He was wrong. The dream stole into his sleep like a filmy cloud. Everything was shrouded behind it. He couldn't see clearly, but he recognized Erika. They were in the gym. She climbed the ropes, up and down, hand over hand, pulling herself up. Then the room dissolved into the mountain. Erika ran up the hill, behind bushes and trees. Frank pursued her, cutting the distance between them with his wider gait. Michael shouted to her, hoping she would hear him in time to protect herself. Her motions were slow, yet Michael couldn't get to her, couldn't shout loud enough for her to hear, couldn’t reach Frank in time to stop him.
Frank stopped. His face swirled toward Michael in a grotesque mask of determined horror. Then he turned back. Erika ran on. Frank took aim, both hands holding onto the gun. The sound deafened Michael as Frank fired.
The bullet hit Erika in the back. Her hands opened out on impact. The bullet pushed her off balance as she ran. Michael could hear her shout, yet he could do nothing to stop the horror unfolding in front of his eyes. He shouted loud, anguished, gut-wrenching cries until someone began speaking to him. He could hear the calming voice, but not distinguish whose it was. It was a woman. She smelled sweet and felt soft. He grabbed her and held on, wanting it to be Erika, wanting to change the events he'd just witnessed, knowing he had no way of doing so. He buried his face in her neck, ran his hands through her hair and took long, hard breaths. He held on, gasping the air.
Michael came awake holding someone. He opened his eyes, telling himself she was part of the dream, but she didn't disappear. He smelled her perfume and felt the sheer fabric of her nightgown. "Erika!" he said in surprise. Pushing himself back, he looked at her. "You're here?" He hauled her close, hugging her to him.
"You were shouting my name," she said. Her voice was no more than a whisper and Michael loved it. He felt her feather light breath on his neck.
"I'm sorry," he apologized after a moment. "I didn't mean to wake you. I have bad dreams." He released her and fell back against the pillows, one arm covering his eyes. He needed to get control of his breathing and the thudding of his heart. The dream had caused part of it, but finding Erika in his arms was the part that had him unnerved.
"Are you all right?" she asked, leaning toward him.
"Yes," he said.
Erika pushed herself off the bed and stood up. Michael thought she was leaving, but she came around the bed and sat next to him. "Do you want to tell me about the dreams?"
He moved his arm and looked at her. Moonlight flowed through the windows, the only illumination in the room. It turned her gown into a shimmering robe of silver, making her skin golden in contrast. Michael wanted her. He'd made love to her once, and she had been all he could think of since. He wanted her again and again, thinking he could never get too much of her.
"Are they always the same?" she asked.
"Most of the time."
"They're about Abby?"
"How did you know?" He wondered if he'd had a dream the night they were together. He remembered waking after one, but she was asleep, and he hadn't cried out.
"At the cabin," she told him. "You had a dream there. Since you came here there have been two other times that I know of."
He stared at her, hoping she didn't know, that she hadn't heard him calling her name more than this one time.
"Is that why you picked this room, the last one in the wing, so I wouldn't hear you in the night?"
Michael knew she was perceptive. He nodded, but didn't think she could see him in the dim light. "They don't come often," he lied. Since he'd met her it seemed the dreams had accelerated, but then Frank Mason had come back into his life at the same time. Erika had been the messenger. Michael assumed that was the reason she often appeared in the nightmares instead of Abby.
"How often is not often?"
"Erika, you're not a psychiatrist."
She reached for his hand and slipped her smaller one into it. "I hope I'm a friend."
Michael stared at her in the darkness. He closed his hand around hers and urged her forward. She came without hesitation. He pulled until she lost her balance and fell against him.
Slipping his hand around her head, he threaded it through her short curls, staring at each minute part of her face—her eyes, her forehead, her nose, her lips. At the distance of a kiss he whispered, "You're more than a friend."
Michael closed the millimeter separating them, taking her mouth in a searing kiss. Her mouth was hot, wet, and demanding. Michael felt like a man of fire and Erika an oxygen source. His mouth ate up the life-giving air, consuming it, until the two of them were part of the singular.
Erika's gown, under Michael's hands, was cool against her hot body. He ran his palms over the fabric as if it were a liquid. Her mouth opened to him, giving him her taste as their tongues met and mated. Sensations flashed through Michael. He pulled Erika over him, then turned her over his body until he lay on top of her. Her arms reached for him, caressing his back with long fingers that drew trails of fire over his skin. He took in a long breath, raising his head to gaze down at her. Erika's eyes were passion-filled, her lips swollen from the impact of his mouth on hers. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and he liked seeing her in this light.
She was driving him crazy and he liked it. He had never expected his dream to lead him here. He didn't expect Erika to come to his room. He knew he wanted her here. He wanted her here every night and every morning. What would she think if he told her that?
"Michael," Erika said. The low, sexy quality that entered her voice whenever they made love was there, unraveling him. He'd never heard it so deep and sensual. The one word seemed to wrap around him, pull him closer to her like a haunting saxophone playing in the background.
"Am I too heavy?" he asked.
"Nooo." She stretched the word out, her hands sliding down his body and over his buttocks. He nearly shouted at the sensations of pleasure that began at his toes and reverberated through every nerve in his body. He hardened against her. Erika seemed to like the feeling against her leg. She shifted, trying to accommodate him. Michael placed his hands on either side of her head and looked into her eyes. Carefully he kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, her mouth. Erika opened like a rose to rain water. He'd begun slowly, but in seconds he was devouring her mouth as if she were his final hold on life.
Erika couldn't help the noises she made. They were natural, as natural as the way Michael made her feel. She was alive and female—all female. To think she could have spent her life, and never known these feelings, these sensations of feverous pleasure that his touch elicited. Michael pulled the strap of her gown down and kissed her shoulder. Slowly he moved to the other side, removing that strap and kissing the other shoulder. Erika trembled. He lifted her forward until the gown fell to her waist.
"Don't," he said quietly when she went to cover herself. Instead he touched her. Her skin was hot and his hands sent excitement spiraling through her. Her nipples hardened into dark cherries. Her throat was parched, and she had to breathe through her mouth. Erika closed her eyes, letting her head fall back. She arched herself closer to him, closer to the sensations, to the erotic effects of his hands.
She reached for him, needing to touch, needing to feel. He was hot. She didn't understand why he didn't melt, why she didn't melt. He wore nothing. She could see his fully aroused state and knew that she had done this. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
Michael lifted the body of her gown, and inch by inch raised it up her legs. Bending, he kissed her skin. Her muscles quivered at his touch, her stomach clenched, and hot juices flowed to her core. Her breath came in hard gasps, her breasts heaving. Michael reached across her and opened a drawer. Quickly he pulled out a foil-covered condom and covered himself. Erika watched in anticipation and fascination until he pushed her back and kissed her with a thoroughness that defied definition.
His body covered hers, each contrasting the other; her softness against his hardness, her smooth skin against his rough ness, each
complementing the other; Michael's body beginning where hers left off.
In a smooth effort Michael entered her. Erika cried out as if it were her first time. Her arms flailed a moment at the attack of sensuous pleasure that created bedlam within her system. He set the rhythm and followed it, her legs circling him, trying to pull him into her, make him a part of her, letting there be no difference between them, letting them merge into a single entity. Erika's body thrashed below him. All thought, rationality, and reason had long since been replaced by the elemental pleasure created by the joining of a man and a woman.
Erika knew she was going to scream. She felt it coming, felt it with the rising level of tormenting pleasure that Michael instilled in her. He carried her toward a pinnacle that had to be the beginning or end of existence. Together they created the wave of sensation, and in a flash fire of heat and light the two of them crashed through the barrier between life and creation.
Chapter 14
"Ms. St. James, your mother is here to see you." Erika's heart suddenly beat like a tom-tom. What did she want? Why did she continually show up, when she'd been silent for years?
"Send her in," she said, keeping the dryness out of her voice.
Alva came through the door in a short, mink jacket and a long skirt. A large smile curved her mouth, and for the first time in her life Erika saw herself reflected in her mother's face.
"Good morning, Mother. Please sit down."
Erika offered her a chair in front of the desk. Alva relinquished the jacket in her usual nonchalant manner, throwing it across the back of an empty chair. She dropped down in the other and crossed her legs.
"Why are you here this time?"
"Erika, aren't you going to be hospitable and offer me some coffee?"
"Of course, Mother." Erika picked up the phone and spoke into it. "Stephanie, would you do me a favor and bring my mother some coffee, black with one sugar—"
"No sugar," Alva interrupted.
"No sugar," Erika repeated. She replaced the phone and returned her attention to her mother. "Now, what is it?"
Alva took a breath and looked around the large office. Carlton had occupied this office, but Erika had made it hers in the last year.
"I want you to spend Thanksgiving with me."
Erika's mouth dropped open. It was the last thing she expected to hear. She and her mother hadn't spent a holiday together since Erika was thirteen years old. She went there, but invariably they'd get into an argument and Erika would storm out of the house.
What was she after? Erika had sent her the check and she knew the monthly arrangement was still in effect, although she didn't know why.
"I thought you could bring Michael and we could all spend some time together."
Erika couldn't help her suspicions. Her mother had never wanted her around. Why would she want it now? Was it Michael she really wanted?
"Mother, if you want to invite Michael over, you don't need to drag me along for the ride."
"It isn't Michael I want to spend time with. I only suggested we invite him because he has no relatives here."
Erika didn't ask how she knew that. "It's not as if his family lives on the other side of the world. They're barely an hour away."
"I just thought you'd feel more comfortable having someone else around."
"You want to spend time with me? Why?"
"I'm your mother. For too long we've been at. . .odds with each other."
Was she saying she wanted to make up?
Stephanie tapped on the door and came in. Alva thanked her politely and sipped the steaming liquid.
"What's going on over at the house?" Alva asked apparently out of context.
Erika stared at her mother. She wasn't used to trading confidences with her mother. "What do you mean?"
"I came by. The place has enough guards to secure Fort Knox."
"You are exaggerating, Mother. We have added a few guards, but there is nothing to be concerned about."
"I'm glad to hear that."
Erika frowned. "Are you, Mother? Do you feel anything for me?"
"I love you, Erika."
Erika felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. She'd longed to hear her mother say that to her, but she couldn't remember ever hearing her speak those words. She never thought they would have a impact on her life. She never thought she'd even hear them, let alone consider them.
"Mother, are you dying?"
"What would make you ask a question like that?"
"You come here, out of the blue, you make demands one minute, you don't explain anything, and suddenly you're inviting me to a family dinner. I want to know what's going on."
"There's nothing going on. It's a friendly invitation."
Erika hesitated, trying to find some inference, some degree of insincerity, in her mother's expression, but there was none.
"I believe Michael has plans for Thanksgiving," she said.
"Then you come. I'll even cook. You can help me."
For a moment Erika flashed back to a childhood fantasy. She'd wanted to do those things with her mother, but Alva never had time for her. Carlton had cooked with her. They had made a royal mess and the housekeepers had to clean it up, but Erika remembered it fondly. She also remembered wishing her mother had loved her enough to want to cook with her. Even now, Erika wondered whether she would fulfill the fantasy if she went, or would they end up screaming at each other as they had at every previous encounter?
"Will you think about it?" her mother asked.
Erika hesitated, then nodded.
Alva stood and smiled. "Good." She paused. For a moment Erika thought she saw something flicker in her mother's eyes, something that looked strangely like regret. Did she regret asking her? "I'll call you."
With that, Alva St. James Redford made her exit. She grabbed her jacket and slipped it over her shoulder, then opened the door and went through it with all the panache of a seasoned actress knowing when to end a scene.
***
That walk was unmistakable. Michael saw Mrs. Redford walking toward the elevators at the end of the hall. Even with a daughter over thirty, she could still turn a head. Michael wondered if Erika knew how similar the two of them were. He smiled as she stepped into the elevator. He turned to Erika's office. She was usually put out when her mother visited. Michael thought he'd go console her. He'd been thinking of her since they woke up this morning. She was there when he woke, and he couldn't help making love to her again.
He knocked, then opened the door. Erika stood by the window. She didn't turn when he entered. This one must have been bad, he thought. Michael knew Erika refused to let her mother reduce her to tears, but the effort took a lot out of her.
Quietly he went to her, stopping close enough to feel the heat coming from her body. He wanted to hold her again, share her pain, make love to her again. Would this feeling ever go away? He hoped not.
"She invited me to cook with her."
"What?"
Erika turned around, leaning against the sill. "She invited me to Thanksgiving dinner. You, too. She asked me to come early so I could help her cook."
"Erika—"
"I told her you already had an engagement."
Michael wanted to spend Thanksgiving with her. His brothers had told him to bring her to dinner, but he'd never asked her. Now she was going to her mother's.
"I told her I'd think about it," she said.
Michael could see she was nervous. He didn't know what had happened between the two women. Every time they approached each other the electricity between them could singe hair. Michael knew it wasn't a good idea for the two of them to be alone.
"How do you feel about it?"
Erika waited a moment, composing herself. "Kind of numb."
"Do you want to go?"
Her gaze was direct. "To tell you the truth, I'm scared."
"Are you going?"
"I don't know. My first instinct is to say no."
"But—" he prompted
.
Erika walked back to her desk. She leaned against the carved wood frame and stared at the carpeting. Michael waited, not wanting to rush her. He wanted to know what caused the rift between mother and daughter. He had the feeling Erika didn't talk about her mother, but he knew Alva Redford had a profound impact on her daughter.
Erika moved again. She sat down on the chair in front of her desk and looked up at him.
"In all the years and all the fights we've had, I always wanted my mother to love me."
"Erika, I'm sure she loves you." Michael didn't know that for sure, but he couldn't believe Alva Redford couldn't be proud of and love her own daughter. Erika was a wonderful person and he knew how much love she had to give. He couldn't believe she could have been a terrible child. People didn't change that drastically. If her mother had never loved her, it couldn't be because she wasn't a lovable person.
"She's blamed me all my life for my father," Erika said.
"What about your father?"
Her eyes were glassy, but she smiled. "He was the best father a child could ask for, and we did everything together." Erika spoke in this room, but Michael could see her gaze. It went past the windows and out into her childhood. "He'd take me to work on Saturdays. We'd go to the zoo and the movies. I suppose we did all the things normal kids and fathers do, but with us there was a special relationship, one in which my mother didn't participate. When my father died she blamed me."
"You! What did you do?"
"Nothing. He was in a car accident while he was on a business trip. He'd gone to buy me a teddy bear, and a drunk driver hit him while he was crossing the street. She told me if I hadn't asked him to bring me something back, he never would have been in that store and the drunk driver wouldn't have hit him."
Michael took the chair next to her, drawing it close enough to take her hands in his.
"Erika, you have to know you had nothing to do with your father's death."
"I never asked my father for a teddy bear. I didn't even know he was bringing one. It was my birthday, and we'd seen a movie about a bear. I guess that's where he got the idea."
Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5) Page 21
