Rapid Fire (14 page)

Sympathy
gave way to a snap of temper. “Which makes it okay to drink your breakfast?”
She stepped away from him and collected the first aid supplies with an angry
swipe. “Do you have any idea what that does to your body? To the people around
you? Have you ever seen—”

She broke
off, knowing her sudden anger wasn’t about him.

It was
about her. About what Dane had done.

What
she’d done.

Thorne
turned to face her, and there was something new in his eyes. A softness she
didn’t understand, didn’t deserve. “Yeah, I have. That’s why I decided to tough
it out on my own, without the chemical props. I tried meditation. Martial arts.
Working out. Whatever it took to keep me tired, to keep the flashes at bay.” He
lifted one shoulder, causing the muscles to ripple beneath his tight skin.
“Though I’m not strictly sober, I haven’t had a drink in a while.”

Maya
nodded to the empty glass. “Then why have one tonight?”

His eyes
darkened. “Damned if I know.” He scrubbed a hand across his face, and when he
looked at her again, there was new awareness in his expression. “Yes, I do
know. It was…” He trailed off as though seeking the right words. “It was a
knee-jerk reaction against something I couldn’t control. It won’t happen
again.”

Though
there was truth in his eyes, in his voice, Maya had heard the words a thousand
times before. “That’s what they all say.”

Thorne
smiled, though with little humor. “I’m not the one with the open bottle in her
kitchen cabinet.”

“Touché.”
She gestured to his ripped shirt and windbreaker, which he’d looped over the
second bar stool. “Get dressed while I scrounge you some aspirin. Then we can
hit the PD and see whether there’s been any progress on finding Drew Wilson.”

But when
she moved to pass him, he reached out with his arm and blocked her path. He
stood, looming over her too close, too bare chested. “Wait. I want to thank
you. And apologize. I have no right to criticize you.”

Maya felt
the warmth of his body and tasted the hint of man and rum on the air. She
shifted, but held her ground. “You’re welcome. And as far as the apology…” She
shrugged. “I think we’re pretty much even in that regard. The fact that we knew
each other before makes things complicated. We weren’t really friends. We
weren’t lovers.” Thank you, God. “But we were—” She blew out a breath,
frustrated. “Hell, we weren’t really anything, were we?”

“We were
the possibility of something to come,” he said quietly. “At least I thought we
were.”

Maya blew
out a breath. “You can’t actually have believed—”

His lips
twisted with zero humor. “Clearly, you didn’t.” He spread his hands, causing
the muscles in his bare arms to bunch and shift. “I noticed you in class. You
tried to keep a low profile, but I noticed you. If you hadn’t broken down that
night…” He trailed off, then continued. “I don’t know if I would’ve approached
you. I was a mess, not good for anyone, including myself. Then your battery
died and you needed a ride home and the rest is history.”

For some
more than others, Maya thought. She wished she knew what had happened that
night. She was glad to know they hadn’t had sex, but she worried what else she
might have done. What she might have said.

Something
had created a strange sense of intimacy between them, even though they were
nearly strangers. She wished she knew what it was. She tipped her chin down,
trying to find the right words to ask.

He nudged
her face back up with a forefinger, and the contact sent a buzz through her
system. It was the first time he’d intentionally touched her, the first time he
hadn’t flinched away.

“Why did
you run?”

The look
in his eyes stripped away her pretenses, leaving her with the bare truth.
Without consciously processing the words, she said, “Because I wasn’t strong
enough to resist you and I knew it. Booze. Sex. Love. I would have given in to
all of it, and that would have been a disaster.”

His eyes
darkened and he withdrew an inch. “A disaster for whom?”

“For both
of us,” she snapped. “Why don’t you see it? What do you remember about that
night that I don’t?”

A look of
pain, or maybe resignation, crossed his handsome features. “This.”

And he
kissed her.

Chapter
Eight

On one
level, Maya wasn’t surprised to taste Thorne on her lips and feel his strong
arms curl around her. A deep, womanly core within her acknowledged the
attraction, the compulsion.

But on
another level she was shocked. Not by the fact of the kiss, but by what it did
to her.

It made
her feel.

After her
wild adolescence, after Dane and her disaster of a marriage, she’d buffered
herself against attraction, against the wild hormones that swept away
rationality. She didn’t trust that slap of heat and need, the surge of sexual
gratification that felt too much like being buzzed. But in that first instant
of contact, that first brush of lips and touch of tongue and breath, Thorne swept
past those barriers and reached far inside her, asking for a response.
Demanding one.

She
gasped at the flare of heat, the wash of power. He swallowed the small sound
and swept his tongue inside her mouth as she gripped his bare shoulders and
hung on for the ride.

He cupped
his palms at her hips, urging her toward him, or maybe restraining her from
leaving. But there was no thought of retreat—not now, not when she savored the
faint flavor of alcohol on his breath and found the taste of the man beneath, rich
and flavorful, compelling and powerful.

Both
tastes set off warning bells, but the sound was lost amidst the heat.

She
returned the kiss, encouraged it, reveled in it. Warmth flowered within her,
spiraling out from her core, kindled by nothing more than the touch of his
lips. She murmured his name, or maybe he said hers, she wasn’t sure and it
didn’t seem to matter.

Wanting
the closeness, the contact, she slid her hands down to where his rested at her
waist. He turned his hands to meet hers, to align with hers, palm to palm, and
allow their fingers to intertwine. She squeezed his hands, seeking reassurance,
seeking something—

He
stiffened and jerked away from her, though his fingers remained clamped on
hers, tightening painfully. His eyes went wide and unfocused.

“Thorne,
what’s wrong?” She tugged on their joined hands, and excitement morphed to a
prickle of fear when he didn’t respond. “Let go, you’re hurting me.”

She
yanked harder. He released her abruptly, and she stumbled back, arms
windmilling as she fought to keep her balance. But he didn’t lunge forward to
help. He just stood there.

Slowly,
his eyes refocused. His hands clenched into fists. And he said a single word.
“Maya.”

A chill
ran through her at the sound of his voice. She fought to shift gears even as
she realized she’d nearly fallen back into that old, destructive pattern.
Instant gratification. No self-control. She folded her arms across her chest.
Inwardly, she vowed it wouldn’t happen again. She had to be tougher than
temptation. Stronger than addiction.

But
aloud, she said, “You had one of those visions, didn’t you? What did you see?”

He
grabbed his shirt, pulled it on and buttoned it over his chest. “They’re not
visions. They’re just flashbacks. The hallucinogenic drugs linger in the spinal
fluid for years. A chance move, a muscle spasm, hell, just random bad luck
releases a small bit of fluid into the bloodstream and wham! I’m right back
there, in that crummy room with Falk and his right-hand man, Donny Greek.”

Maya’s
chest constricted. “Is that what you saw?”

He shook
his head. “I don’t know what I saw. It’s been so long…I thought the flashes
were gone. I thought I’d beaten them.” He grabbed his jacket. “I’m going to
take off. Do some driving. Do some thinking. I’ll report back to Chief Parry
and set up a meeting for the three of us in the morning.” He was backpedaling
as he spoke. Running.

Anger
rose in Maya’s chest, born of self-disgust that she’d given in to temptation,
mixed with hurt that he could leave her so easily after the kiss.

She
nodded toward the breakfast bar. “You want to take the bottle with you for the
drive?”

His face
blanked, letting her know she’d scored a direct hit. But his voice was
carefully neutral when he said. “Keep it. You never know when the urge will
strike.”

As he
walked away, she had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the whiskey anymore.

He turned
back with one hand on the doorknob. “Stay inside until I come for you tomorrow
morning. Don’t leave the condo. Use the machine to screen your calls, and
contact me if you see or hear anything odd.” He cursed. “Call me if you even
feel like something’s off. Got it?”

She
lifted her chin in a gesture that she hoped came across as dismissive, even
though it felt stiff and plastic. “I’ll call the chief. He can decide whether
to keep you in the loop.”

They
traded a long, silent stare before Thorne nodded sharply. “As you wish.” Then
he pushed through the door and slammed it in his wake. From the other side of
the panel, she heard his muffled voice order, “Lock it.”

She was
aware of him waiting as she crossed the room and stood by the door, aware of
his presence as she threw the deadbolt and slipped the chain into place. Once
the door was secure, it was a long time before she heard the sound of his
footsteps moving away.

She
thought she heard him say Be careful, but that might just have been wishful
thinking.

And why
the hell was she wishing, anyway?

What was
she wishing?

“Nothing
good,” she said aloud, thinking that the condo seemed empty all of a sudden.
Thorne had filled it with his presence, with his warmth and anger.

And his
visions.

What had
he seen?

A shiver
of cool air slid down her spine, as though the answer to that question had
slipped through her brain and away so quickly she hadn’t even noticed its
passing.

“Doesn’t
matter,” she told herself, and turned for the kitchen, intending to repack her
first aid supplies and shoehorn them back into the small bathroom, which was
one of the few things she didn’t love about her condo. In a perfect world, the
bathroom would be the size of her living room, and come complete with a
whirlpool tub and double sink, just because. It would have—

She
caught herself with the bottle in one hand and the glass in the other.

She
hadn’t even been aware of reaching for either.

Very,
very carefully, Maya put the rum back on the breakfast bar, then set the glass
beside it. Then she sat on the bar stool Thorne had used.

And
closed her eyes.

They’re
called brown-outs, one of the rehab doctors had told her. You’re still up and
moving around, but your brain isn’t recording things properly. You aren’t able
to remember what you did, and you sure as hell aren’t making rational
decisions. Lots of alcoholics get them in the middle to late stages of the
disease. With your allergy to alcohol dehydrogenase, you’ll get them more
easily, after just a few drinks, and they’ll last longer. Needless to say, I
wouldn’t recommend you drink.