Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet (33 page)

He leaned over my shoulder and questioned me with his expressive eyes.

We’d never been here, in this place. Not flesh to flesh, physical form to physical
form.

“It’s been a very, very long time,” he said, his deep voice less certain than usual.

I reached up and traced my fingertips along the outline of his mouth, full and sensual.
He kissed my fingers then parted his lips and grazed his teeth along the sensitive
tips. The heat of his tongue scorched my skin as his own fingers slid up my thigh,
causing my nerve endings to quake with the rush of elation his touch evoked until
he reached the apex between my legs and pushed inside me.

I gasped. Liquid heat flooded my abdomen. He slid his other hand down my back and
gently pushed me forward, coaxing his fingers farther inside me. I tensed as a ravenous
desire rippled through me. Gripping the chair harder, I spread my legs even more.

With a growl, he covered my mouth with his own. The rhythmic rocking of his fingers
that matched the thrusts of his tongue was almost my undoing. A biting arousal stirred
and churned, pulsating like a cauldron of lava in my abdomen. Sweet tendrils of ecstasy
spread throughout my body, stinging with a hungry need.

When he kneeled beside me and took Will’s peak into his blistering mouth, I almost
cried out at the instantaneous jolt of pleasure. The tendrils turned to claws. I wrapped
my arms around his head, buried my fingers in his hair as he suckled Will and coaxed
me closer and closer to orgasm.

Before I could come, he took hold of my hips and lifted me out of the chair to stand
before him. His sudden absence was like being doused in ice water. I blinked to attention
as he sat back on his heels and stared. I should have been self-conscious. He was
still fully clothed while I stood completely naked, but the stark admiration glistening
in his eyes, the raw desire, eased every insecurity I’d ever had.

“My God,” he said, rising onto his knees.

He took hold of my wrists, locked them behind my back, and trailed tiny kisses over
my stomach. Waves of delight shot to my core when he dipped inside my belly button.
Then he parted my legs and lifted one over his shoulder, giving his mouth access to
that most sensitive area. I clutched the back of the chair for balance as his scalding
tongue coaxed me back to the edge of sanity. To the fringe of madness. I welded my
teeth together and grabbed his hair, a pulsing need rocketing through me.

My legs shook, so weak with longing I could hardly stand.

The closer I got to orgasm, the more I wanted him in me. I pulled at his hair. Ripped
at his shirt. He paused and jerked it over his head. Then I tugged him to his feet.
My hands shook as I worked to unfasten his pants. With rushed movements, he pushed
his jeans over his hips and exquisite buttocks. His erection stood firm, pulsing with
anticipation. And it was my turn to stare in admiration. A fine sheen of sweat covered
his powerful body, making him even more alluring, even more exotic.

The hills and valleys that made up his sensuous form were like a work of art and the
evidence of his arousal was no exception. I raked my fingernails over the length of
him and watched in fascination as his muscles contracted in response. Before he could
stop me, I dropped to my knees and took him into my mouth. He hissed in a sharp breath.

“Dutch,” he said, locking a fist in my hair and fighting for control.

I looked up and his eyes blazed with unspent desire. I knew the feeling, wanted him
to experience more of it. Drawing him in deeper, I grazed my teeth along the smoothness
of his erection, reveled in the feel of blood rushing through it.

He tightened his hold on my hair as though trying to stop me. “Wait.”

But my arms locked around him to keep him close. His breathing grew labored. Tormented.
On the inside, he trembled with the force of it, with the passion he held in check.
He tensed each time I drew him inside, groaning until I’d milked him to the brink
of orgasm.

Left with no other choice, he jerked me off him and pinned me to the floor, his body
rock hard against mine. Without waiting a moment longer—unable to wait a moment longer—he
spread my legs and pushed inside me. A shock of pleasure ripped through me so hard
and fast it stole my breath. I clutched at his back, bit down on his shoulder, kicked
at his hips, but he just wrapped me tighter in his arms and drove, faster and faster,
harder and harder, the pressure bubbling and building until I came with a violent
burst of white hot sparks. They cascaded over my skin and rushed through every molecule
in my body like a shower of light, spilling through my entire being, crashing against
my bones like the sea. I had imploded, and all that was left were shimmering flakes
of gold.

In exquisite agony, Reyes buried his face against my neck, clawing at me, growling
as his own orgasm shuddered through him, his body vibrating with pleasure. He quaked
in the wake of it, panting on top of me, letting the orgasm run its course.

“Fuck,” he said at last. He relaxed and lay beside me.

I opened my eyes to look at him. “What?” I asked, worried.

He grinned. “Just fuck.”

“Oh.”

His dark lashes fanned across his cheeks as he lay in stunned satisfaction. I ran
my finger along their fringe, and he frowned with a chuckle.

“Now I know the true meaning of perfection,” I said.

His eyes blinked open, and he stared at me with a deep appreciation. “You need to
get out more.”

“So everyone tells me.”

But I hadn’t been kidding. It would never be better than this. Better than him. Reyes
was the apex. It was all downhill from here. He was heaven and hell at once, angel
and demon. I wondered how long I could keep him. How long I could call him mine.

He turned onto his side, rested his head on an arm, and put a large hand across my
belly. With a mischievous grin that transformed his handsome face into that of an
angel’s, he asked, “Do you know where the gods keep their nectar?”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion, and said, “No idea.”

His hand slid down my stomach and between my legs. I sucked in a sharp breath as he
leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Let me show you.”

After two more explorations of our stamina, a shared roast beef sandwich, a shower,
and another exploration of our stamina, we lay on my bed, entangled in sheets and
towels. Reyes wrapped me in his arms and was almost asleep when I said, “Who knew
that all this time the nectar of the gods was in my va-jay-jay?” He laughed softly
and let sleep overtake him, but I could not stop looking at his handsome face. At
his sensual mouth and strong jaw. His straight nose and thick lashes. He was a miracle.
A godsend. And a pain in the ass, but so was I, so I couldn’t fault him that.

I heard my front door open, so I disentangled our limbs, threw on a pair of pajamas,
and headed out to the living room. Cookie was putting something in one of my kitchen
drawers.

“Do you know what time it is?” I asked her.

She turned to me and raised a sucky thing. “This is a turkey baster. I’m not sure
why you ordered seven, but I’m only letting you keep one.”

I had no idea either. “It’s after midnight. What are you doing?”

“I watched a scary movie and couldn’t sleep.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? If you’re going to watch scary movies, do it
when I’m around so I can giggle when you jump.” There was nothing more fun than watching
Cookie’s eyes glaze over in fear. Besides what I just did with Reyes.

“I know. So, how was your day?”

“Well, I was in a bank robbery, taken hostage by the Gentlemen Thieves, almost arrested
as an accessory, and had one of the most interesting evenings of my life. Speaking
of which, did you know the nectar of the gods is in my va-jay-jay?”

She shot me a mortified look of horror. “What the hell is a va-jay-jay?”

But I could tell she knew. Deep down inside. Otherwise, why the horror?

“Wait, what happened over there?” she asked, nodding toward Area 51.

“Reyes has been giving me therapy, though I don’t think he’s licensed.”

She gasped and dived toward me. “Oh, Charley, I need details. And an oil-on-canvas
if you can get one done.”

18

That which doesn’t kill me

had better run pretty darned fast.

—T-SHIRT

“Where are you going?” I asked Reyes as he climbed out of bed.

“To your sad excuse for a kitchen.”

I gasped. No one insulted my sad excuse for a kitchen and got away with it. But then
he flashed his nuclear grin and I forgot what the problem was instantly.

“Got anything to eat?” he asked.

“Does green, fuzzy stuff count?”

“I’m not really into health food,” he said with an even more dazzling grin.

When he walked by the dresser, the fact that I had taken out his picture that morning,
the one of him bound and blindfolded, hit me with a jolt of panic. He didn’t even
look at my dresser. He would never have seen it, but the panic that rushed through
me stopped him in his tracks. I had to remember he was like me. He could feel emotion
as easily as I could. Could sense it and taste it in the air. And my panic hit him
hard enough to stop his forward momentum. I’d given myself away.

He turned to me, curiosity cinching his brows together. “What?” he asked, a half grin
still lighting his face.

“Nothing. I just thought, I thought you were leaving.”

A deep suspicion stilled him. “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not. I mean, I am but only because there’s something I don’t want you to see.”

Without thought, he looked around. He didn’t spot it. It lay facedown, half covered
by file folders and a brush and quite possibly a box of feminine products I had yet
to transfer to my bathroom.

He turned back to me and crossed his arms. “Now I’m curious.”

I pulled my lower lip between my teeth. “What if I asked you not to be?”

“You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not about trust. Not really. Not on your end.”

He shifted his weight in thought. “So, it’s about trust on your end? As in, should
I trust you?”

“Kind of, yeah. Or you’d see it that way.”

“What way, exactly?” He looked over his shoulder in confusion. If the picture had
been a snake, it would’ve bit him, then he would’ve killed it in his manly warrior
way. But, yes, he was that close.

“How about we go out and grab a bite?”

“Is it this?” he asked. Without looking behind him, he reached back and slid the picture
off the desk.

“How’d you—?”

I stopped before digging my hole any deeper. He still had his beautiful gaze locked
on mine when he brought the picture forward, but the minute it dropped, the minute
his eyes landed on the image, a cold shiver of astonishment hit me. He blinked in
shock.

I rose to my knees and crawled across the bed toward him. “Reyes—”

“Where did you get this?”

The next emotion to hit me was not anger or pain, but betrayal. Distrust.

“I just … A woman gave it to me. She found it in the apartment you were living in
when I first met you. She’d saved it.”

“But why would you keep it?”

The storm of torment that swept through him made me light-headed. It made my chest
contract and my heart ache. “I don’t know. I haven’t looked at it once since the first
time.”

He rushed forward, and a blast of anger hit me. Finally, something I could deal with.
“Then why keep it, Dutch?”

I raised my chin. “I don’t know.” How could I tell him I never wanted to forget what
he went through? What either of us went through at the hands of that monster?

He strode out of the bedroom, picture in hand. I hurried after him as he headed for
the stove. He was going to burn it. That was probably best, but for some reason—for
some bizarre, inexplicable reason—I lunged for it and grabbed it away from him.

An astounded glare stole over his features. “Give it to me.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” I asked him, knowing full well he’d never open up
to me that much. Not enough to tell me about his past with Earl Walker. I could hardly
blame him, but it was worth a try.

“How about I burn that and we forget all about it.”

“I can’t,” I said, trying to curb the pain in my chest, but he felt it anyway.

With a growl that sent my heart racing into overtime, he wrapped one hand around my
throat and the other around my waist. From there, he led me back against the wall.

“Don’t you ever feel sorry for me, Dutch. The last thing I need is your pity.”

“It’s evidence, Reyes. If what you went through is ever questioned again, we’ll have
proof. And I don’t feel sorry for you. I empathize with you.”

The grin that spread across his face no longer sat at a playful angle. It held more
animosity than warmth. More intimidation than affection. And my heart broke. I thought
we were beyond this. Apparently not.

He leaned in, the heat of his anger like molten lava on my skin. The visceral reaction
from my body anytime he was near seemed to multiply triplefold. I inhaled through
my teeth and he paused. After a moment, he placed his forehead on mine and leaned
in to me, seeming just as unable to fight the attraction as I. But in his eyes, I
had betrayed him. He didn’t want me looking into his past, and that is exactly what
this picture represented.

When he spoke, his voice was even, his tone distant. “The minute you can tell me the
difference between sympathy and empathy where that picture is concerned, you give
me a call.” He pushed me back in warning before grabbing his duffel bag, heading out
the door, and slamming it shut behind him. I slumped back against the wall and fought
to fill my lungs.

*   *   *

Cookie came over the next morning with new intel on the case, and I fought to keep
the telltale signs of sadness at bay.

“Okay,” she said, reading from her notes as she made herself a cup of coffee, “it
seems that the gardener Mrs. Beecher told you about, Felix Navarro, died a few months
ago.”