Lover's Bite (12 page)

Topaz nodded. “Yes. Her maiden name was Heart. Spelled like the organ, not in the more typical manner.” When he shot her a look, she knew he'd known that much. He had to believe her now. “She abandoned Jack to her brother when he was only eight. He never heard from her again, never knew what happened to her.”

Wayne Duncan lowered his head, abject agony painted on his face. And he wasn't acting, Topaz was certain. “I never knew her. I never knew her at all, did I?”

“I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. Duncan, and for bringing you this sort of news. I—” She looked toward the door Jack had left hanging wide open. He was sitting in the car, but at an angle that put his face beyond her sight. “I have to go after him.”

“Of course,” Duncan said. “Please, Tanya, contact me again before you leave town. I'd like…a chance to get to know you.”

She gazed at him, felt her heart clench a little tighter in her chest. “You
had
the chance to get to know me, Mr. Duncan. But you abandoned me, instead, denied me, kept me a shameful little secret. You abandoned me just the same way Lucia abandoned Jack,” she said.

“But…you had a good life. The courts saw to it that—”

“Is that how you sleep at night? By telling yourself I had a good life? My childhood was hell, Mr. Duncan. My mother was taken from me by your wife, because of
your
lies. I was awarded to a man who knew he wasn't my father, who wanted to use the money I inherited to build his own fortune, and never gave a damn about me at all. You left me to that, even though you knew I was probably yours. And you tell me now that you want to get to know me?”

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple swelling in his throat. “I'm sorry, Tanya.”

“I'm sure you are. But it's too little, too late. You weren't around when I needed you. And now…well, now I don't.”

He turned away, but before he did, she thought she saw a tear in his eye. But she had no time for his tears. God knew she'd shed enough of her own to know that they would pass sooner or later.

She had to go to Jack.

 

Jack rode back to the mansion in utter silence. Aside from asking if he was all right once or twice, Topaz respected his need for stillness. He couldn't talk about it, not yet. He couldn't speak or he might explode.

His mother was dead.

Well, that should come as no surprise. He'd always assumed she'd managed to drink herself to death long before now. But having it confirmed…and knowing she'd left him and gone on to find this Hollywood life for herself, married an actor, lived in a nice home…Why hadn't she sent for him?

He didn't know whether to cry or scream with rage. His mother had murdered Topaz's mother. Good God, that didn't even compute in his mind. He couldn't even grasp it.

When they arrived at Avalon, Topaz parked under the shelter of the portico, looked at him for a long moment, ran her hand briefly over his, and then got out of the car and started toward the house. He didn't follow. He exited the Porsche, then simply stood by the car, hands pressed to the hood, head hanging between them. He was torn between opposing urges to pound something to bits, or to sink to the ground and curl into the fetal position.

And then her hand was on his shoulder, tugging, and against his will, he turned to face her. He didn't want her reading the emotions on his face, didn't want her seeing his weakness or, worse, pitying him.

He didn't get any of those things. Instead, her arms slid around his waist, and she pressed her body tightly to his. One hand slid upward until she threaded her fingers in his hair, moving them there, and it was soothing.

“She's gone,” he said, and he said it in a voice that was so carefully controlled that it came out shivering and tight. “I got all worked up to confront her, and she's just gone. She even robbed me of that.”

“I know,” she whispered, and he knew she truly did. If anyone knew, it was Topaz.

He shook his head beneath her hand. “How can you comfort me? Jesus, Topaz, it looks as if my mother murdered yours.”

“Looks that way. That's not you, though.”

“I've done just as bad to you.”

“Yeah, and you'll probably do it again, given the chance. And yet…” She tipped her head up to his, staring into his eyes, and her own were wide and wanting.

His body responded to that look exactly the way it always had. Before he could think better of it, he was lowering his head, taking her mouth. Her arms twined around his neck, and she stood on tiptoe to reach him better. He hugged her waist close to him, held her so there wasn't room for air to pass between. And the kiss heated and deepened, grew more urgent, until their bodies were straining and they were feeding from each other's mouths.

His hands fumbled with her jeans, and hers with his, until they struggled free of them. He slid his hands down her thighs and lifted them, and she used them to hug his hips. He turned her, settling her backside on the still-warm hood of the car, holding her there, and then he drove into her, and everything in him caught fire.

She clutched his shoulders, let her head fall back. Eyes closed tightly, she moaned his name. “God, Jack. Yes, Jack. More, Jack. Harder. It's been so long, Jack. I've wanted you for so damn long.”

And he gave her what she wanted, what she needed, and he knew exactly what she was feeling, because in those moments it wasn't just her body that opened to him. Her mind opened, as well. And his melded with it, until he could feel everything she felt, every sensation, every tingle. And so he knew when the sensations began to build beyond endurance. He knew when her body tightened, clenched and strained for release. He knew exactly how to move, how to touch her to push her over the brink. And he knew how to let her hover there, whimpering and begging and yearning. When he let her come, it was an explosion, and her sensations raged through him and became his own, driving him over the edge alongside her. He sank into her deeply, gathered her into his arms, and held her to him as he emptied himself into her.

Her arms were around him. Her legs enclosed him. Her body milked him. Her essence filled him.

And in those moments, as they clung to each other and slowly came back down from the stratosphere, in those moments when she was vulnerable and open to him and needing him as much as she needed blood to survive, he felt her thoughts, her doubts, the almost paralyzing fear that whispered through her brain as her physical senses and the ecstasy they'd just shared slowly released their hold on her.

Don't you do it, Topaz,
her mind warned her.
Don't love him again. He'll hurt you, you know he will. Just like he did before. You can't trust him. Not with your heart, never with your heart. God, Topaz, don't. For your own fucking sake, don't love him again. It would kill you this time. It almost did the last time. And if you let yourself believe it would be any different, then you're lying to yourself.

S
he didn't trust him. She didn't trust him as far as she could throw him, Jack thought, as he tried to keep his hands from shaking and managed to get back into his clothes. He'd heard her thoughts, felt her emotions. And they were big ones. She was damn near swamped in emotions surrounding him. But they were too confused to fully identify. For some reason, that bugged the hell out of him.

But why should it, when he was just as confused about his feelings for her?

No, no, he wasn't. He knew what he felt for her. It was simple. He wanted her. He liked her. And yeah, he felt guilty for hurting her. That was it. Simple.

You're sticking with that bull, even after what just happened between you?

He ignored the voice of reason in his head, or maybe that was the voice of insanity in his heart, and continued his cool analysis. Topaz's feelings for him must be pretty similar to his for her. She wanted him; she liked him, in spite of her better judgment; and she was still stinging from the hurt he'd dealt. She'd loved him once, but she didn't anymore. That much was clear in her own inner determination never to love him again.

But she didn't trust him.

Damn, why did that bother him so much? She
shouldn't
trust him. He was a confidence man. She would be
stupid
to trust him.

Except she wouldn't be, because he wouldn't betray her again. Not come hell or high water. And he wanted, right then, to give her back the rest of her money to prove it to her. But if he did that, she would know he'd had it all along, that he'd lied to her. Again. And that certainly wasn't going to do much to make her trust him. He would have to figure out a way.

In the meantime…

“Just so you know, that didn't mean anything, Jack. We're not getting back together.” She was righting her clothes, buttoning her blouse, running a hand through her long, mink-soft hair the way he'd been doing a few moments before.

“I know.”

“I just want to be clear on it. What happened between us doesn't change things.” She started for the house.

“It changes things. Don't kid yourself.” He caught up to her, went ahead to open the door.

She preceded him inside before turning to face him, her hair sailing over one shoulder with the motion. “Like what?”

“Like…now I know you still want me. As much as I want you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You already knew that.”

“I wasn't as sure of it as I pretended to be.” He closed the door, flipped the lock. “And I know that you care. You pretend to hate me, but you don't. You can't. There's our bond.”

“The blood bond. I know, but I couldn't just let you die.”

“Because you care. But that's not the bond I was talking about. It's the other one. The one we share because of our mothers and our childhoods and everything that's led us to become who we are. Our stories are so similar, Topaz.”

“And yet we turned out so differently.”

“You'd like to think so. But you know better. We're alike, you and I. Two peas in a pod.”

“That's bull.” She started toward the stairs but stopped when he went on.

“There's one more thing that's changed.”

“What's that?” she asked without turning.

He walked up behind her, slowly. She didn't move away. He brushed the hair away from the back of her neck and leaned down to trail his lips over her nape. He felt her shiver.

“It changes our bargain. I said I wouldn't touch you until you wanted it. And now I know you do.”

“I should have known you'd never keep your word,” she whispered.

Even though he knew she was lashing out in self-defense, it stung. He drew back from her.

“I suppose it's safe to stay here while we rest,” she said, changing the subject completely. “Wayne Duncan doesn't have any reason to come back and bother us now.”

“I suppose that's true.”

“I'm not sure there's any reason to keep digging into this,” she said. “I don't think we're ever going to find any proof one way or the other. The only person who really knows who killed my mother is dead.”

“So what's next?”

“We pack up and leave. Go our separate ways.”

Jack closed his eyes and felt a blade sink deep into his heart. God, why? Why did the thought of never seeing her again cause him this much pain?

 

The good thing about being a vampire, Topaz thought, was that you could never lie in bed awake, tossing and turning and worrying, when you were supposed to be sleeping. The day sleep didn't give you a choice.

She put on a lime-green satin nightgown, thin and light, with spaghetti straps, cut to midthigh length, with lace around the hem and neckline, and slid in between the cool, clean sheets. Moments later, Jack slid into the bed beside her, wearing boxers and nothing else. She didn't argue. And she didn't argue when he pulled her against his chest, wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

It was the last time they would ever be in bed together, after all. And she didn't have the strength to deny herself the pleasure of drifting to sleep in his arms. Or of waking there again, come sundown.

She didn't
want
to deny herself those things. Even though they made her heart ache like it hadn't ached since he'd left. Why the hell did she still have this weakness for him, when she knew he was no good for her?

When the sun went down and she stirred awake, his arms were still around her, but his eyes were already open, scanning her face. And they were deep and welling with something she knew damn well was false.

“Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked with all the innocence of a six-year-old.

“You know like what. Don't try to make me think you feel anything for me, Jack, when we both know you don't.”

“That's not true. I care about you.”

“You destroyed me,” she told him. And she realized that it was high time she told him all the things she'd never said. Things that had been eating at her, things she'd buried. They all came tumbling out in a rush of release and emotion she hadn't seen coming, a rush so powerful it seemed to launch her from the bed to the floor without thought.

“How could you hurt someone the way you hurt me if you cared about them? I
loved
you, Jack. I adored you. And you walked away, left me like I didn't matter. Do you know what that did to me?
Do you?
”

“I know,” he whispered.

“No, you don't,” she said, pacing the floor. “You couldn't possibly know. I felt worthless. I felt like the worst fear I'd ever had—that no one could ever truly love me—had just been verified once and for all. I felt unattractive, unwanted, rejected, humiliated, beaten. I cried—no, sobbed—violently every waking moment for almost a month, Jack. And then, for the second month, I only woke up crying every evening and cried myself to sleep again every morning, but managed to keep the tears in check during the night. Unless I thought of you, or saw something that reminded me of you, or heard your name. The third month I managed to get to where there were a few days every week when I didn't cry at all. By the end of the fourth month, those days even outnumbered the ones when I did.

“But even then, I dreamed you would come back, and I was so stupid that I prayed for it. I would have taken you back, even after what you did to me. That's how bad it was. I barely fed. I got weak and sick and went half-insane.”

“I'm sorry. I know it's not enough, but—”

“I actually thought about ending it, you know that? There were several days, not just one, but four or five of them, when the pain was so bad, I thought about just walking into the sunrise and letting it all go. It didn't seem like there was any other way to stop the hurting. I planned it all out. What I would wear, whether I'd leave a note, whether anyone would really give a damn that I was gone. I was close, and that's not me. That is
so
not me. I'm a strong, powerful woman, Jack, but you reduced me to nothing. Less than nothing. A pain-wracked, desperate, broken shell of a woman with nothing left of herself or her soul. That's what you did to me.”

Tears had somehow managed to flood her eyes, and they were streaming down her face now. He stared at her, shaking his head, regret in his eyes, though God only knew if it was real or just another mask. He was too good an actor for her to tell.

“And now, Jack, now at long last, I thought I was over it,” she whispered, brushing her cheeks with a hand. “But I guess it's just been lingering inside me all this time. And I'm not sure I'll ever get rid of the hurt you caused me. Not entirely. But I did get past letting it cripple me. I found a way to pick myself up, dust myself off and go on living. I got my strength back. I got my power back. I convinced myself that you had lost something incredible when you let me go, and that I hadn't really lost much at all. Only a man who never loved me, a man who used me, took all I had to offer, and gave nothing in return. A man cruel enough to take the love I gave him and toss it on the floor, and then step on it as he walked away. I didn't lose much.”

She stomped right up to the edge of the bed. He'd sat up now, feet on the floor, watching her as she ranted, with something like shock in his eyes.

“But
you
did, Jack,” she said, her voice hoarse, tears flowing even harder. “You lost so much. Because I am the most incredible woman you are ever going to find, if you live ten thousand years. I'm beautiful, and I'm smart, and I'm funny. I'm generous and kind, and successful, and let's not forget wealthy, and when I love, I love with everything in me. You'll never find someone to love you the way I did, because it was beyond physical or even emotional. It was soul-deep, what I felt for you. And you're never going to have sex like you had with me, either. It'll never be that good again. Sex like that doesn't just happen with anyone. That's what you threw away, Jack. And I've been waiting a long time to tell you so.”

He nodded slowly, taking a breath, waiting as if to be sure she was done. Then he said, “I deserve every bit of that. And I can't even argue with you.”

“I am the best thing that ever happened to you, Jack Heart.”

He lowered his eyes. “Don't think I don't know it.”

“All I wanted was your love.” A sob choked her. She spoke around it, her voice tight and hoarse, as her heart asked the question she'd never been able to answer. “Why couldn't you just love me?”

He was quiet for so long that she didn't think he was going to answer. She turned and started to walk away from him, but then he said, “I never thought love was real. But I guess it must be, if you felt it that strongly. I guess it's just not real for me. I don't think I'm capable of it.”

She nodded her head. “Everyone's capable of it. You're just too damn selfish to offer it. Loving someone is a risk, and as I've learned the hard way, you're not going to risk yourself for anything or anyone. It's not that you can't, it's that you won't. You weren't even willing to try. Not even for the only person in your entire life who would have gladly died for you.” She shook her head slowly. “It's your loss, Jack. I don't think you'll ever know just how much you threw away. Way more than what you took me for, though. Immeasurably more.”

She left him then, heading into the bathroom to shower away her tears.

 

She'd been right about one thing, he thought. He'd had no idea how she'd felt. A whole month before she could even stop crying? And he didn't doubt her. She wouldn't lie, not about that. What she'd said to him had been fed by raw emotion, contained too long. It had erupted without forethought, like a volcano when the pressure gets too intense. He
couldn't
doubt her, because she had been utterly open—as open as the gates of hell—as she'd let those pent-up feelings come rushing out at him. He'd
felt
the pain he'd caused her, and it didn't feel good.

His remorse was multiplied. And he knew she was right. He
had
thrown away the best woman he would ever find. The problem was, he didn't
want
a woman. All right, he wanted one—this one—but not as a partner, not in some kind of
relationship,
not in love. Hell, maybe he
was
selfish. Or maybe he just didn't know how to fall in love, but…

It didn't matter. What mattered was that he had hurt her far more deeply than he had ever realized, and she wasn't going to let him get close enough to do it again. She would never trust him again, no matter what he did to try to show her that she could. And he still didn't know why the hell it mattered to him.

He only knew that it did.

While she showered, he drove to the crypt and gathered up his things. Then he headed back to the house, feeling oddly empty and almost lethargic.