A Desperate Longing

by Brenda Williamson

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  512 Forest Lake Drive

  Warner Robins, Georgia 31093

  A Desperate Longing

  Copyright © 2007 by Brenda Williamson

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  ISBN: 1-59998-203-X

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: August 2007

  A Desperate Longing

  Brenda Williamson

  Prologue

  Strong hands slid over Kacy’s belly and upward. Long fingers harnessed her breasts, first like a bra, then becoming a vise. She arched toward his firm squeezes and the subsequent swirls of his palms over her aching nipples.

  “Don’t stop.” She hummed the plea, enjoying his tease of her flesh.

  Her legs dangled over the end of a table and he stood between them, kissing her belly and licking her navel. She didn’t see anything except the top of his light-haired head.

  His thumbs rubbed her nipples at first and then tugs became jerks. The pinches almost hurt.

  “Yes, like that,” she moaned.

  The heat of his breath made her shiver.

  Kacy tried to reach for him. To hold. To caress. To love. Her arms wouldn’t move from above her head and she rolled her gaze back to see what held her. The distraction drew her mind from the heated sensations he created with his tongue lapping between her legs. It felt amazing, but she couldn’t abandon the idea that something good had turned into something bad.

  The restraints were metal with a chain—handcuffs. Meanwhile, he held her legs open and continued teasing her with the quick flicks against her clit. The electric impulses from her nerves made her thrash about on the table. Her uncontrollable spasms rendered her limbs useless. She fought the conflicting sensations of lust and fear running rampant in her thoughts.

  Then she screamed in throes of ecstasy…and terror.

  Her lover vanished. The mood changed, darkened into something sinister. She tugged on the handcuffs, except they weren’t there. Instead, a rope tied her wrists tight.

  The sexual encounter no longer included a generous lover. Replacing the man that pleasured her was a shadowy figure that frightened her. She wanted to move off the table, get out of the room and run away.

  Kacy struggled against the ropes tying her to the cold table. The coarse hemp cut into her wrists, making blood drip from her fingers one droplet at a time. The tiny red beads of liquid landed on the concrete as if they were big raindrops hitting a puddle. The sound drove her insane.

  Her throat was raw from the shrieks she’d let out earlier. A scarf knotted tight on her neck bound the corded muscles and made swallowing a painful undertaking.

  She saw nothing in the dark room. Sometimes she had to rely on a sixth sense to tell when he neared. He wanted to keep her submissive and too petrified to move, yet she couldn’t let the psychological tactic work on her.

  As long as Kacy managed to draw air into her lungs, she wouldn’t die without a fight. She’d not give up trying to keep her head clear, even though every minute of bondage pushed her closer toward insanity.

  The voice came close. “Kacy.”

  A light popped on and her vision blurred at the intensity of the lamp. She tried to see him, to look at the man who would cruelly torment her. His distorted outline revealed he still wore the black ski mask.

  “Kacy,” he repeated.

  His fixation on her name often made her wonder if she knew him. If she did, the black knit covering his face muffled his voice well. His hand glided up her stomach while he held the pointed end of a carving knife to her throat. The blade was identical to the one she used to slice tomatoes paper-thin. Yet this wasn’t a room in her house. The smell, the sounds and even the outlines were not quite right.

  “That’s my girl,” he moaned.

  She heard a zipper open near her face and then his fingers landed one by one around her naked breast. He pulled as if he was testing the elasticity of her skin. Fear swelled, heaving her chest in response.

  “You like that, don’t you?” He squeezed again.

  She tried to turn her head away. The garrote cut into her windpipe a little more and she whimpered.

  He made another sound of pleasure and the knife clattered to the floor. It left him free to touch her with both hands.

  If a wicked nightmare had her, she’d be okay. She’d wake and everything would be back to normal.

  Her attacker rubbed his fingers between her legs, inside her. He was rough and brutal with his strokes. She knew he liked it when she fought, so the best thing was to feign indifference. She let him finger her lifeless form as if he played with a corpse. Inside she cried. When he let out a strained grunt, Kacy pretended to be dead.

  Finally, panting heavily, her attacker let out an exhausted sigh and removed his thick fingers from her. She assumed, since he’d gotten off on feeling her up, he’d leave her alone. He had in the past.

  Yet the evil man was not satisfied.

  “I’ve gotten the beast under control for you,” he rasped. “Now we can take our time.”

  He massaged her belly and her breasts. The scent of semen on his hands sickened her. She wished she didn’t know the odor as he pressed his sticky palms against her nipples. Bile churned in her stomach. The threat of vomiting was real. His stale breath on her face made her gag, especially when the heated stench rushed into her mouth. His sloppy kiss involved sucking on her lips and stabbing her tongue with his.

  Kacy lost her patience and began to struggle.

  “Hold still,” he demanded.

  “Please, let me go,” she whispered hoarsely.

  The sensible thing to do was give him what he wanted. Nevertheless, she gathered strength and fought until she didn’t have it in her anymore.

  “That’s my girl,” he whispered. “That’s my girl.”

  He stroked back her hair and tucked loose strands with the others behind her ear. Fingering each follicle one by one, he thought he calmed her. However, the petting and cooing energized her. She didn’t want to be comforted. Enraged by his disregard, another burst of determination gave her the ability to fight him.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, squeezing her again as if he exercised the muscles in his hand.

  It hurt enough to make her cry. She hated this point in their bizarre ritual. With tears streaming down her face, she clenched her jaw, waiting for his response.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologetically whimpered, but then his tone became angry. “You make everything hard between us.”

  Kacy clenched her fists in the bonds and readied herself for the brutality of his strikes. She closed her eyes and heard the rage build in his breathing.

  “Kacy!” he yelled.

  Chapter One

  Kacy jerked and sat upright on the sofa. She scanned the area, relieved that the nightmare had ended before the real horror began. The nights left her restless and unable to get much sleep, yet the afternoon naps proved to be worse as she relived the painful memory of her attack.

  She stared at her empty living room. Disorientation faded, and the tap at the
front door pushed her to get up off the sofa. With every muscle in her body still knotted with lingering terror, she moved shakily to the foyer.

  Flipping the lock buttons, one on the knob and one on the deadbolt, she greeted her neighbor. “Hi Peter. Have you been here long?”

  “I woke you,” he said with a frown on his smooth, boyish face.

  Kacy never did think Peter looked as old as he claimed to be. She envied the fact he’d have a youthful appearance all his life. Her family aged horribly young, but she hoped the healthy way she approached each day would keep her from wrinkling like a prune by the time she turned fifty.

  “That’s all right. Come on in, you saved me…again.” She started to close the door and then stopped when the man at the end of the driveway next door caught her eye. “Who’s that?”

  Kacy studied him rummaging in the trunk of his car. She imagined he was pretending to do something so he could watch her. The tension of not knowing gave her a headache.

  “He just moved in,” Peter answered. “You knew the place sold.”

  “I didn’t know to whom.” She stepped back and let the door shield her obvious gawking. “Have you met him? His wife? Children?”

  Kids would be a nice addition to the neighborhood. She loved children. Their innocence had an amazing healing effect even when they were yelling and screaming. They never threatened her sanity or her wellbeing.

  “No wife, no kids that I’ve seen. I haven’t met him yet.”

  “He bought that big house to live in all by himself?” Another peek gave her a funny feeling about him hovering over the trunk of his car.

  “Well gee whiz, Kacy, I live by myself.” Peter put a hand on her shoulder. “There are other people out there just like us, you know—single and alone.”

  “I suppose,” she mumbled, and shied from his touch as if he had the talons of a predator—or hands of an abductor.

  She was exceedingly cautious around the male gender. Her nightmares only replayed a small portion of what really happened to her, and while a car had never been involved, men by open trunks made her nervous. So did men looking at her or walking behind her in the grocery store. She had formed a mental list of all the ways they could kidnap her. She once became hysterical when a police officer eyed her too long. If she couldn’t feel safe with a cop, how would she ever cope with a new neighbor?

  “But doesn’t it seem odd?” She moved further into the house, letting the shadows shroud her in their protective concealment. “That house has five bedrooms. Why would a single man want to live in such a monstrosity, all alone?”

  “His place isn’t any bigger than mine and I live alone.” Peter chuckled.

  Kacy wrinkled her nose, not liking that he found fault with her suggestion. He’d never understand how terrifying changes in her life really were.

  “So you’re odd too.” She tried laughing with him. “You really should get yourself a girlfriend.”

  Every time she sensed Peter getting too emotionally close to her, she pushed him to consider other options. He had grown attached to her and, out of her need for security, she had been selfish with him. She just couldn’t help herself. Fearing everything, she required someone firmly grounded and close at hand. Peter had inadvertently become the security blanket she needed.

  “I don’t want a girlfriend. They cost too much money.” He picked up a picture frame off the top of her television.

  She wondered what she’d do when he did get a girlfriend. Whom would she run to with her problems? Who’d rescue her from nightmares by waking her from naps?

  “He’s getting big,” Peter exclaimed, and suddenly the subject changed.

  “Yes, he is.” Kacy took the mounted photograph and looked at her nephew, Andy. “But you’ve only known him for a few months. How can you see a change in him?”

  “Maybe because I don’t see him often.”

  Kacy placed the picture where it belonged. She didn’t like stuff in her house moved even an inch. The brutal attack had made her extra observant and orderly where objects were concerned. She had developed the compulsion out of necessity. Before, she’d led a cluttered life. She’d never paid attention to her surroundings unless they might have an impact on her safety. If her coat lay on the chair, she’d not notice or care. If a glass sat in the sink unwashed, she’d not worry about it. Now, the little things had become a preoccupation.

  Nudging the picture a bit one way and a tad back the other direction, she made sure it sat in the same spot. The angle had to be just right, so when the light hit the glass, it didn’t obscure the image. Luckily, her quirky habit stayed within the bounds of her house. It had formed there and she never tried to cure her obsession since it didn’t seem that awful to have everything in a particular place.

  She recalled a time when she had come home and found a small porcelain figure turned around. The little china girl faced the wrong way on the table in the foyer and it nearly drove her nuts thinking someone had been in her house. Only a fluke saved her sanity. She had repositioned the porcelain piece, twisted away, and her purse swung from her shoulder, bumping the unsteady table. The knickknack pirouetted out of place, and she realized she had been the one that had moved it.

  “Are we going to Andy’s Little League game today?” Peter laid a hand on her shoulder from behind and tried to massage her aching muscles.

  Kacy turned around, hiding her nervous twitch in the movement. “You don’t have to go.”

  “I like going.” He fingered a lock of her hair.

  She watched the blonde curl in his hand before he tucked it behind her ear. The action triggered another flashback, but she held her ground and didn’t move.

  Unfortunately, her greatest phobia wasn’t the moving objects in her house. She withdrew from people touching her. If she saw a touch coming, she took control of her limbs to reduce the involuntary shudder or the flinch. What she couldn’t stop was how unexpected contact triggered memories. Horrible reminders of the way the kidnapper had handled her.

  Nonchalantly, Kacy moved from Peter and folded the afghan on the sofa. “I was just letting you know I can drive myself if you had something else to do,” she informed him apologetically.

  “I said I’d take you to the game and I will. Nothing is ever going to be more important than you.”

  “Peter, I… That’s nice of you to say. Thank you.”

  Her cheeks heated and her heart skipped a beat. She hated how she longed to have a man’s affection. She wished she adored Peter like he seemed to adore her. He’d been so nice, so accommodating, any girl would be crazy not to want him as a boyfriend. That seemed to be the nature of her problem. She could be about as nutty as a pecan pie.

  “You needn’t thank me. I want to be with you.”

  Panic welled. Involvement with any man took a backseat to her other problems. No matter how much she desired the intimacy of having someone close enough to sense their thoughts, throwing herself at Peter because he happened to be handy was out of the question.

  “One day you’ll have a girlfriend. Then I’ll just be the crazy woman next door that you don’t have time to baby-sit. I want you to know, I do appreciate all the time you’ve spent with me.”

  “Kacy, I care about you.” He stepped closer.

  “Peter, please,” she whispered. “I don’t like…I’m not ready for—”

  Her words trailed off because she didn’t know how to let him down gently and yet keep him close.

  “Are you all right? The man next door really upset you, didn’t he?”

  “No!” The word burst out. “Well, maybe.”

  “So how about me and you stay home and rent a movie?”

  “That sounds terrific, however I got myself roped into duty at the concession stand, remember?” She eased back into pretending to straighten the room.

  She liked to complain about the volunteer job, yet loved being around the kids. Not only did she enjoy watching them play baseball, but the interaction with the customers buying drink
s and snacks helped build her confidence around people. Today she had two reasons for leaving her home—the new neighbor made her apprehensive, and the old one made her jumpy. The two men were taking an equal part in tangling her stomach into a ball of worrisome knots.

  “I can help if you want.” He ran a hand over his head and scratched the back.

  “No. It’s definitely not hard. You sit and enjoy the game. Afterwards, I’ll be going with my sister, so if you’re bored, I’ll totally understand you sneaking away.”

  “I’m not going to leave. I might miss Andy’s great hit.”

  She hadn’t intended to sound so withdrawn from him. He really had been too good to her over the past five months.

  As the first man she felt moderately comfortable around, Peter drew her closer with his calmness. What would it be like to run her fingers in his hair or touch his lips? She used to enjoy dating and the affectionate way two people interacted. Wanting that kind of normalcy again, she took no more than a second to inhale, hold her breath and try.

  Peter had darker blond hair than she did. The sandy mixture of light and dirty browns meshed in short, wiry curls. It required two steps to put her in front of him. They weren’t long strides, just hard ones. Her pulse quickened. She perspired as the anxiety grew from the fear locked inside. Lifting her hand slowly, she touched his hair. She had leaped another hurdle and her heart sang in celebration.

  “I wish I had curls like this.” She tugged a little before burying her fingers in the ringlets.

  Peter cupped her face.

  She froze like a possum caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. The collision was going to be disastrous, devastating to years of work she had put into her mental health.

  Get off your pity-pot and suck it up.

  She hesitated with a strong need to retreat and an even stronger one to push forward.

  Kacy kissed him, a light peck to his thin lips. It would have meant nothing to most people. To her, the monumental accomplishment had gained her a step toward recovery. She pulled away and gave a sheepish smile.