The Darkest Frost: Vol 2 of a 2-part serial (TDF, #2)

by Tanya Holmes

  My plan, if you could call it that, was to avoid Braeden and go straight to bed, but the best laid plans of mice and men were often pathetically naïve.

  Braeden burst from the library the second I walked through the front door. He was angry and frazzled. His hair looked like he’d been raking his hands through it, his gaze was laser sharp, and his clothes were uncharacteristically rumpled.

  He stalked right up to me and barked, “Where have you been?”

  Eyes wide, I shrugged out of my coat. “I told you. Out.”

  “Why didn’t you text me back?” he persisted. “Or call? I was worried.”

  “As you can see, I’m fine.”

  “I’ve been buzzing you all night. Do you know what time it is?”

  I tossed my coat on the tree. “Yes, but I’m home now, okay?”

  “No, Danielle, it’s not okay. I have enemies out there. People who want to do me harm. And that malice extends to everyone I care about.”

  “I’m sorry, all right? But I needed some time alone.”

  His brows crashed together. “Alone? I thought you said you were meeting friends?”

  “What is this? An inquisition?”

  “Answer the bloody question!”

  “Since when do I have to justify my comings and goings? You’re not running a prison.”

  “Don’t turn this around,” he snapped. “I was three seconds from calling the police. Where were you!”

  “Out!” I stalked past him.

  Momentary surprise registered on his face. He followed me to the stairs. “So is this how it is now? You going off for hours at a time without so much as a—”

  “That’s rich coming from you.” I rounded. “Considering your trek to Ireland and all the messages you ignored.”

  He stood in moody silence for a long moment. “Is this why you did it? To make a statement?”

  “No, Braeden, I’m not making a statement. I’m just tired.”

  But that wasn’t entirely true. This argument was an extension of the powder room fight, my frustrations about his disappearing act in Ireland, the incident with Xavier, and his dishonesty about Samuel Nowak. The fire was already lit. If I didn’t defuse the situation now, things would surely explode.

  “Goodnight.” When I turned to go, he stopped me with a gentle but firm grip on my wrist. I glared at his gloved hand. “What are you doing?”

  His gaze dipped to my belly for a scant second. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Yes.” I yanked my arm from his grasp. “Now can I please go to bed?”

  Braeden’s eyes flared. “You leave the house at four-thirty in the afternoon to go God knows where. You ignore my calls. Then you don’t come home till after—” His phone rang and he snatched it from his trouser pocket. “Yes, hello?” Sighing, he raked his fingers through his hair, causing it to stand on end. Two seconds later, he mouthed to me, “We’re not done here,” as he stormed down the hall cradling the phone to his ear.

  Well, we were as far as I was concerned—at least for the rest of the night.

  When I got to my room, I locked myself in, stripped and hit the shower. I’d had enough drama. I just wanted to sleep. Half an hour later, I slipped into my nightgown and was about to turn in when my phone buzzed.

  Another text from Xavier.

  XAVIER (12:55 A.M.): i know you’re home. stop ignoring me.

  I pounded the phone keys with my thumbs.

  DANIELLE (12:56 A.M.): What?

  XAVIER (12:56 A.M.): where the hell were you all day?

  I sucked in a breath and took my anger out on the buttons again.

  DANIELLE (12:57 A.M.): This convo? Not happening tonight. BYE!

  I shut my phone off and tossed it as a familiar sensation tugged at me. It was Braeden. He was standing right outside in the hallway.

  Shit

  The knob turned back and forth violently. “Open the door,” came his dead calm voice.

  “No. I’m going to bed.”

  “The door, Danielle.”

  Oh, for the love of… Why couldn’t they just leave me the hell alone? “I’m tired!” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Now go away.”

  “Not until you talk to me.”

  “What about ‘go away’ do you not understand?”

  “Open. The door,” he said, his tone, rigid and controlled.

  “No.”

  “Okay then. Suit yourself.”

  Rolling my eyes, I turned my back to pull the comforter down—

  The door blew open, splintering at the frame. It smacked the wall with a thunderous crack. The house shook. A painting crashed to the floor. Everything trembled on the shelves. And there he stood, face flushed, chest rising and falling with his angry eyes zeroed in on me.

  “What the hell, Braeden! Are you crazy?”

  Some find him intimidating, and well…his temper can be quite foul.

  He stepped over a jagged piece of wood and cocked his head. “Do you feel like talking now?”

  CHAPTER 8

  THE FROST ESTATE

  DEARBORNE, MARYLAND

  Denieve

  ____________________________

  “Get out!” I backed into the bedpost, gripping it from behind, as Braeden stepped over the broken remnants of the doorframe. “Did you hear me? I said, get out!”

  His lips spread into a twisted smile. “Not tonight.”

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “Answer the question, Danielle.”

  “No, I don’t feel like talking!” Was he losing his mind? “It’ll only end the same way it always does. With you shutting me down.”

  Braeden bridged the distance and reached around me, prying my hands from the bedpost. He laced our fingers and balled them at the small of my back to hold me in place.

  Blue fire raged behind his eyes as he yanked me to him. “You have no idea,” he said breathlessly, “no idea what I’m dealing with.”

  “And whose fault is that?” I struggled to break free, but his arms were bands of steel. “You insult my intelligence, then get mad when I call you on your bullshit.” I tried to pull away again, but I was trapped like a gnat to flypaper. “Let go!”

  “Don’t you think I would if I could?” His hot breath blew hard against my skin. An exotic blend of cinnamon and whiskey. He sighed and sank his forehead to mine. “Shhh. Danielle, please, just be still.”

  Be still and ignore his lies? He may as well have asked me to roll over and play dead. We were doomed.

  “I can’t do this,” I told him. “Between your secrets and everything else…” My breath rushed out. “I don’t know who you are or what’s real anymore.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s real.” He untangled our hands to press mine against his thundering heart. “This. This is real to me. How I feel when I hold you.”

  “How can it be with all your walls? They’re designed to keep me out.” Tears clouded my vision. “It’s been that way from the very begin—”

  “Look at me,” he demanded. “Look! The truth is here in my eyes.” I gaped back at him as he cradled my face. “You think I won’t let you in? That I’m keeping you at a distance?” His voice sounded hoarse, like he’d ripped each word from his soul. “How can you be so blind?” He shook his head as if dumbfounded. “Can’t you see? You’re already there, Danielle. Already there. Right where you’ve been all along.” He wiped a tear from my cheek. “My God, I’m so in love with you, I fear I’m going mad.”

  As if to punctuate the point, a blood-red rose appeared just above him—my psychic symbol for love.

  All our issues faded beneath the desperation glittering in his eyes. There was nothing more to say. That rose said it all. I was tired of worrying. Of doubting and second-guessing. All I wanted was the sweet oblivion his body could provide, if only for a little while.

  His lips whispered against mine, once, and again, then he claimed my mouth in a kiss so thorough it made me tremble. I knew nothing else after that, nothing except his hand fisting my po
nytail and the heat melting into my skin.

  “Come here,” he rasped.

  Before I could catch my breath, he snatched me up, and I fell backward onto the bed. His forearms landed on either side of my head, caging me in. The warmth from his body and the rich, earthy incense of his cologne hugged me like a cocoon.

  Next, he brushed my nightgown aside and watched as my nipple beaded, turning a dusty shade of rose. It wasn’t until he sucked it into his mouth that I noticed how sensitive it had grown. Heat shot straight to my clit, like a line of fire. He continued sucking, alternating between hard and tender, biting and nipping, blowing warm breaths, then licking, only to turn his attention to the other breast which was just as sensitive.

  I was on the brink of coming when he stopped. “God, Braeden. Please...”

  “Soon, my love, very soon.”

  His long, muscular leg wedged between mine. He used his knee to spread me wider and pressed his stiff cock against me. Time held its breath as he framed my face in his hands, the soft leather warming my skin. He stared intently into my eyes as he circled his hips. His hard length stoked the fire till I feared I’d combust.

  I grabbed for his pants, but in my haste, the top button popped. It skittered across the bed, landing somewhere in the room. Not that I cared. I was too busy tearing at his zipper. His rock-solid stomach muscles tensed above my reckless hands.

  “My, my how eager you are.” He gently kissed the tip of my nose. “Slow down. We’ve got all night.”

  But I couldn’t wait all night. I wanted him now.

  Drunk with passion, I yanked his trousers down. His boxers went next, and his sex fell like a steel pipe against my stomach—hot, hard, and impossibly huge. He took over after that, pushing my hands away. Seconds later, my panties vanished. Ripped right from my body like tissue paper. The thick head of his cock teased me with the most delicious burn. I raked his back, reveling in the sensation. How could something hurt so good?

  He slipped his shirt over his head, threw it aside, and hung above me supporting his weight on an elbow. Restrained pleasure weighted his expression, yet so did concern.

  “Am I hurting you?” he breathed, his voice tight.

  “No. Yes. Don’t stop.”

  With tenderness, he pressed a kiss to my forehead, cupped the left side of my face, then filled me to the hilt. I cried out and dug my nails deeper into his back as he moved, dragging his thick sex in a slow, torturous inner caress. Soon he found his rhythm and his cock pushed me to a delicious brink. I was almost there, almost, but not quite. Until, with a groan, he shoved his hands beneath me, tilting my pelvis to reach that place, that special place no man had ever touched, no man except him.

  Each powerful thrust had me panting his name and scoring his back, nearly drawing blood. He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he gripped me tighter as his hips continued their assault, driving into me with unrelenting force.

  My eyes snapped open when the dam raging inside me burst, the orgasm rolling through me like a tidal wave. My release was sweet agony, a surge of pleasure without end.

  At the height of it, I tightened my legs around him and a jumble of words spilled from my tongue. “I love you. Love you, love you, love you…”

  Not missing a beat, Braeden levered up on one elbow again and a look of wonder spread across his face, then he dropped his head and gasped. Two heartbeats after that, his warmth flooded me. He came so hard, his body jerked with each rhythmic pulse of his cock, until he shuddered with the last of it and collapsed.

  While he caught his breath, I rocked him in my arms, basking in the scent of our passion and the sensuous texture of his skin. I slipped my fingers through his hair and molded myself to him. Pressed this close, our hearts raged together in a mad dance.

  “Finally…” he breathed, “We made it…to a bed.”

  I smiled and hugged him tighter. Never in my life had I loved someone so completely, so fearfully. That’s what scared me the most. The prospect of losing him and perhaps losing myself. What would become of us? Two liars in love. Could we even see the truth anymore?

  So there it was. Reality. In all its ruthless glory. I guess my short reprieve was over. In desperation, I tried to block my disturbing thoughts, concentrating instead on the sound of our jagged breathing and the stillness of the shadowy room. Pale light streamed from the hallway, underscoring the broken doorframe littering the carpet, remnants of an unfinished argument.

  Even now, reality wouldn’t be silent.

  Still imbedded within me, Braeden shifted his weight, his movements feeding the wet spot. He reached for the shirt he’d tossed, then tucked it under my bottom to stave the flow. Seconds passed, with neither of us speaking as he absently stroked my hair. The silence continued, giving my doubts free rein.

  “You think I won’t let you in?” he’d said. “That I’m keeping you at a distance? …How can you be so blind?”

  Not so blind I hadn’t noticed his gloves. Once again, he’d kept them on the entire time. My gut told me to leave it alone, to enjoy our brief slice of heaven. The battle would still be here tomorrow. But I couldn’t ignore it. While we’d made love, he’d withheld something, both mentally and physically, something that amounted to yet another secret between us.

  Why wouldn’t he touch me?

  “Braeden,” I whispered as my sensitive nipple hardened beneath his fingers. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He nuzzled my neck, kissing and nipping at me. “Now?”

  “Yes, now.” My eyes trembled shut while I fought to collect my thoughts. “You kept your gloves on again.”

  He stilled for a moment, saying nothing.

  “Why?” I asked.

  A pause, then… “Force of habit, I guess.”

  Lie? Evasion? It didn’t matter. That it wasn’t the truth trumped everything.

  He sucked my breast into his mouth, reawakening desire as the fingers of his other hand continued teasing my nipple, but now the leather seemed to chafe my sensitive skin. Lionel Gubczyk’s grainy photo flashed in my mind’s eye. Next came Samuel Nowak’s. It was like being doused with a bucket of ice.

  If I wanted to look myself in the mirror again, I had to confront him now. Problem was, how to do it without giving myself away. Only common, observable facts…stuff I could’ve discovered on my own would fly in this case. The psychic impressions I’d gleaned in the past were off the table. With those impossible limits in mind, I forged a hasty plan.

  As his tongue circled my nipple, I asked, “Where did you go tornado night?”

  “What?” he murmured.

  I snared his busy hand and threaded our fingers together. “The night the tornado hit. Where did you go?”

  Breathless, he levered himself up and gazed down at me through half-lidded eyes. “Why?”

  “You left the house with a crate of flowers, just as you had many other times.” I hesitated. “But this time when you got home, you had mud on your shoes.” My heart trembled when I asked, “Did you visit a graveyard?”

  His face sobered. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Me. Where else?” I swallowed and chose my words with care. “Remember how paranoid I said I was about working for you?” He gave a protracted nod. “Well, that paranoia made me extra vigilant. And…so the first day I got here, I noticed a man in a blue sedan parked outside the gates.”

  Silence.

  “He came around a couple more times, but after that, I didn’t see him again.” No reaction. “Did you ever notice his car out front?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Braeden’s face was expressionless, but a quiet storm gathered in his eyes. A chill prickled my skin as he pulled out of me and put some distance between us. His tat-less biceps snagged my attention while he yanked his pants over his hips. The doppelganger enigma teased me again, but I shoved it aside. As mysteries went, it paled compared to this one.

  I righted my nightgown and sat up. “The next time I saw the guy
was during a TV news segment. They’d found his body in a cemetery tornado night. His name was Lionel Gubczyk. The report said he was a reputed hit man.”

  Braeden hitched a brow. “And this has what to do with me?”

  “Well, you’ve had death threats and he died at the same cemetery your receptionist is buried.”

  “How do you know where she’s buried?”

  Oh, crap. “Uh, Google. I did some background research before I took the job.” That seemed to satisfy him, but not by much. His eyes remained stony. “Anyway, they also found a gun at the scene.”

  “I don’t see the connection.”

  I paused when my heart skipped again. “Did you go to Caryn Gilson’s grave that night?”

  “No.”

  Shocker. He’d even said it with a straight face. “Then what were the flowers for?”

  “Why are you so interested in this?”

  “Answer the question. What were the flowers for?”

  “Hospice patients! I visit them every so often. Is that a crime?”

  Damn it, he was such a good liar. Frustration made me blurt, “You were despondent when you came home that night.”

  “A notion I’ve already assured you was false.”

  God how I missed my gift…. “Your shirt had a tear, like a bullet had grazed you. The tear had blood around it. Did you use your serum to heal the wound?”

  Braeden glowered at me. His cool mask of indifference finally cracked. “What wound?”

  “On your shoulder.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “What about the blood?”

  “What about it?” he asked. “Need I remind you, there was blood all over the lab?”

  “That doesn’t explain the hole in your shirt!”

  He raked me over with a scathing glare. “Tell me something. In what insane universe do mud, flowers, and a torn shirt tie me to a dead hit man I’ve never met?”

  He was doing it again. Twisting things. Well, so be it. I wasn’t about to back down. “Okay. I’ll bite. I think one of your patients’ family members hired Lionel Gubczyk. I also think he followed you to the cemetery to kill you, but he died instead.”