by Susan Shay
Did she kiss him, or was it the other way around? Not that it made a difference. All that mattered was that his lips were firm against her own, his tongue stroked hers, that he held her against him as if he would never, ever turn her loose.
Slipping her hand inside his shirt and across his belly, she enjoyed his quick intake of breath. So much so that she withdrew long enough to unbutton his shirt and push it open. Unwilling to stop, she bent forward to kiss a flat nipple, then closing her eyes, ran the tip of her tongue across it. The tiny nub, as it scraped across her tongue, filled her with deep yearning.
She wanted more of him. No. She wanted all of him. Everything he was. Everything he’d ever been. Everything he ever hoped to be. Body and mind—his very soul.
She wanted him to be all hers to do with as she pleased. And she wanted to give herself in return.
As if he’d read her mind, he gently pushed her back against the arm of the couch. Much too slowly, he unbuttoned her shirt, kissing each inch of skin as he bared it. Then he pulled her bra straps from her shoulders and tugged down the cups until he’d exposed her breasts. After sliding her down beneath him, he kissed first one nipple and then the other. Returning to the first, he ran his tongue around the crest, then sucked it into his mouth. Instantly, there was a quickening, as if he’d touched her between her legs.
Then he eased farther along her body. Unbuttoning her jeans, he tugged them downward, along with her panties, until he kissed her hipbones and the hollow below her navel. When she reached for him, he grinned wickedly, then fixed his mouth directly between her legs.
Liquid warmth filtered through the layers of fabric, heating her toward the flashpoint. Unable to find her voice, she thrust against his mouth, silently begging for more. She needed to have him inside her, filling her, moving against her, giving her a portion of what heaven could be.
Finally she couldn’t stand it any longer. Threading her fingers through his hair, she tugged until he lifted to meet her gaze. “Please?”
His gaze softening, he nodded his understanding. Untangling himself, he stood. Quickly, he unfastened his jeans, then almost an afterthought, pulled a packet from his pocket. Glancing at the condom in his hand, he paused.
A frown marring his entire face, he slid his gaze to her, where it caressed her hair and chin, then started downward. Regret thickened the air as he looked at her breasts and naked belly. Then shaking his head, he shoved the sheath back in his pocket.
“I-I’m sorry,” he rasped, then turned, blindly bumped into the tree and stumbled toward the door.
“Keegan?” Bereft, she tugged her jeans up, pulled her bra back into place, then scrambled to her feet. He opened the door and left her apartment without a backward glance.
What happened? Why had changed his mind? Unsure if she should or not, she started down the stairs as she fumbled with her shirt’s buttons.
Reaching the first landing, she grasped the banister and started to go down the next flight, when a gravelly voice stopped her. “Where’s the fire, Cassie?”
Surprised anyone was there, she turned to see Vern and Mack coming from Miss Marcie’s door. Realizing she must look as if she’d just been about to make love, Cassie touched the hem of her shirt to make sure it was in place. There was nothing she could do about her hair or her flushed face at that point, so she ignored them and hoped the old men wouldn’t notice. “No fire. I, uh, was just going to Miriam’s.”
“She’s not there.” Vern’s voice sounded hoarse, making her wonder if he’d had a shouting match in Miss Marcie’s apartment. “We knocked before we came up to check on the old hens.”
Mack nudged him with the back of his wrist. “Don’t call them that, at least in front of Cassie. She might not think it’s funny.”
“It’s not funny, just honest.” Vern answered. “Why don’t we walk Cassie down?”
Surveying her disheveled state, Mack winked at Cassie. “Because when we get there, Keegan might be jealous.”
She forced a chuckle. “I doubt it.”
The men moved next to her, each one taking an arm. Without warning darkness overtook her, the blood drained from her head, her knees lost their strength. Fighting for air as she tried not to vomit, she dropped to sit on the stairs.
Alarm crackled in Mack’s voice. “God, Cassie. Are you all right?”
“What happened? What’s the matter?” Vern demanded, his hand heavy on her shoulder.
She blinked hard, but still couldn’t see. Shaking her head, she struggled for a deep breath. “I-I don’t know what’s wrong. Could you help me back upstairs?”
“See if Keegan’s in the apartment yet,” Vern roared as if Mack had suddenly gone deaf.
“Right.” Mack’s steps as he thumped down the stairs were much too slow for her.
Vern grunted as he eased onto the step behind her, then sighed loudly. “You’re...going to be okay, probably,” he said, unsure of his words.
As slowly as the breaking dawn, her vision began to clear. Watery light filled the room so she could just barely see Mack’s gnarled hand, tapping his knee. What was wrong with her?
Again her stomach pitched, and she fought down the bile that rose in her throat. At long last, she heard Mack knock in the distance.
The sound of Keegan’s voice floated to her, but she couldn’t distinguish the words, then suddenly he and Mack were pounding up the stairs. “What’s wrong, Cassie?”
“I d-don’t know.” Now the darkness came at her in waves. Clamminess crept over her as her stomach rolled and her head started aching. Unable to help herself, she hugged her knees.
Then Keegan’s arms were around her. As if she weighed nothing, he hauled her to her feet and supported her. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you home.”
Keegan’s pounding heart and the alarm pumping through his veins gave him all the strength he needed to get Cassie back to her apartment without help from the old men, but there was no getting rid of them—at least until they got her settled. Finding her door ajar, they set her on the couch.
“She ought to have a real bed,” Vern complained between quick breaths, caused by climbing the stairs. “She’d feel better if she could stretch out in a real bed.”
“That is a real bed when it’s converted,” Mack answered, not quite as winded as Vern. “Besides, there’s no room in this place for one.”
“When she’s feeling better, I’ll convert the sofa so she can stretch out.” Keegan looked from Mack to Vern. “Thank you for helping me get her up the stairs. I appreciate it.”
“Maybe we should stay with you two, until Miriam or one of the old hens can come up and see to things,” Vern said pointedly.
Although it wasn’t easy, Keegan let one side of his mouth curl while he dipped an eyebrow. “I assure you, I’m well able to...take care of Cassie.”
Vern’s mouth went flat as he squinted one eye. When he took another harsh breath, Mack caught his arm. “Come on, Vern. Time to go.”
Vern whipped toward Mack. “But Keegan—”
“Will do fine taking care of her.” Mack headed toward the door. “Goodnight, Cassie. Goodnight, Keegan. Say goodnight, Vern.”
“Night.”
Relieved to finally be rid of them, Keegan closed the door behind the guys, then turned back to Cassie. “Are you feeling well enough to sit in the chair while I make your bed?”
Eyes wide, she sat up, then swung her feet to the floor. “Yeah, I am.” Gripping his hand, she moved to the chair.
He was almost tempted to think she’d only acted as if she was ill to get him back to apartment. Almost. But there was no way he knew of to act the blood from your head so that your face was fish-belly white. After removing the cushions, he unfolded the bed, then turned down the covers. “All ready. Come on.
Surprise sent her voice an octave higher. “I-I really think I’m fine. You don’t have to watch over me.”
Shaking his head, he allowed a snort of laughter to escape. “Two minutes ago, you were about as f
ar from fine as I’ve ever seen anyone. What if I left and you started feeling like that again? Could you even get to the phone to call? Or see to dial?”
She stared at him for a moment before whispering, “In all honesty...no.”
“Then I’m staying, at least until you fall asleep.”
“All right.” Blinking slowly, she let her gaze to travel from the top of his head to his chin. And when she spoke, her voice was like silk—soft and cool and more than a little intimate. “Fine with me.”
As she lay on the pillows, her hair pooled around her face. His mouth went dry and, without realizing it was about to happen, he felt himself grow hard. What was it about her that stirred him? Of all the women in the world—a good percentage of whom he’d met—why was it this one who stayed on his mind, even when he wasn’t around her?
And if she had to control him, why couldn’t he just forget ethics like most men, and make love to her? She was available, accessible, and damned hot. Why did he keep remembering that he’d contracted to write about her?
What in the hell was wrong with him?
“When you were small, did you ever have a dream?” she asked out of the blue as she pulled the sheet and light blanket over herself.
“Uh, yeah, I’m sure I did.” He struggled to swallow. “They say everyone dreams during REM sleep. Most of us just don’t remember.”
Beneath the covers, she lifted her knees, and then her hips from the bed as she went through some gyration that drove him out of his mind. Soon she balled up her jeans and tossed them onto the floor.
He stared at the jeans, then turned his gaze back to her, lying there half-naked.
And he forgot how to breathe.
Her arms disappeared beneath the sheet, but her hands weren’t still. “No, I mean a dream. A goal. An itch so bad, you thought you’d die if someone didn’t scratch it. Was there ever something you wanted so much, you daydreamed about it, plotted for it, even schemed to find a way to get it?”
Wishing he could follow her through the empty cavern that used to be his mind, he nodded. “Uh, yeah. I wanted a motorcycle when I was thirteen. Wanted it so bad, I applied at every grocery store, lumber yard, and any other kind of business I thought might hire me.”
Still hidden by the bedclothes she pulled her shirt off, first one arm, and then the other, without showing a bit of skin. “Did you find a job?”
Forcing air into his lungs, he nodded. “I went to work for a contractor in my neighborhood. Every Saturday I cleaned up after the carpenter crews on new house construction. Swept sawdust, picked up board ends and bent nails. Then a few months later I went to work after school at The Sentinel. I took those two jobs when I was barely fourteen so I could buy a cycle.”
She glided one naked arm out, then let her shirt snake slowly from her hand to the floor. “How long did it take for you to save up enough?”
“I never saved up enough. When I almost had the down payment, my parents found the cash in a jar in my room. Donated every penny of it to their church—their cult,” he finished, the word bitter on his tongue. “They said it was my punishment for not tithing each week, but I knew what it really was. They wanted my discipline and their donation to make them a big name. Must have worked, too.”
Holding onto the blanket, she sat up, then reached for him. “Oh, Keegan, that’s awful. It’s hard to believe parents can be as mean as they are. Didn’t God put them here to watch out for their kids, not hurt them?”
Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “Sorry, kid. There has to actually be a God before he can do anything like give kids someone to protect them. And since there’s not...” When he opened his eyes, he saw the straps that had been on her shoulders were missing. Damn. Had she taken her bra off while he wasn’t paying attention? Glancing quickly at the floor, he saw the scrap of lace and fabric lying there curled on itself near the rest of her clothes.
Just inches from him was the sexiest woman he’d ever known, lying beneath only two thin pieces of fabric, wearing only a scrap of silk panties. And his hands were tied. He struggled to remember how to blink, how to swallow, how to breathe. His erection grew until it hurt, but he didn’t dare try to adjust his clothing, because he knew what would happen if he did. He’d yank off everything, climb in with her, and make love until someone had to break down the door to see if they were alive.
Curling onto her side, she tucked the pillows higher. “So what did you do? Give up? Quit your jobs? Did you ever get a motorcycle?”
Slowly he forced himself back into the real world, then shook his head. “I kept working, and the next time I got paid, I opened a savings account. With only my name on it. Then if my parents tried to take it, it would be bank robbery. By the time I had enough for a down payment, I bought a car. So what was your dream?”
Her gaze drew distant. “When I was very young, it was to have a horse.”
Trying to keep his mind on her words, he tried to imagine how she looked as a child. “You had wealthy parents who could afford a horse, even a stable full of horses. Did your dream come true?”
“Mother said that if I worked very hard in school and showed her that I was responsible enough to get all A’s, I could have a horse. For my twelfth birthday I got it, and an English saddle and riding lessons. I wanted barrel racing. I got dressage.” Her one shoulder shrug said a lot more than words could. “During my time in the hospital trying to find a cure for my gift, I was told the horse had been sold. By becoming a psychic, I’d proven myself irresponsible.”
Before he could answer, the phone rang. After finding the cordless, he handed it to her.
Glancing at the readout, she grimaced, then pushed the talk button with a sigh. “Hello, Janneth.”
Listening a moment, she pulled the sheet tighter under her chin and shook her head. “No, I didn’t check the mail today, but you shouldn’t have sent the ticket. I’m not sure when I can lea—”
After several moments, her eyes glinted dangerously. “No. It won’t make a difference anyway. I have responsibilities here, and I can’t just blow them off... Don’t threaten me. I can’t—” Pause. “I won’t—Janneth, I really think you shou—”
Looking helpless and outraged, she glared at the phone, then as she threw it across the couch, her sheet slipped a little lower. “Honestly! That woman would try the patience of a saint.”
Trying to hide the smile pulling at his mouth, he reached to pick up the phone. “Problem?”
“Problem doesn’t begin to describe my mother. She’s impossible.”
“And what is it she’s threatening to do?”
“She says if I don’t make it home before Christmas Eve, she’s going to fly down and get me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cool air feathering across Cassie’s back woke her. As she pulled the blanket to her chin, she rolled from her side onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. But something flitted about her mind until she couldn’t sleep. Easing one eye open, she caught her breath, then sat up against the couch back as she clamped the quilt under her chin. Sitting in the chair next to her bed, fully clothed and dead to the world, was Keegan. She struggled to remember why he was there.
Her memory returned, sending her heart into a freefall. Flashes of light and darkness had buffeted her, making her as sick as if she’d been on an uncontrolled spin. Was it her ability becoming erratic that had caused it?
Panic sluiced through her. Jackknifing, she hugged her knees to her chest as she tried to fight off the cramp that fisted her gut. God, what was happening? She’d always hated having the gift, but it was part of her. Part of who she was. And to suddenly lose it? If she wasn’t a psychic, who would she be?
The phone lying on the edge of the mattress brought Janneth to mind. At least she’d be happy if the worst happened. Her eldest daughter would be normal, at long last. Normal. Not to mention blind and helpless.
With a ragged breath, she got out of bed dragging the sheet with her. After grabbing some clothes from
the closet, she crept to the bathroom to dress.
When she moved back into the room, Keegan was waking, his dark gaze and all his concentration focused on her. At least that part of the sight remained, for the time being anyway. “Morning,” he croaked as he rubbed his nape.
“Good morning.” She glanced at his hair, which looked as if he’d had a hot night in the sack with someone. Pity it couldn’t have been. “Coffee?”
“Please.” He sounded more than a little desperate.
“It’ll be just a minute.” Hiding a smile, she moved to the kitchen and filled the coffeemaker. “I wonder if Miriam will be at work today?”
“The day before Christmas Eve? With the traffic we’ll get at the store, I can’t imagine there being a question. But then, as far as I know, she’s never been like this before, so that leaves a big question, doesn’t it?” He went to the bathroom and shut the door.
“It is going to be busy,” Cassie called through the door. “And tomorrow will be busier.”
When he came out looking as if he’d combed wet fingers through his hair she had to command herself to stay where she was. “Yeah, I figured it would.”
Once the coffee was finished, she poured them both a cup and carried them to her small dinette table. “Would you like something to eat? Toast, maybe?”
Ignoring the creamer and sugar she set on the table, he picked up the mug and, to her alarm, gulped some of the hot brew before she could warn him. When he released a satisfied sigh, she frowned. “Didn’t that burn?”
He lifted one shoulder in a lazy-man shrug. “Hey, if the newspaper business taught me anything, it’s that coffee’s supposed to burn. And wake you up. And, if it’s made by a real editor, it’ll float a horseshoe.”
“Float a— If you spill it, I suppose it’ll cha-cha across the floor and climb back into the pot.”
His mock frown grew stern as he listened to her nonsense. “Are you kidding? Newspaper reporters don’t dance. We can barely walk.”
Half an hour later, dressed and ready for the day, Cassie started down the stairs. Filled with trepidation, she held her breath as she came to the first landing, turned, and started down the next flight. Nothing. No flashes. No blackness. No dizziness.
