Black Is Back (Quentin Black Mystery #4) (3 page)

He met my gaze, his gold eyes sparking with that harder intensity.

“That!” he growled. “
That’s
what I’m fucking reacting to, Miriam...”

My fingers clutched and caressed his hair. The fear in me only worsened as his presence grew more intense, and disconcertingly more intimate. I tried to bring him down for a kiss but he wouldn’t let me. He pulled out of me, making both of us wince and gasp all over again. That pain blinded me briefly, even as he sank his weight on the mattress next to me.

When he pressed his face against my shoulder that time, his presence was warm, softer, but just as wrapped into mine, just as overwhelming.

“Gaos,
Miri...” He kissed my face, caressing my neck and jaw with his fingers and tongue.
“Untielleres
... don’t you trust me? Don’t you trust me,
ilya?”

I softened at the change in him.

I also felt myself fighting tears. More so as I turned over his question.

He wrapped his body around mine, curling his muscular arms around my back, holding me tight against him.

I’d seen so much of him the past however-many days we’d been in here. Emotions––rational and not. Sharp doses of his intellect, unadorned in sarcasm or any of the teasing he often used to mask his real thoughts with me and everyone else. Different sides of his personality. Different sides of whatever lived under that personality. Moments of ego and arrogance and insecurity. Glimpses of his past. Whispers of feelings... of regrets... of things he wished I hadn’t seen. Fears. Hurts. Things he wanted. Things he wanted so desperately he could barely admit to himself he wanted them. Things he hated. Things that threatened him, that hit at all of his buttons.

We’d barely talked, but I saw and felt so much of him.

Purely from what he’d done in opening to me, I knew what he was asking of me, when he asked me to open my light to him. I knew, and I wanted to do it for him, I really did. But I couldn’t seem to make myself do it, no matter how hard I tried. I wasn’t even sure
why
I couldn’t do it, or what that specific fear was.

It wasn’t him.

Well, I didn’t think it was him.

Despite my teasing and my flashes of real annoyance with his sexual history, I did trust him. Maybe more than I’d trusted anyone, at least in as long as I could remember.

He kissed my face again, holding me tighter.

“Is it your family, Miri?” he murmured. “Is it Zoe?”

I winced... physically that time.

I found myself clinging to his arms, breathing harder as tears sprang to my eyes.

It happened so fast my mind couldn’t catch up.

Then all I could see was my baby sister Zoe, how I’d felt when I saw her dead.

It wasn’t the first time one of us cried since this started. We’d both cried, more than once. A few of those times, I wasn’t even sure why. I held him as he kissed away tears, stroking the hair out of my face. That warmth on him turned into a furnace, blasting at the middle of my chest. He held me tighter, pulling my legs around him. He tugged a blanket over us minutes later, cocooning me further in warmth, even as he kept exuding his own heat.

I felt emotion on him too, echoing mine, creating that amplification and ricocheting thing that had also been happening with us since we started this. That gradually grew more intense too––until I was gritting my teeth, somewhere between feeling drunk and totally out of control and still trying to hold on. Maybe I was trying to hold on more than I should have.

Maybe this was just too much for me. Too much... or maybe just too fast.

When I looked up at him, his face hardened in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick.

I shook my head. Seeing his expression brought more pain to my chest, so intensely I couldn’t think past it at all. “Black... no. It’s not your fault.”

It wasn’t. I could feel that. But I couldn’t articulate what was happening to me.

I definitely couldn’t articulate what I felt happening between us.

The fact that I couldn’t communicate any of it to him, not in a way he could hear it, made that pain in my chest worse. Tears came to my eyes again. Then I had my hands on him. I followed my hands with my mouth, working my way down his angles and lines.

His body still felt new to me, his skin. Even how he tasted.

All of it made my own fears worse, until the feeling there bordered on angry... or violent... or maybe both. Distrust. Maybe I didn’t trust him, not about everything. I did want to hit him. Maybe I even wanted to beat him up, like he said. He’d slept with so many fucking people. He’d been burning through women for years... decades. He hadn’t even tried to soften that for me, or downplay it. A few hundred other women had their hands on this same body, tasted this same skin, cried out and came from his tongue and fingers and cock.

No matter what I did, I’d never be able to compete with that. There was no way I would ever be enough for someone like him.

His friend was right. He was going to get tired of me, too.

“Bullshit,” he groaned, gripping my arms.
“Bullshit,
Miri... goddamn it...”

The anger felt real that time.

I felt my possessiveness turning him on too.

Eventually I had my mouth on him and he let out a heavy sound, his fingers tightening in my hair. I’m not sure how long that was happening either.

He came at some point, I know that. He came, and a few minutes later, while my mind was still returning from that, I heard a sound. It was hard to hear at first, through Black’s breathing, through his fingers and soft words. Whatever it was, it was a sharp sound––and loud. Black definitely wasn’t doing it. In fact, I noticed it mainly because it distracted me from him.

Whatever it was, it was really irritating.

Listening to it, it struck me that I’d definitely heard that sound before. Usually it stopped after awhile. I lay there, sprawled between Black’s legs. I waited for the sound to stop while he stroked my face, massaging my shoulder and the back of my neck.

It didn’t stop, though. Well, not for very long. It stopped, then it started again.

Then it stopped.

Then it started again.

I stretched out my psychic ability, looking for what it was.

Door. Black’s door. Doorbell.

Someone was at the door.

I looked for who and immediately flinched back, glancing up at Black.

From his face I knew he’d seen it through me. He frowned, staring in the direction of his bedroom door. I could tell from his eyes that he was looking at the people there. When he started to sit up, I leapt forward in a half-panic, grabbing ahold of his shoulders.

“No!” I said.

He looked at me. I was in his lap now. “No?” he said.

I shook my head, adamant.

“It’s my door,” he said.

“You stay here.”

His jaw hardened. I found myself caressing it with my fingers.

God, he was beautiful. Even angry.

He closed his eyes, longer than a blink. I felt him soften, even as a curl of heat came off him.
 
That affected me, too. But that awareness in the back of my mind remained sharp.

“Stay here,” I repeated.

After a pause, he nodded, once.

I climbed off him.

He watched me, still sitting on the bed, his posture rigid. I started to walk to the bedroom door, but felt a flush of anger off Black.

I turned, looking at him.

“Robe,” he growled.

I looked down at myself, and realized he was right. I was completely naked. Feeling my face grow hot, I walked back into his bedroom and then into his bathroom, looking around for his robe. I couldn’t find it. Walking back into his room, I opened drawers, frowning at the contents, which were a lot more complex than I could really deal with right then.

The doorbell continued to buzz.

Loud. Insistent.

They definitely knew we were in here.

I pulled out a T-shirt that fell to the top of my thighs. Feeling that wasn’t satisfying Black, I opened a few more drawers and found boxer shorts. Pulling those on under the T-shirt, I paused suddenly, still standing by his bureau. It occurred to me that the noise had finally stopped. I was about to reach out with my psychic sight again, when it started up again, loud now that I stood closer to the speaker on Black’s wall. It was loud enough that I ducked down, gripping the top of his bureau as if we were under attack.

Black must have felt the same way. I saw him wince, glaring at the same speaker.

Straightening, I pointed at him, realizing again how weird I felt.

“Stay,” I told him, my voice serious. “Stay, Black. I mean it.”

I felt a whisper of pain off him, but he didn’t move.

He didn’t nod either, so I’m not sure that reassured me.

When the buzzer got louder again, I decided it didn’t matter.

They obviously weren’t going away.

“Stay!” I said a last time, my voice louder.

I backed out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me. I could practically see Black sitting on the bed, his upper body rigid where it rested on his palms, his arms tensed as he breathed hard, watching me as I walked into the hallway that led to his living room.

I noticed a lot of things on the floor as I walked.

Clothes mostly. In the hall.

I saw more in the foyer. A suit jacket. A dress shirt. Pants. His robe.

Kicking them aside and out of the path of the door hastily, I balled them up in my arms when I couldn’t use my feet alone to make them disappear. After debating for a few seconds between the couch and the hallway leading to Black’s bedroom, I finally opened up the coat closet in the foyer and threw them all in there, shutting the door quickly behind.

The doorbell buzzed again.

It was really damned loud now that I stood so close. The sheer loudness paralyzed me briefly, like staring directly at the sun.

When the sound paused, I walked the few steps left to the door and gripped the handle, yanking on it. It didn’t move. It took me a few seconds more to figure out the bolt was still in place, holding the door to the wall.

It took me a few more to figure out the latch.

In that pause, the doorbell started up again, making me flinch and duck all over again.

I yelled that time. “Stop it! I’m coming! I’m coming!”

As I was saying it the second time, I yanked open the door.

Two

LOSING ONE’S HEAD

THE MAN CLOSEST to the doorway jerked his head around, staring at me as the door opened.

A woman stood just behind him. They’d been talking in low voices in the seconds before I opened the door, but now both of them just stared at me, their jaws uniformly slack. A third person stood just behind him, taller, with sandy-blond hair.

All three wore dark blue San Francisco Police Department jackets.

My eyes returned to Nick, the man standing closest to me, then alternated between him and Angel, who was the woman standing just behind him. Angel continued to look me over with a shocked expression, her light brown eyes taking me in as if I’d actually come to the door naked.