Cravings (34 page)

"Mr. Shipley is taking another nap," he told her, "So we can talk. As soon as
I call 911."

After telling the cops that they were holding a murderer, he turned back to
Antonia. "We'd better get our stories straight."

"You mean that I asked you to help me trap Dwayne because I smelled something
funny in the cream and remembered I'd left him alone in the kitchen?"

"You remembered that?" he asked sharply.

"Well, not till just now," she answered, then plowed on, "And we agreed I'd
have a tape recorder in my pocket because I was pretty sure I could get him to
confess."

"That, too." He cleared his throat. "And I grabbed him from behind when he
tried to cut off a lock of your hair."

She sucked in a sharp breath. "That's what he was doing?"

"Yes. The knife is still on the floor under the edge of the counter. Don't
touch it—we don't want to smudge those nice incriminating fingerprints."

"And we won't tell any shaggy dog stories," she murmured.

"No."

A police siren in the distance told them that the law was coming.

 

THEY were at the state police barracks for hours, telling their stories
separately so that the cops could make sure their accounts matched. While they
were there, a judge issued a search warrant. Shipley's journal was at his house.
And he'd taken a lock of hair from each victim before he burned them up. Which
should make a pretty good case—combined with the knife and the poison the police
had collected from the kitchen, along with the taped confession.

Finally, one of the officers drove Antonia and Grant back home.

The moment the door was closed, she felt his hand on her shoulder, and sensed
his tension. "I only told you those names and places once. How did you rattle
them off like that? Did you really see that in your cards?"

"No. Not the cards. If you're blind, you have to memorize stuff. I'm good at
it."

"Good at a lot of things," he said in a thick voice.

"But not too independent to scare you off?" she asked, hearing her own
uncertainty. "I mean, I didn't tell you what I had planned when you asked me to
let Shipley see me drink the soup. I wasn't sure you would agree on doing it my
way."

"I wouldn't have," he said, and he let her sweat for another twenty seconds
before he shifted his grip and crushed her to him. "But it was the right way to
go."

"Grant. Oh, Grant."

Still holding her tight, he said. "I thought my life was over when I lost
Marcy. You gave it back to me."

"Thank God."

"I love you. I thought I could never say that again. But it's true. And I
have you to thank for that miracle."

"I knew you were afraid to trust your feelings. Afraid to trust us."

"It happens fast with my kind. We meet our mate and bond."

She heard him swallow. "But the bond is supposed to be for life. I didn't
think it could happen for me a second time. I thought there could never be joy
in my life again."

"I know. You were so… focused on death. His… and yours."

"You saw
that
in your cards?"

"Yes. And I knew that if I could save you, I had to do it."

"There is no way I can thank you for that."

"I think you'll figure something out." Reaching up, she pulled his head down
to hers.

The touch of their lips sent a sensual shock wave through her. And the way he
groaned into her mouth and deepened the kiss told her that he felt it as
strongly as she.

"How about if we make love in bed this time?" he asked in a voice he couldn't
quite hold steady.

"For starters."

Taking his hand, she led him up the stairs to her bedroom. He had been
passionate with her. Wild. Thrilling. This time, he was tender as he began to
undress her, murmuring soft endearments while he unbuttoned her shirt.

And as he removed her clothing, she did the same for him, delighting in the
slow buildup of need as hands brushed intimate places and lips trailed over warm
skin.

This time was so different from the last, she marveled. This time, she knew
they were sealing a commitment to each other as they touched and kissed.

Last time there had been no way to slow down their out-of-control desire. Now
he drew out the pleasure for both of them—pleasure beyond anything she could
have imagined.

And as he brought her up and up to a high peak where the air was almost too
thin to breathe, she felt much more than sexual pleasure. She felt the sure and
certain knowledge that she belonged to this man in every way that a woman could
belong to her mate.

When he was inside her, he went still above her, kissing her lips and
stroking back her hair.

"I love you," he said, in a strong sure voice.

"And I love you," she answered.

"In case you can't tell, I'm smiling," he murmured.

"I can hear it in your voice."

He began to move, then, with long, slow strokes that lifted her beyond the
clouds and brought her to a soul-shattering climax.

She gasped out his name—and heard her own name on his lips as he poured
himself into her.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Thank you. For so much," he answered.

Emotional and physical exhaustion claimed her then.

Some time later, she woke and knew from his breathing that he wasn't
sleeping.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked.

"A while." He moved his lips against her eyebrows. "I've been waiting to ask
for a reading."

"What do you want to know?"

He cleared his throat. "First, do you think the cards will work for you
again?"

"I hope so," she said, praying it was true as she reached into her bedside
table and pulled out a deck.

"What—you have them in every room of the house?"

"Just about." Sitting up, she dragged the sheet over her breasts, then
shuffled.

After taking a deep breath and letting it out, she pulled a card from the
deck. "The two of Cups. Harmony and partnership. Two people about to enter a
wonderful relationship."

"I like that one."

She pulled out another. "The ten of Cups."

"What does it mean?"

"Family ties. Joy. That we're going to have the happiness we always wanted."

He pulled her close, nuzzling her ear with his lips. "So is it in the cards
for you to take on a partner in this bed and breakfast? I mean, a husband who
could do the heavy lifting and the repairs."

"That's what I was hoping. I was thinking a beach town might be a good place
to raise your children."

He went very still. "You're not afraid of… the consequences?"

"I think there are ways to make it more likely we conceive boys."

She felt him nod against her cheek. "In my family, we live our own lives. But
I've talked to some of my cousins. Ross Marshall married a woman who's a
genetics specialist. Ross told me she's studied how to better our odds." He
lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. "For a long time I didn't care
about that. Now I do."

"Good."

"You're not sorry you got tangled up with a… werewolf?" he said, his hand
tightening on hers as he used the word for the first time.

"Well, if someone had said, 'You're going to meet a tall, dark, handsome
stranger, and by the way, he changes into a wolf when it suits his purposes,' I
would have been a little worried. But the moment I met you, I knew…"

"What?"

"I knew I cared about what happened to you."

"Thank God."

He stroked his hand over her bare shoulder and down under the sheet to her
breast. And she snuggled against him, reveling in the warmth of his body and the
sensuality of his touch. They could finish the conversation later. At the
moment, she simply wanted to enjoy the pleasure of being with her life mate.