Whispers in the Night

by Diane Pershing

  “He was how old?”

  “Sixty-nine when I met him.”

  Paul got that look on his face that spoke for all youthful, virile men with the same doubt: how could an old man please a woman less than half his age?

  Again, she smiled. “I know what you’re thinking. Yes, he was a lot older than me. But we had an active sex life.”

  The look on his face remained skeptical.

  “What you need to understand, Paul, is that I have this, well, this kind of allergy to ‘macho’ men. Guys who use their fists or threats of using their fists, to settle the scores. Guys who flex their muscles to attract women. Alpha males claiming their mates.”

  Like you, she thought silently. Just like you.

  “Walter wasn’t like that. He was very smart. And he made me laugh. And he was so kind to me, undemanding. And so I married him. And I was happy. It was never about his money, only about the fact that he was…gentle.”

  “Gentle,” Paul repeated, and again, she could see that the word didn’t strike him as a good thing.

  “I see that in you, you know.”

  “See what?”

  “Gentleness.”

  His look of horror nearly made her laugh. “First you call me sweet, then you call me gentle. You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not in the least.”

  He snorted. “I’m the furthest thing from gentle you’ll ever meet.”

  “Inside, I mean,” Kayla said quietly. “I know you had to be hard. I know you had to fight for your life in jail. You had no choice. But your nature isn’t really like that. Look how kind you’re being to me.”

  Paul’s mind and stomach were churning. “That’s not kindness. That’s just acting like…a human being.” He shifted uneasily in his chair, not at all happy with her glowing assessment of his character.

  With a rueful smile, she said, “And now I’m embarrassing you. I’m sorry.”

  She thought he was gentle? She was making him out to be the good guy, the cowboy in the white hat, when she was still completely unaware that he’d gotten this job under false pretenses, that he’d been trying to find out where her brother was. And that when he did, he would beat the son of a bitch to a bloody pulp.

  Gentle. Ha.

  The state cops who came weren’t the ones who had been there before. They took notes, asked questions, did all they were supposed to, but Paul could see it in their expressions: not a priority. It never was, until there was valuable stolen property or bodily harm, to a human. They took away the evidence, said they’d nail down the package’s origin through the tracking number, follow up with phone calls and fingerprint testing. Which might happen, but more likely the file would get lost in the bottom of the pile. Budget cuts, not enough manpower; it was the same old story, and it made Paul wish, not for the first time, that he was still on the job, if only to have the resources available to get to the bottom of this thing.

  As Kayla was seeing the state cops to their car, the phone rang inside the house, so Paul took it. It was the dispatcher from Animal Regulation, apologizing but saying they couldn’t get anyone up there until Monday. If Mrs. Thorne was truly concerned, she ought to check into a hotel for the weekend.

  “Who was that?” Kayla asked, coming into the house.

  “The animal guys can’t get up here until Monday.”

  “I’m not happy to hear that.”

  “I figured you wouldn’t be. The guy I was talking to also said the snake didn’t sound like a rattler, and that it’s probably long gone—they avoid humans, just like I told you.”

  “Oh.”

  “I also asked him how someone could ship a snake by courier. He had to think about it for a minute, but he said that if a snake is forced into hibernation—put in a refrigerator for a while, say—its systems slow down just enough to need barely any oxygen. There were holes in the shoe box, which was set in a much larger box.”

  “Just enough air for a hibernating snake.”

  “About twenty-four hours’ worth, anyway. Which means it was mailed on Friday.”

  “And was just waking up when I opened it.” She shuddered again. “Dear God, it all sounds so diabolical.” She sighed, then glanced at her watch. “When all this happened, I was on my way to visit Bailey and to help you get your stuff. But now all I want is a nice, hot shower.”

  “Go do it. I’ll hunt around for the snake. We can do that other stuff later.”

  She came up to him, put a hand on his cheek and stroked it once, then dropped her hand. “You’re a good listener.”

  “And gentle,” he said wryly, “don’t forget that.”

  “If the shoe fits,” she replied, then headed up the stairs.

  Restless, Paul went outside, got the ax and began his hunt for the snake. One quick chop and the thing would be history. Not only would Kayla relax, but he, too, would feel a hell of a lot better.

  He’d been searching for about five minutes when Kayla’s scream ripped through the peaceful late afternoon air.

  Chapter 9

  Kayla watched in horror as, from the far corner of the shower curtain, the snake appeared, slithering its way along the rim of the tub.

  After her initial, startled scream, she tried to remain still under the hot shower spray. Verbally, anyway. There was no way she could stop quaking, and she wondered wildly if she’d die like this, naked, in the bathtub.

  Moments later, the curtain was yanked open and Paul had the snake by the tail and was whipping it away from her. She closed her eyes and huddled in the corner, hearing the thwack, thwack, thwack sound of what must be Paul—ugh!—using the ax on the reptile. Then she heard the sound of a boot stomping once, twice, one more time. And then there was silence.

  But only for a moment. Again, the curtain was yanked open and he stood, staring at her, breathing hard. “Did it bite you?”

  She remained under the shower, quivering despite the water’s temperature. But she managed to shake her head side to side. “N-no.”

  “Sure?”

  She was able to nod. “Yes.” Both hands flew to her heart. “It’s thudding so loudly.”

  “But you’re all right?”

  “Is it…dead?”

  “As the proverbial doornail.”

  She sighed. Tears formed in her eyes and she closed them. “Thank you.”

  She’d cried way too much lately but had no choice in the matter, weeping silently until the adrenaline rush of fear had receded.

  When she opened her eyes again, something in the room’s atmosphere had changed. It was subtle at first, but then less so. She watched as Paul’s face lost the grim look of a warrior and took on the dazed, glazed look of a man looking at a naked woman. His eyes narrowed as they raked her up and down, quickly at first, then again, more slowly this time, raw hunger in his gaze.

  Without thinking, she tried to cover herself up, one arm across her breasts, the other hand splayed over the V of her thighs. In the next instant, she asked herself why she was doing this, when—admit it—she wanted him to look.

  Slowly, she let her arms drop to her sides and watched as more heat, more hunger took him.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he rasped.

  Her heart, which had begun to slow down, began to throb in her chest again. She felt the tips of her breasts harden, a counterpart to the softening that she felt in her womb.

  Paul paused in his perusal of her body to look her straight in the eyes, his lids heavy with desire. “Kayla?” His voice was gruff.

  She understood exactly what he was asking, and without hesitating, she responded. “Yes.”

  He reached behind her to turn off the water. Then he grabbed the large bath towel sitting on the counter, wrapped her in it and lifted her out of the tub. “The snake?” she asked, averting her head.

  “Don’t think about it.”

  He swung her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom where he set her down, still standing, on the thick rug in front of the fireplace. Logs were piled on the
grill, so Paul found a match on the mantel and set them ablaze. He knelt in front of her, rubbing her all over with the towel, drying the water droplets on her body and making both her insides and her flesh heat up with desire.

  She didn’t want the towel on her, she wanted his hands. Pushing the towel away, she knelt down, too, facing Paul, took his face in her hands and kissed him. Not gently, but insistently, her tongue thrusting into his. She wanted him to know that the hunger she’d seen in his eyes matched her own.

  A growl rose in the back of his throat and he pulled her naked body to his, answering her kiss with a ferocity that, this time, didn’t frighten her in the least. “Take off your clothes,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Please.”

  Paul blew out a breath. Yes! Mindless, desperate with need, he took no time in getting rid of his jeans and shirt, his socks and boots. Then he turned back to Kayla, still on her knees on the rug, her eyes raking his body as his had raked hers moments before.

  When her gaze locked on his erection, tumescent with raging need, her eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed with sensuality. He saw the flush come to her cheeks, watched as she lay down on the rug, spread her legs slightly and reached her arms up to him. Her long, pale, lithe body picked up shafts of light from the late afternoon sun that shone through the high windows of the bedroom.

  He ached with need, all over, so much he was in pain. God, he wanted her! He moved to cover her with his eager body. Through the fog of desire, he managed to remember, just in time. Cursing at the momentary interruption, he found his jeans and reached into the pocket for the condoms he’d placed there on Friday night, condoms he hadn’t ended up needing.

  Thank you, he said silently, then ripped open the small package and put it on.

  On his knees beside Kayla, what Paul wanted more than anything was to plunge right into her, but he held himself back. Remembering the story of her rape and all the trauma afterward, he knew he needed to be gentle with her, to keep applying the brakes.

  Even if it killed him.

  So, he moved his hands all over her body, stroking her, reveling in the first female flesh he’d been free to explore in a long, long time. Soft. So soft. He wanted to feast on her, to nibble at her neck, her breasts, the secrets between her legs.

  But it wasn’t easy holding back; he was distracted by the urgency of his need for her. Gritting his teeth, he gauged her reaction as his hands roamed over her. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing as heavily as he was, even groaning a little. Unable to wait any longer, he stroked between her legs, felt the slick moisture cover his fingers. She was ready.

  “Kayla?”

  “What?” Her eyes remained closed.

  “I need to…”

  Now she raised her lids. Her blue eyes were lustrous with passion. “Yes. Please.”

  Those two words were all he needed. He moved between her thighs. On his knees, he pulled her legs up so they could wrap around his waist, splayed his hands under her buttocks. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he managed to gasp before, feeling primal as an animal, he drove into her, right up to the hilt.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled back and thrust in again. Then again. It was exquisite pain and more exquisite pleasure at the same time, and he felt light-headed with the sensation. Every inch of his skin was on fire; it was as though tiny electric shocks had been implanted throughout his system and then detonated all at once.

  Way too soon, he knew he was on the verge of bursting. No, he said silently, desperately trying to think of something else, anything to stop the momentum. Baseball? World hunger?

  No, not yet!

  But it was too late. With a groan that became a guttural shout he exploded inside her. What felt like a lifetime’s worth of his seed was being expelled at once. His body bucked several times with the effort, and he couldn’t seem to stop.

  When at last it was over, he bowed his head, gasping for breath. “Damn,” he said. “That was way…too…soon.” He pulled out of her, threw the condom into the fireplace and rolled onto his back, next to Kayla on the soft rug. He slung an arm across his eyes, cursing himself. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  He felt her hand stroking his hair. “Stop,” she soothed. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s been such a long time.”

  “Shh. Yes. Of course.”

  He let his arm fall to his side, giving himself another moment to catch his breath, then angled his head to face her. She lay on her side now, supported by one arm, elbow bent, her head resting on her hand as she met his gaze. Even though the look she gave him was warm and accepting, he couldn’t help noticing the way her chest heaved in and out rapidly, the flush that remained all over her body, the way her rosy nipples stood out from her creamy breasts, pert and hard.

  And unsatisfied.

  At once, he dispensed with his preoccupation with his performance. Sliding an arm under her shoulders, he drew her to him and slipped his free hand between her legs. With his fingers, he stroked the slick nub there, still hard and wet with readiness, gently at first, then with more pressure. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll take care of you.”

  Bending his head, he licked her nipples, thinking he hadn’t even really explored her, not the way he wanted to. But he would make it up to her. Her skin tasted wonderful, clean from her shower and musky from desire. His own breathing quickened again along with hers, and he listened with pleasure to the small gasps she emitted. It took a very short time to bring her to climax, which she did with a throaty cry and writhing hips; if he’d been able to hold out just a few seconds longer, she would have come with him inside her.

  At least, now she was satisfied. It had always been important to him that the woman he was with took as much pleasure from the act of lovemaking as he did. Again, he lay back on the rug, thoroughly depleted. He opened his mouth to speak, couldn’t get a word out.

  Nor could Kayla. It had all happened so fast, like one big blurring, whirling dream. The shower. The snake. The fear. The desire. Hot, throbbing desire. Paul inside her, so huge, filling her up completely. Bucking and groaning. Her own body’s tremors and groans as her orgasm took her. All of it followed by silence, except for the flames crackling in the fireplace. She closed her eyes and might have fallen asleep had she not heard him stir, pull her up and lead her over to the bed.

  She flopped down on the mattress—much better than the rug—and closed her eyes. She felt the bed move as Paul lay down beside her. In the next instant, she shifted as he got up again. She heard him pad on bare feet out of the room. He was gone only moments when he came back. She opened her eyes to see him slip on his jeans.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, and left the room again.

  The snake, she thought. In all the fury of their lovemaking, she’d actually forgotten about the snake. It was dead, anyway, and she was too sated to worry about it. Paul must have gone into the bathroom to deal with what was left of the reptile because, moments later, she heard the sound of his feet on the staircase. She closed her eyes again, drifted off.

  “It’s gone,” she heard him say sometime later.

  “Good.”

  “I wrapped it up tightly, so it won’t attract any other animals.”

  “Good,” she repeated.

  Again, she felt the bed move as he got on it again. She opened her eyes to see him seated on the edge, leaning over her, his half-lidded gaze impossibly sexy. “Did that just happen?”

  “I believe so.”

  “And did I break some kind of record for speed?” he asked ruefully.

  She shrugged and told him the truth. “I haven’t had many lovers, so I’m not in a position to know.”

  He swung both legs onto the bed and lay on his side next to her. Then he stroked a long finger down the side of one breast. “Well then, is there any position you’d like to be in?” he murmured.

  “Excuse me?”

  The same finger slid l
azily up to the top of her breast, where he traced the aureole a few times, then moved to flick her instantly hard nipple. “The first time was for me. The next one’s for you.”

  “We’re going to do it again?”

  “Only if you want to.”

  Oh, yes, she wanted to. “Do I get to touch you?”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “Um, well, whatever you say.”

  He gazed at her, silver eyes glittering with heat, and they were burning her up. Instantly, she became aware of that dull, throbbing ache, the one that spread from the tips of her breasts to her lower belly, to her insides. She felt herself growing damp between her thighs, felt the small nub of sensuality harden and pulse. Just like that, in one moment, the magic began again.

  She wasn’t used to feeling arousal so soon and so quickly, and she was somewhat uncertain. “I’m not sure what you want me to do.”

  One corner of Paul’s mouth lifted. “For now, just lie there. Let me touch you. All over. It’s been so long.”

  He began with her hair, sifting strands of it between his fingers and making her sigh with pleasure. Then he stroked her face, his fingertips gentle on her forehead, cheeks, eyelids, chin. “I’ve dreamed about this.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Your skin is so soft.”

  “Mmm,” she replied, her eyes closed again, sensation building upon sensation.

  His touch was gentle but firm, and he seemed to read her mind, knowing when to apply pressure and when to tease. Soon, she felt the hot breath of his mouth where his fingers had been, on her neck, her collarbone, along her arms. He sucked gently on her skin, and everywhere he touched, she came more and more alive.

  He lifted her hand, brought it to his mouth. One by one he drew each finger into the moistness within, sucking and tonguing each in turn, sending shock waves of desire up the entire middle of her being. She moaned softly; of their own volition, her hips began to move. She parted her legs, a yearning deep inside her to connect their bodies the way they were designed to do.