Tangled Souls (36 page)

“Where have you been?” he said, moving toward the rear of the car.

She tromped toward the front door. “Go away, O’Fallon. I don’t need this.”

“Holy Jesus.” He’d found the bullet holes. “What the hell have you been doing?” he demanded.

If she left him on the street, he’d raise a ruckus until he found out exactly what had happened. She had no other option—Gavenia turned and beckoned to him.

“Bring it inside, O’Fallon. I don’t need the neighbors calling the cops.”

O’Fallon watched as she limped into the condo and disengaged the alarm. Shifting his eyes back to the car, he squatted by the Miata’s rear quarter panel, fingering the trinity of bullet holes one by one.

“Good God, woman.” A cold shiver drove through him. What the hell was she trying to prove? Did she think this was a game?

* * *

O’Fallon lurched to his feet and marched toward the condo, anger warring with gut-twisting worry. He caught up with her in the half bath off the kitchen where the vanity light revealed tiny cuts dotted her left cheek and forehead. Bending over the sink, she splashed water on her face. Her right hand shivered so violently she had difficulty pulling the hand towel from the towel ring.

“What happened to you?”

“How about some hot chocolate?” she countered, gingerly patting her face with the towel. “I’ll put some Irish cream it.” Dropping the towel on the washstand, she tried to push past him in the doorway. O’Fallon blocked her and angled her face upward, studying it. Gavenia winced when he tapped a finger under one of the reddened slits.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“You’ve been drinking,” she shot back.

“Answer me.”

“None of your damned business.”

O’Fallon stuck his face in hers, gripping both of her shoulders tightly. The sea-blue eyes changed from mocking to fearful. “What are your favorite flowers?” he hissed.

“What?”

“Your favorite flowers—what are they?” he asked, his volume jumping a notch higher. He felt a shiver course through her.

“Why would you care?”

“Since you’re so goddamned determined to get yourself killed, I want to make sure I buy the right flowers for your funeral.”

The eyes seethed. He wasn’t reaching her, hadn’t said what it would take for her to understand how much she meant to him. Bullying her wouldn’t work so he forced his anger to fall away.

After a ragged intake of breath, he whispered, “For God’s sake, Gavenia, I don’t want to lose you.”

Her mouth parted in shock, the blue eyes losing their fire. “Oh.”

O’Fallon loosened his grip. “I’m sorry I got so angry, but you scared the hell out of me. When I saw the bullet holes and . . .”

She bowed her head as if accepting his apology, laying her forehead on his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her in a protective gesture.

“I was in Skid Row, looking for Janet. There was a gang. . . .” He opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed on. “No, they didn’t hurt me. The dead came to my rescue.” That didn’t make sense, but he let it pass. He pulled her closer and rested his chin on the top of her head. She felt cool in his arms.

“I can’t work on this case and worry about you at the same time,” he said, honesty burning in every word.

She looked up at him and a slight smile appeared. “I was thinking the same about you.”

He placed a kiss on her forehead between the scratches and then hugged her close. A bump impacted his ankle followed by a loud meow of protest. Bastet had found them. Another meow, this one drawn out as if they hadn’t heard the first one.

“I should feed her,” Gavenia said but she didn’t pull out of his arms. The first full kiss was tentative, as if testing the waters. The second was deeper, more urgent. Another ankle bump, along with a chorus of plaintive yowls.

Gavenia broke the kiss and stepped back, rolling her eyes.

“Let me deal with the furry tyrant.”

O’Fallon shook his head. “And I thought Seamus was a pain.”

The witch shook her head. “No. You just need to know that you’re not the only one who can solve mysteries.”

“I can’t solve you,” he replied before he thought.

To buy time, he took a swallow of the hot chocolate. As promised, it was liberally laced with Irish liquor. Without missing a beat, she took the cup from him and set it aside. Gently placing her hand on his cheek, her palm warmed the skin beneath. “You’re going to have to learn to trust me.”

“I’m working on it.” He took her hand and kissed the palm. It smelled of chocolate. “You’re going to have to do the same.”

“Trust in myself?” she said, flipping the question in a direction he’d not intended. Her brows furrowed in thought. “You know, maybe you have a point.”

“We’ll work on it together,” he said. He caressed her unblemished cheek, keeping his touch light. “You are so soft,” he said. “And your eyes . . .”

Gavenia smiled. “My eyes . . . ,” she prompted.

“Fiery blue to midnight dark. They have such depth.”
Like your soul.
“Okay, I admit it, I’m an eye guy.” His gaze trailed down her chest with the hint of a roguish smile. His hand followed, moving down the side of her neck, stopping just above the swell of her breasts.

* * *

She felt his heartbeat through the tips of his fingers.

His kiss was a curious blend of beer and chocolate. Her mouth parted and his tongue lightly touched hers. The kiss deepened and she leaned into it. His right hand cupped a breast and the sensation shot through her.

O’Fallon broke the kiss and pulled back, studying her with an intensity that made her pulse accelerate. “If I stay any longer,” he whispered, “I’ll want to make love to you.”

He’d drawn the line. If she stayed on her side, there would be no chance of hurt, no hidden secrets that might destroy her heart. If she let him go out the front door, she could preserve the status quo. Tomorrow would be like today. And tonight she’d sleep alone.

If she stepped over that line, her heart and her future were up for grabs. She exhaled slowly to buy time, searching around the room. No sign of Bart. O’Fallon’s Guardian was missing as well. What did that mean?

O’Fallon pulled back with a sigh of disappointment. “I’ve pushed too soon, haven’t I?”

“I’m not sure. I . . . it’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone.”

“Winston?” he prompted.

“Yes.”

“I swear I’m not married,” he said. “And I fancy you.”

The line grew thinner. Just a step over and . . .

“Why do you want to be with me?” she asked, searching his deep-brown eyes. “Why not . . . well . . .”

“Why not one of my own kind, you mean?” he asked, a tinge of hurt in his voice.

“No. . . . I’ve . . .” She pulled completely out of his arms, putting some distance between them. “I’ve dated guys who just wanted to brag they’d bagged a witch and lived to tell the tale.”

The hurt in his eyes grew. “You should know me better than that,” he said.

“Do I? One minute you’re sure I’m going to carve your heart out and sacrifice it to some demon, and the next moment you’re trying to seduce me. Color me confused, O’Fallon.”

A petulant frown appeared. “I’m sorry to be a problem. I don’t usually mess with—” He stopped and shook his head. “No, you’re not a heathen. . . . You’re . . .”

She took a step toward him, sensing he was teetering on a line of his own. “Go on. . . . What am I?”

He gently positioned his hands on either side of her face.

“A godsend,” he said, leaning forward and brushing a kiss on her lips.

“Goddess-send, you mean,” she whispered.

“Whatever . . . You are one of a kind.”

The next kiss wasn’t rushed, but savored like a fine cognac. His hand sought her left breast and he rubbed until the nipple pressed back through her sweater. The intimate sensation helped her decide.

“Stay with me tonight,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer, but hugged her close, stroking her hair.

A jolt of reality intruded. “Ah, damn.” She abruptly retreated from his arms.

“Now what?” he grumbled.

“We need to make a pharmacy run,” she said, embarrassed to even mention it. She’d been so furious at Winston’s infidelity, she’d tossed out her condoms.

A smug grin. “No problem. I have three rubbers in my wallet.”

“Three?” Another nod. “Wishful thinking?” she joked.

He pulled her into his arms again and nipped at her neck, sending heat lightning racing through her body. “You can tell me in the morning.”

This time there was no pause, only point and counterpoint. She helped him remove his shirt, careful not to touch his bruised ribs. He pulled off her sweater, revealing her lacy white bra. He ran his hand down both her breasts, rubbing the nipples to life. His hands had a slight tremor as he fumbled with the front hook. Gavenia found that endearing. He was as nervous as she was. That told her more was at stake than a night’s pleasure. She placed her hands over his, halting his progress for a moment.

“I’ve not been with anyone since the accident,” she said. “I’m not sure how this will go.”

His eyes softened. “You set the boundaries tonight. I’m here for you.”

Her heart melted. “I’ve never had a man say that before.”

“Then I’m happy to the first.” He resumed his efforts to unhook her bra, leaning close. His citrus cologne scented every breath she took, his arousal pressing hard against her thigh. “Need any help with that?” she joked.

“Not since I was sixteen,” he replied, the garment complying at the last moment. He removed it, dropping it to the floor. She waited for his reaction. It came immediately, his mouth falling open in astonishment.

Gotcha
, she thought as he stared at the twin gold goddesses that hung like fine gems from her nipples.

“Oh, those are so . . . ,” he said, and then fell silent. He rubbed a finger over one of them. Before she could say anything, he carefully lowered her onto the mound of floor cushions and began his worship of the right goddess.

A tentative flick over the nipple, then a stronger one. She hummed in response. A strong suckle. She arched upward.

“Like that, do you?” he said with a wicked chuckle. “How about this?” He wet the nipple with his tongue and then blew on it. Cold fire coursed through her. Gavenia couldn’t help but moan in response.

He grinned in obvious delight. “This is going to be an evening to remember.”

Surprises lurked under his clothes—he wasn’t a boxer-shorts kind of guy but wore bikini briefs. They hugged every curve and bulged with promise.

As she ran her hands over his tight buttocks, savoring the sensation, he continued his exploration of her breasts, lavishing attention on each in turn.

“I’ve never made love to a woman who wore these,” he said, deftly flicking one of the rings with his tongue. She responded by nipping at his neck, earning her a deep growl of pleasure.

She ran her hand over his chest, finding a small bump near the right shoulder. A scar, pale white against his skin. Before she could ask, he covered her lips with his, his hand kneading her left breast. She slid her palms down the side of him until she reached his hips. Racking her nails up his back produced a moan that escaped from his mouth into hers.

He pulled away and descended on her body, kiss by kiss, feathering them with increasing frequency, across the tattoo on her right arm, down her chest to her belly and finally to her thighs. Gently, he parted them. A kiss to her inner thigh made her quiver, then the other side, then one in the middle, as if he was performing a holy rite. Then he touched the part of her she’d long believed dormant.

The scent of her arousal was heady and fueled his desire. She was so different from the others, enticingly erotic, with those golden-haired goddesses who’d silently commanded he satisfy her.

God help him, he’d do his best. He touched her with his tongue and her hips moved upward in response. When he looked up, he saw her eyes were closed, waiting for his next move. Trusting him implicitly. He knew the measure of that trust and he swore he’d not fail her. He slowly moved his hands under her soft buttocks, raising her hips slightly, and let his tongue speak to her of ecstasy.