Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
She eased back and stared up at Beau. While she waited for him to speak, Avalon counted the passing of time by the hard beats of her heart that seemed to echo in her ears.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four…
“The bow was Royal’s idea. Bastard has one sick sense of humor.”
Her breath expelled in a rush. “You’re hunting killers! You are seriously hunting killers.” She staggered away from him.
His fingers—the fingers that had just been holding her wrist—flexed and curled. Flexed and curled. Then he dropped his hand to his side. “Sweetheart, you write books about killers. You go into prisons and have casual sit-down conversations with them.” He grimaced. “All I do is bag them and tag them. Can’t we just view this as me giving you more business?”
“Beau!”
“Oh, come on! The cops weren’t even close to catching the bastards! The first prick—Owen Bell? We caught him following a co-ed home. He had a syringe in his hand, and he was literally running up behind her in an alley. What were we supposed to do?” A shake of his head. “Royal and I knew that women had been going missing after leaving bars in the area. We were worried that someone was roofying them. We were wrong about that. He wasn’t doing it in the bars. The prick waited until they were alone, and he straight up drugged them with enough horse tranquilizer that they were out. Helpless. This is my town now. That shit wasn’t gonna keep happening on my watch.”
In and out. In and out. She breathed in and out. Deeply. Hard. “You could have called the cops.”
A shrug of his right shoulder. “We did. After we’d secured Owen. Not like we killed the guy in cold blood.”
“Did you think about killing him?”
“I didn’t.” A prompt reply.
But she realized there was more he wasn’t saying. Did Royal think about killing him?
“As for Everett Thomas, he’d been hunting along the southeast. The Slasher’s crimes were all over the Internet. Ophelia and Lane were digging into his past vics and…Look, I’ve got another buddy in town, Saint. Saint likes to solve cold cases.” His lips twisted. “Bastard used to be an insanely good bounty hunter. Don’t ask me how I know that, by the way.”
“I don’t have to ask. I’m guessing Saint might have hunted you down—or Royal down—at some point?”
He smiled. That killer smile of his that rocked its way through her whole body. “Told you, Saint is a buddy. I’ve actually had him helping out on your case, too.”
Who wasn’t working on her case? Other than, you know…me.
“You’ll meet him eventually. Though I should warn you, he’s a lot. So is his wife, Alice. She has a great speakeasy in town, by the way. Stellar.”
Alice. “Are you…talking about Alice Shephard?” The name Alice hadn’t just rung a bell. It had set off major alarms. When Avalon had first moved to Savannah, she’d wanted to interview Alice Shephard. The woman had been a suspected black widow. But Alice hadn’t exactly been in a cooperating mood. Then hell had broken loose in Alice’s life. And?—
“She was Alice Shephard. She took my buddy’s last name when they got married. And I’m not the least bit surprised that your crime-obsessed mind would know about her. I’m certain that you’ll have fabulous chats with Alice in the future. I’ll be sure to take you in her speakeasy at the first opportunity so you can become fast friends, but for now, are you about to take out your phone and call the cops? Sorry, but it feels like a good question to ask. Trying to decide if I will be sleeping in a jail cell tonight or not. It’s important to know.”
She blinked. “The cops?”
“Yes. Because I’ve confessed to you. I attacked two men. They deserved it, one hundred percent, but Detective Cunt—sorry, Cunningham might not see things in the same light.”
She had to unclench her teeth and get Beau to focus. “You didn’t tell me how you figured out Everett Thomas was the Slasher.”
“I put together pieces that I’d learned from hearing Saint and Ophelia and Lane talk about the Slasher cases. Then Everett started nosing around my bar. I noticed he paid a bit too much attention to one of my waitresses. The way he watched her…” The faint lines near his mouth deepened. “Predatory. And he tried following her when she’d go into the back. Then he put his hands on her even as she told him to back the hell off. When I got in his way and told him to get the fuck out of my place, he said some things to me that put me on high alert. Crap about how a woman’s screams were the best music he’d ever heard.” His hands weren’t loose at his sides. They’d fisted. “Who the hell says that? He told me some twisted BS about how he’d found the best way to hear screams. Water muted them. Fire fought them.”
Water muted them. Fire fought them. She backed up a step.
“When he said fire, I suspected that he was taunting me. At first, I thought he might have been your arsonist. Royal and I tore into his world. But instead of being the arsonist…”
“You found out that he was the Slasher.”
A grim nod. “We watched him. We studied him.” His eyelashes flickered. “We didn’t tell the others. Saint, Ophelia, Lane—none of them have any idea what happened. When Royal and I realized Everett was gonna run, we stepped in. Is it really that big of a deal? All we did was stop the man from slipping away.”
“All we did.” Her mouth dropped. She snapped it closed. “You understand how insanely dangerous what you did was?”
“Everett and Owen were hurting people. You wanted us to just stand there and do nothing?”
No, he wouldn’t do nothing. He hadn’t just done nothing when it had been her life on the line. “My God.” Another step back. “I was wrong. You’re not Superman.” She gestured toward the mansion that surrounded her. A mansion and a murder board and a man who hunted down killers. “You’re Batman.”
“That shit is not funny.”
“What you’re doing isn’t funny! It’s dangerous!” How many times would she have to state the obvious to him? “You’re pulling some vigilante justice and—” Now she leapt to him. She grabbed his arms and held tightly. “You could get yourself killed! What am I supposed to do if you get killed? What is my life supposed to be like?”
Thick hair tumbled over his forehead. “I wasn’t in your life until recently. You’ll be fine without me. Actually, I think your life would be better without me in it.”
She didn’t breathe. Not for a moment. She just glared. “Don’t you ever say that again.” A hard inhale. Exhale. Inhale. “I have looked for you, I have dreamed about you, I have wanted you in my life for years. And the last thing I want is for you to vanish again on me. You’re not getting killed. You’re not getting tossed behind bars. You are staying with me.” Her nails dug into the fabric of his shirt. “Do you hear me?”
“Yeah, I do. It’s a good thing I don’t have nearby neighbors. They’d hear you, too.”
“Beau!”
And the mask he wore—that flippant mask he’d had on even as he revealed his secrets—shattered right before her eyes. Need, hunger, desire—they all flashed on his face. Craving. Hope. A desperate hope. His hands curled around her waist. “You’re not calling the cops?”
“You are not going into a jail cell. But we are going to have a serious talk about you discontinuing this particular extracurricular activity! That’s what you called it before. You basically confessed right in front of me when you were talking to Royal, and I didn’t even realize it.”
His eyes blazed down at her. “I think Everett knew the arsonist who set your fire.”
“Yeah, I got clued in on that, too.” Everett had been the key.
“I had nothing to do with his death.”
What? “I didn’t accuse you of being involved.” She’d never even thought it.
“I needed him alive. You needed him alive. He could have led us to the killer.”
His mask was still gone. Beau stared at her with such a voracious need. She sucked in a breath. “I taunted him. Just like I said I would. I warned him that the arsonist would be coming after him, and he was afraid, Beau. I saw his fear.” As clearly as she could see Beau’s need. “I agree with you. He knew the arsonist. And that’s a big lead for us. We have to look back at Everett’s associates when he was in New Orleans. We have to delve deep and create lines in our lives. My life. Everett’s. See if a link shows up.”
“I’ll text Ophelia and Lane. They can turn up intel faster than anyone else I know.” He let her go. Stalked away and fired off the text.
She rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet, then back again. Rocked and waited and… “Do you really love me?”
He finished the text. Dropped the phone onto the couch. “There is nothing in this world I love more.” His head angled so that he was staring over his shoulder at her. “Does that scare you?”
“No.” She licked her lips. “I believe I told you already that nothing about you scares me.”
He turned to fully face her. “Maybe the way I want you should make you afraid.”
Never. “How do you want me?”
“I want to fuck you until you’re screaming for me. Until we forget everything else. Until you don’t remember any other man but me. I want to own you because, sweetheart, you own me. You have for years.” Guttural. Possessive. Predatory. His chin lifted. “Sorry.” Beau cleared his throat, but when he spoke again, his voice was still a growl. “Too much adrenaline. Too much need. I’ll go take one real freaking cold shower, and we’ll figure out our next move after that. I’m sure we’ll be hearing from your DA buddy soon. The world will come crashing in on us.” He swung away and began to pace toward the hallway.
Did a cold shower wait down that hall?
“The DA. Cops. The warden. I’m betting our phones will be ringing off the hook.” He stopped and his hand pressed to the wall near him. “Make yourself at home. Actually…” Another glance over his shoulder. “My home is your home. I bought the place because I wanted to have something nice to impress you with. That is, if we ever actually crossed paths in a normal way.”
“I don’t think we do normal.” She hadn’t moved from her position near the window. “That’s not who we are.”
“Right. Not normal.” His smile was sad. “There’s a piano in the study. A whole cabinet full of your favorite chocolate in the kitchen. Go play music. Rest. Pace. Do whatever you want, but please don’t leave the house. I’ll be back when I—screw it. I’ll be back when I stop wanting to take you until we’re both boneless on the floor. I do have control. It’s just always weaker where you’re concerned.”
Her control was pretty much nonexistent when it came to him.
“Security here is top-notch. You’re safe.” And with that, he headed down the hallway.
For a moment, she continued to stand exactly where she’d been. But curiosity filled her. She headed back to his murder board. Studied the pictures. Felt sadness tug at her as her gaze darted to the victims.
When she wrote her books, the victims were always the worst part for her. The most painful aspect. Getting into their lives. Learning about the people who mourned them. Seeing the pain that had been left in their absence.
She’d already learned about the vics from the fires in New Orleans. She’d talked to the family members. Heard the echo of sorrow in their voices.
But the arson victims Beau and his team had discovered after her fire…
Her stare lingered on them.
They were new to her. Their pain was new.
Slowly, she retreated from the pictures. Avalon found herself trailing through his house until she wound up in the study. In front of the piano.
Her mother had been the one to first teach her how to play music. They’d sat together at their piano for hours. Her mother had been able to play so effortlessly. So beautifully.
Avalon pulled out the bench. She sat down. Ran her fingers over the keys.
She thought of the victims.
The fire.
The killer still out there.
It’s the same person. All the arsons are tied to the same man. I know it. The arsonist stalking me now is the same one from all those years ago.
She started to play. Her fingers moved slowly at first. Hesitantly.
She thought of Beau. Of how much she’d longed for him.
Of the bar he’d lost.
Of the way he looked at her.
Hunger.
Desire.
Her fingers played faster.
And she thought of the way she wanted him.
Her fingers flew over the keys.
The icy water hadn’t helped. Heat seemed to churn beneath his skin, and he was certainly far too well acquainted with fire. Beau turned off the water and stood in the massive shower, dripping, as he tried to figure out what the hell he would do next.
Not pounce on Avalon. Get your control back. Get it back now.
And then he heard the music. Not soft and gentle. Hard. Driving. A crescendo of power and demand.
Avalon was playing his piano. Correction, her piano. He didn’t know how to play the damn thing. He’d bought it for her ages ago.
He grabbed a towel. Knotted it around his waist and, still dripping, he followed the music. He just wanted to see her playing. A memory to keep close after she left.
His bare feet hurried toward the study. He paused in the doorway.
She leaned over the grand piano. Her fingers moved—no, they flew over the keys. The music was beautiful. Dark and fast and heavy. Soaked with passion. And it pulled him closer and closer to her as the music built in a frenzy. It was a frenzy that he could feel all the way to his soul and then?—
She slammed her hands onto the keys. A crash of sound. “Doesn’t help.” Breath heaving, Avalon shot to her feet and spun toward him. Her wide eyes swirled with so many emotions. Too many to name. “Did the shower help you?”
Nothing could make him stop wanting her. The shower had been a bad idea. Now he was practically naked, and she was right there.
“The piano didn’t help me. That’s okay.” She edged around the bench. “I know what can help us both.” She grabbed the towel that he’d knotted at his waist. Avalon yanked. It hit the floor.
A second later, so did her knees. She knelt right before him. Her silken hands went to his cock.
“Uh, Avalon?” Such a bad idea. Her mouth. On his dick?
Heaven.
Hell.
“Avalon—”
Her lips closed around him. Heaven. Paradise. Wet. Soft. Her tongue sliding over my dick. Her sucking me. Pulling me deep.
His hands clamped around her shoulders.
She sucked him in deeper. Her fingers were pumping the base of his cock even as her mouth opened wide, and she took him inside.
He thrust against her mouth. Could feel the orgasm rolling forward and building up so fast because this was Avalon. His Avalon. Her mouth on him. Her mouth?—
“No!” He wrenched back. Too many clothes. She wore far too many clothes. So he basically ripped them off. She helped. Her shoes went flying. Her black pants. Her panties. She stayed in her top and bra, and he had Avalon in his arms in a flash. In his arms, with her legs curling around his waist, and his dick pushing against the entrance to her sex. She surged against him.
He rammed home into her.
They banged into the piano. The keys crashed. He lifted her up higher. His hands were tight around her waist as he lifted her up and down. Up and down. She cried out, then leaned forward and clutched him with a wild grip. “Yes! Beau!”
She was so hot around him. Insanely tight. Wet. He drove in and he realized…
No condom.
Beau froze. With his dick fully lodged in her tight, wet heat, he stopped moving.
Her breath—his—filled the air.
“Beau?” And she clamped her inner muscles around him. A fast clamp. Release. Clamp.
Sweat beaded his brow. “No…condom.”
She bit down on him in the spot where his shoulder met his neck. “I’m on birth control.” Her inner muscles clamped around him again. Squeezed his dick. “Just had a full checkup. I’m safe.”
So was he. But…
“I like you this way,” she whispered and sealed both their fates. “Makes you feel even more mine.”
The keys of the piano crashed again. He’d staggered against the piano because she’d almost made him erupt then and there.
Soft laughter from her. Laughter that had her body squeezing his dick all the more.
Keeping his hands on her waist, keeping her legs locked around him, he moved toward the fireplace. Too freaking hot for that thing, but he bent and stretched her out on the lush rug in front of it.
She still wore the black top. Her bra.
He was still balls-deep in her.
His right hand lifted. Grabbed her blouse. Buttons went flying.
The blouse hung open so he could see her black bra. He shoved it out of his way. Her tight, gorgeous nipples thrust toward him. He had to take a nipple into his mouth. Lick it. Suck it.
Her hips surged eagerly against him. “Beau!”
He sucked harder. His hand slid between their bodies. His thumb strummed her clit.
He bit her nipple.
“Beau!” She bucked beneath him.
His thrusts became even harder. Even wilder. Deeper. He took her other nipple into his mouth. Laved it with his tongue. Pistoned his hips against her. Over and over. In and almost out. Only to drive in deeper. Deeper.
Her body tensed. He looked up in time to see her mouth open in a wide circle. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she came for him. A hard clench of release around his dick as her face went slack with pleasure and she moaned his name.
Good.
Not good enough.
Not enough to satisfy him. He was too far gone.
He thrust through her orgasm. Pounded into her again and again, and when he felt her climax fading, he pulled out of her.
“Beau!” Her eyes flew open. “You haven’t?—”
He would.
He flipped her over. “Put your hands on the floor.”
She did.
He lifted her onto her knees. Positioned her perfectly. Then slammed home.
This time, they both moaned.
His hands slid around her body. One hand went to cup her breast. To tease her nipple. To squeeze it. One went for her clit. To rub hard and fast. The same way he thrust. Hard and fast.
Hard.
Fast.
She shoved her sweet ass back against him as she came a second time.
And he exploded with her.
She rose on shaky legs.
Beau had pulled out of her. Cursed. Promised to be right back.
Then he’d vanished down the hallway.
She was still busy trying to cope with a mind-breaking orgasm. And her legs weren’t feeling quite steady enough. She staggered a few steps. Her hand flew out. Slapped down onto the keys of the piano.
A clang of music.
“Sweetheart…”
Completely naked, she looked back over her shoulder.
He watched her with lust burning in his eyes.
“Can you take me again?” He had a cloth in his hand.
She nodded. Her hands started to lift from the piano.
“Stay right there.” A sensual order.
Her hand slapped down again. The music burst out. A fast, sharp cry.
He walked up behind her. “Part your legs.”
She did. Those shaky knees of hers shook a little more. The warm, wet cloth pressed between her thighs. She gasped and rose onto her toes.
Music pounded again. Rougher.
“Just trying to make sure I didn’t hurt you.” The cloth was so warm. So soft as he stroked it between her legs.
“You didn’t.” Enough pleasure to make her weak, yes, absolutely, but no pain, not from him.
Her head tipped forward. Both of her hands were on the piano. One on the keys. One gripping the frame for dear life.
The warm cloth slid over her clit.
She hissed out a breath.
Then the cloth was gone. His fingers weren’t. His big, long fingers were sliding between her folds. Stroking her. Playing with her.
She stared down at the white and black piano keys.
“Play a song for me.”
What? No, no way, he could not be serious. Not at this moment. No way at all could he actually want her to try and play the piano now.
“Play for me, and I’ll fuck you.”
Her fingers flew over the keys. She had no idea what she was doing. She just stroked those piano keys mindlessly.
Two fingers sank into her. His thumb scraped over her clit. The most delicious scrape. Rub. Tease.
“You’re not playing.”
No, she was moaning and shoving down on his fingers.
He withdrew his fingers. His mouth pressed to her neck. His teeth scored her. “Play for me.”
Once again, her fingers flew blindly over the keys. She didn’t know what she was playing. Didn’t even think it was a song. She just wanted his thumb to stroke her clit harder. And those wicked fingers of his needed to come back inside of her.
“Rise onto your toes. Higher. Like this.” He pulled her up.“Good.” His hand slid over one ass cheek. “I want you too much.”’
She wanted him too much. Was that dangerous? Probably. Did she care? Nope.
His fingers dipped into her. She rose up even higher. Choked out a breath.
He kissed her neck again. Sucked the skin. “I want every part of you.”
“Then…” One hand slammed onto the keys. The other grabbed for that frame again because it was either grab it or fall. No way could she play right then. “Then take every part!”
And he did.
He plunged into her. Her right hand slapped against the keys. Her left gripped the frame tighter. His thrusts were merciless and so deep. They rocked through her whole body, and she ground her hips against him. She loved what he was doing to her. The wild plunges. The primal growls. The thud of their bodies coming together.
The frantic strokes of his fingers over her clit.
She came with a scream. A sharp, echoing cry because there was no build up to the climax. It just stuck with the force of a hurricane.
And he was with her. A long, hot blast filled her as he came. And, somehow, his release just spurred on her pleasure. Had her gasping and rubbing her hips against his feverishly because this was what sex should be.
It should consume.
It should ignite.
It should possess.
It should leave you broken and panting and aching with throbs of pleasure because it was so intense and powerful that it would obliterate you…
He pulled out.
She whimpered in protest.
But he lifted her into his arms. “You are my beautiful music.”
That was…Her eyes squeezed closed so he wouldn’t see that she was tearing up again.
And I think you might be my everything, Beau.
For the first time, she began to feel…afraid of him. No, not of him. Afraid of how he made her feel.