Fairytale (19 page)

Not a feeling. Not a daydream. No way in
hell, this had been as freaking real as...

As his trip to the forest of Rush when he’d
been seven years old.

He didn’t know what kind of spell she was
weaving around him. He didn’t know much of anything right now.
Except that he wanted Brigit. He wanted her so much he was shaking
with it. And it didn’t matter that he had no idea who, or for that
matter
what,
she really was or what the hell she was up to
or why she’d wormed her way into his life. He wanted her. She could
be an ax murderer and he’d still want her.

And he’d tell her so, too. The second he got
her home.

***

He was silent in the car, and that was okay.
She was, too. And she supposed he might be lost in the impossible
task of making sense of their momentary lapse back there at the
university. Or maybe he hadn’t lapsed at all. Maybe it was only
her, and maybe he’d just been humoring her.

She’d always been able to tune out the world.
To lose herself utterly in her own place. A magical place of
twinkling stars and rainbow glimmers flashing sporadically. A place
without gravity or sound or thought.

Usually, though, it was up to her to make it
happen. To close her eyes and focus on tranquility and peace, and
to find that place. This time it had been spontaneous. It had
happened as if on its own, without warning. Like...like magic.

Why?

God, for those few moments she hadn’t even
thought of Raze.

Adam twisted the key and the car’s engine
died. Only then did she realize they were back at the house. And
fear made her throat narrow to the size of a piece of straw. It
made her stomach into a small, hard chunk of ice. That dance had
altered things. She’d revealed her innermost fantasies...her secret
desires. She was sure she had.

Without a word, she shoved her door open and
got out, heading for the front door more quickly than she should.
Ashamed of running from him without explaining herself. But too
afraid to do anything about it.

Her sandaled feet made little tapping sounds
on the steps, and she gripped the latch, only to yank in vain.

She let her head fall down until her eyes
focused only on her own bare toes, and didn’t even turn when he
came up behind her, reached past her to insert his key in the lock.
He twisted the key, then hesitated. His warm breath fanning her
neck was almost more than she could bear.

She nearly collapsed in relief when he
finally opened the door and stepped back. But instead she managed
to remain standing. Even to walk into the house. And he stepped in
behind her, closed the door, and said, “Are you really magic,
Brigit? Is that what it is?”

His hands closed on her shoulders from
behind, turning her slightly, and then he pointed. She looked up.
The chandelier’s crystal prisms were on fire, bathed in moonlight
that slanted In through the wall of windows. They sparkled,
throwing beams of gem-colored light like the storm god hurling
lightning bolts. Flashes of red and green and gold bounced from the
walls, danced on the floors, caught and blazed in the mirrors.

“It’s never looked like this before,” Adam
whispered. And the tone of his voice was like a child’s...filled
with wonder. So she turned to see him, and a blaze of green painted
his eyes. Both eyes, making them flash unnaturally. “A lot of
things are like they’ve never been before, Brigit. Since you came
through that door.”

She shook her head.

“It’s true.” His hands came up to cup her
head, fingers spreading tingles of awareness over her nape and down
her spine. “What is it about you that has my dying plants looking
as if they could grow into an entire rain forest?” He searched her
face, iris eyes still glowing, sparkling, catching and holding hers
until she couldn’t look away. “What is it about you Brigit...that
makes me feel...”

She caught her breath as he drew her, gently,
inexorably closer. Until he held her the way he’d been holding her
when they’d danced.

“...makes me feel I’ll wither and die unless
I kiss you...right now.”

He kept his eyes opened, kept her captive in
their depths. One hand continued to cradle her head, but the other
slid down, curled around her waist, and pulled her tighter. So
tight she felt every ripple of muscle in his chest. And then his
head came down and he kissed her.

His lips touched her mouth, tasted, testing,
she thought. And she surrendered with a small sigh. Her entire body
melted in his arms as she opened her mouth in gentle invitation.
Sweet surrender.

And she knew she’d never be the same.

He was drowning. And the same sensation
overcame him as before, when they’d danced. That almost out-of-body
experience that she seemed to instigate. He wasn’t here. There was
no floor beneath his feet, no ceiling. The glimmering lights from
the chandelier’s prisms became palpable. Warm, pulsing as they
painted his face. The focal point of his entire existence became
Brigit. Her lips beneath his, her body in his arms. The soft sounds
of surrender she made.

Every whisper-soft touch of her fingers in
his hair was as powerful as a 220-volt shock. Every breath passing
from her parted lips into his, carried the very essence of the
woman he held. Every touch of his tongue as it pressed through the
moist barrier brought a taste so sweet it was beyond description.
Drugging. Addictive. So that he pressed deeper, seeking more. The
very heat of her body was a song...music he could hear only in his
soul. Blending and mingling with his own. He wanted to devour
her!

When her knees seemed no longer able to
support her, Adam bent and scooped her into his arms, never taking
his mouth from hers. And somehow he moved through the glittering
night that surrounded them, swimming through space thick with
rainbow flashes that he could now hear as well as touch. And then
he was lowering her to the floor he couldn’t feel. Like a cloud
under her back, and he was lying there with her, on top of her,
kissing her because he couldn’t seem to stop.

And she was kissing him back just as eagerly.
Her arms twined around his neck and her hands threaded in his hair,
and her body moved beneath his, rubbing against him, pressing
closer. But still not close enough.

His hands slid beneath her hips, pulling her
tighter to him, and he ground his hips hard against her
softness.

And all at once she twisted her face to the
side, and their lips came apart. She was gasping for air, and her
words came out desperate and hoarse.

“No more, Adam. We can’t...”

Like ice water, those word.

Adam blinked rapidly, and as if the spell had
suddenly been broken, the room came into focus. They were in the
study, on the Oriental rug near the barren hearth. There was no
music. And part of him thought that was because the music had been
her...or the two of them, together. But that was foolishness.
Fantasy. The flashing prisms had lost the supernatural glow...the
one they’d never really had in the first place.

And he was lying on top of Brigit with one
knee wedged between her legs, holding her so tight he was surprised
she could breathe. She had to feel how hard he was. How could she
not
feel him pressing into her? Or his heart hammering like
a runaway train? Or his ragged breathing?

What the hell had happened to his brain? His
mind? He’d never lost himself like this. It was only sex for
Christ’s sake. He’d always thought about it ahead of time, planned
a time when he wouldn’t be interrupted or rushed, made sure he had
a condom or two nearby.

It had never been desperate and mindless and
crazed! On a floor for Christ’s sake! A floor. She must think he
was some kind of animal.

He rolled off her, glanced at her face,
expecting to see revulsion in her eyes. Maybe even fear.

But she wasn’t looking at him. She was
staring up at the painting that hung above the mantel. And she was
crying.

“Brigit? What’s...Jesus, tell me I didn’t
hurt you.”

She brought her gaze to his, levering herself
up onto her elbows. “You didn’t hurt me. I was as carried away as
you were,” she whispered, and there was pain in her voice that
belied the words. He
had
hurt her. Maybe not physically,
though.

“Then why—”

She only shook her head, and he didn’t have a
clue what the hell to say to her. She got to her feet, turned
toward the stairs. “You don’t want to get tangled up with a woman
like me, Adam. You really don’t.”

She was right. He knew she was right. He
didn’t
want
to get tangled up with her. It just didn’t seem
to Adam that he had much of a choice in the matter. He shook his
head, pushing his hands through his hair in frustration. “Why don’t
you let me be the judge of that?” He rolled to his feet, came up
behind her, and settled his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t know
what the hell this is, Brigit, but it’s powerful.”

“It’s madness.”

He lowered his head, intent on kissing the
crook of her neck, but she danced away before his lips could taste
her skin again.

“I’ll only hurt you, Adam. Destroy you,
maybe. I don’t want to do that, but if you touch me...if you kiss
me once more...I might not be able to help myself.”

And before he could reply, she ran from him.
Right up the stairs, and he heard her bedroom door slam. Imagined
he heard the lock turning.

Damn!

What was happening to cool, calm, analytical
Adam Reid? The man who’d decided he wanted nothing more to do with
conniving women? This one all but
admitted
she was up to no
good. Told him not to trust her, promised she’d hurt him...destroy
him, maybe. And what does he do but hunger for her all the
more!

And how was it that her words of warning
mirrored those spoken to him by that fairy he’d encountered as a
child? God, the longer he knew her the more inclined he was to
believe it was all true. And if it were true, she
had to
leave him.

And there was nothing he could do to prevent
it. Hell, he was supposed to
help
her to leave him.

It would kill him.

No. No, he couldn’t let this go on. No way.
He had to get past this obsession with Brigit Malone. He had to
find a way.

Turning in a slow circle, he pushed both
hands through his hair.

Soon.

***

She’d always known she didn’t fit in...always
felt there was something different about her, something
lacking.

She hadn’t realized what it was until
tonight. But now she suspected the reason for her oddness was the
lack of a single shred of decency. If she hadn’t been able to tell
another thing about Adam, she knew these two facts. He was good.
And he was hurt. Injured...perhaps beyond repair. Betrayed again
and again by people he trusted.

She was about to betray him, as well. She was
going to steal from him...steal what she knew to be his most
precious possession. How could she let herself make matters worse
by...

If that man were to come to care for her, her
guilt would be compounded.

It was bad enough, wasn’t it...that she’d let
herself begin to care for him?

The phone was ringing. It woke him from a
fitful sleep, filled with dreams of having hot, frantic, insane sex
with Brigit. And he was coated in sweat and panting like a goddam
addict in need of a fix. Trembling. Gooseflesh crawling over his
arms and thighs.

Jesus!

He snatched up the phone and growled hello in
a voice that sounded totally unlike his own. Barbaric and raw. Like
his yearning for her.

“Adam? It’s Mac. You all right?”

He cleared his throat but his voice wasn’t a
hell of a lot more civilized when it emerged. “Fine.”

“Sounds like you’ve been wrestling a bear.
Well, I have a shit load of information on your lady friend.
Interesting stuff, too. You want to meet me?”

Adam sat up straighter. Information. On
Brigit. Yes, that was what he needed. Maybe he could figure out
what she wanted from him, besides to drive him out of his mind.
“Just tell me. What did you find out?”

“On the phone?”

“Yes on the freaking phone! Talk,
already!”

“Okay, okay. Jesus, you wake up cranky,
Reid.”

Adam rolled to his feet, fumbling in the
night-stand for a pad and pen in case he wanted to make a note. He
heard Mac shuffling papers, then the man cleared his throat.

“I got most of this before last night, Adam,
but I couldn’t very well blurt it out right there in front of
her.”

“Go on.”

“Before I start, there’s something else.”

“What?” Adam’s patience was down to its
ragged edges.

“I did not drop that wallet last night.”

Adam frowned. “What the hell are you trying
to say, Mac?”

There was a thoughtful pause. And then,
“Nothing. Never mind. Listen, here’s the rundown on your
girlfriend. There was only one child by the name of Brigit who was
at St. Mary’s at the time of the big fire. Brigit Doe, they called
her. Last name unknown. Mother unknown. No birth certificate was
ever on file for her. None that was found, anyway.”

“What, she just appeared at the shelter one
day with no past, no story?” Adam was beginning to think his friend
was doing shoddy work. Then again, who could blame him? He was
working gratis, after all. And then he gave himself a mental kick
for doubting Mac’s integrity. Man, what was happening to make him
think this way?

“Oh, she had a story all right,” Mac said,
unaware, apparently, of his friend’s treasonous thoughts. “But
there’s no verification to speak of. Whatever records existed were
destroyed in the fire. All I have is word of mouth. The
reminiscences of an old nun in a nursing home.”