Shrouded in Darkness (Shrouded Series)

by Thomson, H. D.

  Cupping her chin in a gentle hand, he shifted over her and quieted her this time by molding his lips over her own, delving inside, pantomiming what he would do later with another part of his body. She forgot everything but the kiss. It was hungry, filled with passion and longing.

  He broke the kiss with apparent reluctance. The heat of his mouth then trailed over the line of her jaw and down the side of her neck to nip lightly at the curve between her neck and shoulder. His breath whispered just below her hairline behind her ear, sending delicious shivers down Margot’s spine. Oh, God. He knew exactly what to do with that mouth of his.

  Nudging her legs apart with his knee, he wrapped an arm around her waist to splay his fingers briefly against her stomach before lowering his palm, then caressing her thigh with feather-light finger tips, circling ever higher, teasing, tormenting until he touched her...there. Exquisite longing shattered what little thought she had left. She caved into the sensation, letting it wrap itself around every pore of her body. She throbbed for him, ached for him. She’d do anything to him, with him...

  Margot let him help her out of her nightgown and pull her up on her hands and knees. His hands whisper over the small of her back, over her flanks, down one last time to slip a finger into her before he replaced it with something harder, larger and hotter. Ever so slowly, he entered her from behind, his shaft, satin over hard muscle, filled her, burned her right to her womb. She whimpered as he held her hips and slid out, then back in with one sure, controlled stroke. She tried to buck beneath him, to move, to take control, but he had her impaled, positioned in such a way that she couldn’t do anything but take the sensations he created.

  With gentle fingers, he caressed her back and butt, running random lines across her muscles, which sent a delicious quiver across her flesh.

  “Oh, baby,” he whispered by her ear as he slipped both hands around to cup her breasts. “Such beautiful breasts. So perfect.” He flicked his thumbs over their tips. “Such tight little nipples.”

  Groaning, all four shaking limbs anchored to the bed, Margot closed her eyes. She dug her fingers into the mattress, twisting the bedding beneath her hands as he teased, touched and played with her breasts, all the while rocking her, thrusting, then withdrawing, teasing, tempting, driving her nearer to the edge. He caressed the underside of her breasts one last time before sliding his hands over her abdomen and stomach to massage her inner thighs with both palms and tease the slick, wet nub between her legs with his raised thumbs.

  She moaned.

  “You like that, don’t you?”

  He did something with his fingers that shot desire throughout her entire body.

  “Oh, God.”

  “Tell me,” he demanded, his voice, dark and husky as his fingers played her.

  “Yes—yes,” she cried. “I like it—I—”

  “Are you sure? Are you sure you want all of me? I can stop.” His fingers stilled and he withdrew until only the tip of him remained, teasing, taunting her with what he could do with it and with her. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No, please,” she cried, beyond caring what she said or did, beyond anything but this second, this moment. “I want it. I need it. I need you!”

  “You got me. All of me.” He thrust into her again and again, relentless, driven. “No one but me.”

  She took all of him, wanted all of him. She was on fire, yet cold, shaking with a different type of fever as tension curled around her with each lunge of Jake’s hips. Blindly, she clutched the headboard and arched her neck as the tempo increased and the tension, delicious, so delicious, tightened and tightened. She was almost there. So close. So very close. He scraped his teeth along the side of her neck as his large hand covered her own on the head board, entwining his fingers between hers, while he continued to stroke, tease, and torment her.

  He surrounded her, and filled her so completely. She cried out as her body contracted one last time before exploding. Oh, God. It was heaven, she was in heaven. Her climax went on and on, squeezing her, pulling her under. Pinpricks of pure, inundated pleasure pulsed through her. Sensation. Such beautiful sensation.

  He came quickly after, clutching her hips with shaking hands, growling his pleasure as he pumped into her while his ragged breathing fanned over her damp neck and danced with her own, sharp, shallow pants.

  The shaking. She couldn’t control it. It swept through her body and wouldn’t let go. If it wasn’t for Jake’s arm hooked snuggly around her waist, she would have collapsed. But his grasp held her steady and eased them both down onto the bed. She’d never, never responded so completely, or with such shattering intensity

  She lay cradled in Jake’s arms, the beat of his heart against her back a soothing and hypnotic comfort. Words. She couldn’t think of a one that wouldn’t ruin what had just happened. She’d had enough experience to know what went on moments ago didn’t happen to everyone. The whole sexual experience with Jake had been like a beautiful, moving dance.

  The caress of his fingers, slowly, even tenderly, combed the strands of her hair away from her brow and temples. Exhausted, sated, she smiled and said, “Thank you,” before sleep pulled her under.

  Jake knew the second she fell asleep in his arms. Her body tucked up against his had grown limp and heavy while her breathing had evened out. She slept like an angel, while he remained awake with his demons. He was more tense now than ever before. A heavy weight lay deep in his chest. Sex for him before had been mainly an itch, something that needed to be done, and nothing like what had just happened. He was no romantic, never had been. He’d always been a man of science, but tonight, he couldn’t explain the feelings Margot had dragged out of him. He held a lock of her hair and rubbed the strands between his fingers.

  In her sleep, she snuggled deeper into his arms and sighed something. He stilled, his fingers frozen in her hair. For a moment there, he’d thought she’d told him she loved him. No. That was impossible. It was just his imagination, his tired brain deciphering words that just weren’t there.

  Sex. What was between them was great, mind numbing sex, nothing more. At least, that’s what he told himself. But hell, he didn’t believe it. He might have learned these last couple of months to be a damn good liar to everyone around him, but he hadn’t yet learned to lie to himself.

  He was getting involved. Jake had no business in her bed or in her life. He had no future and nothing to offer a woman. He let her hair slip from his grasp and sighed. Tonight, he’d used her, purposely driven her to a point where she couldn’t think about anything but the sex. He’d applied every trick he’d learned over the years to have her quivering, receptive to him and his touch. If her mind had strayed, if she’d had a chance to think of the man in her arms, to see him for what he was, she would have—

  Jake flinched.

  “—you’re dead.” Malcolm’s word’s came back to haunt him. “A freak of science. You don’t exist.”

  Jake would have to let her go before anything could come of it. He had to. Before she saw him for the monster he was. But damn it, his whole mind and body rebelled at the idea.

  Closing his eyes, he leaned over and pressed a kiss against her temple. He lingered for a moment, then slipped from her bed.

  Sunlight woke Margot. Its rays pierced through the lace and cream linen curtains and streamed across her bed and into her eyes. She rolled over and buried her head beneath the pillow while sliding a hand across the flannel sheets. They were cold to the touch. She popped her head from beneath her pillow to find the other side of the bed empty. Jake had left with the rising sun. Or had he? Had last night been a delicious figment of her imagination? Some erotic dream of her own making?

  She was beginning to doubt what had happened last night until she rushed across the cold floor and into the bathroom. That’s when she caught sight of her reflection. She paused before the full-length mirror and stared back at the woman in front of her. She disliked the image. Her raven hair was tangled about her shoulders, mussed no
doubt by Jake’s wayward hands. But it was her eyes that bothered her the most. A new vulnerability shone from their brown depths. She hated the look. She didn’t want to be vulnerable to anyone or anything again.

  She lifted her chin. As much as she wanted to deny last night, explain it away as some figment of her imagination or as a very hot and erotic dream—what she found proved otherwise. Arching her neck, she brushed her hair back over her shoulder and touched the evidence with an index finger. Jake had marked her with his mouth above her collarbone.

  CHAPTER 10

  He spit on the snow, inches from her booted foot. Margot didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. She waited. She wanted answers.

  Max Sawyer cleared his throat again, but thank God, didn’t spit a second time.

  “You know,” he said, rubbing his gray, military shaved hair with a nicotine and grease-stained hand, while a lit cigarette dangled between the fingers of his other hand. “There’s nothing I can tell you that you haven’t already heard. John hit the railing and went down.”

  He opened the door into the front office of Max’s Auto Shop and slipped inside. Not about to walk away with that type of answer, Margot followed.

  It was late afternoon, yet deep shadows hung over the waiting area. No one was about, which wasn’t surprising. People came here only as a last resort, and she had a good idea Max knew it. Even so, he probably didn’t worry much. He had enough business being the only shop in town. The next place was over sixty miles of mountainous road to Pinetop.

  She stepped over to the window and twisted the wand attached to the side of the closed blinds. Watery, winter light slanted in and a layer of dust wafted to her nose. Impatiently, she brushed the particles from her face with the wave of a hand and turned back to Max. At least now with the blinds open, she might be able to read his expression. It was difficult enough with that week’s growth of beard.

  “But what about records?” she asked.

  “There’s nothing.” Jamming an elbow on top of the front counter, Max rested a hip against its side and crossed a leg at the ankles. “At least nothing I have. Carl didn’t want me doing anything. He had someone in Pinetop take care of the wreck. From what I gather, it wasn’t a nice sight. The car was totaled on one side. There was a lot of blood—”

  “Please we’re talking about my brother—”

  “Sorry.” Max winced. “Didn’t mean to get all detailed on you. Your brother was a nice guy. Seemed so, anyway. Didn’t know him real well—him being years younger and going off to college. Sorry I didn’t make the funeral.”

  “Yes, well. That’s all right.” She swallowed. She was not going to get emotional. “Do you know the name of the garage in Pinetop?”

  He rubbed his unshaven chin, then took a deep drag from his cigarette and exhaled loudly. “No. Can’t say I do. You’d have to ask Carl.”

  That wasn’t what Margot wanted to hear. Carl already thought she was the town drunk. If she started asking him strange questions about the accident, God knew what he’d say behind her back.

  “Thanks, Max.”

  She managed—but barely—to keep the frustration out of her voice. As she turned to the front door, she caught sight of a paperback copy of Hemmingway’s A Moveable Feast. Who would have thought? Max had always given the impression he liked working with only his hands.

  Stepping outside and hunching deeper into her down jacket, she inhaled a large breath of clean air. The cigarette smoke, grease and oil had burned her eyes and nose.

  She shivered against the cold. The temperature had dropped dramatically. The top layer of snow had melted earlier in the afternoon but now a thin sheet of ice had formed, coating the tree limbs. She quickly found it also covered much of the ground as she slipped on the cement slab leading to Greyson’s small but well-stocked grocery store, which Joyce owned since her parents passed away. Inside, she didn’t find her friend but the short, stocky clerk Joyce hired to fill in for her. Margot quickly grabbed a half-gallon of milk, a frozen dinner, a bottle of wine, and a can of cat food for Marmaduke. Enough staples to get her by until tomorrow when she’d go into Pinetop for her weekly trip.

  Fifteen minutes later with bagged purchases in one hand, she stepped out of the store and gingerly crossed the parking lot to her car.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Glancing over her shoulder, Margot didn’t pause as she continued cautiously over the icy blacktop. Carl didn’t seem concerned about the slippery ground, though. The way he rushed across the street toward her, it was a wonder he didn’t land on his butt.

  Carl reached her car door first. She stopped and eyed him warily. Right now wasn’t the time to ask him about Johnny and the accident. Not when he looked like he was in a fine snit. The fading light didn’t completely shield the flush to his face or the anger in his narrowed gaze. He was also breathing heavily, but that could be caused by the short jaunt across the street. From what she knew or remembered, he’d never been particularly fit.

  When it looked like Carl wasn’t planning on budging from in front of her car door any time soon, Margot coolly returned, “I’m getting in my car and going home. That’s what I’m doing.”

  Carl snorted and of course didn’t take the hint and move out of her way. “I’m not talking about what you’re doing now.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the building across the street. “What were you doing over at Max’s shop?”

  Her lips thinned. She’d been there less than an hour and already the whole damn town knew about it. She’d thought Max was one of the more closemouthed types in town. Obviously, she’d been wrong. She knew Carl would find out eventually, but she hadn’t expected it this soon.

  “I was asking questions,” she said.

  “Exactly. That’s why he called me.”

  Margot frowned. Carl was breathing down her neck like she’d committed some grievous crime. Well, she hadn’t, and he wasn’t about to make her question her right to ask about her brother’s accident. She didn’t care whether he was a cop, Joyce’s brother or the President of the United States. She’d had enough.

  “You know, Carl, why do you have to have your nose into everything? Can’t you mind your own business? If I want to ask about my brother, I have every right. It’s my business. And mine alone. Not yours. And even if it were your business, I wouldn’t trust you. You can’t keep your mouth shut for two seconds without repeating it to someone else.”

  Carl laughed, but he sounded far from amused. “I’ll have you know that I can keep a secret just as good as the next person. Even more so. When it counts—when it really counts—I can keep my mouth shut. More than you know.”

  “Fine,” she didn’t bother acting like she believed him. “I don’t know why you’re so upset anyway. I just asked Max if he had any records on the car Johnny was driving. It’s not like I was getting classified information from the FBI!”

  He sighed, expelling a large cloud of air. “You need to stop.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” He stared back at her in disbelief. “Well, because—he’s dead—of course. What’s the point of asking about that type of stuff? It’s not going to bring him back. It’s pure craziness, if you ask me. You’ve got to let it go. He’s dead, Margot.”

  “I know that. There isn’t a day that goes by without me realizing it!” Straightening, she raised her chin, not about to back off now. “But I’m beginning to think he died pretty strangely. Johnny took that corner by Bloody Basin too many times in his life. He knew how dangerous it was. Why all of a sudden does he decide to go racing around that turn? It doesn’t make much sense, now does it?”

  Grunting, Carl lifted his down jacket, then hefted his pants up with both hands. “I don’t care if it makes sense or nothing. Just stop asking questions. It’s not going to get you anywhere other than a whole heap of trouble. And keep the hell away from Malcolm.”

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why? Is there something I don’t know?
”

  “Of course not,” he was quick to argue.

  She searched his face, absently noting his flushed cheeks, wide brow and full lips now thinned into a disgruntled line. He wouldn’t look directly at her, which told her everything. In some aspects, he was just like Joyce... a terrible liar.

  “Carl, please.” She touched his forearm, unable to mask the urgency and anxiety in her voice. “I want—no—I need to know what you’re hiding.”

  A brief yet charged pause came from Carl. Then he said in a deep, gruff voice, “Nothin’. I’m not hiding nothin’.”

  He turned and walked back the way he’d come, across the street and down to his car parked in front of Max’s Auto Shop. She stood and watched him and wondered. That was the very first time Carl had been the one to walk away from any conversation between them. It said much.

  Carl was hiding something. But what? Could he have been involved with Johnny’s death? God, she didn’t want to think it. She’d always taken Carl for granted. He’d always been just there, her best friend’s brother. She’d never really paid attention to him.

  She got in her car and drove off, somewhat ashamed at how she’d always treated Carl over the years. He’d never done anything to warrant it. No. She wasn’t going to start thinking that way, Margot told herself, as she guided her car up the drive to her house. All she had to do was remember the way he’d treated her after the vandals had struck her house.

  She parked and got out with her bag of groceries. Jake’s pickup wasn’t around. Only the mournful sigh of the wind was there to greet her. The last whisper of light hovered in the sky before it would sink onto the other side of the world. She didn’t want to go inside. She didn’t want her own company. Yet, she didn’t want Jake’s either. She wasn’t ready to see him.

  Memories of last night were still far too vivid. She slammed the car door and treaded through the snow. The feel of him. The heat, the hardness, the satin touch of him on her and in her. Margot hugged the bag of groceries to her chest. She’d never wanted, never hungered, never shattered like that before. Control. She’d lost every ounce of it. He’d had her begging, crying for him. He’d had her so mindless, so sensitive to his every caress. No one, not even Malcolm—especially not Malcolm—had pulled her under such a sensual spell.