by Gemma Bruce
She snuggled closer and Dillon draped a thigh over hers. She felt his cock begin to stir against her and a thrill shot through her. She knew she had important things to discuss, questions to ask. But her mouth didn’t seem to work, except in a very nonverbal way that was displaying itself as she nibbled his shoulder.
You need to get a grip, echoed a distant voice in her head. I sure do, she thought and stretched her hand down to find him with her fingers. And presto. Instant erection. The man had excellent responses and a quick rebound to match her own.
You have work to do, the little voice reminded her. She knew it, and with another suspicious death . . . She sighed, pulled her hand away. “We need to—”
“I agree,” Dillon said and covered her mouth with his.
Okay, maybe later, she thought as she gave in to his kiss. Gave in to him. Just reacted as he began to kiss, lick, and nip his way down her body.
The sheet inched away as he pushed up to his knees and licked between her legs.
“Hmmm,” she sighed and opened her knees for him. He turned his head, kissed the inside of her thigh. A shudder ran through her, and she considered jumping for joy, except that he’d moved to her other thigh and she didn’t think she could move.
Her hips tipped up, inviting him in, but he seemed fascinated by the sensitive skin on the inside of her knee. She shifted her butt, he bit her thigh, and her breath whooshed out. He was totally silent. The air was still, except for the escalating panting that she knew was coming from her. “You’re . . . oh . . . you’re . . .”
“Driving you wild?” he finished and took another nip, this time closer to home. “and to think”—nip—“we have”—nip— “all night.”
“We do?”
“Yeah.” Nip . . . and bingo.
She cried out as that last kiss hit the mark. She rocked against him. His lips softened as he sucked her in. He released her, blowing air over her before his tongue lapped into her. Licked through her sensitive flesh and started over again.
She reached for his shoulders to pull him up to her. He pushed her hands away, pinned her wrists to the bed. Paused in his rhythmic assault to say, “I’m your slave, remember. Let me pleasure you.”
He released her wrists, stretched his arms up, and took her breasts in his hands. Rubbed his palm across the tightened nipples, so sensitive now that she could barely stand his touch. And all the time his mouth kept playing her, until she writhed against him, called out his name.
She coiled tighter and tighter, until she could wait no longer, and she leapt—through the flames—hovered in space. Dillon pushed himself up her body and thrust into her, and she soared, taking Dillon with her. At last she fell, fell to earth, like so many times, so many shoots before. Only this time she fell into Dillon Cross’s arms, and she knew in that instant that she’d also fallen in love.
“No,” she said, every instinct fighting the knowledge.
Dillon lay heavily on top of her. He shifted his weight, pulled back to look at her.
“Andy, what is it? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“Then what? No, what?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” She pulled him back to her, let his body cover her like a heavy blanket. Shutting out the world, shutting out reality, but not able to shut out that treacherous last thought. She’d fallen in love with this man. After a few short days. And she couldn’t because she couldn’t trust him. He’s bad. She shook her head again, this time as if knocking away a gnat. He wasn’t bad. Why had she thought that?
“Okay, you’re scaring me now. What’s going on?” Dillon sat up. Beat on a pillow and pushed it against the headboard. Then he pulled her up to sit, cradled in his arms. “Open your eyes and tell me what’s going on.”
Going on? She didn’t know. Her body and heart were saying one thing, and her mind was telling her something else. She didn’t know how he fit into these things, but he did, and she didn’t think he was on the wrong side. Hell, she’d seen him talking to that suit. But you can’t be sure. What was with this voice that kept invading her thought processes? It wasn’t the one she was used to, and she certainly didn’t intend to give it a home. It was annoying as hell.
Dillon stroked her shoulder, pulled the bedspread over them.
She snuggled into him. “Tell me about what happened. Who was that suit you were talking to? Tell me about yourself.”
“Now?” he asked, surprised. “Aren’t we supposed to be experiencing postcoital contentment? I know I am.”
She was, too. But something wasn’t letting her enjoy it. She’d been waffling like this for the last couple of days. And she didn’t think it was a typical love-hate relationship. She knew what those were like. “I don’t know. Something is bothering me.”
“About your aunt? We’ll find her.”
“You’re going to help me?”
“Yes. I told you.”
She shouldn’t believe him. But he felt so right, so true. And God knew she’d had enough experience picking out fakes; the ones just using her for fun, for excitement, for getting themselves up another rung of the ladder. She didn’t feel that way about Dillon.
He’s using you.
She clapped her hands over her ears. She didn’t like this naysayer in her head. It was so unlike her. She must be really stressed out over Aunt Mac’s disappearance and Demetri’s death. Go find her. Don’t trust him.
“I have to find my aunt.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “I know, honey. I told you we will.”
“But who is we? What do you really do? I need you to say it.”
———
Here he was in a beautiful woman’s bed, having just had great sex, and she was pumping him for information. And God forgive him, Dillon wanted to tell her. But rules were rules.
And her need to know was making him uncomfortable. Curiosity? Desperation? He’d almost ruled her out as a plant. Talbot seemed to think she was okay. Besides, they couldn’t be on to him. The situation had been set up very carefully.
He was overreacting again. Because of that damned last mission. Talbot was right. He needed to start living in the present. This was different. He felt different, and he was sure Andy did, too. She just hadn’t realized it yet.
Or maybe she was playing him. He couldn’t be sure. Maybe you never could be.
The two of them sat against the headboard, not talking, not looking at each other. Together, but not together at all. And it made him sad. Then he felt Andy grow heavy in his arms. She’d fallen asleep, and suddenly he felt much better. That showed a certain amount of trust, didn’t it? To fall asleep? And she could trust him. Maybe he’d tell her so. Tomorrow.
But long before morning, Dillon eased out of bed. He’d slept some, but he couldn’t rest. He should have gone to the dorm instead of coming to Andy’s cabin. He’d probably missed out on a lot of speculation over Demetri’s “heart attack,” and possibly some real tips.
He looked back at Andy, a dark form in a dark room. He should let her know that he was leaving, but she’d seemed so tired when she’d fallen asleep that he hated to disturb her. So he kissed her on the forehead and tiptoed out of the room.
The cabin was cold and he stopped to turn up the heat. She’d wake up to warmth. Even if it wasn’t his warmth. That could come later, once this was over. He scooped up his kilt off the kitchen floor and stopped. Who was he kidding? When this was over, she would go back to the movies, and if he were lucky, he would be given a new assignment.
He threw the cloak around his shoulders and stepped outside. His breath formed a cloud in the darkness. Banishing the thought of Andy’s warm, inviting body, he stole noiselessly into the night.
———
Andy rolled over and recoiled. Where she’d expected to find Dillon, she touched cold sheets instead. She sat up, looked around with bleary eyes.
“Dillon?”
No answer. She flopped back on the pillows. Great. He’d said they had all night. But obvi
ously not. At this rate, they’d never even make it to a one-night stand. Of course, she wouldn’t have to figure out a way to get rid of him in the morning, either. That was always a sticky business. No. It was better for them both not to have to face each other in the harsh light of day.
She pushed the covers away before she turned into Tallulah Bankhead in a depressing thirties movie. She pulled on her robe and went out to the living room. Definitely gone.
She made coffee, and while it dripped, she let questions, theories, fears roll around in her head. She needed to be doing something. Because suddenly it felt as though time was running out. Unfortunately, it was still only five o’clock. Everyone else would still be sleeping. Except maybe Dillon.
She took her coffee into the living room, paced while she wondered what he was up to. If he’d gone back to the dorm to sleep or if he was out looking for clues. Because even though he hadn’t admitted it, she was pretty sure he was working for the suit.
Should she go look for him? And do what? Act like the needy creature she was beginning to feel like? She could grill him on his identity and what he was actually doing at Terra Bliss, but she’d been trying to do that for days, with no success. Every time she even got close to pinning him down, they ended up making love instead.
Whoa, girl. Sex. Pure and simple. Don’t go making it complicated. Of course, it was way too late to keep it simple. She had it bad. Like the flu. And she knew for a fact, she wasn’t going to be able to shake it without real concentration. Damn, why did he have to be so amazingly desirable.
Enough of this; she’d go for a swim in the lake. Better than a cold shower for what ailed her. Then she remembered what Dillon had said about the guards watching her. Was it true? Or did he just want to keep her from going outside?
Two minutes later, she was dressed and creeping through the woods to the perimeter wall. She felt foolish, until she nearly fell over two guards who had stopped to light cigarettes. She shrunk back into the woods, waited for them to start off again. Then stepped back onto the path.
So it was true. But why? Or were they patrolling more seriously because of last night.
If they caught her, they might think that she was the murderer, trying to escape. She was convinced it was murder. She’d been to a lot of parties with some really drunk and stoned people, and no one had ever drowned in the hot tub.
She crept quietly back to her cabin, feeling totally useless. Questions were running around in her head like gerbils on treadmills. She needed answers and had no idea whom to ask.
A few minutes before six, she realized she was about to miss meditation class. Last night, Katherine had made a point of telling her to come. And even though Andy didn’t know how meditation could possibly help her deflated spirits, it might at least help her to see things more clearly.
But as soon as she sat down and crossed her legs, the questions flooded back in more of a jumble than ever. She knew she wouldn’t be able to empty her mind, much less embrace the damn universe. But Katherine had just entered the room and it was too late to escape.
Well, this was as good a place as any to search her mind for any details she might have missed, connections she’d failed to make. She’d just assume the position, remember to breathe, and let her mind free associate.
Katherine walked past her, looking pale but serene. She took her place in the front of the class. Andy hoped she wouldn’t say anything about the “tragedy” as Demetri’s death was being called.
She merely began her routine, instructing the class as she always did. “Close your eyes, let your body and mind relax.” As soon as she began talking, Andy grew sleepy. But as Katherine continued to drone on, thoughts crowded back into her mind. She was supposed to let them go, send them out into space, but they were tenacious, refusing to be ignored. She knew the police had questioned Dillon and Jeannie and probably others as well. Like maybe Rusty. He and Demetri had been fighting over something when Dillon broke it up.
It seemed to Andy that the police were treating Demetri’s death much too nonchalantly, but surely they would be back today with more questions. Maybe they would have a verdict on the cause of death. Would the suit in the black sedan come, too?
Katherine’s voice came closer. Andy peeked and saw her wending her way among the meditators as she always did.
Andy closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. Why was Demetri in the whirlpool last night? Was he meeting someone there? A tryst. Jeannie? But Jeannie had been dressed in the chiton she’d been wearing at the bacchanalia. Or someone else? Maybe she should tell the police to question Gloria Hollander.
Andy almost jumped when Katherine’s voice sounded near her ear, and she realized the woman was leaning over her. Embarrassed to be caught daydreaming, Andy tried not to fidget. It was hard with so many ideas floating around in her head. She should have made some excuse and left while she had the chance.
Katherine didn’t move away but continued to talk lowly in Andy’s ear. She tried to ignore her. It was distracting her from her problem solving. But she was startled out of her thoughts when Katherine said, “Depressed, very depressed.” She was so close now that Andy could feel her breath on her cheek. It took all of her training not to move away.
Why was Katherine talking about depression? She had been ricocheting between highs when she was with Dillon and lows when they were apart. But she’d hardly call it depression.
Except maybe she was a little depressed. Who could blame her. Mac was still missing. Demetri was dead. And Dillon was God-knew-what. The only thing she knew for sure was that at the worst possible moment in her life, she’d fallen in love with a stranger. And that wasn’t good. He’d said he would help her, but so far he’d done nothing except botch her breaking-and-entering attempt, throw her equilibrium to hell, and evade her questions.
Then Katherine leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “Don’t trust him.” And moved away.
Don’t trust who? Andy wondered. Dillon? Had Katherine known what she was thinking? A shudder passed over her, but luckily Katherine’s back was turned and she didn’t see. Was she trying to warn Andy? Did she know who Dillon really was? Had the guards seen her and Dillon at the falls and told Dr. Bliss? Was that why they were patrolling there?
Andy opened one eye again, tried to look at Katherine in a new way, but all she saw was a slender woman, moving gracefully through the room. But she remembered her moaning and twitching on the table in the eternal orgasm room, with Bernard Bliss sitting between her legs. Did Dr. Bliss know about that?
Her thoughts were tumbling over each other now, and she couldn’t stop them or even organize them. Why was Katherine warning her in the middle of a meditation session? Was it the only place she thought no one else would listen?
And why shouldn’t she trust Dillon. She hadn’t trusted him at first, but that was more because she had something to hide than because of him. And yet, it seemed the closer she got to him, the more some part of her resisted.
He’d been standing over the whirlpool when the lights came on, but so had she, and she knew she hadn’t killed Demetri. She could easily imagine Dillon killing someone. He was the epitome of the good-looking bad boy—the way he moved, the way he stood, the taut muscles of his body, that hard, unreadable face.. . .
Andy jumped when the other women began getting to their feet, and she realized that the session had ended. She unbent her legs and staggered to her feet. Her joints were stiff, and she felt as if she’d been sleeping. Maybe she had. She didn’t remember Katherine sitting down on her mat or intoning the prayer she used every day: “Go out into the world reenergized and confident to be what you want.”
She returned her mat and stumbled outside, where she had to close her eyes against the sun. She followed the other meditators across the lawn. No one spoke. It always took a few minutes to get back up to speed after meditating. But by the time they reached the Pantheon, they were chattering and laughing as usual. They all seemed refreshed and content.
All except Andy. She just wanted to go back to bed. She didn’t feel reenergized or confident. She felt . . . depressed. Not depressed, but unsure of herself. It was so unlike her. She wandered into the dining room, picked up a piece of fruit from the buffet table, and made her way over to Evelyn, Loubelle, and Jeannie.
Jeannie’s face was puffy and blotched. She must have been crying all night. She hadn’t bothered to put on makeup; her hair hung lankly around her face. Andy patted her arm sympathetically and sat down beside her. A coffeepot appeared at her elbow. Dillon smiled at her as he poured.
Andy shrank back. Don’t trust him.
His smile faded and he moved away.
“I just can’t believe it,” Jeannie said and wiped her nose with a white handkerchief she kept crumpling between restless fingers. “Demetri dead. We’d just seen him talking to”—she hiccupped—“those women. And then—It isn’t possible.”
“There, there,” Evelyn said and rubbed Jeannie’s back. She looked across Jeannie to Andy. “Have you heard anything? Do they know for certain how he died?”
Andy shook her head. “It’s too early to tell. They’ll probably perform an—” She lowered her voice, mouthed the next word. “Autopsy.”
“No,” moaned Jeannie. “They can’t. Not on Demetri. I won’t let them.”
Andy opened her mouth, but Evelyn shook her head. There was no reason to tell Jeannie that she had no rights in the case.
Dillon leaned over to fill Jeannie’s cup, said, “Jeannie, I’m so sorry,” and flashed her a sympathetic and, at the same time, sexy smile.
Andy gritted her teeth.
“Thank you.” Jeannie looked up at him with large doe eyes.
Perfect, thought Andy. He’d managed to take Jeannie’s mind off the autopsy and flirt with her at the same time. The man was good. You had to give him that.
He filled Evelyn’s and Loubelle’s cups. Then with a last smile at Jeannie, whose eyes had been following him as intently as Andy’s, he walked away.
“He’s so sweet,” said Jeannie. She tried to smile, but the smile wobbled and she broke down again.
