True Vision (25 page)

Noah’s heart leapt with alarm. “Damage?”

“I’m speaking metaphorically, of course. I assume what we’re dealing with is an extreme form of fatigue. Her system was unable to absorb any further shocks and began to recycle the ones it had already sustained in a sort of endless loop. Sedation stopped the loop, so she should wake up as good as new.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I can’t be. All we can do is wait and see.”

 

Noah eased into the dimly lit guest bedroom and shut the door as quietly as possible. In the bed, Charlie didn’t stir, but he could hear her breathing, even and deep, relaxed. Now if only he could relax, but he didn’t think he would until she opened her eyes and looked at him, spoke to him, smiled at him. Everything AnnaCoreen told him whipped around his head like a crisp sheet on a laundry line in high winds.

Worry for Charlie had clenched his stomach, and exhaustion burned his eyes. As a cop, he’d witnessed plenty of anguish in his career. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have to actually
feel
it as intensely as the person bearing it. How could Charlie possibly survive being forced to repeatedly relive other people’s pain? Was she strong enough? Was
anyone
strong enough?

Sitting on the side of the bed, he braced an arm on the other side of her hip. Her dark hair was spread over the pillow, a frame to her pale, peaceful face, a sharp contrast to the earlier strain and torment of repeated flashes.

His heart swelled as he gazed down at her. There was much he didn’t know about her ability, much about it that frightened him. How much did she see when she touched him? How much did she know about who he was, who he’d been?

He knew only one thing for certain: Fate had brought them together, and he wasn’t going to blow this shot at a second chance.

 

He paced the length of his work area, his shoes scraping against the gritty concrete, his heart thundering, his mouth dry with fear. It was all falling apart, and he couldn’t stop it. He’d failed. Again. Almost killed the wrong woman. Jesus fucking Christ, he was so screwed.

It was Charlie Trudeau’s fault. The woman had a fucking guardian angel looking out for her.

He curled his hands into fists, imagined them around her delicate throat, remembered what it had felt like the last time, the absolute, incredible sexual thrill.

He’d gotten so turned-on, so hot, because he’d been so close to finally getting it done, to saving everything for . . .
her
.

Except
she
wanted that other guy. What the hell? He’d done everything for her, been everything to her, let her do things to him, dominate him, manipulate him. He’d
killed
for her. And then he’d watched her turn around and give herself to that other guy.

Fuck.

He knew why, too. That other guy was smart. Educated. No dirt under his fingernails. A white-collar bastard with a white-collar paycheck. And that’s what she wanted. That’s what every woman wanted.

All she wanted from him was for him to do her dirty work. She didn’t want to get her hands bloody, so she’d screwed him senseless until he’d begged to do whatever she wanted, just as long as she kept touching him, sucking him.

And now everything was fucked. He hadn’t been able to get it up since that moment he’d gotten hard while strangling Charlie Trudeau. That moment had startled him, frightened him. He didn’t like being that man, being that
freak
. Violence didn’t get him off, damn it. Violence had
never
gotten him off.

At least it hadn’t
before
.

Before she’d fucked with his head, turned him into a killer.

Goddamn her.

CHAPTER
FORTY-THREE

C
harlie opened her eyes to the shimmery shadows of water-reflected sunlight on an unfamiliar ceiling. Soft, warm sheets and a white down comforter laced with the scent of fabric softener enveloped her. While she didn’t immediately know where she was, she felt snuggly and relaxed. There was nothing to fear here, and she let her thoughts unfurl lazily.

The last thing she remembered was Noah violently swearing at a red light. The flashes had veered out of control, had indeed become big-assed mind-fucks, paired with excruciating pain that had gripped her skull in razor-tipped talons. Thank God, the pain was gone. Now, her head felt balloon light, free of anxiety. She sighed softly, letting her eyes drift closed. She was so very tired.

Charlie’s eyes popped open, and she sat up straight in the bed, fear jacking up her heart rate. Oh, God, Alex. Was she okay? How much time had passed?

Shoving aside the comforter and sheets, she got out of bed but paused beside it when she realized she wore nothing but the scrubs shirt and underwear.

The door opened behind her, and she turned to see Noah walk in. He was even less dressed than she was. He had a white towel slung around his waist and was rubbing another over his shaggy, wet hair. If she hadn’t been terrified about the condition of her sister, she might have taken a moment to appreciate the exquisite grace of his perfectly formed male torso with its sharply defined muscles and tantalizing ridges. Instead, she had only one concern at the moment.

“Alex?”

He lowered the towel and snapped his head up. He looked her up and down, his eyes searching. When he met her gaze, his shoulders relaxed, and he smiled. “She’s doing well. I talked to your dad before I hopped in the shower. She’s still in intensive care, but her doctors are pleased with her progress. She’s going to be fine.”

Charlie’s legs went wobbly, and she sank onto the edge of the bed, speechless with relief.

“How do
you
feel?” Noah asked as he approached the bed.

She noted that he’d shaved. She’d never seen his face without stubble, and took a long moment to appreciate the smooth, flawless skin of his angular jaw before dropping her gaze. He was naked under that towel, and her mouth watered with a hunger that surprised her with its intensity. What better way to celebrate that her sister was alive and well?

He lifted her chin with one finger, and she stiffened.

She came back to herself, shaken by the depth of his fear. He was a cop, no stranger to emergencies, yet—

“Charlie?” Noah was searching her eyes. “How do you feel?” he asked again.

She released a cleansing breath, letting go of his lingering despair, and smiled up at him. “Good. Rested.”

“And your head?”

“Like new.” She placed her palm against his abdomen, pleased by the way his muscles jumped and his breath sucked in. Her own breathing went shallow, her heart beginning to thud. “What about you?”

His eyes narrowed, darkened. A muscle flexed at his temple. “Relieved that you’re no longer catatonic.”

She slid her hand down, palm flat, to just under his navel. Soft hair so blond it was invisible against his skin tickled her palm, and she felt her inner muscles clutch with anticipation. “I feel good, Noah. Energized.” She smiled slowly, hooking her middle finger under the edge of the towel. “Is the door closed?”

He swallowed. “Yes, but I think we need to talk.”

“Let’s talk later.” She tugged, and the towel dropped from his hips. She gazed down at his semierect cock, watched in fascination as it thickened and lengthened, rising up before her eyes. Her breath caught at the beauty of it, and she slid her tongue over her bottom lip, holding back from diving in. Wow.

She was so enthralled that she didn’t realize Noah had moved until his hand slid into the hair against the side of her neck and he bent to catch her lips with his. She tilted her head back, welcoming his tongue, his taste. The flavor of mint toothpaste and the scent of Dial soap washed through her senses.

He moved to ease her back on the bed, but she stopped him with her hands on his hips and broke the seal of their lips. “Wait,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

He groaned deep in his throat but backed off, his hair falling over his forehead in damp tendrils. She nudged him back another step and knelt before him, sliding her hands around to his firm butt, then down the sides of his thighs. She felt his legs quiver with anticipation and smiled up at him as she grasped his twitching cock and closed her mouth around him.

He dropped his chin to his chest, his fingers sinking into the tops of her shoulders. “Oh, Christ,” he breathed, his gaze steady on hers.

She skimmed her tongue over his silken head, felt the spasmodic reaction of his hard flesh and did it again and again until the salty taste of his arousal teased her tongue. When she delved her tongue firmly into the tender slit at the top, he bucked against her, driving himself against the back of her throat. She relaxed, took all of him, and sucked. He seemed to grow larger and hotter as she tightened her fingers around his hard length. She pumped her hand up and down, dragging her lips slowly over his shaft until the head popped out of her mouth, glistening, then taking him in all over again. She repeated the process with varying degrees of speed, fast and firm, then slow and teasing, her tongue exploring all his ridges and veins.

“Jesus, Charlie,” he groaned. “You have to stop. I’m not going to last.”

She didn’t want him to. She wanted to feel him explode in her mouth. She wanted to taste him, swallow him. He plunged his hands into her hair, tightened his grip on her head to try to halt her intensifying assault.

“Stop,” he said, his voice gruff, the subtle thrust of his hips belying the command. “I want to be inside you when I come.”

She grasped his wrist with one hand to still him, focused entirely on the part of him pulsing with heat and vitality between her lips. She hummed her satisfaction at how big and hard he was, her inner thighs dampening with anticipation for the moment when this part of him would be driving into her, taking her beyond the stars. She loved the way his body went rigid and swept her eyes open and up so she could watch him in the throes of his release. He threw his head back, the cords in his neck standing out in sharp relief, his pecs gleaming with a fine sheen of perspiration. He was a god towering above her, ripped and huge, so beautiful her insides clenched with an almost desperate want.

He came with a ragged groan, his cock jerking in her mouth.

And then the world shifted.

She blinked, dizzy and breathless and disoriented. It took her a second to realize she was on the floor, cradled against Noah’s damp, naked chest. They were both fighting for air, her head spinning from the intensity of his climax. Or was it what he’d thought? He loved her. Holy crap, he
loved
her. Was that even possible so soon?

Noah raised his head to look down at her, his eyes dazed. “What happened at the end there? Were you . . . did you . . .”

She grinned and rested her chin on his chest, running the tip of her finger over his cheek to stop a trickle of sweat. “Yep.”

He stroked his hand over her hair, tucking some of it behind her ear. “But I didn’t . . .” He trailed off, clearly amazed and confused at the same time, and then a little chagrined. “I never even touched you.”

“I was touching
you
,” she said.

“I’ve heard of women who get off on that, but your response seemed a little intense.”

Her smile grew as she idly trailed her fingertips over his left nipple, enjoying the way his breath whistled in through his teeth. “I assume you spoke with AnnaCoreen about me,” she said.

“She explained some stuff while you were out of it. Which was damn scary, by the way.” He caressed her cheek with his knuckles.

She tilted her head into his tender, almost reverent touch. “I’m okay now. So she must have told you what happens when I touch someone who’s experienced something dramatic.”

“Sure, but—” He broke off, his eyes widening. “Oh. You mean you . . . you felt me . . .”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s . . . incredible.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his wonder. It still amazed her, too. But she wouldn’t dream of complaining of this particular side effect of her new ability. At least there was a bright side. A
very
bright side. Warmth and well-being spread through her. Noah loved her. Except . . . maybe he’d thought that because he was coming. Who knew what men thought at that critical moment? Did the timing discount the sentiment?

He sat up, drawing her with him and onto his lap. His arms surrounded her, holding her close as he nuzzled her hair. “God, you smell so good.” He kissed the side of her neck. “You should eat something,” he murmured. “You’ve got to be starving.”

Touched at how thoroughly he took care of her, she turned her head into his kiss, claiming his lips with hers and telling him with her tongue that food could wait.

Groaning, he deepened the kiss and slid a hand under her scrubs top. Her nipple hardened before his fingers even rolled it. He spent a full minute kissing her lips, stroking her breasts, rolling and gently pinching her nipples, until she was restless in his arms, aching, nearly ready to beg. Experiencing his orgasm had been a nice appetizer, but her body ached for the real thing.

“Maybe we should move to the bed,” he said.

Before she could agree, he rose, lifting her in his arms. He laid her on the bed and drew her scrubs shirt over her head and tossed it aside. He kissed her again, his tongue sliding over the crease in her lips, then entering, demanding, plunging. He stroked his fingers down her ribs and into the waistband of her panties, which he eased down her legs and off. Bracing above her, he nudged her legs farther apart with his hand, letting his fingers feather the inside of her thigh.