Home to Eden (17 page)

Kate ignored the organized clutter, her attention focused on the man standing next to the empty fireplace. He was watching her, his expression unreadable in the light from the single floor lamp next to an aged sofa upholstered in faded blue linen. A bottle of Chivas Regsd and an old-fashioned glass sat on an upended packing crate. The base of a red clay flowerpot sat beside them, overflowing with half-smoked cigarettes. The room reeked of smoke.

"I didn't know you smoked." It was the first thing that popped into her head.

"Only when I'm celebrating."

"It's bad for you," she said and felt color creep up her neck at the astounding obviousness of her words.

"No kidding!" Nick raised his brows in amazement. "I hadn't heard that." He lifted a cigarette to his mouth and took a deep, deliberate drag on it. He exhaled slowly, the mockery fading, his eyes suddenly watchful through the curtain of smoke. "What are you doing here, Kate?"

The question of the hour. Too bad she didn't have a good answer. She tried to smile, but her face felt stiff and uncooperative. She slid her hands into the pockets of her soft cotton slacks and looked away from him.

"I don't know exactly why I came," she admitted slowly. "I keep thinking about what happened today, about what you did."

"Don't think about it," Nick said, his tone so sharp her eyes were drawn to him. He stubbed the cigarette out. He half turned away from her, reaching for the bottle of Chivas. He splashed some into the glass, his hands not quite steady 'I've already forgotten it."

"I don't believe that." She shook her head, groping for the words to explain what she was feeling, why she'd felt compelled to come here. "What I saw was extraordinary. I've never seen...never imagined anything like it."

A harsh laugh cut across her words, startling her. Nick turned and lifted his drink in a mocking toast. "Ladies and gentlemen, come see the amazing Blackthorne. He walks, he talks, he crawls on his belly like a reptile."

"Nick—"

He ignored her, continuing in the same mocking, singsong tone. "Bring him your lame, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be cured. But the management makes no promises, ladies and gentlemen. No promises whatsoever. The amazing Blackthorne can never tell whether his astounding powers will be in the mood to work at any given moment. But why worry? It's only life or death. Step right up, put a quarter in the hat and take your chances."

The derisive sound of his laughter cut straight through to Kate's heart. He tilted his head and tossed off the shot glass of Scotch. He turned and reached for the bottle again but she was suddenly beside him, her hand closing over his.

"Don't. It's not going to help."

"How the hell do you know?" he snarled, but he didn't pull away.

"Because if it helped, you'd be drunk by now," she said quietly. She lifted the bottle from the end table and screwed the lid in place. Nick watched her in silence, his eyes shadowed, his expression shuttered and unreadable. Kate set the bottle down and looked at him. ''You saved a child's life today. That's a wonderful thing. You should be happy."

"What makes you think I'm not?" he asked, lifting one dark brow in mocking inquiry. "Maybe this is how I like to celebrate—a good smoke, a few drinks, some time to contemplate just how wonderful everything is. Time alone."

Kate ignored his deliberate emphasis of the last word. "Gareth says this...ability showed up after your accident."

"My accident." Nick repeated the words as if tasting them, weighing them. "Is that how the family refers to it? Funny, I don't remember applying for ownership." He caught Kate's worried look and sighed sharply before half turning away from her.

"I was dead, you know," he said suddenly, his tone almost conversational. "When they got...us to the emergency room, we were both dead. It was just the way they describe it in those new-age books about near-death experiences, the ones where the authors wear flowing robes and beads and look terribly serene. There was the white light, the feeling of peace, every cliche in the book."

Lost in memory, he looked past her at things she couldn't see. "I wasn't afraid. I felt safe. I could feel Brian there, as if he was standing beside me. When I felt him moving toward the light, it seemed good. Right." He looked at his glass, at the thin film of Scotch. "And then I woke up in the hospital. Alone. Brian was gone."

Kate's heart ached for the pain she heard in his voice. She knew what it was to be alone, knew what it was to lose people you loved, knew the emptiness he'd felt inside, the emptiness he still felt. Her hand came up, lifting toward him, but Nick spun away abruptly, as if her touch might bum. He brushed past her and picked up the bottle of Scotch. He flashed her a quick smile, a shadow of the wickedly attractive grin that had haunted her guilty dreams these past weeks.

"Sorry, Kate. Telling my life story always makes me thirsty."

He splashed Scotch into the glass and set the bottle down without bothering to screw the lid on. But when he picked up the glass, he didn't drink from it. Instead, he cradled it between his palms and stared into it, apparently fascinated by the play of light dancing in the amber liquid.

The silence stretched. Kate told herself that she should go. She'd said what she'd come to say. It was time to go home, time to walk away before her life became even more inextricably intertwined with his. But she couldn't quite bring herself to leave him alone.

"Do you know what it's like to have a gift like mine?" Nick asked abruptly, startling her. He continued without waiting for an answer. "It's like nothing you've ever imagined. To know that you have this ability to touch someone and heal them, to take away their pain with just your hands—it's heady stuff."

"The dog—Laura said he was bleeding and you put your hands on him and made him better."

Nick lifted his glass in acknowledgement. "An equal opportunity healer, that's me."

"A couple of weeks ago, at the nursery, when I cut my finger—I really did cut my finger, didn't I?" It had been in the back of her mind since she'd seen what he did for Matthew.

His mouth twisted in a rueful half smile. "I overreacted on that one."

"I was so sure I'd cut myself, but then, when it was gone, I thought I'd imagined it."

"People usually do." He took a swallow of Scotch and then lowered the glass and glanced at her. "Matthew probably won't remember much of what happened. Rosie will have a few nightmares, and then the memory will fade away. Even Susan will eventually start to half-believe she imagined the whole thing, that the cut wasn't as bad as it seemed. Jack knows, though. He knew today, and that's why he asked me to help Matthew."

''You don't regret helping him, do you?"

"No." He shook his head impatiently. "No, of course not. I'm just grateful I could help." In his eyes was a reflection of the fear he had felt when Jack turned to him. "I'm never quite sure. And even when it does work... It's scary as hell, if you want to know the truth. Each time, it's like feeling the breath of God"

"A miracle," Kate said softly.

"Yeah." Nick's agreement was flat and emotionless. "It's a certifiable miracle, all right. But it came too late to save my brother." He set his glass down and thrust his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders a little, as if he felt cold. "It wasn't enough to let me help my wife. It wasn't enough to keep her or my son alive."

The cool facade was gone, revealing such stark pain that Kate's chest ached with the impact of it. She had no answers to give him. There was nothing anyone could say that could take away his pain. Acting on instinct, she did the only thing she could think of—she put her arms around him, offering the primal comfort of touch.

She felt him stiffen and knew she'd made a mistake. Despite all that had happened between them, they were still little more than intimately acquainted strangers. She wanted him to know that he wasn't alone, that she could share it with him. Feeling suddenly awkward and self-conscious, as if she'd intruded on his pain rather than eased it, Kate started to ease back.

Feeling her withdrawal, Nick moved abruptly, his arms coming around her and pulling her against him, his hold almost painfully tight.

"Don't," he muttered, his voice thick and guttural.

Kate froze in surprise, but only for a moment. Her heart aching, she relaxed in his hold. Her slender arms tightened around his waist and she held him as tightly as he was holding her, offering the only comfort she could.

She had no idea how long they stood there. Time had no meaning. She didn't question her need to comfort him. It felt too right to allow questioning. When Nick's fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head so his mouth could find hers, that felt right, too. The kiss was part of the moment—more comfort than hunger—and Kate accepted it as such. Comfort, that's all it was.

Nick's mouth left hers slowly. Kate forced her eyes open and looked at him. His eyes had darkened to almost black, until pupil and iris blended together. She could fall into his eyes, she thought. Sink into them and never surface again, swallowed completely by the hunger in them.

His hand shifted on her back, sliding along the sensitive ridge of her spine. His other hand still cupped her skull, and she felt his fingers move against her scalp. Around them, the big old house was quiet, adding to the sense of isolation. Nick's hand settled at the base of her spine, his fingers splayed across the gentle inward curve.

Did he move? Did she? It was impossible to know and it didn't matter anyway. All that mattered was that his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her, holding her, as if he'd never let her go.

Abrupt as it was, the shift from comfort to passion seemed inevitable. Hunger—always there, seldom acknowledged—rolled over them in a single, overpowering wave, leaving no room for thoughts of past or future, right or wrong. Only the moment existed. Only the moment mattered.

Need hammered in Nick. He had to touch her, had to feel her skin beneath his hands. He reached for the front of her shirt, his fingers impatient as he struggled to slide buttons open. He felt one tear loose, heard the faint ping as it hit the floor and the edges of fabric finally fell free. She was wearing a flesh-colored bra. The lacy fabric barely covered her breasts, but even that was too much. Ignoring the front clasp, he slid his hands inside the cups. Kate moaned and the sound tore away the last of his control.

If his hands were impatient with her clothing, hers were equally so with his. She tore at the buttons on his jeans, frantic to touch him. The zipper on her slacks yielded with a faint raspy sound just as her fingers closed around him. She felt him shudder and felt a wild surge of power that her touch could affect him so powerfully. He was silk and steel in her hand, heat and hunger, need and lust. Kate felt a deep yearning in the pit of her stomach, a throbbing ache that made her skin feel heated and almost painfully sensitive. She tightened her fingers around him.

An inarticulate growl sounded deep in his throat and then his hands were sliding inside her pants, stripping slacks and panties down with one impatient tug. The world spun dizzily around her and she felt the worn upholstery of the sofa against her back. And then Nick loomed over her, his face hard and intent in the dim light. His jeans wrenched apart, his shirt hanging open, his body quivering with tension, he mounted her.

She felt the warm, seeking brush of him against the delicate folds of her most secret femininity. Reaching between their bodies, she held him, guided him to her. There was a moment of testing, a heartbeat of waiting and then his hips flexed and he sheathed himself within her, filling her emptiness with one powerful thrust.

Kate's body arched, a low, keening cry torn from her throat as she took him into her body, feeling herself completed, fulfilled, the long, endless wait over at last. But instead of easing, her hunger took on a new edge, sharp and painful in its intensity. She whimpered with frustration, but Nick was already moving within her.

It was fast and hard, hot and earthy. This was no gentle give-and-take, accompanied by soft sighs and warm kisses. This was a struggle, a primal battle between man and woman. Nick took her like a conqueror, his powerful body driving into hers, stamping her as his.

Kate was no less hungry. She arched to take his every thrust, demanding more and still more. Her heels dug into the worn sofa cushion, her nails biting into the hard muscles of his hips, pulling him to her, her need every bit as ferocious as his.

Tension spiraled within her, tight and hard. She sobbed with it, her body struggling to escape the painful intensity of it, even as she fought to draw him deeper into her. Nick had been bracing his weight on his elbows but he shifted, letting the weight of his chest anchor her as his hands caught her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her bottom, controlling her movements, working her on his invading shaft.

It was enough to shatter the coiled spring of tension. Kate arched wildly beneath him, her breath leaving her in a thin, breathless cry as all her senses exploded in one dazzling burst of pleasure. Her inner muscles tightened around him, relaxed then tightened again. Nick shuddered and thrust heavily into her, giving himself over to the hunger. A harsh, guttural sound tore from his throat as he pulsed within her, flooding her with his release.

For a long time, the only noise in the room was the ragged sound of their breathing. Nick's weight pinned her to the sofa, making breathing an effort, but she didn't care. Kate welcomed the rasp of his chest hair against her breasts, the warmth of his skin against hers, the sense of fullness where he was still nestled inside her.