Shifting Shadows (18 page)

She followed him up the stairs and into her bedroom where the faint odor of gas greeted them, making her nauseous all over again though most of it had dissipated through the open windows. She waited in the doorway while he knelt by the heater and, using a handkerchief—to avoid smudging fingerprints or to stealthily wipe them off?—tried to turn the valve.

“
You’re right,” he said. “Even I can hardly budge it. Are those the pliers you use?”

“
Yes.”

He lifted the tool, examining it as if the inanimate object might begin to speak, to tell who had been using it.

And something slid into place in her mind—the image of Dylan sitting on her floor, holding a pair of pliers and grinning.

Her hand flew to her throat, and she gasped.

He looked at her quizzically. Her legs, already shaky, were suddenly unable to support her. She slumped to the floor, half-hysterical giggles escaping her lips.

“
Analise?” He rushed over to her.

“
What’s the matter?”

He sat down beside her, wrapped his arms about her, and she leaned against him.
“I saw you with the pliers, and I remembered.”

“
What?” Did she imagine it or did his arms tighten around her?

“
It was so clear, you sitting there with the pliers in your hand, scowling fiercely.” For an instant she’d thought she was seeing Dylan turning on the gas. Then the memory had expanded. “You came over to fix my plumbing when it started making those horrible noises, and all I could give you to work with was a hammer, a screwdriver and those pliers.” She pressed closer to him, trembling in her relief.

“
Totally useless. We sat on the floor and laughed.”

“
Yes,” she said, letting the memory settle over her. It had been the first time she’d met him, and something very wicked inside her had started counting the days until her divorce would become final, until she could be free to pursue the spark that flared between them.

He laughed again, crinkle lines appearing at the corners of his eyes, suggesting
smiling was something he’d done more of at some time in his past. But today, as she had that first day, she sensed something hiding behind the darkness of his eyes, something that pulled him back from the laughter they’d shared about her poor assortment of tools.

“
It’ll all come back soon,” he assured her. Did his voice have a warning tone?

“
I’d better go put on that coffee.” She stood, making an effort not to let him see how unsteady she still was.

Dylan rose with Analise and stood watching as she floated down the hallway and the stairs, her silky blue robe touching and sliding over the sleek curves of her body as she moved, the bare heels of her feet peeking out from beneath. He wanted to run after her, lift her in his arms the way he’d done a few days ago and carry her to the spare bedroom where they’d be free from the nauseating gas fumes, free to make love again.

When he
’d lost all control last night and been drawn to her house, her bedroom, he’d told himself that making love to her might somehow free him from this attraction that was rapidly taking over his life. It hadn’t. His desire was stronger than ever.

The shield she
’d kept between them before her accident had disappeared, and the barrier he’d deliberately erected was slipping fast. In fact, if he were truthful with himself, he had to admit that he’d taken more of her than just her body last night. He was inextricably tangled with those clear green eyes, with the vulnerable, frightened, stubborn spirit that shone through.

He
’d seen the desire that matched his own in those unguarded eyes only a moment before, but she’d fought it, run away from him. What had she remembered, besides their first meeting? Why had she changed her story to being pushed down the stairs rather than falling?

They needed
to talk, something they should have done in the beginning. But he hadn’t been sure what she knew, how involved she was. Now it seemed he had more to worry about than he’d realized. Pushed down the stairs, almost asphyxiated in her sleep...

When her memory
returned, he had to be there.

He rose slowly to his feet and went down to the kitchen. She stood at the cabinet measuring coffee grounds, her long, slim fingers turning
the mundane action into a graceful gesture. He had to fight a desire to scoop her into his arms, kiss away the angry red scratches on her hands, carry her far away from everything...into another land, another lifetime, where all that mattered would be their feelings for each other.

Of course, he couldn
’t do that. “Analise, you’ve got to call the police,” he said unceremoniously, slipping into one of the small, uncomfortable chairs at the table.

“No.” Analise continued to measure coffee grounds into the basket, trying to ignore Dylan’s words. Again she felt the inexplicable but strong aversion to his suggestion. Because she didn’t want to know if Dylan had tried to kill her? She couldn’t imagine why he would want her dead. Even though he’d walked out on her last night, she knew he cared about her. But Shawn had cared about Elizabeth, and the possibility existed that he’d killed her.

With a start, she realized that she loved Dylan enough to risk putting
herself in danger, just as Elizabeth had loved Shawn. But how could she ever endure the pain of knowing the danger came directly from him? Was that what she’d had to face as Elizabeth?

“
What would I tell the police?” she asked, trying to sound logical. “That I can’t remember if anyone has a reason to kill me? That I might have gotten up and turned on the gas heater myself? That I dreamed someone pushed me down the stairs?” She turned to watch him carefully as she uttered the last sentence.

His eyes widened
then narrowed. “What, exactly, did you dream?”

Her heart
rate accelerated and she suddenly found it difficult to speak. Leaning against the counter while the coffee made gurgling sounds behind her, she told him about her dream. Was she giving her would-be murderer something to speed him on? And was that the cause of her terror or was it the thought of the agony she would suffer should she find that Dylan had betrayed her?

When she finished speaking, he sat staring at her for an endless moment then slowly pushed back his chair and came to her. She braced herself against the counter,
wondered wildly if she’d have time to open the drawer and find the knife she’d wielded against him before.

But she made no move to foll
ow through on that thought.

As though taking on a life of their own, her arms lifted to him, encircled him as he pulled her against his hard body.

“Analise,” he murmured hoarsely, desperately. “Analise, you don’t know...”

“
Then tell me!”

His lips came down and captured hers, sent her mind spinning out of control. Through the soft fabric of his robe, she could feel his desire, hard and immediate. He pulle
d a few inches away from her, his gaze searing. “Isn’t this all we need to know right now?”

Dear God, it was. She
’d risk her life to be with him because her life was nothing without him.

His lips trailed down her throat as his hands tugged at the sash of her robe, loosening it and peeling it back to expose her naked flesh.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, cupping one breast, igniting flames wherever he touched, while his other hand fumbled with the tie of his own robe. He lowered his mouth to her nipple, closed his lips around it, and her head rolled back, her eyes now seeing only bright flashes of light as his lips and tongue drew electric surges from her female center.

“
Yes,” she whispered. “This is all we need right now. Only this.” She wouldn’t think beyond the moment, even if she could. He’d stolen all thought from her, as he’d done so many years ago. Their bodies had changed, but she’d recognize that kiss, that touch, those lips, if he came to her in a different body a hundred times.

He lifted her slightly to join with her, and she didn
’t know or care whose body their souls were in. Together they rose though space and time, each thrust, each sensation sending them higher until they reached the sun, exploded and fused in a burst of light, together, inseparable.

Still holding him against her, inside her,
Analise drifted slowly back to earth, caught her breath, became aware of the sharp edge of the countertop against her buttocks.

Dylan traced her lips with his fingertip then kissed them lightly.
“Not a very romantic spot, I guess. But I seem to lose control around you.” He eased her feet to the floor, took himself from her, breaking the physical connection. But the connection of their souls could never be broken, she thought.

He caught both sides of her robe, started to pull them together, then stopped and trailed his tongue between her breasts, down to her stomach. She arched backward at the delicious sensations he brought to her already overloaded nerves. With a smile, he drew her robe together and retied the sash.

“I think that coffee’s ready,” he said, grinning broadly and reaching into the cabinet behind them for cups. He poured two cups, stirred sugar into one and handed it to her, then sank to the floor. “This is as far as these legs will take me until I get some caffeine.”

Laughing, she sat down beside him. Using the cabinet for a backrest, legs stretched out in front of them, they drank in companionable silence for several minutes.

He leaned over to her, brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead. “Much as I regret it, I’ve got to go to work sometime today.”

“
Mmmm.” She closed her eyes, savoring his touch for one more moment, then looked up at him and sighed. “I guess I do too. As soon as I can find the energy to crawl upstairs and get dressed.”

He frowned.
“I’d almost forgotten about your bedroom. It should be aired out by now.”

“
I’ll just be in there long enough to grab my clothes.” With a grimace, he took her coffee cup from her, set it along with his on the counter behind them, then took her hand. She winced as he touched the scratches.

“
I’m sorry,” he said, bending to kiss them.

“
It’s okay. A little peroxide and they’ll be good as new.”

He nodded
but took care not to touch the scratches again. “Analise, we need to talk about something.”

She tried to tug her fingers from his grasp. She didn
’t want him to break the spell, to drag them back to reality. She wanted to linger in the aftermath of their lovemaking for a while longer before they had to separate again. “We can’t discuss anything serious while we’re sitting in the floor in our robes,” she said lightly.

“
Yes, we can. Listen to me for a minute. I should have been up-front with you a long time ago. My brother didn’t just die. He was murdered.” He looked at her—accusingly, she thought—and a shiver threaded its way down her spine, crowding out the last of the pleasant feelings.

“
I’m sorry,” she whispered, unsure if she was expressing sympathy or somehow apologizing for something.

“
Dad had a heart condition,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Tom’s death killed him. Mom has aged twenty years in the past three months.”

She clutched his hand with both of hers, thinking
perhaps she understood some of the torment she’d always found in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, unsure why he was telling her all this now.

“
Do you remember—?”

The phone shrieked, interrupting his words.

He dropped her hand, and she sensed that the moment—whatever moment it was—had passed. “Let it ring,” she said.

He got to his feet.
“Answer it. We’ll talk this evening when we have more time.”

She rose, and he pulled her to him for a quick good-bye kiss.

“Don’t go anywhere except to work.” His dark gaze bored into hers.

“
Where would I go?”

“
Promise me,” he demanded harshly.

She shrugged.
“Okay.”

“
I’ll get back as early as I can.” He started from the room then turned back to her. “Lock your door behind me.”

She nodded and went to pick up the still-ringing phone.

“Hello?”

For a moment there was silence.
“Hello, sweetheart.”

Phillip
’s voice came across the wire, cheerful in a forced, taut way. The tautness wasn’t surprising after her rejection of him the night before, she supposed, experiencing a rush of guilt. She hadn’t rejected Dylan. Had welcomed, even encouraged, his lovemaking.

“
Hello, Phillip. How are you this morning?” She wished she could take back the inane words, but didn’t know what words she’d replace them with.

“
I wanted to talk to you before you got off to work. I, uh, wanted to apologize for last night. I’m sorry if I pushed too hard. I’m just worried about you. Are you sure you’re all right? You sound a little strained.”