Vision of Darkness (23 page)

“Her brother?” Alex asked.
  
 

Mischa, lounging in the doorway, nodded. “Brayden. He’s six. Nice kid. Doesn’t really understand what’s going on.”

Alex thought of the icy distance he’d noticed between the VanBurans and felt a twinge for the little boy. Marriage rarely survived the death of a child and Brayden was in for one hell of a mess when his parents divorced. “Poor kid.”

“It’s gonna be hard for him. He loved his sister,” Mischa said, his tone distant as if he was mentally somewhere else. Then he shook his head. “So, anything interesting?”

“No. You’re right. There’s no—” Alex started to turn, but caught sight of a photo tucked behind another and plucked it free of the vanity. Lila sat in the bow of a boat, legs outstretched on the V-shaped seat, head back as she soaked in the sun in a bathing suit that barely covered the essentials.

The boat…

“What?” Mischa asked and stepped into the room.

“I don’t know. It’s—” He laughed at himself and returned the photo to its spot. Like he could trust his haywire instincts right now. Since arriving in Maine, everything had looked or felt vaguely familiar. “It’s nothing. Déjà vu.”

The black and white walls suddenly closed in and Alex had to get out before the sadness he felt for the little girl that used to sleep here, dream here,
live
here, choked him. Once in the hallway, he drew a ragged breath and ignored Mischa’s arched brow.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” And if not, he was so not going there with the guy. “So when do you plan on going back to—wherever you’re from?”

“Minneapolis,” Mischa said. “Dunno yet.”

“You’re far from home.”

“Gotta go where the jobs are.” Mischa flicked off the bedroom light and shut the door.

The man was basically a glorified ambulance chaser, making money—a lot of it, judging by his pricey clothes—off other people’s pain.

Despicable.

Alex’s expression must have given away his distaste because the corner of Mischa’s mouth lifted in a sardonic half-smile.

“You’re not the first to think that of me,” he said. “Luckily, I don’t give a flying fuck what other people think.”

CHAPTER 24

What a day. Pru sighed as she sat down on the edge of her bed and unlaced her shoes. A headache pounded on the back of her brain and she wanted to crawl into bed and forget about the heartbreaking visit to the VanBurans house, but she had too much to do. Pumpkinfest was tomorrow and with everything that had been happening, she was behind on her preparations. Helen Mallory would have a cow if Mae’s Diner, the staple of dining in Three Churches, didn’t have a booth set up this year.

As it was, Pru planned to spend the night in the kitchen. She groaned at the thought.  

Alex relaxed in the doorway with his arms crossed. “What’s wrong?”

She scowled at him. “I could kick you for leaving me alone with Denise for so long.”

“Aw, babe.” He crossed to the bed and sat down beside her, his big hands closing over her shoulders. “You handled it way better than I could’ve.”

“She tried giving me the reward money. How ridiculous is that? Paying us for finding her daughter’s body. It broke my heart. She’s going through so much and Bruce just isn’t there to help her.”

The knots of tension eased under his kneading fingers and her head fell forward, a little moan escaping. Alex leaned over, his lips tracing the curve of her spine, ending with a little nip at the base of her neck. Arousal fluttered in her belly. She hadn’t really had time to think about what happened between them last night, but now the memories rushed back. Until they’d found Lila, it all had been so perfect it gave her goosebumps. Something powerful writhed within her heart as he massaged her shoulders, too close to love for comfort.

Dammit, no. She wasn’t one of those silly women who fall in love after one night of sex.  

Unnerved, she popped to her feet, careful to keep her back to him as she took off her sweater and reached for her favorite flannel robe. It was so ratty and unsexy, any rational woman would cringe to be seen in it by her lover.

Rational, hah
, Pru thought as she knotted the tie. What with her infamous panic attacks, nobody had ever considered her a rational woman.

“Denise and Bruce should be leaning on each other,” she said, mostly to guide her thoughts away from last night. “Not pushing each other away.” 

Alex sat silently for so long, she had to peek over her shoulder to be sure he was still in the room. He watched her with storm-gray eyes so intense he might as well have been caressing her every secret spot. She trembled and took another step away from him.

“You’re right,” he said. “They should.”

The way he said it made it sound like,
we should.
Oh, did the man know how to embed double meanings in his words or what? She whirled around. “Hey, that wasn’t—this conversation has nothing to do with us.”

“I’m making it about us. You’ve avoided the topic all day.” Alex hadn’t moved from the bed. In fact, he leaned back on his elbow, stretching out his long body like he hadn’t a care in the world. His jeans pulled tight over the ridge of an erection. Big surprise. He was a walking hard-on.

“Well, excuse me for having other things besides sex on my mind. Finding a dead sixteen year old girl tends to put a damper on my libido.” Or at least it should, but her wildcat apparently hadn’t gotten the memo and was now strangling itself on the end of its chain, trying to jump Alex’s bones.

Frustrated, Pru glared at his crotch. He shrugged, unapologetic, and his gaze heated as it traced over her plain cotton bra. She yanked on the slipping lapels of her robe. “You’re a pig.”

Alex moved so fast, she didn’t see him until his weight pinned her in place against the wall as his mouth consumed hers in a hot kiss that burned away every lingering ounce of fatigue.

He broke the kiss a second later to nuzzle her ear. “Does insulting me make you feel better, babe?”

No, not really. She tried to squirm away even as his teeth nipped her earlobe and sent a shock of arousal straight to her belly. “Get off me, you Neanderthal. I have things to do.”

“That’s for sure.” He guided her hand to the bulge in his jeans and her mouth went dry. Her robe slipped open and he pushed it off her shoulders, his eyes hooded as he leaned back to study her. “This robe should be illegal.”

Pru gave a snorting laugh. “I know it’s ugly. That’s why I like it.”

“It’s hot,” he corrected. Those clever hands of his sneaked inside and roamed her bare body with something akin to reverence, like it had taken every ounce of his willpower to keep from touching her all day. “Reminds me of unwrapping a Christmas present.” His fingers slipped under the edge of her bra and tweaked her nipple. “And look what Santa brought me. I must’ve been a very good boy this year.”  

“Pluh-ease,” she groaned, still semi-protesting even as her blood caught fire. “Alex, stop. I really do have—” He bent his head, caught her nipple in his teeth and she nearly shot through the ceiling like a rocket. “Oh…”

He scooped her into his arms and crossed the room, placed her on the bed. The curtains over the window billowed with an unfelt breeze and the room’s temperature dropped. She shuddered as his lips traced the side of her breast and moved up her throat, leaving a trail of lava on her skin. His body weight settled comfortably on top of her, all the warm, strong, ropey male muscle like a security blanket.

Alex shed his shirt, but didn’t bother struggling with his shoes and jeans and undid his fly so his erection had room to grow. The sound of the zipper echoed and for a second she wondered if Nick, staying in a room upstairs now, would be able to hear every squeak of her bed, every moan. Then Alex’s hands returned to her and she didn’t care.

His jeans rubbed against her thighs, rough and almost as erotic as his bare flesh. He smelled of autumn wind and of his own spicy musk, a scent that drove her wildcat libido insane with need, and she arched against his hip. A smile touched his lips as he obliged her impatient demands. Two fingers slid inside to do the job while he freed himself from his jeans. She bucked under his caress, but he stayed her, locking her down with his palm flat against her stomach.

“Alex.” She didn’t know what was worse, that he was using sex to manipulate her again or that she didn’t mind. She threaded her fingers through his short hair and dragged his mouth to hers. “You’re a jerk, but dammit, I want you inside me.” 

He drew back a millimeter and his eyes burned like charcoal as he studied her face. His fingers moved inside her, stoking the blaze that was beginning in her belly, but she fought it.

“Let go, babe.” His thumb circled her clitoris and that was all it took. A tremble started under the pressure of his thumb and radiated outward in delicious waves. Not a hard and fast climax, but a long, rolling one that shook her world. She swore she even saw the bottles of perfume on her dresser across the room tremble.   

“Alex.” His name was a whimper on her lips.

Levering open her legs with his knee, he positioned himself at her entrance and surged in hard. Her body, soft and slick from the orgasm, stretched and molded to fit him, drawing a soft, rumbling groan from his throat. He moved deeper, deeper, deeper, his breath coming hot and fast in her ear.

She was there, right there on the edge again. She curled her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, felt the muscles of his ass flex as she clamped her legs around his ribs and urged him to move. The bed creaked and groaned, the headboard thudded against the wall in a carnal beat. Each thrust sent another shock wave pounding along her over-sensitized nerve endings. He rose over her and braced a hand against the headboard, fierce and handsome in the red light of the evening pouring through the window, shadowing the hard contours of his face, highlighting the plains of his chest and stomach as his muscles clenched. His head fell back, jaw tight, skin glistening with sweat. A conquering warrior. Her warrior.

With a primal growl, he buried himself to the hilt and trembled. She surged up, clamping them together with her legs, wanting him deeper as his body emptied and hers exploded again.

Somewhere, distantly, Pru heard screaming. She didn’t know whether it was her own voice or the sound of her orgasm ripping through her mind.

Alex collapsed, his heavy weight pinning her to the bed, but she didn’t mind as he sweetly nuzzled the side of her breast.

“Just gimme a sec,” he breathed.

In the next second, his body went limp and his breathing slowed with sleep. Typical man. Get off and go to sleep. She smiled and rubbed a hand over his head, down his back. His skin was sticky with sweat, his heart thudding against her chest in concert with her own, and she felt little spasms still working through his muscles. He slept with his mouth open, snoring softly, and she had to stifle a giggle.

Oh boy. She
was
falling head over heels for Alex—no doubt about it now. She could almost hear Miranda’s voice in her head:
When you think a guy’s snoring is cute, you have it bad.

Alex gave a loud snort and startled himself awake. Blinking, he lifted his head and looked around as if disorientated.

“Sorry, babe.” He shifted, dislodging their bodies with a delicious slide of sensitized flesh that had them both gasping. Rolling to his side, he gathered her up in his arms and gave her a light squeeze. “That was real fucking sweet of me.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or sob over how crazy she was about him, so she just buried her face in the curve of his neck and enjoyed the scent of Alex mixed with sweat and sex.

“You mean falling asleep and snoring wasn’t part of your master seduction plan?” She wasn’t about to tell him that, intentional or not, it had worked like a charm.

“Aw, man. I was snoring?” He banged his head against the pillow. “Any way to turn back the clock and pretend that didn’t happen? That I actually said something sensitive and sexy and did the whole after-sex cuddlefest with minimal fuss?”

She laughed and it felt good, as if it had broken some chain and lifted a load off her heart. “Why, you sweet-talker, you.” She fluttered a hand to her forehead and did her best fragile southern belle routine. “I feel faint from your poetic prose.”

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss, but stopped and frowned at her fingers.

“You’re bleeding.” He snatched her other hand, but it was clean. He went back to her blood-covered fingers, searching for wounds. “Baby. What did you do?”

“I didn’t—” A thought struck: It wasn’t her blood. This was the same hand she’d petted him with when he was asleep. She sat up on her knees and peeked over his shoulder. Long, thin gouges criss-crossed his back, dripping blood.

“Oh my God. Alex.” Gripping his arm, she hauled him off the bed and turned his backside toward the antique full-length mirror propped in the corner of the room. She had to remove a couple articles of tossed-aside clothing to find the reflection. “Look.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Jesus, babe. You gotta clip your claws.”

She held up her hands, showing him her nails, white crescents that extended only to the tips of her fingers. “I keep them short.”

“What the hell?” Brows drawn, he squinted at the reflection of his ravaged back. “I didn’t even feel it.” 

“How could you not—” Her fingers brushed over an old, puckered scar on his shoulder and she bit her lower lip. He’d told her he had a freakishly high tolerance to pain, but she didn’t believe it until now. “My God. When did this happen?”

“Looks fresh,” he said. He sounded clinical, like it wasn’t his own back that had been ripped to shreds. “Still bleeding.”

Then she must have done it in the heat of passion, even with short nails. Except she didn’t remember touching his back until she ran her hand down it while he slept. His butt and arms and shoulders, yes. His back, no. “Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” He turned away from the mirror and gathered her in his arms, kissing her forehead, her temple, her nose, her cheek, brushing away a surge of tears with his lips. “Pru, don’t cry. It’s noth—”

Crack!

The mirror splintered, sending reflective shrapnel boomeranging through the air.

***

“Get down!” Alex shoved Pru to the floor, shielding her body with his own as glass exploded. The mirror, the window—even the little figurines and perfume bottles on her dresser.

Then, silence.

He lifted his head, scanned the room and the night-darkened grounds outside the window as the air grew thick with the scents of the spilled perfumes. No sniper, no deadly bullet burrowed into the wall behind the shattered mirror. At least not that he could see.

Nick, his timing impeccable as always, burst through the door, primed for a fight. He took a quick assessment of the scene and relaxed a little. “I heard a scream—and not the good kind.”

“Call the cops,” Alex said and grabbed Pru’s robe from the floor. He swathed it around her shoulders to hide her body from Nick and rubbed her arms to stop her shivering.

“Alex,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face, voice shaking as badly as her body. “I want this to stop.”

“Me too, baby.” Ignoring his own semi-nakedness, he led her to the bed and sat her down, then finally tucked himself in and zipped his jeans before turning to Nick.

“You’re bleeding,” Nick said with an odd note of control in his voice.