  At Gemma’s, Will followed her back inside the front room. He locked the door behind them and they both stood a moment, the porch light coming through the side windows, the rest of the room in darkness.

  “Here,” Gemma said, pulling off his jacket. “Thank you.”

  “Should I hang it up, or am I leaving?”

  “Um…” She put the coat in the front closet, feeling a little off-balance.

  Her hair was wet and her eyes looked exceptionally dark in the dimmed room. Will had an almost irresistible desire to pull her into his arms. She looked luscious and innocent and he wondered if he were going slightly mad. Good old, dependable Will. Wanting to ravish this woman where she stood.

  “You said you told Tim I was your boyfriend,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, well…yes. Sorry. I just thought it was better to lie.” She heard herself and how that sounded, adding lamely, “Well, in this case, anyway.”

  “Lying sometimes has its place.”

  “Wow. There’s a turnaround. You’ve been all about me telling you the truth, like I’ve been purposely lying to you. I haven’t been.”

  He nodded.

  “Was there a reason you stopped by? Sorry I pulled you into action. But…I thought you were going to call? Oh, God. Do you already have some news?”

  “I don’t know anything more about your car, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “It’s way too early for results, even for a rush job.”

  “So, I’ve got a reprieve for at least a few more hours.” Gemma gazed into his serious eyes. There was something going on inside him and she automatically tried to read his feelings. He was making it difficult, she realized. On purpose. Keeping himself as shut down as he could. “If I’m charged with a crime, I guess I’ll be prosecuted. But I’m not guilty.”

  “You don’t think you are.”

  “I don’t think I am,” she agreed, inclining her head. Then, “Have you eaten? I don’t think I have.” She headed for the kitchen and Will followed her. Both of them were still dripping rain from their clothes and leaving tracks across the floor. She caught him looking down at the mess and waved it away.

  “You don’t know whether you’ve eaten?”

  “I fell asleep in the bathtub. Got up and made myself some tea and then Tim showed up on the porch. Pretty sure I missed dinner.”

  “How long were you asleep?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Was it minutes…or hours…?”

  “Minutes, probably.”

  “Probably.”

  She was standing in the center of the kitchen. Now she turned to meet his gaze directly. “Sometimes things are hazy. That’s all.”

  “Periods of time are missing.”

  She shrugged.

  “You can read minds, and you’re missing blocks of time. Some psychologist thinks you’re a case of multiple personality.”

  “DID,” she corrected tonelessly. “And I read emotions.”

  “Like you read mine today.”

  “I wasn’t wrong, was I?” she asked, lifting her gaze to meet his.

  He found himself focusing on the curve of her mouth and the bones in her neck, exposed by the black T-shirt’s v-neck. It was like she was a magnet for his eyes. He’d never been so entranced, and he could almost believe she possessed special powers because he was powerless to look away. “No,” he said, his voice a rasp.

  Her eyes closed. “Thank you.” Her lips shook and he could tell she was the one fighting emotion now. He believed her, and it mattered.

  Will crossed to her as if pulled by a cord. He lightly placed his hands at her shoulders, as if expecting her to collapse in front of him. She looked like she could collapse.

  “I do read emotions,” she said, her eyes still closed. “I know what people are feeling. My mother had these clients who would come to her because they wanted to know their futures. Jean was a flim-flam artist, though she wasn’t despicable. She half-believed she had ‘the gift.’ But she depended on me because I could…come through. I could feel what was uppermost on their minds. Their strongest emotion. Fear. Desire.”

  Now, she opened her eyes. More green than hazel in the harsh overhead kitchen light. Outside the wind slammed against the house, rattling the panes. Inside Will remembered his dream of Gemma stepping naked from the shower.

  He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the curve of her jaw, watching his hand’s progress, his blood thickening, heating. “What am I feeling?” he asked.

  Her lips quivered into a smile. “Too easy.”

  “What are you feeling?”

  “Well, I’m not hungry—for food.” Her gaze fastened on his lips, and to his disbelief she stretched on her tiptoes to feather a kiss lightly over them.

  Will’s pulse leapt. He leaned down and captured her in his arms, his mouth hungrily finding hers, feeling her lips mold and respond to his.

  And in that moment a gale slammed into the house and the lights went out.

  It stopped them for a moment. Locked them in a kiss. Then Gemma half-laughed, and Will intensified the kiss and they were backing up to the cabinets. Gemma felt her hips collide with the counter and the strength of Will’s body, fitting itself to hers. Her head swam. She hadn’t made love to a man since Nate. She could scarcely remember what it was like.

  Except she could recall the want. The need. Her hands yanked at his shirt impatiently. Her fingers undid buttons and pulled. She felt his own hands slide beneath her shirt and move upward to her bra, his palm cupping and kneading her breasts.

  “I want you,” he murmured. “You were right.”

  She kissed him harder and he yanked her shirt over her head. Her bra followed, unsnapped deftly and tossed aside.

  And then the rest of her clothes were coming off and she was tugging at his. She started laughing, then swept in her breath when his head bent to her breast, his mouth covering one nipple and sucking hard. “Will,” she murmured tremulously, her hands in his hair, holding him to her. She was sliding down the cabinet. Her knees were water. She wanted to throw back her head and writhe against him.

  And then they were on the floor, grappling for each other. “This is insane,” he muttered, his voice thick with both passion and amusement.

  “Upstairs,” she gasped, and he pulled her to her feet.

  Half-dressed, they stumbled together through the dark, still laughing. Gemma felt free and out of control. She led Will up the steps to her bedroom and they tumbled onto the bed. The blinds were open but there was sheer blackness outside the window.

  Gemma didn’t waste time. She pushed his shirt from his shoulders. There wasn’t the faintest bit of illumination; everything was done by touch. Will’s hands swept over her body as he pulled off the rest o
f her clothes. Her stomach sucked in as his hands kneaded her flesh, his hard, naked body coming down atop hers on the bed.

  She ran her hands through his hair and kissed him with abandon. So long, she thought. So long since anyone had loved her.

  His tongue rimmed her ear and her whole body shuddered. It was excruciating, the time he took. She wanted to grab him and pull him inside her, and with that thought in mind her hand closed over him, stroking him as he murmured something unintelligible in her ear. Her heart pounded in her ears and her blood ran hot. I want you! she thought, or maybe she screamed it.

  And then he thrust himself inside her, claiming her, and Gemma’s hands raked over his back. He moved rhythmically and she met each crest. Her throat arched and she felt herself reaching, reaching, desperately wanting. She tried to say something. Let him know what she needed, but he was pushing her to the brink. Thrusting, touching, his breath in her ears harsh with desire.

  One hand dragged across her breast and her nipple hardened. He bent down and captured it with his mouth, sucking hard. Gemma moaned and twisted, her hands dragging his head to her breast. Quickly he shifted position, turning her atop him so she was straddling him. She moved against him and he held her hips in place, thrusting hard until she was writhing. Faster and faster, to a dark, sensual place.

  And then the wave hit her and she cried out, moving frantically. She held one of his hands to her breast as she moved on him, her body finding a rhythm of its own. He arched suddenly and groaned, holding her hard, one hand at her hip, anchoring her down to him as if she were about to fly away.

  Then she collapsed against him, gasping. Beneath her breasts his heart was thundering. She fought to get her breath under control and the effort was wasted. She nuzzled his cheek with her lips and he turned and kissed her. Then his lips curved beneath hers.

  “What?” she whispered against his skin.

  A limb slammed against her window, making them both jump. The rustle of leaves and wind sounded furious.

  “The gods are angry,” he said.

  “Are they?”

  “Maybe just jealous.”

  She wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could. She felt so possessive of him. Didn’t want to let him go. Didn’t want time to pass and take her from him. She hadn’t realized how alone she felt, completely alone, until this moment.

  “What am I feeling?” he teased.

  Gemma’s emotions were raw and though she wanted to banter with him, she didn’t trust herself to be that strong. “You’re thinking that you want a repeat,” she said.

  “Maybe you are psychic,” he murmured, then wrapped his hand in her hair and pulled her mouth to his again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kevin Dunleavy thought of himself as a good guy. He only drank as much liquor as he could hold, which was quite a bit ’cause he had a large frame, large bones. He never beat his ex-wife, except for those times she’d really, really deserved it, and that had only been about three times, maybe four. He didn’t cheat at cards, much, and though people thought he had a mean mouth he really was just kidding when he said those kinds of things. As his buddy Burl liked to say, Pardon my French.

  So, it was with a feeling of persecution and injustice that he listened to his brother Rome’s wife, Patsy, whine about how he’d treated the LaPorte whore. “You don’t want her cryin’ all over town about how bad you were to her,” Patsy was saying in that nasal twang that just about sent him out of his mind. “Bad for business. We can’t afford to lose more customers. You gotta be nicer, Kev. You just gotta.”

  Shut the fuck up, Patsy.

  Through a fixed smile, he said, “I don’t think your name’s on the loan, cupcake. This ain’t your place. It’s mine and Rome’s. So mind your own beeswax.”

  He walked away before he could say something else, something Rome wouldn’t approve of. Sometimes his brother was such a tight-ass.

  He weaved around tables in the candlelit room, heading toward the bar. The storm had knocked out the power and they weren’t even really open, so he figured he might as well drink. Dragging out a bottle of so-so scotch, he poured himself a hefty dose and found Patsy at his elbow, disapproving as ever.

  “Get away from me,” he growled. Women were a pain in the ass. Always. Kids were a pain in the ass most times. He should know. He and Amy had popped out Brant and he was weak and asthmatic and teary when he should have been strong and healthy. Sometimes Kevin wondered if Amy hadn’t done the bangity-bang with some other schlump. He just knew that kid couldn’t be his.

  “Maybe we should close the doors,” Patsy said, nervously looking around.

  “Where’s Rome?”

  “Upstairs.”

  Upstairs was a sharply sloped attic used for storage, but both Rome and Kevin sometimes headed there for a bit of well-deserved peace and quiet. But it truly churned his guts that his brother had retreated there tonight and left him with his pain-in-the-ass wife.

  Kevin stomped up the stairs, groping in the dark, swearing, his eyes narrowing on the faint candlelight emanating from above. As his head popped up and he looked around the attic space he saw Rome sitting in the chair in a circle of light from one of the cheap votive candles they put out on the tables, a bottle of expensive scotch beside him on the table, sipping away.

  “You fucker,” Kevin growled. “You can’t drink the good stuff.”

  “You gonna stop me?”

  Kevin tossed back the drink in his hand and poured himself a hefty dose from Rome’s bottle. He glared down at his brother, whose hair was still thick while his was marching toward the back of his head.

  Rome said dreamily, “I’d sure like to give Gemma what she’s looking for. Did you see her? She’s just dying for it.”

  “Only if you give her more of our property,” Kevin sneered. “LaPortes don’t want somethin’ for nothin’.”

  “She does,” Rome said positively. “I’ve been thinking about going over there. Knock on her door. Talk to her nice and get her to let me in. Then we’d go at it hard. Down on the floor. Buckin’ away.” He smacked his lips several times and thrust his hips.

  Kevin was infuriated. He had no interest in fucking any LaPorte whore ever. What they needed was to have their mouths slapped and their heads banged into the walls ’till their skulls cracked.

  “You’re sick,” he told his brother.

  Rome gazed at him blearily. He’d had a lot of scotch. “She liked me. Had a real thing for me. Still does, I’ll bet.”

  The thought of his brother having sex with Gemma LaPorte made Kevin want to slam his fist into the attic wall. It couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it. He had to stop it before Rome did anything to try and get in her pants because Rome was an idiot. He would fall for her! It was just like him. And then she would look at Kevin and laugh triumphantly.

  Touch me and you die.

  She’d threatened him, the reckless bitch. And she was going to pay for that.

  He’d never killed anyone, though he’d put a few fellows in the hospital, assholes who really deserved it. But the only good LaPorte was a dead LaPorte, and Kevin Dunleavy was just the man for the job.

  Grabbing the bottle, he drained the last inch into his glass, then threw it back, feeling its burn sear his throat.

  Gemma LaPorte had to die. He just had to figure out how to make it look like an accident…or maybe his brother’s fault.

  Just before morning the lights shot on. Gemma awoke to the overhead lamp shining cold and bright down on her, illuminating the red walls, and then she heard the furnace kick on. It was after that she remembered the male body beside her in bed. For half a beat she was embarrassed, but then, as she watched Will’s eyes open, she said somewhat shyly, “We’ve got power again.”

  His hair was tousled and she could see the smooth muscles of his chest. “It’s Halloween.”

  “You’re right. It is.”

  “And the storm’s over.”

  Gemma would have liked to turn off the li
ght but wasn’t sure she wanted to jump naked out of bed. Will saw her dilemma and grinned. “I’ll get it,” he said, then slid out of bed, unembarrassed, and walked to the light, switching it off, plunging them into darkness once more.

  “The lights are on downstairs,” Gemma realized, seeing a strip of illumination below her bedroom door as Will slid into bed beside her once more, his warmth enveloping her.

  “Mmmm,” he said, his hand traveling over her skin, bringing goosebumps to her flesh. His face pressed into her neck and she felt her senses swim a bit. When his hand moved more possessively, dipping between her legs, she melted open, her tongue caressing the edge of his jawline.

  He climbed atop her, his hands on her hips, his body fitting itself between them. His right hand smoothed the scar that ran down her hip and leg, noticed the missing flare of bone. “What happened?” he asked into her mouth.

  Her nerve endings tingled. She pulled his hand away and shivered. “I’ve always had it.”

  “Sensitive?”

  “Very.”

  “How about here?” he asked gruffly, and his hands found the cleft between her legs.

  Gemma sucked in a breath and smiled, and Will’s lips crashed down on hers, also smiling. “Yes,” she whispered, and they both chuckled until other emotions took over.

  Charlotte scowled through the school bus window, watching the sun send weak rays through the clouds. The roadside was littered with branches and dirt and leaves and the asphalt looked like someone had laid a carpet of fir needles. The bus managed to travel right over most of it.

  Why couldn’t the storm have lasted longer? Maybe take a power pole or two down. She’d been gleeful all night until she fell asleep, certain that Halloween would be a holiday.

  But then the power came on and her mother got up and started getting ready to go to the diner. Charlotte had taken that as a bad sign. “There’s no school today,” she’d declared.

  “Turn on the TV,” Macie answered with a yawn. “Only school closed is North Creekside and that’s because the furnace went out.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  Her mother had ignored her and here she was, on her way to school, her Halloween story still missing a good ending, forced to go to school on the best holiday of the year.