Haunting Beauty (38 page)

He was at the door before he realized he’d moved. From the other side, the metal hooks holding the shower curtain squealed as she pulled it back then rattled as she closed it again. He stared at the door—the door that was locked to him—hearing again her taunting words. No
right
, she’d said.
Farce of a marriage
, she’d called it, as if last night had merely been foreplay.

His shoulder was to the door, and he hit hard, low, and centered. It was made of thin wood with a cheap lock that gave with a splintering pop. The door slammed back on its hinges, startling a small yelp from Danni. She peered around the curtain, water streaming over her face, eyes as big and round as all the world. Even now, even dripping wet and exhausted, she was the most beautiful women he’d ever beheld.

Mine.

The thought filled him, consumed him, exploding from within, pressing down from all around. One step had him standing right in front of her. He saw fear on her face, and it filled him with twisted satisfaction. She should be afraid. She belonged to him in the same way his hands, his feet, his heart belonged to him. In the same way he belonged to her. To say otherwise was to rouse a monster that couldn’t be contained.

He ripped the curtain from her grasp, sending the hooks sliding down the pole in a hiss. She stood before him nude, her skin slippery and glistening in the weak light cast from the dangling bulb above. Her hair hung in wet ropes over her shoulders, against the ivory of her chest. Her throat was slender, delicately arched, her collarbone a fragile ring at its base with the necklace he’d given her lying against the pearl of her skin. Her breasts were full, heavy, tipped with hard nipples of dusky rose. He followed the valley between them like the river of water streaming down to her belly, over the curls at the juncture of her thighs, down the long silky legs to small dainty ankles and feet.

She was a wonder, a beauty that defied description. And she was his.

She flinched when he reached for her, and his waning anger flared again. Uncaring of the water that soaked his shirt and pants and pooled on the linoleum floor, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. He’d meant it to be hard, demanding,
dominating
. He’d meant it to show her that she belonged to him. He wanted acknowledgment, acceptance—he wanted submission. But the minute his mouth touched hers the warmth, the sweetness of it melted the icy rage inside him and at last tamed the monster of fear.

Remorse and shame flooded him, and he wanted to pull back, to drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness. It felt as if he’d been suddenly freed from the raging demon inside. But he couldn’t part from the sweetness of her taste long enough to speak. Couldn’t take his hands from the silk of her skin.

He shifted, gentled his kiss until his lips begged for what his heart needed. He kissed her like she was the air in his lungs, the blood in his veins, the beat of his heart. Softly, respectfully, he let his fingers explore the contours of her checks, the silk of her jaw, the curve of her throat, and the fragile shell of her ear.

He expected rejection. He expected dismissal, for what could this lovely creature see in him but flaws and failure? He wanted her with every fiber in his body, but he could only have what she would give.

Then unbelievably, her mouth softened and then her arms were around his neck, pulling him against the slick heat of her skin, demanding he oblige the need of her kiss. Her mouth was hungry, desperate, and he didn’t understand it even as he crushed her to him, still standing on the other side of the tub, half drowning in the spray of the shower. He took her breath, made it a part of himself and then sent it back to fill her lungs, to race with her heart.

His hands roamed over her shoulders, the fine bones of her spine to the tantalizing curves below. He gripped the soft flesh there in his two hands, bringing all the softness of her hard against him. She made a deep seductive noise that filled his head and his senses. She tugged his shirt from his pants, working the buttons free then pulling it open so she could press against him. Skin to skin, heat to heat. It was like dying, her touch. It was like heaven, redemption, and damnation all rolled into one living, breathing fantasy.

Mine.
It came again, the pulsing and possessive need to make her his and only his.

But then that insidious voice in his head whispered,
She lies
. He tried to block it out, but it was crafty, coming at him again.
Who was she with?

“Sean . . .” She spoke his name on a breath, the plea inherent and urgent.

But the taunting voice chanted,
Who was she with
?
Why does she lie? Who was she with? Why does she lie?

The fiery blaze of his fervor cooled and brought him back to his hurt and anger and fear.

How could she think this—what happened between them—was a
farce
? How could she even think of living without him? For God as his witness, he could not think of living without her.

And who had she been with in the cavern?

He hesitated when everything inside him demanded he take her, fill her with himself, and never let her doubt who she belonged to. And he could do it, he knew. She was vulnerable and she cared for him—he knew she cared. But that wasn’t enough. He wanted her to love him, as he loved her. He wanted the decision to come from within her heart, not because he’d roused her to the point of no return.

She’s a liar
, the voice in his head crooned.

Sean held Danni between his hands, unable to stop touching her even as he pulled away. She looked at him, her eyes heavy with passion, her features soft with desire. Slowly she focused, realizing he’d withdrawn. Her gray gaze settled on his face. A part of him burned out of control, became ash whipped by the wind as he stared into those beautiful eyes and watched them widen with surprise.

“Is it farce that makes you say my name like it’s a prayer?” he said softly. “Farce that makes you beg for my touch?”

Her brows drew together, and a flush crept from her slender throat to her cheeks.

“You are more mine than any wife by name or deed. You’ll not forget it in the future.”

And then he turned and walked away, leaving the damaged door, like his heart, open behind him.

Chapter Thirty-three

A
T first, it was only surprise that hit Danni. Gripped by a cold numbness, she stared at the door, uncaring that the shower still spat its warm stream, that she stood naked and exposed in the draft. Then a voice that seemed at once inside and out began to whisper,
Who does he think he is
?
How dare he talk to you that way? Hurt him. Hurt him.

The voice lit a wick of anger, and it hissed with a life of its own. It burned its way from her head to her feet, moving her before her brain had a chance to register the enormity of its blaze.

She twisted the knob on the shower, grabbed a towel, and stalked dripping wet out of the bathroom. Bean scurried to get out of her way, but Sean stood in the kitchen, unaware of the storm that approached. Danni was shaking, her entire body trembling with the waves of indignation. She tried to speak. Tried to spit out the vehemence locked in her throat. But her rage was too great.
How dare he treat you that way? How dare he make demands that he had no right—no
ability
to back up?
The voice fanned the flames.
He’s
dead
for God’s sake. Not the kind of man you’ d want for a husband anyway
.

There was a heavy glass ashtray on the coffee table. She scooped it up and threw it at him.

The weighted glass slammed against the cupboard beside him and clattered to the floor without shattering. He spun around, but his look of shock only incensed her more. The voice applauded her efforts and provoked her to try again.

“What? You expected me to just take it? Sweet little Danni, too nice to fight back after she’s manhandled in the shower? Do you think because of last night you can touch me whenever you want? I am
not
yours. Not now. Not
ever
.”

The shouted words felt like balm against her injured pride and battered emotions. If she said it loud enough, repeated it enough times, maybe it would be true. With an angry tightening of her towel, she stomped to the curtained bedroom. But Sean had recovered from his surprise and was there, blocking her way.

“What?” she demanded. “You want to see if you can get a leash on me? Chain me to the bed?”

The idea of it obviously appealed to him, and the ghost of a smile pulled his mouth before he had the good sense to stop it. But it was enough. The nagging voice in her head demanded she slap that smug look away. Danni had been through too much in the past few days. Her emotions had been pushed and pulled, tattered and torn. Refashioned into something she didn’t recognize, someone whose reactions she could no longer control. She raised her hand to strike, but he caught it before the satisfying connection could be made.

Her other hand swung and he caught that, too, stepping her back against the wall, restraining her wrists and pinning her body. Her towel fell away in a damp puddle at her feet, leaving her naked and exposed yet again.

Hurt him, hurt him, HURT HIM
, the voice shouted, and suddenly she recognized it. That voice wasn’t coming from inside her head. It was the Book. Christ, it was the Book.

She was breathing hard—deep, ragged breaths that burned her throat and rushed in her ears. Sean was, too. She realized the Book must be taunting him as well, driving them both into a frenzy of emotions that neither of them understood.

She felt his chest heave up to meet her own. The contact burned, soothed, threw her already chaotic feelings into a dizzying plunge. He stared into her eyes, holding her captive with the stormy sea she saw within him. She wanted to look away, but there was so much more beneath his stare than anger. There was hurt. Desperation. Agony. She saw that he was as battered, as bereft and confused and tormented as her. That he understood even less of his own reactions than she did. But like herself, he’d turned all that churning emotion into anger, something that could be thrown. Something that could find a mark, find a purpose. His eyes narrowed, and she heard a whisper in the stifled air.

Who was she with, she’s a liar, who was she with?

The words revolved around them, unheard but felt. Danni clenched her eyes tight, furious now with herself for bringing the cursed thing here. What was she thinking? That it would be safe in a drawer? She’d been warned repeatedly about it, but she hadn’t heeded the danger. And here it was manipulating them both.

Hurt him, hurt him, hurt—

Enough.
The word became action, a net she cast around the voice. She felt the rebellion, the resistance, and she tightened her thoughts, drawing in the corners, fighting its evil power like her life depended on it. In her mind, she stuffed that voice into a dark corner, sealed it up with a stone wall. Trapped it in a prison it couldn’t escape. It shrieked in rage, but for now, its poisonous cries were contained, muffled and insignificant, behind her barrier.

It was a temporary fix, but it held. Her mind cleared and with it went the rage. The inexplicable need to hurt this man she loved.

And she hadn’t even touched it yet . . .

As she watched, Sean’s eyes cleared as well, leaving him bewildered. Shame colored the green and made them shimmer.

It seemed he would speak, a quick intake of breath, his tongue moistening his lips. She was afraid of what he would say, afraid of what he wouldn’t. There wasn’t time for explanations. There was only here, now, the moments before she had to remove the indescribable darkness and evil of the Book from the drawer she’d foolishly placed it in and take it back to the cavern. Touch it.

Sean continued to stare into her eyes, deeply, beseechingly, hungrily. And she understood that the fire that was melting her heart and soul burned within him as well. There was no way out of this inferno.

She leaned forward, fighting the hands that still held her wrists and pressed her mouth to his in a hard, hungry kiss. It staggered him, amazed him, and the power of it flooded her veins. He didn’t know whether to respond or rebuke, and that pleased her, too. She took his choice away, using teeth and tongue to tease and provoke. The sound he made was fuel to her ecstatic blaze. He groaned deep in his throat, and then his hands were cupping her face, long fingers digging into her scalp. Making her feel him.

She responded in like, tugging at his wet shirt, tearing it from his shoulders. He released her just long enough to cooperate. Then her fingers were digging into the hard muscles of his chest and arms, pulling him into the scorching furnace of emotion and desire.

He fumbled with his pants, trying to hold onto her and work them free at the same time. She ground her hips against him, hindering and encouraging with equal measures. At last he had them open and she shoved them down as he grabbed her hips and jerked her up to meet him.

He was hard and engorged, and he plunged himself into her without tenderness or finesse. There was nothing gentle, nothing loving about it, and it might have hurt had she not been ready and waiting. Had it not been what she’d waited for, what she wanted. She needed to feel with every sense she possessed, needed to embrace the pain and the glory of these moments which could be their last. She arched her back, wrapping her legs around his waist as her head thumped the wall.

She pressed her mouth to his, stealing his breath, taking from him everything she could. She left him defenseless, slave to his own driving need and her demanding mouth. He held her in place as he pumped relentlessly, brutally. Each time he buried himself in her then withdrew to do it again, she felt the rising inside her, the violent building and clenching. The suicidal height and intensity that increased with each fierce thrust.

And then it came, that dizzying moment just before everything inside her turned liquid and molten in an explosion of heat and hurt and pleasure. She felt like a torch, bright in the blackest night, hissing and burning and illuminated. An instant later he came with her, shouting her name as he drove himself deep, deep inside her, letting loose the rage and fear, letting it meet and tangle with her own. Letting their combined heat incinerate the crazy violence that impelled them both to this dangerous edge.