Changed (Second Sight) (8 page)

She glanced at the water-beaded glass and then at the bathroom door.

“We can’t live,” Mac said, fixing her with his gaze, “for a moment that may never come.”

For a few seconds, Isabelle could only stare at him as she processed what he’d said. He’d known exactly what she was thinking. It was almost like being read. Though they hadn’t talked about his work, suddenly it felt as though they had. There was always the chance she might read something she shouldn’t–something she
couldn’t
.
 

“But Mac,” she began.
 

He closed the distance and gently pulled them together.

“That’s not really living,” he said.

She quickly shook her head.

“Even if that’s true,” she said. “It’s better than the alternative. It’s better than–”

“But that’s just it,” Mac said, caressing her face. “You can’t lose me anymore than I can
lose you
.” He took her face between both his hands. “How, Isabelle, after everything we’ve been through,” he said lowly, “can you
still
think you’re the only one who feels like that?”

She blinked at him, at the raw intensity in the quiet question, at the torrent of emotions that it suddenly unleashed: a painful pang of regret; a staggering rush of relief; and a swell of love so deep and so strong that… There could only be one answer to Mac’s question.

Isabelle unfastened the clasp on her glove. As Mac looked down, he let go of her face. Her hands shook as though she’d never done this before but as the first glove came off, Mac held out his hand. Slowly, she laid the trembling material in it. The second one came off easier and, with a slow and deep breath, she laid it on top of the first. Mac’s gorgeous smile said everything–beaming and infectious–and she had to smile nervously in return. But as he turned to place the gloves on the counter, Isabelle saw his upper back. Deep purple bruises covered his shoulder blade.

“Mac?” she said quietly as she instinctively reached out to him. The reading began immediately. No sooner had her vision gone gray than an excruciating pain stabbed between her shoulders. “
No
,” she muttered, arching her back to get away from it. She gasped at the ache in her ribs. She saw Mac’s big hands twist someone’s shoe. The back of his head throbbed with a sharp pain.

“
Isabelle
,” he said and she felt his fingers around her wrist.

Though the reading ended, the pain lingered.

“What…” she gasped. “What
happened
to you?”

His arms wound around her, his skin warm against hers, which was suddenly clammy.

“What happened to
me?
” he said. There was a pause. “Oh
that
.”

“Your back,” she said, careful not to touch him. “There was a fight?”

The images began to slot into place. There
had
been a fight. Two men and…Darren?

“Mac,” Isabelle breathed, her vision still a murky gray. “Are you okay? Your ribs–”

“I’m
fine
,” he said, rocking her gently.

He hugged her a little tighter.

“But the pain,” she insisted. “It’s
not
fine.”

“
Isabelle
,” he said. “Trust me. It’s
fine
.” She felt his hand caress the side of her face and she closed her sightless eyes to his gentle touch. “In fact,” he said lowly. “I’ll prove it.”

She felt his body flex and lean toward her. And, as she curved hers to match, their lips slowly and softly met. Full and throbbing, his lips pulsed with life. He kissed her gently, moving his mouth sensually over hers. Their lips moistly clung as he lingered, before capturing her upper lip between his.

Though the reading had faded, even Mac’s long, drugging kiss couldn’t shake the memory of the pain, the betrayal by Darren, the attack of those two men.

Mac had never said a word.

But as his mouth continued to stroke hers and his muscled chest pressed into her, Isabelle found herself being moved backward toward the waiting water. For a moment, she’d forgotten why they were even here. Slowly, he helped her over the threshold and, as the warm water poured down her back, she heard the shower door close.

•••••

Mac took his time. Though the stench of Geoffrey was everywhere, Mac remembered another shower when he’d been in a maddened rush–a downright frenzy. He kept his lips on Isabelle’s as long as possible. Soft as petals, he could have kissed them forever. But as the warm water began to flow through her long, black hair, he let her go.

Though he’d sensed her eyesight had returned, he watched as she turned to the water, reached for the shampoo and began to wash her hair. Sheets of water cascaded down her sinuous back. He took the soap, lathered it in his hands, and gently massaged it into her shoulders. Though she paused and Mac thought he heard her sigh, her fingers began to rinse the suds from her hair. Slowly, Mac worked his way down to her hips, her buttocks, then her thighs. His fingers slid through the soapy film, around her soft and curving flesh. He knelt on one knee, the spatter of mist wetting him, as he smoothed his slippery hands all the way down to her ankles. He smiled to himself as the memory of his first impression of her came to mind–that of her shapely legs.

As she finished rinsing her hair, she revolved in place and tilted her head back. Water cascaded from the tips of her bare breasts. The plump mounds shimmered in front of him as Mac’s slick hands wound their way upward: over the fronts of her thighs, around her round hips, and under the swelling flesh. Isabelle’s lips parted with a gasp as he gently palmed and then kneaded them. They were soft in his grasp, tender, and, as he stroked the velvety, pink tips, they quickly tightened and turned a dusky rose.

Her breathing quickened and, as her diaphragm flexed in and out and the skin there glistened and seemed aglow, Mac knew he had to taste it. He released one breast, drew her hips forward, and laid his open mouth on her. Mac closed his eyes to the incredible sensation–like warm, sweet honey. Trickles of water drifted past his lips which began to gnaw into her. His tongue sampled her, lapped at her, and traced a slow, steady line downward. One taste led to another as he alternately sucked and nibbled. As his tongue dipped into her navel, he felt her tense and his arousal throbbed in return.

As both his hands slid to her hips, his tongue pressed lower. Like a man who’d only just discovered he was starving, he devoured the creamy flesh between her hips, his nose pressing into her, inhaling the fresh scent of clean skin. Though his hardened shaft ached to fill her, there was no stopping him now. He moved lower still, into the soft mound of wet curls, and finally over the edge. And, as the tip of his tongue probed into her soft cleft, a ragged gasp escaped Isabelle.

“Oh,
god
,” she whispered.

•••••

Tiny points of light flashed behind Isabelle’s closed eyes. The heated tension in her abdomen had coiled impossibly tight. Her skin seemed as though it were on fire. And, as she automatically widened her stance, the sweet warmth of Mac’s mouth between her legs threatened to completely melt her.

Just as a moan was forced from her throat, Mac’s tongue touched her in a place that was suddenly needy and too sensitive all at the same time. Her breath caught.

Pleasure flooded into her mound, her abdomen, and rocketed up her core. Her breasts ached with it. Her lungs burned with it and, as she steadied herself with fists against the shower’s tile, she shuddered. As though in answer, Mac’s tongue fluttered across her sweet spot. She groaned at the intensity, the molten need he’d stoked. Her hips needed to grind. Her body had to find release. She had to have Mac inside her.

But not yet.

As she wound her fingers into his hair and began to pull him up, she quickly lowered herself.

•••••

Mac was a moment getting oriented as the water that had bathed Isabelle’s back washed over his chest but, as her hand closed around his arousal, he put a hand to the wall to steady himself.
 

She had to be reading him, touching him like this–

Suddenly, her lips were on him.

He sucked in air through his teeth as his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. Warm and soft along the rigid shaft of him, her mouth caressed him. But her stroking tongue was like fire along his already super-heated length. His heart went wild as she scorched him with her lips and cupped him with her hand. Blood roared in his ears, pounding, deafening. Wildfire surged through his groin just as her mouth claimed the engorged tip.
 

It was too much.

He tried to tell her to stop but he couldn’t find his voice. Ecstasy throbbed so deeply and so fiercely that his other hand landed hard on the wall with the other as he struggled not to explode. Isabelle stroked him and licked him, pleasure and pain spiraling together, until his last shred of self-control was nearly gone.

And as a tortured, primal groan erupted from his chest, Mac suddenly reached down and roughly pulled Isabelle up his body. In one swift motion, he dragged her thigh to his hip, pressed her abdomen against his, and sank himself home.

•••••

With Mac’s ferocious groan still echoing in her ears, Isabelle felt him surge up into her. She clung to his neck, unable to see, except for the wildly, erotic images flowing through her senses.
Nothing
remained from the day. Only savagely carnal images filled him as their bodies finally came together. He saw himself thrusting; his penetration deep; claiming her body, possessing it, filling it.
 

Even as his plunging thrust lifted her, her body answered his. The aching, anguished need he’d built in her erupted like a blow. Frenetic, staccato pumping seized her hips and she felt Mac losing control as his body responded in overdrive.

They were merging. In her thoughts. In his. In the way he imbedded himself into the deepest part of her.

He groaned over and over as he fiercely ground his molten member into her. She breathlessly gasped as air leapt from her lungs. She whimpered and writhed. And Mac thundered into her, faster and harder.

Wild desperation shot through her. She clutched his shoulders, losing herself with each frenzied thrust. He swelled inside her as a sweet but painful sensation suddenly blossomed.

She could barely breathe.

And then, whether it was Mac’s voice or his mind, Isabelle didn’t know. But his words pierced the frantic pounding of their bodies as clearly as though he’d spoken.

“Give me all of you, Isabelle.”

Her release was immediate as Mac’s climax slapped up into her. She screamed against his throat as rhythmic convulsions seized her lower body. Overwhelming spasms surged through her, along his swollen shaft, exquisite, intolerable. Lightning bolts of pleasure, so pure it was blinding, suddenly shattered them.

Mindless ecstasy took over as their bodies thrashed. They rode the glorious waves, breathless, as it swept them over the edge. Though Isabelle still clung to Mac, oblivion claimed her. A dizzying explosion of feelings, hers or Mac’s she didn’t know, didn’t care, crashed through her. It left her lightheaded, as though she might float. Time slipped away and the only sensation was the harsh rush of their breath. As a last groan of male satisfaction rumbled in Mac’s chest, Isabelle found herself exhaling in a breath of final completion.

She was dimly aware of the water stopping and the shower door opening. Though they were soaking wet, Mac laid her down on the comforter. The gray haze still shrouded her vision but she felt him settle down next to her. As the mattress dipped, she slipped into her spot next to him, just as Mac’s arm encircled her and pulled her close. Though tired, Isabelle couldn’t help but smile as she lay her head on his chest. Mac’s heart beat softly in her ear and she closed her eyes to the wonderful sound.

AFTER A FEW minutes, Isabelle’s vision slowly cleared. The last light of evening had painted the room a cool hue of purple. Mac lay still next to her though she could tell from his breathing he wasn’t asleep either.

“It’s not exactly how I thought we’d spend our Sunday,” Mac said, as Isabelle curled tighter into the crook of his arm.

“Not exactly,” she said, still smiling, as his arm held her close.

He’d said they would stay in. Was that only this morning?

“And here’s what I think about the security clearance,” he said.

Though the tone of Mac’s voice hadn’t changed, Isabelle blinked at the sudden switch in topics.

“It’s not going to matter,” he said. “Not to us.” He lifted her chin to look up at him as he looked down at her. “And not to them.”

He must have seen her puzzlement.

“They don’t ask on the polygraph whether you live with a psychic or not,” he said quietly. “And, even if they did, they don’t
believe
in psychics.”

“But you and I–”

“Are together,” he said, his face serious. “
Really
together. No going back now.” He searched her face and she knew her eyes held what he was looking for. Something had changed–in her, in
them
. “There’s only going forward now,” he said. “No matter what that brings. And whatever that brings, we’ll deal with it–”

“Together,” she said.

From the moment they’d met, there’d hardly been time to be a couple. It’d been his work and hers, their two worlds colliding.

Maybe that’s just how it will always be.

“We’ll never be a normal couple,” Isabelle whispered, smiling a little. “And no amount of nachos on Olvera Street or hamburgers at Tommy’s is going to change that.”

Mac grinned and hugged her tight.

“Normal,” he said, “is overrated.”

Isabelle knew she had to be grinning but, when Mac’s stomach suddenly growled, she could barely suppress a laugh.

“Did you say hamburgers?” he said.

Isabelle started to get up.

“It’ll just take me a minute to dry my hair,” she said, but Mac didn’t let her go.

“One more thing,” he said, looking at her lips, then her hair, and finally her eyes. “Because of the second sight…” Isabelle went still, her every sense on edge, as the world turned slowly around them. “I assumed you’d know what I’m thinking or how I feel.” Mac paused. “But I realize I can’t take that risk.” He smiled then. “So, in case you missed it, I love you, Isabelle, and that’s not going to change.”