Fade To Midnight (29 page)

He shook his head. “I think this is more about you than it is about him. What I'm wondering is why I'm still alive at all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why they didn't kill me,” he clarified. “I can't think of a reason.”

“Uhh…” She struggled with that. “Could it be because you fight like a maniac? Could that have something to do with it?”

He dismissed that with an impatient jerk of his hand. “I'm not bulletproof. If I'd been kidnapping you, I'd have just shot me in the head straight off, saved myself a whole lot of trouble. But these guys went at me with blackjacks. They had cuffs ready. They seemed to be expecting me. They had an agenda, and I can't guess what it is. But I'm alive, so it's something more than just money. Or just you.”

“And…and this means?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “Nothing good. I'm sure of that.”

“That I could have guessed for myself,” she murmured.

He tossed down the suitcase, laid the bag of food on the dresser, the duffel on the chair. “I need to secure the room, and assemble one of these guns. You lie down. Get some rest.”

She stood there staring at him. Feeling bereft and dismissed. The helpless girl in the poofy dress with nothing to contribute. A dead weight around his neck. Her throat clutched. “Won't you lie down, too?”

“Bad idea.”

“Why?” she asked. “Isn't this an SSZ?”

He looked blank. She rolled her eyes, sighing. “Secure Sex Zone, doofus,” she reminded him patiently.

He grunted, grim and unsmiling. “Things have changed.”

Oh, shit. Didn't they always. She steeled herself to ask it. “Um…and how exactly have they changed?”

“
I've
changed.” His curt voice made her wince. “I'm not in a playful mood. Seeing a knife to your throat really killed that buzz.”

She bit her lip. So much for her hopeful fantasies of snuggling and comfort. “So you, ah, don't want to anymore?”

He stared at her like she'd gone nuts. “Fuck yes, I want to. I've got a combat hard-on that would drive steel spikes, but I'm revved up to rip out someone's throat, Edie. That's not the energy to take to bed with you. Not after what you went through. Keep your distance. It's better.”

Well, hell. She'd never followed advice about what was better for her in her life. Why start now? At least he hadn't decided to ditch her and find some less problematic girl to be with. She peeked at that steel-spike-driving hard-on of his with appreciative eyes. Mmmm.

“I'm, ah, actually pretty brave,” she offered, hopefully. “I won't break. I want to be close to you, and I don't mind if you're a little—”

“I sleep on the floor, if I sleep at all, which is doubtful. Drop it.” He jerked his gaze away. “And wrap the coat around yourself. It's cold in here, and watching your tits pop out of your dress is not helping me.”

Ah, yes. That put her on solid ground again. She shrugged the coat off, let it fall to the floor. Lifted her rib cage, to accentuate the tit-popping action. “I'm not interested in helping you resist my wiles.”

He groaned, a sound like cardboard ripping. “Don't, Edie. Just don't. This is no time for games.”

“But that's just the thing,” she said quietly. “I'm not playing.”

“You've just been attacked, threatened with rape and death,” he growled. “Now is not the time for rough sex. Back off.”

She walked over to him and grabbed one of his hands, pulling it up. His fingers were curled into a big fist. His knuckles were bloody and torn. She kissed the scabs, gently. “You're hurt,” she crooned.

He glanced at them, flexing his hands. “I hadn't noticed.”

She kissed his hand again, each finger, then the back of his hand, then his wrist. “I'm not in a playful mood either,” she told him. “Oh, and by the way. Thank you. For saving my life.”

He was silent, throat working as she dropped careful kisses on his hand. “Don't thank me for that. I was the one who put it in danger.”

She looked up, baffled. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“I should have known better, when I saw them going into my place. I shouldn't have risked stopping at your apartment. That was stupid. Hell, if we want to talk stupid, I shouldn't have gone to my place at all. Let alone taken time out to fuck you there.”

“But you still thought all we were dealing with were Dad's guys,” she argued. “How could you have known that there was a—”

“You were almost killed! For some fucking socks and panties!”

She flinched, covered her mouth with both hands, fighting tears.

Kev's face contracted. “Aw, shit. Sorry. Just please. Don't try to soothe me. Not after seeing that guy hold a knife on you. It won't work.”

She grabbed his hand again, pulling it back up to her cheek.

“Kev,” she said. “It occurs to me that every time we've made love, I've had to fight you for it. It's been whips and chains every damn time. It's enough to start making a woman wonder about her sex appeal.”

He grunted. “Are you trying to lighten the mood?”

“Um, maybe,” she ventured.

“Don't,” he said. “It bugs me.”

She sighed. “You are such a hard-ass.”

“Getting harder by the second. You have no idea.”

He tried to pull away, but she just dug her fingernails into his wrist. “You're trying to scare me,” she said. “But you might as well not bother. You can't. I know you too well.”

“Yeah? After one day?”

“One day, my ass. I've been in your dreams for eighteen years. You've been in mine, too. You don't fool me. I know who you are.”

A muscle in his jaw pulsed. “That's great. That makes one of us.”

She ran her hand over his chest, dug her fingers into the hot, thick muscle moving beneath the cloth. “Shhh,” she crooned, pulling his face to hers. “Just try to relax. Come here. I need you so much.”

He closed his eyes, and swayed forward, letting his forehead barely touch hers. “I would never hurt you,” he said.

“Of course you wouldn't,” she whispered. “I'd bet my life on that.”

He jerked like he'd been struck. “We don't play for those stakes.”

“God, you're twitchy,” she complained. “It's just a figure of speech.”

It felt good to hug him, but he was still as tense as a drawn bow. “It's strange,” she mused, petting his shoulders. “I'm usually so afraid of making people angry, but I'm not afraid with you. Even when you bite my head off, I still feel completely free to speak my mind. Go figure.”

That got a brief smile. “I can't scare you into good behavior?”

She snuggled closer. “You're scary, all right. But in a good way.”

He looked doubtful. “There's a good way to be scary?”

“I've discovered that there is,” she informed him.

“Don't bullshit me,” he growled. “I'm not in the mood.”

“I don't care about your mood,” she replied calmly. “It's a strange feeling. Like there's no end to you. Being with you is like looking out over mountains that go on forever. Looking at the stars. You know that falling away feeling, like you're about to fly, or fall, and you're not sure which? And your chest won't let in air, and your belly tightens up?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I know that feeling,” he said quietly. “You scare me, too, Edie. You scare me to death.”

Hope blossomed. “Well, great, then,” she said, encouragingly. “So it's settled? Let's get into bed and scare each other out of our wits.”

He jerked her close. “If I start, I'm not stopping,” he warned.

She rolled her eyes. “Thank God for that, at least! I don't want to have to go to all this trouble again!”

But he refused to respond to her teasing. His face was tense, stark. “What you see is what you get,” he said. “I'm pissed off, jacked up. I need to slash throats and break heads. I will not be gentle.”

He was still trying to scare her. Rescue her from himself. How sweet. And how futile. The last thing she wanted was rescue from him.

She craved him. Even in this mood. No, especially in this mood. It was the perfect complement to her own. The menace in his voice made her chest clutch, with thigh-clenching, toe curling delight. She nodded.

To her surprise, he shoved her away. “I have to secure the room, and assemble this gun. Get the dress off, and get in bed.”

She was taken aback at his coolness. “I should, ah, wash.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“I'm not, er, fresh,” she floundered. “After the last two times we had sex, I'm wet practically down to my knees.”

A feral smile flashed over his face. “That's great. More lube.”

She giggled. “Maybe, but there are limits. I think I should—”

“Lie down.” He advanced on her. “I love lube. Lift your skirt. Let me see. I love how you shine. Your scent. Juicy and hot. Mmmm.”

She backed away, giggling like a ninny. “Um, no. I'll just…wash.”

“Suit yourself,” he said. “But be quick.”

She fled to the bathroom, pulled out the saline solution and took out her contacts before getting into the shower. She stalled under the hot water for a long time. She'd gotten nervous. How silly was that.

After, she dug a brush and a mini bottle of hand lotion out of her purse, used it to remove what she could of the raccoon mask, and combed her wet, snarled hair. With her face naked and free of makeup, and her hair slicked back, the siren bubble she'd been floating in dissolved. She was plain old naked Edie, looking nervous and stressed.

She marched out of the bathroom, pretending not to notice Kev's immediate and intense attention. She draped the dress over the back of a chair, and stretched out on the bed, pretending not to feel the weight of his gaze against her shivering body. Without her glasses, he was a soft focus blur, but that changed nothing. Her face was pink. Her lips tingled. She was getting all excited, just from being stared at.

She struck a sideways mermaid pose, to accentuate the curve of her ass. She didn't have long to wait. Kev had already kicked off his shoes, undone his holsters. He slid a clip into a large pistol, snapped it gently into place, then laid the gun on the bedside table. He tossed a string of condoms on the sheet. Throwing down the gauntlet.

He wrenched loose the buttons on his cuffs, and proceeded to strip, with sharp, efficient jerks, wasting no movement. Never taking his eyes off her. His body took her breath away. So strong. So perfect.

He stroked his big, thick erection absently as he grabbed a condom from the string on the bed. He climbed onto the bed, straddling her as he rolled it on, leaning over her, arms on either side of her head, his cock pressed to her belly. He stared down, eyes roving until they stopped at her breasts. He touched the angry, purplish marks that the masked attacker had left with his fingertips. “Does this hurt?”

That was the last thing she could think about, with this man all over her, his phallus pressing hotly against her. His force field drove everything else out of her head. Even the flesh-creeping horror of that attack on the stairs gave way to Kev's intense energy. She loved that about him. She loved everything about him.

She struggled to remember what the hell they were talking about. Bruises, on her boob. She shook her head. “I'm OK,” she whispered.

“When I find him, I am ripping his guts out for doing that to you.”

She recoiled. “Oh, God, Kev.”

“I told you,” he said, unapologetic. “What you see is what you get. This is how I feel. Deal with it.”

She reached up, trying to hug him. “I will deal with it. It's fine,” she soothed. “But let's just forget about him. Let's just think about us.”

He slid down her body, seized her ankles and spread her wide. Then he settled himself with his head between her legs.

She wiggled in his hard grasp. “Hey! What's this? I thought you were in the grip of a mad, frenzied desire!”

“I am. But you need lube to deal with my mad, frenzied desire. And I need my dose. I'm strung out. Have to have it. Right now.”

She struggled up onto her elbows, but one hard jerk of his big hands on her bottom yanked her onto her back again. “Don't fight me. Just get used to it.” He put his mouth to her before she could reply.

She could hardly bear it. Each skillful lap and swirl made her whimper and thrash, until her pleasure crested and broke, waves that pulsed from someplace so deep, she'd never known it existed.

She was so ready when he slid up her body and mounted her. Slick and soft enough so that he could drive inside, in one seamless lunge. Her pleasure-drugged languor vanished, instantly. She was a wild thing clutching, straining to pull him deeper. Rough sounds wrenched out of her. He grabbed her hands, pinned them against her knees. Each thrust jolted her farther up the mattress. Her chest was going to burst. Harder, faster. The bed jiggled and shook. The mattress squeaked. Their bodies slapped together. It was wild, hard, ungentle. Exactly what she craved. To be pushed beyond all fear, all thought.

The explosion ripped through their bodies, fusing them. She was weeping when she opened her eyes. Whatever she needed he gave to her, with an instinctive generosity that came straight from his soul.

And she loved him for it, violently.

K
ev buried his face against her hair, struggling for air. Fried, melted, totally fucked up. He dragged himself out of the clutch of Edie's damp, quivering body, peeled off the condom. Stared down at his dick, bemused. All that sweating and pounding and thrashing, and look at him. As hard as he'd been before they started. Son of a bitch.

He grabbed a fresh condom, applied it, and rolled on top of Edie again, daring her with his eyes to try and refuse him. Edie moved beneath him, gasping softly with each shove. He grabbed her knees, folded her up high so he could see every detail. Incredible, those luminous, soft pink pussy lips distended around the shaft of his cock. Kissing his whole length as he slid inside. Every slow, aching outstroke a protracted, milking caress. Her eyes shone with tears.

And he didn't want to deal with that. He looked away, seized the base of his cock, angled it to hit the spots that melted her. Petting the secret pink pearl of her clit with his thumb. So tight and taut.

He tried to take it easy, to be slow and gentle, but his efforts were useless. Sex with her had its own huge, unstoppable agenda. It was what it was, it became whatever it had to be, and he was just a helpless puppet, panting and desperate. Clutching her, driving her until he got what he craved—a long, pulsing orgasm that lingered on and on. Her snug pussy, squeezing his cock. So fucking sweet.

He was a slave to that. Had to have it. He wanted to lose the latex. Feel her heat, her slick juice bathing him. Skin on skin.

The no latex fantasy kicked up the pace, and he was slamming into her, so deep and desperate, it scared him, but he couldn't resist, couldn't control it, but she was…oh. Yeah. Oh, God,
yeah.

There she went. He let go, lost himself along with her.

He lay there afterwards, shaking. Every time they made love, he felt more naked. More out of control. Carrying on like a crazed barbarian warlord, waving his dick around like a club. But it was all bullshit. The power dynamic between them was brutally clear.

He was on his knees to her. She owned his ass.

This time, it took him ten, maybe fifteen minutes of sprawled panting before he was ready for another go at her. Throwing himself back into the trap, but this time, he'd make it less personal.

“Roll over,” he ordered her.

Edie's eyes popped open. “You have got to be kidding,” she said faintly. “I'm exhausted.”

“Too bad,” he said. “You were warned.”

Edie jerked up onto her elbow. “You can't possibly still be…” Her eyes dropped to his dick. “My God. Are you on some weird drug?”

“Yes,” he said. “My endocrine system pumped it into me when those bastards jumped us on the stairs.” He flipped her onto her belly, then grabbed her hips, pulling her back until she was in the perfect position. Damp hair clung to her slender back. The arch of her back, the rounded perfection of her ass. Shadowy beckoning wonders of her secret sexy female parts. He caressed them, his mouth watering.

She looked back at him as he rolled on the condom. “Attila the Hun. Ghengis Kahn. Those guys have nothing on you.”

He gripped her ass cheeks, petting their luminous perfection as he nudged his cockhead between her slick folds. “Don't even try to make me feel guilty about this,” he said. “I warned you. Repeatedly.”

“So you did.” She sucked in a broken breath as he slid into the plush perfection of her body, wedging himself to the hilt. “So, um, Kev?”

He pulled out, hypnotized by every perfect detail of her flesh clasping him, and surged in again. His body helpless to it. Locked into that beautiful, wet, rocking ebb and flow. “What?”

“How many times do we have to have sex before I can tease you again?”

He choked on a bark of laughter. “Let me get back to you on that. I should have an answer for you by midday.” He gripped her ass and started to move.

This time, it was slower, lazier. They'd taken the edge off. In fact, after a while, time warped out of shape. They could have been at it for hours or days for all he knew. The sun rose outside, curtains lightening. He made her come a few more times before she collapsed facedown on the bed. Pressing back against the slow rocking surge of his body. She couldn't speak, couldn't move. She just lay there, panting. Clutching the sheet.

She was done. She needed rest. He rode the crest and let go, letting the long, violent blast of pleasure wrench through him, and drifted back very slowly, holding her jealously tight. “You should be able to tease me, now,” he said. “I could probably take it, at this point.”

Her giggle was feeble. “Who has the energy? Or the air?”

He slid out of her, letting her roll onto her back and breathe.

“I was thinking,” she murmured. “If you really were trying to brainwash me, this would be the perfect way. My brain feels like it's been through the spin cycle. To say nothing of the rest of me.”

Her sweet smile made his eyes fog up. And after his selfish, controlling adrenaline tantrum, too. Her generosity made him feel abashed. “Me, too,” he said gruffly. “I'm sorry I was so—”

“Don't,” she urged. “Shhh.” She put her finger to his lips, tapped them gently, stroked them. “It was wonderful. It's always wonderful.”

He kissed her fingers. “
You're
wonderful.”

She cuddled closer. “Did you work out your combat adrenaline?”

“I'm maybe halfway there.”

She peeked up. “Halfway?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Close to halfway. We'll see. Hard to tell.”

She checked out his still-turgid dick. “I don't think that's normal.”

“Nothing about me ever has been,” he admitted. “And it's your fault, anyhow, for being so beautiful and sexy. So don't blame me.”

“Oh, please.”

He disposed of the condom, and in the process, caught sight of the bag Edie had insisted on bringing, packed full of Bruno's catered food. His stomach rumbled with interest. He laid the bag on the bed, tearing it open and digging for forks, spoons, napkins. “Breakfast?”

“God, yes.” Edie dragged herself up. They sat cross-legged on the bed and attacked the food, reducing it to smears and crumbs in minutes. She tucked slices of rare filet mignon into his mouth, he countered with big, fat prawns, chunks of juicy crabmeat for her. The baguette was crisp outside, soft inside, and excellent spread with cheeses and piled high with grilled veggies. Portobello mushrooms were heaped with some sort of rich stuffing full of bacon and cheese. The roasted artichokes were tender, dripping with butter and lemon. Big, sweet chunks of fruit were melting and juicy. All of it. Damn good.

He checked the address of the place on the ripped bag, memorized the phone number. He'd be calling them again. He hoped, anyway, that his and Edie's lives might return to such a normal pitch that they could hope to order in takeout sometime and feed it to each other in bed. Between sweaty bouts of mind-bending sex. What a fantasy.

Bruno had racked up some big, big points, Kev reflected, fishing for a napkin to wipe his mouth. The punk might even be excused for this latest break-in. He reflected on Bruno's antics with uncharacteristic generosity as he loaded up another chunk of baguette with—

Pop.
The loud sound shocked him off the bed. Bread and cheese flew, landed facedown on the floor. He snatched up the SIG 220, looking around frantically for the threat.

“Oh, God, Kev. I'm sorry,” Edie said apologetically. “It's just this.” She lifted the champagne bottle. “The cork hit the ceiling, and you weren't looking at it, and I…I didn't think.”

He let out a shuddering sigh, easing down his thudding heart. “Christ, Edie,” he muttered, through set teeth.

“Really.” She bit her lip. “I'm so sorry.” She lifted one of the plastic glasses. “Do you want some? It's warm, but it's also Dom Perignon.”

He lay the gun down, and thudded heavily on the bed. His hands were still trembling. “No fucking way. I'm not touching alcohol until this situation is completely resolved.”

She looked worried. “But aren't we safe here?”

“We're not safe enough anywhere that I would voluntarily drink something that could slow down my reflexes.”

“Ah. I see.” She put bottle and glass both on the bedstand. “That's, ah, very rigorous, Mr. Super Hardass.”

“Fuck, yeah,” he muttered. “Do the hard thing.”

She gave him a considering look, her head tilted to the side. “The hard thing? What's the hard thing?”

He shrugged, uncomfortable. “Just a figure of speech.”

“But what does it mean to you, exactly?” she persisted.

Shit. He wasn't feeling all that articulate today. “I don't know,” he said, his voice surly. “It's just a thing I say. Don't know where it comes from. I guess the hard thing is usually the right thing. Or vice versa.”

She pondered that. “And the corollary is that the easy thing must be wrong. Or lazy. Self indulgent. Dangerous. Right?”

Irrational anger surged. It felt like she were criticizing him, though her tone was very gentle. “Yes! It is! Like fucking you in my apartment while those kidnappers were closing in, for instance! It'll take years of being a hard-ass for me to get over that!”

“That wasn't your fault!”

“Doesn't matter,” he said. “Results matter. Outcomes matter. I'm still responsible. And I might have known that something like this would happen. I might have known that it was too good to be true.”

He forced himself to choke off. He was overwrought. Babbling stupid, senseless shit that would only get him in trouble.

“Too good to be true?” she repeated slowly. “And how is that?”

He was in for it now. “Yes! Too fucking good to be true! There's no way that I could just meet the perfect woman who's haunted my dreams all my life, and just have it be normal. Just have it go smoothly.”

She blinked. “Clue me in as to what's smooth and normal, Kev.”

“Like other people!” he yelled. “I meet you, I charm you, I date you. We go see movies, concerts. We go to bed. We leave toothbrushes and underwear in each others' places, we start unofficially living together, I meet your parents, I buy a ring, we set the date, get married, etc., etc. That's normal. That scenario, for me? No fucking way! The day I meet you, the killers close in on you! The very same day, Edie!”

“Kev,” she breathed out softly. “Sweetie—”

“What am I supposed to think?” he roared. “That I'm cursed, right? That I just can't have this! I can't have you! It's just not in the cards for me, not in this lifetime. That's the truth. That's the hard thing that I have to face, but I can't face it, Edie! I just can't face it!”

His voice cracked. He turned away from her, suddenly afraid he was going to cry. Oh, God forbid. Please. Not that.

“You don't have to,” she said. “I won't let you face it. I can't face it either.” She leaned closer to him, pressing her face to his shoulder. Kissing it, as if she were kissing a baby. Her hand drifted up to stroke his cheek. The scar tissue was weirdly oversensitive there, but his screwed up nerve endings accepted her light touch, and amazingly, translated it as pleasure. Not the nervous tickle that he usually felt.

“Edie,” he started, feeling exhausted. “I just can't—”

“Shhh,” she soothed. “You think you'll be punished for anything too good, don't you? And who could blame you. You've been punished so much.” She kissed his shoulder, moving her warm, soft lips tenderly over the scars. “There's something that we need to do.”

He watched her rummage through the wreckage of their feast until she found a spoon, and the white cardboard container that proved to have a goopy, unidentifiable dessert, once she popped it open.

It still smelled good, despite being battered into goop. Coffee, cream, custard, soaked cookie crumbs, God knew what else.

She scooped some up onto the spoon, and shuffled closer to him on her knees, holding up the spoonful. She had that fey, magical glint in her bright eyes. The one that stopped his breath right in his lungs.

“Uh, wasn't that stuff for the brainwashing session?” he asked.

“This
is
the brainwashing session, you big silly. Get over here.”

She waited patiently while he scooted toward her on his knees, and grabbed his hand tightly, like she thought he might bolt.

“Now. Repeat after me,” she said. “None of this is my fault.”

He sighed. “Edie. It's not that simple, and I can't just—”

“Repeat it!” Her voice had a ring of command that zapped his spine up to military drill straightness. And made the scar on his cheek sting, from the smile spreading there.

“Fine,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “None of this is my fault.”

She smiled her approval, and put the spoon of sweet goop into his mouth. The sugar orgasm jolted him hard. But Edie wasn't done with him yet. “Repeat after me,” she commanded. “I deserve to be happy.”

A strange, irrational tension gripped him. “Edie—”

“I know it sounds silly. I know it feels false. That's exactly why you need to say it. Don't fight me on this. Indulge me, OK? Remember what a hard night I've had. How fragile I am.”

He grunted. He was being blatantly jerked around, but whatever.

“I deserve to be happy,” he said, grimly acquiescent.

She put the spoonful of goop to his lips. He accepted it. They stared at each other, sobered. Something was happening. Something subtle and mysterious, vibrating in the air. It almost scared him.

“Another one,” she said. Her voice had a little quiver in it. “Repeat after me. I deserve pleasure.”

He swallowed. He was uncomfortable with this weird game, but there was no way out but through. “I deserve pleasure,” he muttered.

Edie nodded, and gave him his spoonful of goop, with the ritual air of a priestess offering holy communion. “One last thing,” she said softly. “Look me straight in the eye, and repeat after me. I deserve love.”