Deadly Dance (13 page)

This was Harrison. Her friend. Her soon-to-be lover.

And with a sigh, she let go of any doubt, intent upon riding the wave. Life was too damn short to overthink everything. There’d be time for regret tomorrow.

What she wanted, what she craved, was to feel him moving inside her. It wasn’t wise, it probably wasn’t even rational, but at the moment, she didn’t care. With a groan, he swung her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom, laying her against the cool cotton sheets. After making quick work of the rest of their clothing, he knelt beside her, his mouth on her breasts again. Sucking, licking.

And then he let his mouth trail lower, his fingers massaging the soft flesh of her inner thighs, his tongue finding the soft indentation of her navel, driving in, pressing skin against skin in a way that made her writhe against him, wanting more. Needing more.

She arched upward, and he slid his fingers inside her, his tongue still twisting into her belly button. She
swallowed, the delicious tension inside her reaching a level beyond anything she’d ever experienced.

His thumb flicked against her, and she threw back her head and moaned, the sound guttural, coming from deep inside her. His mouth found her center then, tongue replacing thumb with moist heat that made her buck against him, then struggle to escape the finely drawn pain he was instigating.

But his hands found her hips, cupping her bottom and holding her in place, his tongue moving faster and faster, lightning streaking through her with each and every touch. She wanted more, and yet she wasn’t certain she could survive the passion he was unleashing inside her.

He sucked then, the pull deep and strong, and she climaxed, white-hot sensation breaking in icy shards around her, sending her beyond all reason. The internal contractions were so powerful that she knew with clarity why it was called a little death. She fought for breath, her mind swirling, and then cried out as the heat enshrouded her and there was nothing but sensation and the feel of his mouth upon her.

Then just as suddenly he was gone. She opened her eyes, startled, but then he was with her again, his hard body sliding along hers, until they lay pressed together, fitting like two pieces of a puzzle. She reached for him and pulled his lips to hers, the kiss slower than before, but no less wanting. This time she explored the hot crevices of his mouth, the smooth surface of his teeth, feeling the heat rising in her again.

With a groan, his kiss turned demanding, absorbing her with each taste, each touch. She felt him shiver as her fingers caressed the hard planes of his chest to land
firmly against his abdomen, her palm tracing circles on his skin.

There was power in touching him. And she delighted in the feel and smell of him. Velvet and steel. She kissed the scar that ran along his collar bone, then slid down farther to take his nipple into her mouth. Sucking and nipping, she savored him, reveling in his strength—and hers. His penis tightened, throbbing against her thigh, and with a smile, she closed her hand around him.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, his eyes closed now. “I need you, Hannah. I need you now.” The words were rough, almost garbled. As if they’d cost him everything. And Hannah took the gift, her heart swelling in response. She needed him, too. As if some part of her were missing. As if joining with him was the only way to feel whole again.

She smiled up at him and slid farther down, taking him into her mouth, circling him with her tongue. She moved her hand as well, the rhythms combining in an effort to bring him the same pleasure he’d brought her. Up and down, squeezing, stroking. He writhed on the bed, then with one swift move, he flipped them over, gaining control.

“I want to be inside you.” His voice was still hoarse, his need showing raw across his face. “Now.”

She nodded, spreading her legs, offering herself.

Bracing himself on his elbows, he looked down at her, eyes glazed with passion as he thrust home, the power of his heat stealing her breath away. They stayed still for a moment, eye to eye, their breathing in sync, linked together as man and woman.

The pleasure was exquisite, and she pushed against him, taking him even deeper.

There was passion reflected in the depths of his eyes and something else—something so tender it almost took her breath away. She lost herself then in the brown and green of his eyes.

Together they began to move, rocking slowly at first, savoring the moment—the connection—then gradually they began to move faster, each stroke bringing them tantalizingly close to the edge of the precipice.

Tension built between them like a delicately strung wire, pulling tighter and tighter, pleasure and pain mixing as one, need driving every move. She reached up to grab the railing of the headboard, arching her back, pulling him deeper. And balanced on his elbows, he yielded to her demand, the pounding of her heart echoing the motion.

Amazingly the tension inside her was building again, stronger than before, demanding release, promising pleasure beyond imagination, the only reality the sensation between her thighs.

His hands circled her hips, and he began to move with her. Up, down, in, out. Over and over again, deeper and deeper, their eyes locked together, a connection beyond the physical.

The heat between them built, flames of passion licking at them both, winding them tighter and tighter, pulling the thread taut, and then with a moan, she slammed upward, driving him deeper, and the fury erupted, the storm reaching crescendo.

Calling his name, Hannah wound her fingers in the soft swirl of his hair and surrendered herself to the fire, feeling his spasms as he, too, climaxed. She tightened her legs around him as if trying to bind them together. To hold on to this moment.

She wasn’t naïve. And this certainly wasn’t her first time. But somehow, she knew that with Harrison it was different—special. Of course she also knew that soon the feelings would fade, rational thought taking precedence over emotion.

Harrison rolled to his side, pulling her with him, staying connected, as if he, too, wasn’t quite ready to let go. She reached out to smooth back the hair from his face, the gesture somehow more intimate than the acts preceding it.

Tomorrow she’d have to face reality. But for now, she was content just to lie there listening to the cadence of his heartbeat. If there was no such thing as happily ever after, then that was all the more reason to savor the moment.

J
asmine stopped at the front door of Tina’s house, holding a small duffle. Tina had been totally freaked about her cat. The FBI agents hadn’t been able to find him, and she was worried something had happened. So Jasmine had agreed to check on Asha and gather some things the FBI agents hadn’t thought to get for her. She figured she’d deal with the cat now, and deliver Tina’s things this afternoon. She glanced at her watch, satisfied that she had plenty of time before she was due to open the coffee shop.

The sun was just visible above the horizon, pink lines spreading upward into the still blue-black sky. If she hadn’t been in such a hurry, it would have been a moment to savor. But in all honesty, Jasmine couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a minute to enjoy anything. Which was totally her own fault. Had she known how difficult it would be to create a successful coffee house in the era of Starbucks, she might have had second thoughts.

But Jasmine wasn’t given to introspection. She’d always just jumped feet first, no time for considering things. She’d set her goal and stuck to it. So when an old house on the edge of campus had gone up for sale, she’d bought it. And six months and a hell of a lot of red tape later, she’d opened Java Joe. And the rest, as they said, was history.

She reached into the geranium pot for Tina’s spare key, and then slid it into the lock and opened the door. The house was small, but charming, decorated with a touch of whimsy. Jasmine’s eyes fell to a wall sculpture of three dancing women—their arms and legs spread in abandon. Cut from an old oil drum, the metallic art piece was the work of a former student. A boy Tina had once dated.

Jasmine struggled to remember his name, but came up empty as she took the stairs two at a time, heading for Tina’s bedroom. Asha’s favorite hiding place. The room looked as if Tina had just left it. The bed unmade, stuff scattered everywhere. They’d roomed together when Jasmine was a sophomore and Tina a freshman. And there hadn’t been any space left uncovered by something of Tina’s.

Nothing had changed.

“Asha?” she called, checking the closet carefully for signs of the cat. But he was evidently hiding elsewhere.

She checked under the bed, and then stopped at the bureau to grab the underthings Tina had requested. She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on the reason she was here in the first place. It was just too awful. And inconceivable. Sunderland had always been a safe haven. And the idea that some crazy dude was out there hurting women… well, it was just too much to consider.

She opened another drawer and added Tina’s favorite T-shirt to the duffle and then turned to face the room, the lingering shadows making it seem suddenly less than inviting. Sucking in a breath, she searched quickly for the boots, finally finding them under the bedside table.

All that was left was to gather some toiletries, then she’d be on her way. Screw the damn cat. Glancing at her watch, Jasmine quickened her pace as she walked back into the hall, heading to the bathroom.

The house was quiet except for the wind whistling through the trees outside. She could see the clouds gathering in the distance, the pink-tinted sky turning to a steely gray. It looked like it was going to be a blustery day. Jasmine shivered, pulling her sweater closer, quickening her pace. At least that meant folks would be wanting coffee.

She stopped in the hallway just outside the bathroom, frowning, something somewhere setting off alarm bells. Standing perfectly still, she waited, heart pounding, but the house remained quiet. Blowing out a breath, she started into the bathroom, but swung around again as the sound of something rustling emanated from the spare room across from her.

Asha.

Shaking her head, she started for the spare room, but froze when she heard a crash followed by a thump as something heavy hit the floor. Adrenaline pumping, she sprinted for the stairway, figuring retreat was her best option. But she hadn’t made it very far when something dashed past her, a long silky tail brushing against her leg.

“Damn it, Asha,” she yelled at the retreating cat. “You scared the life out of me.” Said feline stopped a few
feet away, inspecting a paw, feigning indifference, and Jasmine bent to rub between the cat’s ears, heart still pounding.

“What has you all in a tizzy?” she asked, forcing herself to retrace her steps and check the spare room. A storage box lay on the floor, the contents scattered. And next to it, a broken vase and some silk roses. With a sigh, she bent to straighten Asha’s mess. The cat was a certified kamikaze. Always trying to climb to the top of everything. And more often than not, missing by a mile.

She tucked the box back on top of the bookshelf and threw out the shards of glass, then grabbed the duffle again and went back to the bathroom. Picking out the moisturizer and face cream Tina had requested, she shoved them into the bag and headed for the staircase. Asha had disappeared, but Jasmine didn’t have time to look for him.

“It’d serve you right if I left without feeding you,” she called as she headed down the stairs, duffle in hand. She stopped in the kitchen and opened the pantry to grab the bag of cat food. After opening it, she turned to the bowls by the back door, surprised to find that they’d been turned over—water pooling beside them on the floor.

More of Asha’s antics.

She cleaned up the floor and then filled both bowls, returning them to their proper places. “Tina, you’re going to owe me big time.” She laughed to herself and then headed for the front door, remembering at the last minute that she’d forgotten the duffle. Turning back, she walked into the kitchen and reached for the duffle on the counter where she’d left it.

But just as her hand closed around the strap, someone grabbed her from behind, a hard calloused palm pressing
against her mouth. She slammed an elbow backward, satisfied to hear a grunt of pain, and jerked free for a moment. But her attacker was bigger and faster.

His arm circled her waist, pulling her backward, but she kicked out, fighting against him, the momentum sending them both crashing into the counter. Scrambling, she pulled an arm free and made a grab for the knife block. But before she could reach it, his fist closed around her braids, and he yanked her back, the pain making her dizzy.

Above her she saw Asha, on the top of the cabinets, back arched, spitting with fury. With a scream worthy of a Scottish banshee, the cat launched himself at the man, hitting him square on the shoulders. With a muffled curse, he swung at the cat, knocking the animal aside. But it was the opportunity Jasmine needed. Breaking free, she ran full-out for the front door, yanking at it only to remember that it was locked.

She struggled with the deadbolt, trying to turn the latch with shaking fingers. Finally, it turned, but she was too late. The man grabbed her from behind, pulling her away from the door and freedom. This time it was a handkerchief that covered her mouth and nose, the sickly sweet smell making her woozy. She tried to fight him, but her limbs had gone rubbery, her mind filling with cotton.