Secrets Amoung The Shadows (32 page)

He brushed her hair back and kissed the side of her throat, his lips lingering, sending sparks to every extremity of her body.

"Leanne," he whispered, "are you sure?"

"More sure than I've ever been of anything in my life." She held onto him, reveling in the delicious feeling of the firm solidity of his body. Then his lips found hers, touching gently, tentatively at first, becoming increasingly more demanding. Her lips answered his, matching his fervor, his desire. For so long she'd wanted him and known she could never have him, dreaded the pain of losing him. Now that pain was near, so crushingly near, but they would steal these minutes, these hours from that inevitable pain, cheat it of all the time they could.

His hands slid down her back, and she could feel the warmth through the thin fabric of her blouse and slacks. Cupping her buttocks, he held her closer to him, and she thrilled to the feel of his hardness, to know that he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him.

He withdrew his mouth from hers just enough to speak. "Are we close to the gun?" His warm breath washed over her with each word, sending her blood rushing so fast it took her a minute to comprehend the meaning of his question.

"It's upstairs," she said. "In my bedroom, in—"

He laid his fingers gently over her lips. "Don't tell me where. I don't want Edward to know. Just get us close enough that you can reach it if you need to."

She took his hand and led him up the flight of stairs, into her bedroom. Greta bounced ahead of them and dove into her bed in the corner.

Eliot paused in the doorway and tilted his head in Greta's direction. "If she lets out one growl or shows any other sign that she's upset, you get the gun and get out of here immediately."

She sat on the bed, staring at the nightstand, telling herself she could do it if she had to.

"Promise me," he grated, grasping her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. "Promise me you'll take the gun and run. If I try to stop you, shoot me."

His touch turned gentle, and he lifted her in his arms, then laid her down on the blue-flowered comforter that Edward had seen from across the street as white, the comforter that had been tainted as a part of her terror and would now become a part of her ecstasy.

Eliot knelt beside her, his large fingers fumbling as he unfastened the top button on her blouse. But his lips were sure as he kissed the skin thus revealed.

When the last button was undone, he kissed her stomach, then trailed his tongue tantalizingly over her bare skin, up to her bra, the lacy one she'd worn on purpose knowing he could see her nipples through the sheer fabric. Now she wished she hadn't worn it at all. Her breasts yearned for his touch.

She reached for the front hook, but he pushed her hand aside. "Let me," he said, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I need every inch of you. I've waited so long." In her head she heard the words he didn't say:
And I may never have the chance again.

She felt the release when he undid the hook, then the warmth of his hands as he cupped her breasts, his tongue making scorching circles on first one then the other, each circle bringing him teasingly closer to her taut nipples.

She gasped when he finally touched one, flicking it with his tongue, then drawing it between his lips, into his mouth. She could feel him, his touch, like a tugging all through her body, as if he were actually stroking the center of her.

She tangled her fingers through his hair, mussing it, begging him to continue, never to stop, to stretch this moment to infinity.

Trailing kisses across her chest, he moved his mouth to her other nipple. She groaned, abandoning herself to his caresses.

Just when she could stand the building pressure no longer, as if he could read her mind or her body, he moved downward to unfasten her slacks and slide them off along with the underpants that matched her bra.

She sat up and reached for his shirt. "My turn," she whispered, needing to touch him as he'd touched her, to feel his reassuring reality, to know this was actually happening and not just an impossible dream.

She unbuttoned his shirt, planting kisses on his wide, solid chest, following the mat of coarse hair down his flat, muscled stomach to where it disappeared into his slacks. Reaching over, she flipped on the lamp. They'd made love in the light before, and she knew what he looked like, but she wanted to see him again, to study every hair on his body, to know every mole and scar.

She fumbled with his belt, finally releasing it, unbuttoning his slacks and sliding down the zipper, wanting to unveil the rest of him, to see him and touch him, to memorize him with her eyes and her fingertips.

He sat up then, pulling off his shoes and socks followed by his pants and briefs. But when she reached boldly for him, he took her hands in his and held her back.

"I'm afraid if you touch me, I'll explode," he whispered huskily. "And I don't want to do that. I want to make you explode. I want you to lose control the way you've made me lose it."

His words excited her even more. "Have I?" she asked. "Have I made you lose control?" When he'd first walked into her office, she'd thought it would be an impossibility for this man ever to lose control.

"Totally." He leaned over her, his lips capturing hers greedily as he lowered them both back to the bed.

For just an instant as he loomed above her, the familiar fear flitted through her, but immediately it vanished, devoured by another, deeper fear...that anything could keep her from savoring this experience, from tasting a forbidden fruit that would likely be denied her forevermore. With no reservations, she welcomed him into her body.

He began to move...slowly, languidly, and she matched his rhythm, relishing every nuance of the sweet agony washing over her. Gradually, imperceptibly, their tempo increased. She gripped his arms as if grounding herself while every nerve in her body exploded in delicious release. She heard Eliot call her name then felt him throbbing inside her, increasing her own pleasure.

He collapsed atop her, then rolled to the side, still holding her in his arms. She pressed against him and listened to their heartbeats gradually slowing, their breathing becoming more regular.

"I love you, Leanne," he whispered into her hair, his words so soft she barely heard him and wasn't sure he'd intended for her to hear him.

"I love you, Eliot." There was no need to say anything else, to reiterate all the reasons that made their love impossible.

He lifted her chin with one finger and kissed her softly. "I wouldn't mind a little food myself. All I've had today is coffee. If we order a pizza, we'll only have to get out of bed to answer the door when the delivery man comes." Without waiting for an answer, he picked up the phone beside the bed and punched in a number. "What do you like?"

You.
"Everything."

"A large special," he said into the phone, then replaced the receiver and stretched out beside her. He drew one finger from her jaw, down the side of her neck and circled her breast, his touch inflaming her. "We have a good thirty minutes before he gets here," he said, his voice suddenly husky. The mention of time reminded her of how short theirs was. She lifted her arms to him, urging his mouth to hers.

***

Later when they lay together, once more sated for the moment, the doorbell rang. She started to get up, but he gently pushed her back down. "You stay here and keep the bed warm." He stood and slipped on his slacks.

When he went downstairs, she rose and went into the bathroom to freshen up. One glance in the mirror made her glad she hadn't gone with Eliot. Though her cheeks were becomingly flushed and her eyes shone, her mascara and lipstick were smudged most unbecomingly. She turned on the water in the sink and began to scrub off the remnants of her makeup.

Chapter 25

Heart hammering in sudden alarm, she pulled her robe close around her and tried, with trembling fingers, to secure the sash.

Greta, barking furiously, charged around the bed toward Eliot...or Edward. He smiled, and any doubts...any hopes...were gone. She was alone with Edward.

As she leaned backward, away from him, her hand touched the nightstand. Eliot had made her promise—no, he couldn't expect her to keep that promise.

Nevertheless, almost as if her fingers acted independently of her brain, she tugged the drawer open behind her, reached in and touched the cold steel of the gun. Her hand closed around the wooden handle, and she picked it up.

Before Edward could reach her, she slid away from him, out of bed, snatching up Greta with one hand and pointing the gun with the other.

"Edward? I know it's you! Stay where you are!" Her hand shook in spite of her efforts to hold the weapon steady. Could she shoot the man she'd just made love with, the man who'd said he loved her? She'd known their time together would be short, but this was too cruel.

He stopped and spread his hands innocently. "Leanne, what's wrong? It's me, Eliot. Come back to bed and let me hold you again."

Her heart ached at his words, at his verbalization of something she'd planned to do, wanted to do...but the man she wanted to do it with was gone. "I think you'd better put on the rest of your clothes and leave."
Forever.

Suddenly Greta gave a lunge and burst from the confinement of her arm. A streak of black, she headed straight for Edward. He dropped the pizza and jumped backward, and Leanne leaped forward, grabbing Greta again and trying to get past the man to the door.

But she wasn't fast enough. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to him, twisting painfully until she dropped the gun.

"Damn you!" she swore, anger mingling with her terror and grief. How was it possible that the fingers hurting her now were the same fingers that had touched her so gently and brought her so much pleasure only minutes ago?

She released Greta and turned to fight. He grabbed her other arm and twisted her around, shoving her across the bed. She kicked blindly and was rewarded when her foot connected with his stomach. He released her with a grunt.

She dove to the floor, searching for the gun, but he fell on top of her, crushing her beneath his weight as he cursed her. Steely fingers gripped her throat, and she remembered Eliot's dream of Edward choking her. Her blood felt icy in her veins. She couldn't breathe. Panic overwhelmed her, and she reached behind her, scratching, clawing, trying to hurt him, determined not to die this way.

Suddenly the pressure on her throat was released, the weight lifted from her. She rolled over to see two men fighting.

Two Eliots...Eliot and Edward.

She blinked, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. This wasn't possible. Split personalities weren't real people. They didn't come to life and fight with each other! It was only Edward's fantasy that he and Eliot had separate bodies.

Whatever was happening, she needed to get help. She looked at the phone on the nightstand, but the two bodies pummeling each other were an effective barrier to reaching it.

She dashed downstairs and picked up the phone in the living room then stopped, her finger poised to call 911. Her attention was drawn to the pile of clothing in the middle of the floor. Shoes, socks and a shirt...identical to the ones Eliot had left in her bedroom.

A few feet away, her fireplace poker lay in the middle of the floor.

The living room window stood open, and she saw the perfectly cut hole near the top, near the lock. The intruder must have used a glass cutter to make a hole just big enough for him to reach in and unlock the window.

She shuddered. He'd come in the window, as Edward had in Eliot's dream. None of this made sense!

The noises from the floor above told her the fight between the two men was continuing, and she had no way of knowing who was winning.

With trembling hands she punched in 911. "Someone's broken into my house," she told the operator, fearing the entire story would take too long...and be too unbelievable. "He's trying to kill me!" She gave the address then hung up in the middle of the operator's insistences that she remain on the line.

On shaky legs she raced back upstairs. When she reached the landing, she saw that one man had the other face down on the floor, one knee in his back.

The two men were identical, including the khaki slacks. Greta crouched in a corner, snarling, but Leanne couldn't tell which man she was snarling at.

She hesitated, unsure what to do.

"He's Edward," the man being choked said. "They developed laser surgery and were able to release the pressure on his brain so he regained consciousness and got out of the hospital. He killed Kay. Shoot him!"

The other man's eyes widened at that revelation. His hold loosened, his captive took advantage of the lapse, and the pair began to struggle again.