Out of Control (29 page)

She curled up onto her side. “Don't be mad,” she said. “I wasn't going to say anything. You dragged it out of me.”

“Everything I do makes you feel attacked,” he burst out. “Even when it makes you come. You drag all your past stuff into bed, and the bed's too goddamn crowded. It's no longer relevant. It's gone. Let it go.”

His self-righteous tone irritated her. “Don't you act superior with me, Davy. I'm not the only one who has past stuff to deal with. Mine is small enough to fit inside a double bed. But yours, whoa. It's huge.”

“You lost me, Margot. What the hell are you talking about?”

Your mom's death, maybe? Your father's illness? Your ex-wife's betrayal?
She didn't have the nerve to throw the big bombs, so she just shoved on with the next thing that came into her mind. “Remember when you proposed that kept woman arrangement to me—”

“You're never going to stop throwing that in my face, are you?”

“Not until you get my point, and God knows when that will be. Nothing can challenge this fantasy you've got about controlling yourself and your world. But you can't control my feelings, Davy. I can't even control my feelings, and believe me, I really, really want to.”

“Margot, I just wanted to—”

“You wanted to have sex with me, but you didn't want to be responsible for how I might feel about it,” she pushed on. “So here's your perfect plan. Draw up a contract in which I promise not to feel any inappropriate, inconvenient emotions. In return, you'll protect me from Snakey so I'll be all fluttery and grateful. Hah. It's not working.”

He shook his head. “You'll twist anything I say out of recognition.”

“On the contrary, I think it's a pretty accurate analysis,” she said.

“Yeah? I'm still waiting for the point of this accurate analysis.”

She glared at him. “You can cut out the snotty tone any time.”

Davy sighed, and stretched out next to her, folding his arms over his chest with an air of patient martyrdom. “So? Lay it on me, Margot. Rip me to shreds. It's just that kind of a day.”

“You turned yourself into an ice cube to deal with all the things that scare you,” she told him. “You don't need anyone, except for maybe your precious brothers. You zoom above it all. Whoosh, there goes SuperDavy, faster than a speeding bullet. Never needing anything.”

He propped his head up onto his hand. “If I didn't have needs, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

“Yeah, sure. Sex.” She snorted. “You'll admit to needing that, but you probably wish you didn't, right?”

“That sounds like a trick question.” His eyes slid over her body. “Before I met you, I wished I didn't need it. I don't feel that way anymore.”

She struggled to decode that statement. “Just sex,” she repeated, just to be sure he didn't mean…no. No way.

“No. You.” He emphasized each word. “Sex is general. You can have it with anyone. What I want is specific. Sex…with
you
.”

“Just sex,” she repeated. It was like pressing on a painful ache. Waiting, hoping for him to take it just one tiny little step further.

She could soon see from his face that he wasn't going to. “Jesus, Margot,” he said curtly. “What do you want from me?”

“Something I can't have, evidently.” She looked down, plucking at a hole in the ragged wool blanket. “Tell me something. Would you have felt differently about me if I weren't a fugitive with a fake ID and a ninja stalker and a trail of bodies, and all my funky extra baggage?”

“No. I never judged you. That stuff isn't your fault.”

“So if you'd met me when I was Ms. Pillar-of-the-Community with a job and a slick car and a salon haircut, it wouldn't have made a—”

“Not one damn bit of difference. I've had plenty of girlfriends like that. I didn't marry any of them. I've worked hard to get my life to this point. I like choosing how to spend my time. I like controlling my space. I like my freedom. I don't want to compromise that for a woman.”

“Oh. Well, according to your friend Gomez…” She hesitated, as his face darkened. “You, uh, just did compromise it. In a big way.”

“Let's keep the issues separate.” He bit the words out, sharp and hard as stones. “That's a different problem, with a different solution.”

“I'm not real great at keeping things separate,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, I've noticed. I was straight with you from the beginning, Margot. If you choose to get your feelings hurt, that's your own—”

“Oh, shut up. Don't you dare use a stale, stupid line you've used before on your other women when they started to cling. I can tell right off if you're using stock phrases. With me, you better be original.”

Davy cursed softly. He fumbled in the drawer in the bedside table, until he found a silver flask. He opened it and took a swig.

“What, am I driving you to drink?” she demanded. “Am I going to have that on my conscience, too?”

He grunted and tossed back another swallow. “If anyone could, it would be you.”

“I've never seen you do more than nurse a beer or sip champagne,” she said. “It's strange to see you guzzle hard liquor.”

“I'm not guzzling,” he said, irritated. “It's a sip, for Christ's sake. I don't get drunk. But I like a shot of good single malt sometimes.”

“I'll remember that on your birthday.” Oops, she was babbling. Like she was going to be in his life on his birthday. “When is your birthday, anyhow?”

His mouth twitched. “November third.”

“Of course. A Scorpio. I might have guessed.” She covered her discomfort with more chatter. “I'm a Sagittarius myself. December tenth. Don't worry, though. I won't expect you to remember my birthday, being as how you're so wild and free and uncommitted.”

“I've got something original to say,” he said.

That cut off her babbling abruptly. “Oh, yeah?” She braced herself. “If it's original, then let's hear it.”

“Usually, this kind of conversation with a woman makes my dick retract into my body. But take a look at this. Weird.”

Margot glanced down at his enormous hard-on, and up into the hypnotic brilliance of his eyes. “It's true,” she said. “You never get tired.”

“Not of sex. Not when you're around,” he said.

The man was a master at confusing mixed messages, but she didn't want to call him on it or pick another fight. Not now.

She jerked the whiskey flask out of his hand, and scrambled out of the bed. “Let me try some of that stuff,” she mumbled. “I need help.”

She sniffed at the complex fumes, took a sip, and grimaced. “Ay-yi-yi. Not for me. I like sweet things. Pina coladas, frozen margaritas.”

“Good Scotch is a different thing.” He slid out of bed and moved behind her, putting his arms around her. He lifted the flask to her nose. “Smell it again. Sweet things are for the tongue. This is for the nose, and the mind.” His hand curled over the nape of her neck.

She sniffed again. “It burns my nose.”

“It's a complicated flavor.” His voice was a low, husky murmur. “Earth flavors. Wood, smoke, peat, ash, fire. Green hills. Cold fog rising off the rocky coast of Scotland. Gray and black pebble beaches, rattling every time a wave of dark Atlantic water washes over them. Smell it?”

Under the spell of his soft, hypnotic voice, she actually did. She tried to make light of it. “You're so poetic, Davy. Who'd have thought?”

“Shh,” he brushed her words away. “Taste it again. Let the vapor rise up into your nose and expand. Like a bubble with a picture in it.”

She sipped it again, and the images he had invoked bloomed in her mind while the burn of liquid fire trickled down her throat. She swallowed it, a shudder through her as its power warmed her.

It was like sex. The taste of desire. The earth, the elements. Just a sip of whiskey with Davy McCloud was foreplay. His lips covered hers, flavored with whiskey while his hand slid between her legs, caressing her. He raised his fingers and sucked them into his mouth. “I love your taste. Better than Scotch. Rich and subtle. Sweet and salt. Delicious.”

She seized his erect penis and caressed it, running her hand tenderly over the swollen head. She licked her fingers just as he had, savoring his taste. A silent ritual, charged with unvoiced longings.

He cupped her cheek, and rubbed his face against hers. The faint rasp of his beard stubble made her want to purr with pleasure.

“I wish you would trust me more,” he said.

She pressed his hand harder against her face, trapping him there. “I wish the exact same thing,” she told him.

They stared at each other as Davy slid his hand down the curve of her back. “We'll just have to keep doing the best we can.”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Davy grabbed a condom from the gaping dresser drawer. He rolled it on and looked down at her, waiting. For what, she wasn't sure.

She blew out a long sigh, and moved another step closer towards the abyss. “Do you want me, ah, from behind? I know you like that.”

“Yeah, I do like that. I love the way your beautiful ass looks in that position. The curve of your back, your perfect skin. The shape of you, opening up like a ripe peach. I love watching myself slide into you.”

Her legs shook. His soft, husky words cast a sensual spell. She could have come then and there, just from clenching her thighs together.

“But if it makes you feel bad, I won't pressure you again,” he went on. “I want to make you feel good, Margot. I don't want to hurt you, ever. In any way. Do you get that? Do you believe me?”

She nodded.

“You call it,” he said. “Any way you want. From here on out, you pick. I don't care. I love it all. I'm not fussy.”

She turned her back, and crawled onto the bed, leaning forward onto her arms until she was on all fours. The blanket was scratchy beneath her hands and knees. She arched her back, offering him everything she had to give. She waited, her body trembling.

“Hey.” His deep voice was soft with caution. “What's this about?”

“This is about me, trusting you,” she whispered.

His warm hands grasped her hips, caressed her. “You sure about this? You're not going to give me a hard time afterwards?”

She nodded, shook her head, and laughed at herself. “Yes, I'm sure, and no, I won't give you a hard time, but I wish you would get the hell on with it already, because I'm ready to—oh, God—”

“You're so beautiful.” And he was kissing her there, his mouth so sweet and tender. She'd never known how sensitive the skin of her bottom was, forgot everything except his stroking hands, his lashing, probing tongue. She was primed when he finally slid inside her, giving her all of his passion and strength with each stroke.

He made it last, until she collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. He followed her down, covering her with his warm weight. She hid her face against the pillow, but he tugged her hair. “Stay with me,” he said. “Don't go off into your own head. We do better when we stay together.”

She tried to speak, but couldn't. She nodded.

“Come now. With me,” he demanded, surging deeper. Harder.

I can't do it on command
, she wanted to say, just as she realized that it wasn't true. He unlocked her with his words. Emotion and desire rushed out, hopelessly mixed. It churned them into blinding froth.

She was drifting to sleep when he spoke again. “December tenth.”

“Huh?” Her eyes fluttered open. “What?”

“Your birthday. Sagittarius.” He dropped a soft kiss on her shoulder. “I won't forget.”

He slid into sleep, leaving her wide awake once again, her heart aching with a painful mix of fear and hope.

S
he woke as morning lightened the curtain over the window. Davy was cuddled up to her back, holding her tight against his body.

She studied the room for clues about Davy's childhood. It was as spare and austere as a monk's cell, which she guessed said it all. There was a straight-backed chair, a rough, simple wooden dresser, hooks on the walls for clothes. A packed bookcase. A battered old steamer trunk.

No closet, no pictures, no mirror, no photos or ornaments or memorabilia. She thought of what Raine had told her. The thought of a ten-year-old boy losing his mother like that made her flinch. She was too raw inside herself to contemplate anything so painful and sad.

Not that there was much left in her life to contemplate that wasn't painful and sad these days, she reflected.

Just Davy. She could contemplate him. He was problematic, but he made her mind and body fizz like champagne. He was probably destined to break her heart into bits, but oh, would it ever be one wild ride while it lasted. That was something. She could hang onto that.

She rolled over carefully, so as not to wake him, and was startled to find his eyes open and clear, not a shadow of sleep in them. The scratches on his face had scabbed over. She hated that he'd been hurt. She reached down to inspect his injured hand. It didn't seem swollen.

“It's OK,” he told her. “I'm fine.”

She dropped a kiss on his hand. He turned his fingers to stroke her face. A pale beam of sunlight found its way between the curtains. It lit up his eyes till they glowed like glacial water. His fingertips on her face were so gentle. Memorizing every detail.

There were so many things she wanted to say. How sorry she was for every scratch and bruise. How she regretted dragging him into this awful tarpit of hers. And how incredibly grateful she was not to be all alone there, guilty though that made her feel.

And underneath it, an emotion she couldn't admit to him, but could no longer deny to herself. She trembled like water shaken by deep currents, aching with longing deeper than anything she'd ever known.

She was in love with him. She had to be so careful. Stay sharp, keep things light, while her heart quaked and her world fell apart.

“We have to decide what to do,” he said. “We can't stay here.”

She was unprepared to think about such immediate practical problems as staying alive. “What do you want to do?”

He twirled a lock of her hair between thumb and forefinger into a loose ringlet. “I've been thinking about it all morning. I don't want to be a fugitive. I had other plans for my life. I like being Davy McCloud. I've invested a lot of energy in that persona, and I don't want to be cut off from my brothers, either. But if you want to run, I won't leave you.”

He took her breath away. She gazed at him, wet-eyed, and swallowed. “I can't run anymore,” she said. “I'm run into the ground.”

“OK, then. I'm going back to where it all started. To San Cataldo.” He stroked her cheekbone with his fingertip. “I'll start digging. Shake trees, turn over rocks, try to figure out who did this to you and what the hell they want. When somebody gets nervous and reacts, I'll have a place to start. That's my hope.”

“What do you mean, I?” she said. “It's we, Davy, not I.”

He shook his head. “You'll stay with Seth and Raine up at Stone Island. It's only accessible by boat. Bristling with Seth's spywear. You'll be safer there than anywhere else.”

She laughed in his face. “Right. Like I want to sit around in some island fortress while you're out mucking around with killers.”

“I can kill, too, if I have to,” he said. “I'm not an easy target.”

“Ouch, Davy.” She shuddered. “That's not comforting.”

“You know me. Comfort's not my strong point.” He studied her face. “Does it freak you out? That I can kill?”

She shook her head. “It's just that I've always lived in a different world, where that kind of danger and violence wasn't real,” she said. “And you've always lived in a world where it is. It's discombobulating.”

“There's only one world,” he said. “It's violent and dangerous. Always has been. Anyone who thinks it isn't is just fooling himself.”

“My, aren't we cheerful and positive this morning,” she murmured. “I'm sorry if it makes you nervous, but I'm coming, too.”

He shook his head. “Bad idea.”

“It's not your decision,” she told him.

His face went hard with anger, and she braced herself against the elemental force of it. “The hell it's not. You'd complicate everything, if I have to constantly worry about you.”

“You're under no obligation to do anything of the kind.”

“That is such a crock of self-serving, manipulative bullshit—”

“I'm not going to cower on an island worrying about you while you're out there investigating my problems!”

“Didn't you hear what Gomez said last night?” His voice had taken on a vicious edge. “They're my problems too, babe.”

“Yeah, well, they were my problems first. Nyah-nyahnyah. Do whatever you have to do, but I'm going back to San Cataldo.”

Davy rolled over on top of her. “Margot. It's not going to happen. Get it through your head.”

“Do not bark orders at me in that tone of voice, Davy McCloud.”

“What tone of voice?” he snarled.

“The military sounding one,” she said. “I will not say ‘sir, yes sir,' after everything you say. So don't even try it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Tone of voice is subjective. Another way for women to whip themselves into a frenzy over insignificant issues.”

She shoved him until he rolled off. “Welcome to Planet Female,” she said sweetly. “Enjoy your stay. The first stop on our tour will be Insignificant Issues. Please open your guidebooks to page 317.”

He clapped his hand over his eyes. “Oh, God, why me?”

“Are you wondering if having wild crazy sex all night long is worth this kind of abuse?”

A dimple glimmered in his cheek. “How'd you know that?”

“I know how men's minds work,” she said. “Men are predictable.”

He glared at her. “I am not predictable.”

“You are insofar as you are a man,” she said. “Women study men a lot more than men study women. Sad, but true.”

“I'm not going to debate that with you. That stinks of a trap.” He pounced, pinning her down, and this time there was no dislodging him. His erection pressed hard against her belly. “Now, if we were to have wild crazy morning sex, I'd be convinced that it's worth the abuse.”

“You think you're so slick,” she said. “You think you can distract me? You think it's that easy to persuade me to let you go off alone—”

“We will discuss that later.” Davy's voice was steely, but his skilful mouth licked and nibbled the tendons of her neck until she quivered.

“You're doing it again,” she warned. “That military tone. I won't have it.” She started tickling him.

He clamped her arms closed, trapping her in a breathlessly tight embrace. “And you're challenging me. You get off on that, don't you? Provoking me, making me lose it. You love that.” He rolled a condom deftly onto himself that he'd pulled out of nowhere, trapped her wrists and pinned them over her head. “I've studied you, too, Margot. I know what you want in bed. And I can give it to you.”

“Macho, arrogant…” Her voice trailed into a choked gasp as he slid his penis tenderly up and down her labia. “I'll make you pay.”

“Yeah, you do that, sweetheart. Have at me. I can't wait.”

He took himself in hand and slid inside her. After all their passionate love play the night before, she was ultrasensitive, but soft enough so that he entered in one long, slick delicious glide that made them both sigh with delight. It started out playfully rough, her arms pinned, his teeth set against her throat while his hips surged.

She writhed and tossed in mock struggle, but they couldn't keep that up for long. The pleasure was too sweet, the feelings between them too strong. Clear and bright, lit up from inside, like his beautiful eyes.

Soon they were clinging to each other as they rocked together. Davy angled himself against her expertly, pressing his surging hips against the yearning ache of her clitoris, slow and steady and relentless, until the warmth crested, and overflowed. She dissolved around him.

When she opened her eyes, he was still rocking tenderly inside her, pushing damp hair off her face. “You're going to Stone Island.”

She gazed up at him. “No,” she said. “You can't control me with sex. I'm not putting my fate in someone else's hands. Not anymore.”

His face tightened. “Goddamnit, Margot—”

“Please, Davy. Not now,” she pleaded. She reached up to caress his face. “It's so sweet. So perfect. Let's have this fight later.”

He pulled out of her body and rolled her onto her stomach, winding his fingers into her hair. He pressed his face against her neck, and drove into her from behind. She whimpered with pleasure at each savage, passionate lunge. He exploded with a cry almost like a snarl.

He lifted himself off her trembling body. She reached out to touch him, but he pulled away from her and slid off the bed, taking off the condom. The magical tenderness had vanished behind a cold mask.

“Davy. Please. Don't be—”

“We'll talk about it after we eat,” he said. “Get yourself ready.”

 

Cooking while angry was a messy, dangerous business. He was so distracted, he almost burned the ham that was browning in the skillet while the pancakes rose on the griddle. He was too busy contemplating strategies for convincing her to go to Stone Island to keep it all together.

Or failing that, coercing her. Whatever the fuck it took.

She ventured down the stairs, damp and sweet smelling from her bath, and stared at the table. “Wow. You never cut corners, do you?”

“Blackberry jam or raspberry for your pancakes?”

“Um…raspberry, I guess.”

They ate in almost complete silence, washing the food down with coffee sweetened with a can of condensed milk he'd found in the cupboard. She kept shooting him nervous glances, like she wanted to talk, but he refused to meet her eyes. He didn't trust his own temper.

Adrenaline shot through him at the sound of a car. He leaped to his feet, gun in hand, and twitched the curtain aside. A black Chevy Avalanche, and a white Taurus. He was so relieved, his knees wobbled.

“Who is it?” Margot asked.

“Seth,” he said. “And another car. That's Miles driving.”

He tucked his gun into the back of his jeans and walked out the kitchen door. Margot followed him out, barefoot.

He knew she had nothing else to wear, but her clingy slip bothered him. She looked like a woman who'd been passionately fucked all night long. Flushed lips, wild hair, lush cleavage, nipples poking through the clingy fabric. Jesus. He would have wrapped her in his shirt, if Seth hadn't already been getting out of his truck.

Seth's dark gaze raked over Davy's body, lingering on his scratched face. “Everything mellow up here last night?”

Davy grunted. “More or less. I found out last night that I'm a murder suspect. Our stalker buddy beat a guy to death and planted a whiskey bottle with my prints on it at the scene a couple days ago.”

“Fuck.” Seth's jaw tightened. “That's bad.”

“Yeah,” Davy agreed dourly. “Big bummer. How was last night?”

“Long and boring. Sean and I could both have had a lot more fun in our respective hotel rooms, but whatever. We love you, man.” He held out a plastic bag to Margot. “Here's your stuff. Sean collected it this morning. He's babysitting the lingering bridesmaids, but I don't think they're gonna leave until he does. He's keeping an eye on Mikey.”

She took the bag. “Thank you. I really needed my clothes.”

Davy turned to greet Miles, who was crunching morosely through the gravel, head down. “Hey, Miles. I didn't know you had new wheels.”

“He doesn't. Those are your new wheels,” Seth said. “Or to be more precise, those are Michael Evan's new wheels. Remember when I told you I'd grown you an alternate identity? And you gave me a lot of high and mighty moralistic attitude about working inside the system?”

“Those weren't my exact words, but I do remember the incident.”

“I was figuring you might have changed your mind,” Seth said. “Snakey might have tagged your car. I would have, if I were him. And if the police are after you…” He dug into his pocket, pulled out a wallet, and tossed. Davy caught it one-handed. “License, credit cards, video clubs, library card, Social Security number. Solid credit history. Michael Evan is a mellow, crunchy kind of guy. Votes Democrat. Member of the Sierra Club. Donates to UNICEF. You'll like him. The rental car info is under the visor. Knock yourself out, dude.”