Her Darkest Nightmare (6 page)

“We haven't had a murder in Hilltop in a decade.”

“Considering all the security measures at HH, the community is as safe as ever.”

He frowned but didn't answer.

“Anyway, let's not argue. Let's talk about something else.”

“Fine. Feel free to change the subject.”

“I will.”

“To…”

“How's your father?” These days his father lived in Anchorage, where he and his new wife exported seafood for a living.

“Doing great.”

“And your mother?”

He shrugged.

“She still in Seattle?”

“I guess.”

“You don't know?”

“Haven't talked to her.”

His mother left his father when he was only two and took his twin brother to Seattle with her. Although Evelyn could see why he might feel as if she'd played favorites when she left him behind, he'd told her it wasn't the abandonment that bothered him as much as the fact that he hadn't known he had a sibling, let alone a twin, until he turned eighteen and received a call from Jason. “When's the last time you heard from her?”

“She called a couple of months ago.”

“From Seattle?”

“I couldn't tell you. I didn't pick up.”

“And you didn't call back?”

“I've been busy.”

“You mean you can't forgive her.”

“It's not that. She hated Alaska, was miserable here. I can understand why she might leave. Everyone has the right to find their own happiness and all that. I can even understand why she'd think it was fair to take one son and leave the other. But she's been gone for twenty-seven years. And we had no contact until Jason reached out. I don't know her that well, so it makes for an awkward conversation.” He yawned, checked his watch and stood. “It's late. We'd better get to bed. If the storm lets up, tomorrow will be a hell of a day.”

The way he'd handled her questions about his mother told Evelyn he didn't care to talk about her. “Because of the cleanup?”

“And whatever damage it leaves in its wake.”

“What if it doesn't let up?” She almost hoped it wouldn't. She may have told him she didn't want a relationship, but the attraction she felt hadn't gone anywhere. She couldn't say she'd be disappointed by the prospect of spending another day here, with him.

“Then we put everything off until it does.”

She finished the last of her wine. “Thanks for taking me in.”

He extended a hand to her, and she let him pull her up. “You're a pretty onerous houseguest, but I'm managing. And you did provide dinner.” A flash of teeth told her he was smiling, but shadow obscured the finer details of his expression.

He started to let go of her, but she curled her fingers through his, and he hesitated as if her response surprised him. It surprised her, too. She'd indicated she wasn't a good romantic option.

Looking down at their entwined hands, he moved his thumb over her palm in a seductive circle. “You realize you're giving me conflicting signals.”

“I do,” she said, but couldn't seem to let go. Despite how she'd discouraged him in the past, she was suddenly burning with the desire to be touched by him.

He stared into her eyes for several seconds. Then he bent his head and pressed his lips against hers. She could tell he was taking it one second at a time, didn't have a lot of hope she'd allow him to kiss her very thoroughly, but she was pretty sure she felt what any normal woman would feel when being kissed by a man she found so attractive. No fear. No desire to flee. Just a heady euphoria, as if his mouth was twice as intoxicating as the wine.

Was it because she was already drunk? If so, she didn't care. Not if it made this possible.

His lips moved so lightly over hers she found herself leaning into him for something deeper, more satisfying, but he seemed to be holding himself on a very tight leash.

“I like that,” she whispered.

Emboldened by the compliment, he parted her lips and touched her tongue with his as if he couldn't quit without a taste. Then he stepped back and let her go. “You've had too much to drink. Let's get you into bed.”

*   *   *

A noise woke Evelyn. At first, she thought it had to be the weather. The storm still raged. Huge gusts of wind whistled through the eaves, bending the trees against the house, making just as much racket as before. Ensconced in Amarok's spare bedroom, which smelled like her aunt Dot's attic since it was hardly ever used, she was warm and comfortable enough that she almost rolled over and went back to sleep. But then she heard the whine of a dog and the low murmur of a man and realized that Amarok was up, taking Makita out. She couldn't imagine how much trouble it would be to perform such a routine task living in Alaska, but thanks to the bears and the wolves Makita couldn't go out alone—not at night. The sounds in the hallway indicated Amarok was suiting up, as he would have to, for Makita's five-minute stint in the great outdoors.

Having a dog here required more sacrifice than other places. She empathized as she pictured the sergeant stepping into the cold. Makita was likely feeling the results of the human food they'd let him eat, she realized. But then her thoughts turned to the evening they'd spent together and how much she'd enjoyed it. She hadn't experienced such fulfilling companionship since … since she'd been with him last summer, she decided. Amarok was …

She wasn't sure how to describe him. His own man. Self-assured. Easy to be around. Calm on a level she could probably never reach. Somehow time with him assuaged the gaping wound in her soul—the one she'd finally accepted as something she'd always have to live with. Essentially, he'd shown her what the cessation of that old pain could feel like.

Then there was his kiss and those few seconds of uncertainty when the contact could've turned into much more. She could still taste him, feel the sensation of his lips moving, firm yet soft, against hers.

Those moments had been exhilarating. So damn exhilarating the memory alone was enough to make her mouth water.

By the time he came back in, Evelyn was lying on her back, wide awake, and staring at the ceiling. She'd slept off the alcohol, but the longing that'd flared up during those hours by the fire hadn't gone anywhere. Having all her faculties restored only made her
more
aware of the sergeant, because there was no false euphoria to distract or mollify her.

Her body was prepared for him. The thought of Amarok's skin moving against hers made her so sensitive she could feel her pulse between her legs. But what about her mind? The emotional damage she'd suffered had been far greater than the physical damage, more lasting, too. She wasn't sure she could muster the amount of trust making love would require. Since Jasper, she'd rarely been tempted to try.

So why now? After she'd told Amarok no last August?

Maybe it was his willingness to let her stay on a cold, snowy night when she couldn't get home. Or the way he'd broken off the kiss when he could've kept going.

He'd admitted to wanting her. But she'd warned him away. What would he do if she went to him now? Would he play it safe and reject her? Or would he gamble?

Even if he accepted her in his bed, being able to have sex again wouldn't miraculously heal her. She had no delusions about that. It would, however, be a small step forward, one her therapist had encouraged her to take years ago.

Dared she be so bold? What would happen if she initiated contact but couldn't go through with it?

She'd ruin what small recovery they'd made in their friendship tonight.

Maybe she should settle for that one kiss. Wait and see if a deeper, more intimate relationship developed over time.

But it'd already been twenty
years
since she'd been with a man. She was usually so guarded no one could get through her defenses. Amarok had tried once and been rebuffed.

She thought of her suit hanging in the closet. In the light of day, when she returned to her normal self and her normal job, those inhibitors might snap back into place. Then what could've been would never be.

Amarok went into the bathroom. The toilet flushed and the floor in the hall creaked beneath his step. He was heading back to bed. If she didn't act right away, it'd be too late.

 

4

Every man to his own tastes. Mine is for corpses.

—HENRI BLOT, PARIS'S SLEEPY NECROPHILIAC

The moment she touched his bare back, Amarok froze. Evelyn was certain he'd heard her approach, that the whine of her door as she opened it had given away her presence and her proximity, because he didn't seem startled. He did, however, seem unsure of how he wanted to respond to this little meeting in the middle of the night.

“You warm enough?” he asked without turning.

“Yes.”

“Then why are your fingers so cold?”

She dropped her hand in case they were also uncomfortable or unwelcome on his skin. “I guess I'm nervous.”

She hadn't imagined this being quite so awkward. Not after last summer and that memorable kiss tonight. But without the help of alcohol they had nothing to smooth over the damage she'd done.

Fear that he might reject her, if only to give her a taste of her own medicine, made her wonder why she'd left her bed. It was completely out of character for her to be so forward. She honestly didn't know him that well, had stopped what had started between them almost as soon as it'd begun. Yet she couldn't bring her feet to carry her back to her own room. She wanted him whether it was awkward or not, whether he was too young for her or not, whether it would be difficult or embarrassing when she ran into him after tomorrow.

Finally, he swung around. She couldn't see him in the dark hallway, but she could tell where he was and which direction he was facing by his voice when he said, “I didn't mean to wake you.”

How should she respond? She had no idea. Didn't he know what she wanted? Couldn't he guess?

Of course. Which meant he must not be interested, or he would've given her some indication. “Is that a no?”

She heard him sigh, then rub the beard growth on his face.

“It should be,” he said.

“Because of that grudge you're carrying?”

“Because I've never been with anyone who's experienced anything even remotely close to what you have. I don't want to hurt you, don't want to bring back bad memories or do anything else that'll cause you to shut down or lump me together with the bastard who hurt you.”

That was a lot of words for him. Obviously, he'd been thinking about the situation, had understood all along what she was offering. “I know you're not him.”

“I want more than that.”

“More than what?”

“The two of us together—I see it as wild and a bit out of control. Messy, you know? I want to be able to go with what I feel, to trust my natural impulses. It can't be good if I'm second-guessing my every move. No one would enjoy that.”

“Of course.” She felt silly for expecting him to forget that she'd already bailed out on him once. Why would he keep trying with her when he could have a much less complicated woman at the snap of his fingers? Men outnumbered women here two to one, but the sergeant could have his pick of the lot. “That wouldn't be any fun. I understand.”

She started to move away, but he caught her arm. “No, you don't. I'm not worried about me. I already know what good sex is like. I want
you
to feel it, to experience it, to enjoy human intimacy as it should be—not be subjected to some watered-down version where I'm half-afraid to touch you. That would only convince you that you're not missing anything, make you happy to hide behind the defenses you've thrown up.”

“And why would you care if that happened?”

“Because you've been robbed of what you should've had and you deserve better. Everyone does.”

“So…”

“So I'm not interested in having sex with you if you're simply going to suffer through it. Does that make sense?”

She swallowed hard, wished—for the millionth time—that she wasn't damaged in this area. “It does. But … I can't make any promises, Amarok. You know this would be my first time since … then. I don't know what to expect from my own body. It could get uncomfortable, end badly. You need to be aware of that. You'd be smarter to play it safe.” She lowered her voice. “But … some risks are worth taking. I guess that's what you have to decide—if this is one of those risks.”

When she said that, he stepped close enough that she could feel his breath fan her cheek. “I'm aware of the possible payoff, Dr. Talbot. Hence my dilemma.”

Her stomach hardened into a tight ball of energy. “Well? What are you going to choose?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Are you ready to spread your legs for me?”

He was testing her, talking dirty to see if it threatened her. It didn't. She liked the guttural tone to his voice, the evidence of his desire, but … he hadn't touched her yet. She had no idea how she might react to the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress or some of the other things that could remind her of the ordeal she'd been through.

Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his jawline, his lips. “Just thinking about you makes me wet.”

Her voice was so husky she almost didn't recognize it, but she'd spoken the truth, and he seemed to like it. She heard him suck air between his teeth as his hands slid down her arms. “Let's see how wet,” he said, and those same hands slipped into the boxers he'd loaned her.

She tensed up when he touched her. She would've thought he'd take it slow. But she got the impression he wasn't about to give her time to think, to reconsider. His mouth covered hers as he slid a finger inside her, and instead of fighting him, instead of feeling overwhelmed or defenseless, as she'd feared, she felt as if her bones were melting and was happy to have them do so.