“You smell so good,” he whispered.
I hadn’t even put on the frangipani perfume he loved yet. This was just me, and somehow, his reaction stirred me all the more, making me feel like he craved the unadorned essence of me. What woman didn’t want to feel she could drive a man wild with only her skin and her smile? Power thrummed through me in a heady rush.
I used to find him an immensely civilized lover. I used to fret about making myself attractive to him, making him desire me. Right then, he didn’t seem remotely in control. Molten gold sparked in his tiger’s eyes. Maybe I wasn’t ready to commit, but I wanted him. I always had.
Chance backed me into the bathroom, spun me, and pressed me up against the bathroom door. I felt every inch of my nakedness in contrast to his sleekly clothed muscles. He’d grown even harder since I left.
When his mouth took mine, he didn’t ask if I wanted it, or if I’d permit it. Heat sparked between us like two live wires, and I came up on my toes.
Part of me knew how easily he could finish it—rip off the towel, unfasten his pants, and do me up against the door. He kissed me, all urgency and raging need. As our lips clung, he rocked against me, letting me know how close he was to doing just that.
A kiss became ten, and then twenty. He kissed me like he had nothing better to do for the rest of his life, and I twisted against him. I didn’t know if I wanted more or to get away from his wonderful, merciless mouth. He ran it down my throat to my shoulder, alternating lips and teeth, and I wanted him to do that everywhere.
I shook, but he trembled too.
His breath came in great, harsh gulps as he pulled me against him, tighter. My hips moved. I probably wouldn’t have objected if he had raised me up and finished us. But he didn’t. He continued to tantalize us both with sweet, slow movements, hip to hip.
“I want you so,” he whispered. “You have the softest damn skin”—he ran his fingertips down my bare arm—“and your hair, I haven’t had you with this hair. You’re fire and ice, and everything about you is burning me up.”
I think he wanted me to give permission to take the last step, but I couldn’t. Before that happened, I needed him to tell me things it would never occur to Chance to say. He’d broken his sexual restraints, but he had emotional bonds to slip as well.
I also needed to know his gift wouldn’t kill me before breakfast the next morning.
No matter how much we wanted each other—and I could no longer deny that was the case—we had issues to resolve. I let out a shivery breath and couldn’t resist taking one last bite, right behind his ear. He’d always been a sucker for that. Chance tensed, letting out a sound that half excited, half alarmed me.
He dropped his head on my shoulder and groaned. “You’re not going to say yes, are you? Heartless. You’re a heartless woman.”
“I’m not the one who knocked on the bathroom door while you were naked. Seems like you shouldn’t have put yourself in line to be tempted.”
“That happens when you breathe,” he muttered. But he stepped back, taking my hand instead of my whole body. Before I could warn him, he pressed a kiss to my newly branded palm.
A whimper escaped me. “That’s not good for me.”
“Jesus, Corine. What happened? Did you handle something? Didn’t Saldana know to get you the salve?”
I barely refrained from snapping at him, No, we came to save your ass instead. I didn’t want to tell the story naked. Some things were bad enough without being made worse by extraneous circumstance.
“I’ll tell you later,” I muttered.
Secrets that I shared with Jesse didn’t sit well with him. Jealousy flared in his lambent gaze, quickly suppressed. “Just . . .” His hands fisted at his sides. “Don’t let me catch you making out with him again, or I swear to God—”
Talk about a bucket of cold water. “So that’s what this is about. Jesus, Chance.”
Apparently he hadn’t been overwhelmed with desire. This was vintage Chance. He wanted to mark his territory, so he put on a passionate display. And I should have known the difference. After all, he found me plenty resistible until Jesse showed up.
“That’s not why I kissed you.”
I flung open the bathroom door. “I need to get dressed.”
I never learned. I berated myself as I rubbed the towel all over, trying to forget how easily he’d made me want him. I hated being stupid, and I never seemed to learn from my mistakes where Chance was concerned. By the time I had my clothes on, I only wanted to smack him a little bit.
I stomped out of the bathroom, hoping Jesse had told him about our encounter in the woods by now. By Chance’s dead expression, he had. My ex looked cut to the core that I hadn’t bothered telling him what happened. I’d died and hadn’t seen fit to confide in him.
And it hurt him. I saw the shadow of it in his eyes. It was more than the fact that I’d shared something with Jesse—that he’d saved me. Chance felt iced out, treated as peripheral when he wanted to be center stage with me. Well, good. Let him see how it felt to be manipulated and kept in the dark.
And Jesse was a son of a bitch too. He would’ve sensed what was going on in the bathroom, so he’d informed his rival how he saved my life, a talent Chance seemed to lack. In fact, sometimes he actively endangered it. He’d probably also reminded Chance how he rode to my rescue, coming a thousand miles to save me.
“You’re both assholes,” I said aloud.
They jumped. There was oil in the next room if they wanted to play at Greco-Roman wrestling. Hell, if they enjoyed it, they could always settle down together, and leave me alone.
Before either of them could reply, three things happened at once.
Thunder boomed so loud it shook the house, but there was no resultant lightning, no onslaught of rain. The night felt deadly quiet.
A young girl’s voice called out, “Is anyone there?”
And a dead man’s radio began to play.
The Wrath of John
The house filled with the bizarre but crystal clear strains of “Fools Rush In,” Sinatra’s version, if I wasn’t mistaken. It fit Kilmer’s air of yesteryear perfectly.
I didn’t call, “Come in” to whoever—or whatever—waited for us outside. A knock sounded at the door, and I went to investigate. The guys fell in behind me as I peered around the chain like Miz Ruth.
Shannon from the bed-and-breakfast stood on the front porch, looking nervous. She wore a black hoodie and a plaid miniskirt over black leggings. At first I wondered how she’d gotten here, and then I saw the bike leaning up against the side of the porch.
“Can I come in?” she asked in a rush.
It might be a trick. I studied her for a few seconds and then glanced at Jesse, who murmured, “She’s scared.”
“Sure.” I unchained the door and stepped back.
It was a testament to her abstraction that she paid almost no attention to the men flanking me—or maybe they were too old to register on her hot scale. She rubbed her hands on her thighs and then shook hands. This time, I watched for the spark, and as when she’d touched me, it came when she greeted Jesse—not Chance.
That confirmed it. Chance wasn’t like Jesse, or me, or Shannon. Whatever he was hiding about his paternity, it had left him with a gift that didn’t register as human. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t likely he was ever going to confide his secrets in me, and without that level of trust, I’d never risk being with him again.
“Let’s sit down,” Chance said. He’d apparently put aside his feelings about my keeping from him what happened in the woods earlier, at least for the time being.
“How’d you find us?” I asked as we arranged ourselves.
I wound up on the love seat next to Shannon, who shrugged. The guys sat down at opposite ends of the sofa.