Chapter 12 #2
As she walked away, she called over her shoulder, “Leave your clothes outside the guest room door, and I’ll throw them in the wash.”
She closed her bedroom door behind her and sagged against it. Had she just done that?
Her trembling fingers touched her lips. She’d had a point to make, that was all. Then why did she feel all shaky and warm inside? That wasn’t supposed to happen. She had been aiming to back him off . . .
Somehow she had missed the mark, by about a mile.
10:30 p.m.
“Be still.”
Vivian froze . . . didn’t even breathe. She stood before him, back straight in spite of her fear . . . knees ready to buckle. The wet fabric of the tank top clung to her skin, molded to her unrestrained breasts. If she moved . . . if she dared to drag the dank air into her lungs, he would notice.
A finger flicked across one pebbled nipple.
Her gasp was involuntary. Be still! Don’t move. Don’t breathe.
He smiled, the expression a stark, mocking contrast to the bejeweled mask covering the entirety of his face above that sneering mouth. “You like that, don’t you?”
Bile churned in her stomach. “Yes,” she lied, careful to keep her voice submissive, her eyes lowered. She would never forget those demonic eyes. Never.
The tip of that same finger trailed down her rib cage, over her belly to stop at the edge of her panties. It took every ounce of resistance she possessed not to shudder in disgust.
“On your knees,” he demanded, his voice cruel, his eyes glowing like amber coals straight from hell.
She lowered to the cold, damp stone floor. Inside, she screamed. Please make him stop. Somebody please help me. But outside, where he could see, she remained composed, obedient. His servant.
She stared at his crotch through slitted eyes; the bulge there made her jaw tighten. She struggled to loosen those clenched muscles. Had to relax. Don’t let him see the tension.
Please, please, don’t let him do this. Not again.
“Suck me.”
The savagely whispered order sent dread creeping over her flesh, sinking into her bones. Obediently, her fingers went directly to the fly of his trousers. She knew better than to hesitate. If she hesitated, even a single second, she would die. Like the others.
She opened his trousers and cautiously worked him free of his form-fitting briefs. He groaned. Her body operated on autopilot . . . her mind took her someplace else. Far away. So she wouldn’t have to see . . . so she wouldn’t have to feel.
He gripped her chin ruthlessly, tilted her face upward.
The pad of his thumb smeared across her lips.
She felt no physical or mental response to his touch.
She felt nothing now . . . nothing . . .
not even the fear. She was in that place he couldn’t reach.
It was her only escape. Her heart knew the truth, and now her mind accepted it.
No one was coming to save her. She was on her own.
“Such a lovely mouth.” He forced her lips apart and dipped his thumb inside. “Make me happy, Number Thirteen. Make me happy, and I’ll let you live another day.”
A scream wrenched from her throat.
Vivian bolted upward, her arms flailing. She had to get away. Had to run!
“Grace!”
Fingers clamped around her arms, shook her. Fight him! Don’t let him win!
“Grace! Wake up!”
Vivian froze. The breath trapped in her lungs as her eyes flew open.
The lamp on her bedside table allowed her to see that it was McBride who sat on the bed next to her, his fingers biting into her arms.
“You okay?”
For five, then ten, seconds she didn’t know how to respond.
McBride. Her bedroom. Devoted Fan.
The imprisoned air rushed out of her lungs.
The nightmare. She’d had the nightmare. Again.
Brain synapses fired once more. “Damn.” She pushed her hair out of her face, became aware of the perspiration dampening her skin and of the sheets twisted around her legs. “Sorry. I . . . I had a nightmare.”
“No shit.” He released her, exhaled a big breath. “You scared the hell out of me.”
She glanced at the alarm clock, half past ten. Why hadn’t Worth called by now?
“I don’t know about you,” McBride said as he stood, “but after that I need a drink.” He offered his hand.
In nearly five years not a single nightmare. Her first big case, her first opportunity to move to a new level in her career, and it had to start again.
Losing what was left of her battered mind or just plain old suffering from a moment of utter weakness, she put her hand in McBride’s, kicked free of the sheets, and clambered out of bed.
He led her through the dark house as if he had already committed to memory the layout of her home. In the kitchen, he flipped a switch that turned on the light over her sink.
“What have you got around here, Grace? Wine? Beer? Anything?” He released her and went to the fridge to have a look.
The empty containers from their dinner sat on the counter stinking up the room. She should have taken care of those before collapsing.
“I think there’s a bottle of wine under the sink,” she said when McBride emerged from his perusal of the refrigerator.
He was half dressed as usual, jeans riding low on his hips.
At least they were partially zipped this time.
Thankfully she had pulled on a pair of lounge pants and a camisole after her shower.
Jesus, she hadn’t expected to sleep straight through to this hour of the night.
She had counted on sleep providing some much-needed distance.
Things were shifting into dicey territory between them, and she had to stop that plummet toward utter disaster.
“Merlot.” He made a face at the bottle he had discovered, then shrugged. “That’ll work.”
When he started prowling through drawers for an opener, she said, “The one next to the dishwasher.”
He located the corkscrew, deftly opened the bottle, and snagged two glasses.
Watching those movements, knowing what they would lead to, her good sense abruptly kicked in. She opened her mouth to put a stop to his plan here and now, but he hesitated right in front of her as if he had known exactly what she was going to do.
“Come with me,” he ordered.
It was in that moment, with him standing only inches away, that the haze of the haunting dream and the confusion he made her feel cleared enough for her to remember . . .
She had kissed him.
Oh, dear God.
He strode to the sliding door across the adjoining living room and stepped out onto the deck.
The way he moved held her captive until another realization poked its way through her bewilderment.
He had left her door unlocked. Open. Was he crazy?
No, he wasn’t crazy. She was. Bringing him here was crazy.
Kissing him was just plain stupid. Shaking her head, she took the same path he had only with wholly different intentions.
If they were going to be working together for an unspecified time, she had to get some kind of boundaries back into place.
Somehow, her plan to get the whole meeting-of-the-lips thing over with hadn’t exactly accomplished the goal she’d had in mind.
Her deck was awash in moonlight, which she appreciated. The lower the light, the less likely he could assess her every expression and gesture. Oh, but he would try.
She climbed into her favorite wicker rocker and curled her legs beneath her. Might as well get comfortable. Until Worth called, she had no choice about keeping him here. McBride’s lighter flashed, and the fiery glow from the lit cigarette glittered as he took a long, leisurely drag.
“Tell me about the nightmare.”
No way. “That’s personal, McBride.” Where was her cell phone? “I need my phone. Worth will call and—”
“Don’t move. I’ll get it.” He left his cigarette in the birdseed bowl she needed to refill and went inside.
She could’ve argued with him, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Frankly, she wasn’t sure it was possible to set any boundaries with him. The man didn’t play by the usual rules, and that left her grappling for balance and structure.
The breeze was chilly, or maybe it was only because her skin was still damp from sweating out her private demons. That McBride had been in her room, was in there now, touching her phone and anything else he damn well pleased, made her shiver.
Idiot. God, she had kissed him. She was a complete, utter idiot.
She had hoped to diminish that tension building between them with that hasty gesture. Unfortunately, her attempt appeared to have flopped big-time.
McBride returned, placed her cell as well as his own on the table.
He settled back into the chair and took a drag from his Marlboro. “Where were we? Oh yeah, you were going to tell me about the nightmare.”
Did he honestly think she would share something that private with him? He had to be out of his mind.
When he continued to sit there, waiting, she reiterated, “I’m not telling you anything, McBride.”
He smashed out his cigarette in the bowl. The birds were going to love that. “You share,” he said, settling his gaze on her once more, “your war story, I’ll share mine. I know all about nightmares, Grace.”
That gave her pause. She was tempted. Like every other new recruit, she had heard all the speculation about what happened to the great Hunter.
No one knew for sure. When this assignment came up, she had read the report he had submitted on his final case, but it had been heavily redacted.
Big black lines blocked out a good portion of the information.
That told her there was far more to the story than the top brass wanted anyone to know.
“Sorry,” she tossed back. “No can do.”
He poured the wine, passed her a glass.
“Don’t think you’ll ply me with drink.” She laughed, the sound more brittle than she would have liked. Damned dream. She hated the way it left her feeling. Shaken and afraid. She hated being afraid.
“Let me take a shot at it,” he offered.
The hand holding the glass trembled. He couldn’t possibly know. No one did, except Worth and Pierce.