Shadow Lover (34 page)

"How could it be? This is an old place—if anyone was determined to break in I'm sure they could with very little difficulty."

"There's also a state-of-the-art security system I can turn back on."

"Which any member of the
MacDowell
family could easily circumvent."

"Not if I change the password," he said airily. "A simple enough matter if you know what you're doing. Go upstairs and wait for me. I won't be long."

"You want me stripped and bathed and properly scented?" she said in an acid voice.

He didn't rise to the bait. "I want you any way I can have you."

She didn't bother with a response. She stomped upstairs, making a great deal of noise as she went, just in case some murderous intruder had managed to get in through the back way. She wasn't in the mood to confront anyone at that moment. Least of all Alexander
MacDowell
and his lust.

A week after their last visit the moon was waning, but still bright over the water. The trees were covered with leaves now, obscuring a great deal of the street, and already there were more lights across the bay. By early May the place was beginning to come alive.

He'd already dragged a mattress in the front bedroom, pushing the double bed up against the windows to make room for it, though he hadn't bothered with anything as civilized as sheets. She wasn't about to make it up for him, either. She stripped off her jeans and climbed into bed, keeping her bra and panties on underneath her t-shirt. She probably should have kept her jeans on as well, not to mention adding layers for extra protection, except that she knew all the clothing in the world wouldn't keep Alex
MacDowell
away from her. She had to rely on her own wayward sense of self-preservation.

She turned out the lights and curled up on the high bed, pulling the duvet around her. The room felt stuffy, with the musty smell of a closed-up house, and she opened one of the windows a crack to let in the cool spring air.

It was fresh and damp and oddly comforting. She bundled deeper into the duvet and willed herself to sleep before Alex could come along and tempt her.

* * *

He'd lied to her, of course, but lying to Carolyn Smith was second nature to him by now. He could reprogram the security system, but there were no guarantees that it would keep any determined
MacDowell
from entering. They knew this place too well.

Of course, given the amounts of money at stake, whoever was behind all this could always simply hire a professional to take care of
them.
But he didn't think they would. He could still see the outline of the person who stood and shot him on the beach at Edgartown Light, even though the face eluded his stubborn brain. But it had been a face he had known, of that much he was certain.

There were times when he'd wondered whether it was Sally herself who'd followed him down to the beach and tried to kill him. He'd been a trial and a terror, and once he knew she had no biological cause to love him, he had to accept the possibility that she was the one who'd tried to get rid of him.

He'd known the moment he returned that it hadn't been her. But somehow in the few weeks since he'd been back he was no closer to an answer.

The only thing he was closer to was Carolyn Smith.

She was curled up in a cocoon of covers on the high double bed, her back toward him, shutting him out. The moonlight streamed in the open window, spreading a silver glow throughout the room, and he wondered what she'd do if he climbed on the bed beside her.

He didn't dare. He'd learned to survive by his instincts, and his instincts told him their enemy was close at hand. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted by the very real temptation of the woman he loved.

It was a terrible mistake, falling in love with her, but then, it was nothing new. He'd wanted her for as long as he could remember, and even during his time in self-imposed exile he'd still dreamed of her.

He didn't bother taking off his clothes, he simply dropped down on the mattress and stretched out. The breeze from the open window was cool, a fact he welcomed. Outside he could hear the water lapping against the docks, a soothing, gentle sound, and he wondered if he dared let himself sleep.

And then he did.

Chapter 22

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C
arolyn wasn't sure what woke her. The room was very dark—only the faint silvery moonlight illuminated it, and she guessed it was somewhere around two or three in the morning. She lay very still on the high bed, listening, all her senses immediately alert. And then she realized that Alex was awake as well.

"Alex?" Her voice was little more than the breath of a whisper on the night air.

"Yeah?" he said after a moment, making no movement.

She rose on her elbows and looked down at him. He lay stretched out on the bare mattress, fully dressed, no covers,
no
pillows. If he'd slept at all it hadn't been much—even in the dim moonlight he looked haggard, lost. "Alex," she said again, not knowing what she was asking, not knowing how to ask.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

He closed his eyes in despair. "Don't look at me with those big eyes of yours, don't curl up next to me and cry,
don't
tell me you're lost and hurting. For God's sake, Carolyn, leave me alone."

She gathered the covers and began to climb off the bed. "I'll just go in another room—"

He caught her bare ankle in his big, strong hand. "No, you won't. Lie down and go to sleep."

"I can't sleep."

"And I can't be your sleeping pill."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this is hard enough for me, without having to dispense celibate comfort as well. I'm hurting. And I need you. I'm doing my damnedest to respect your wishes and keep my hands off you, but it would help if you wouldn't look at me out of those damnable eyes of yours and…"

She was suddenly quite calm. "I just wanted to ask you a question."

He sighed, obviously trying to control his temper. "What?"

"Does this bed really squeak?"

For a moment he sounded confused. "Yeah. See for yourself."

She moved, and the bed squeaked noisily. She moved again, settling onto the mattress beside him. "Do you really need me?" she whispered, putting her hands on his face. His skin was warm against her cool hands, and she could feel his sudden sharp intake of breath.

"I need you," he said roughly.

"Good," she whispered. And she leaned forward and kissed his mouth, with such gentle sweetness that he had to have guessed that she loved him.

But men weren't the most observant creatures in the world, which was a mixed blessing. He took her kiss as it was
offered,
sliding his hands up her back, cradling her. And then he kissed her back, a slow, languorous kiss, unlike any he'd ever given her before. He'd kissed her in a white-hot passion. He'd kissed her in fury and revenge and uncontrollable lust. He'd never kissed her with such sweet, simple pleasure.

She felt the desire curl in the pit of her stomach, spiraling up to her breasts. When he moved her onto her back she went willingly, closing her eyes as his mouth trailed hot, stinging little kisses across her cheekbones, her eyelids,
the
side of her mouth.

And then he sat up, and she felt bereft, her eyes flying open in the darkness. He was looking down at her, and she couldn't even begin to read his expression.

"I thought you said you needed me," she said.

"I do. I'm just not certain I want a martyr in my bed."

She laughed, oddly amused. "I wonder if Sally dropped you on your head when you were a baby," she said, half to herself. "Trust me, I really don't mind if you force me to have exquisite sex. I'm willing to make such a noble sacrifice."

"'Exquisite sex?'" he echoed, making no move to touch her.

Some of her amusement was fading. She'd been so sure she'd been safe enough, offering herself to him. That he wanted her, at least on a physical level, as much as she wanted him. Now she wasn't so certain.

"Are you about to offer me anything more?" she asked. He didn't move, watching her for a long, thoughtful moment. And then he pulled his sweater over his head, flinging it across the room, and his chest was white-gold in the moonlight. "Yes," he said.

She wouldn't have thought him capable of such rare sweetness. She hadn't really thought he could make love to her, real love. She hadn't realized how very dangerous it could be, to let him love her.

He stripped off her clothes, slowly, pulling the t-shirt over her head with delicious deliberation, putting his lips against every inch of skin he exposed. His skin was hot in the cool night air, gilded by the moonlight, and she felt strange, floating, like a pagan goddess with her hair spread around her naked body. His hands were deft, arousing, and then deliciously
not-gentle,
and she arched her back, crying out, only to have him cover her mouth with his, stifling her cry, drinking it in.

He pulled away from her, leaning back against the wall, watching her out of hooded eyes, and she knew what he wanted. He reached out his hand and she took it, she came to him, straddling him, clinging to his broad shoulders, trembling.

"Look at me, Carolyn," he whispered, a plea, not an order, and she forced herself to open her eyes, to stare into the deep depths of his slanted, Cossack eyes, as she slowly sank down on the fierce length of him, filling herself with his cock. She was hypnotized, silent, entranced, by the intensity of his face, by the invasion of his body, and when she'd finally taken all of him, deep inside, shudders began to wrack her body.

She gave in then, kissing his mouth, his face, with anxious, hungry kisses, all the while he held her body pressed against his, held completely still within her, until nothing but his very presence sent her over the edge, and she buried her face against his shoulder to muffle her cries as her body exploded and her soul incinerated, and he joined her, pulsing hotly, deep within her.

She collapsed against him, as weak and boneless as a rag doll, and his arms
were around her, holding her, protecting her, loving
her. She wanted to cry, she wanted to tell him, when suddenly she became aware of a sharp, acrid odor.

He must have sensed it at the same time. He lifted her off his body with a care that belied his strength. "Get your clothes on," he whispered. "Fast."

She was already scrambling for her discarded t-shirt. "What is it?"

"Gasoline." Such an ordinary word, and so horrifying in its ramifications. He was already dressed, towering over her, and she was struggling into her jeans when the explosion came, a fireball of light that dazzled and blinded her.

The flames seemed to surround them almost immediately, a wall of fire across the front windows of the house, and there was no escape. He kicked open the bedroom door, grabbing her hand and hauling her with him, directly into the billowing smoke of the hallway.

The fire engulfed the ancient building, coming up in sheets of white-hot flame on all sides, but Alex must have remembered that the back of the house was partly brick. There were no porch roofs on the back, and if there had been they would have been engulfed in flames, but he simply dragged her into her old bedroom, picked up a chair and sent it crashing through the window.

"Come on!" he shouted, starting through the jagged remnants of glass.

She tried to pull back, suddenly terrified, but he wasn't having any of it. He simply picked her up and shoved her out the window, then followed her a moment later.

He'd also remembered the boxwood that surrounded the back of the house, thick and solid enough to break her fall. For a moment she lay there, winded, aching, her lungs still filled with smoke as the inferno filled the sky, and then Alex crashed into the hedge beside her, almost landing on her.

A moment later he was up, dragging her with him. She could hear the fire sirens in the distance, but he seemed intent on ignoring them. He dragged her across the deserted back lawns of the summer houses, over stone walls and across picket fences, pulling her into the shadows as the fire engines raced by.

"The car…" she managed to gasp.

"We'll find another one," he said ruthlessly. "Whoever torched the place will be waiting to make sure we didn't make it out alive. I'm not taking any more chances."

"How can we just find another car?" she protested. "It's the middle of the night—?"

"I'm an expert at stealing cars, remember? That's what started all this mess eighteen years ago. I'm out of practice, but I'm sure it's like riding a bicycle—once you learn you never really forget."

She stared at him in astonishment. He seemed almost lighthearted, and the flames shooting into the night air gave a satanic cast to his features. "Someone just tried to kill us," she said in a voice roughened by smoke. "The house is destroyed. What the hell do you have to be so cheerful about?"

"Because they're getting closer, and they're getting careless," he said. "In a matter of hours we'll know who's behind all this."

"In a matter of hours we could be dead," she said flatly.