Torn (Second Sight) (9 page)

“Isabelle!” he yelled again as he lowered her to the floor, her open eyes staring at the ceiling. “Isabelle!”

Slowly, her eyes blinked and, as her entire body went limp, her head lolled back. An EMT had appeared at his side and supported her head as Mac gently laid her on the ground. All around them officers and agents were gathering.

“Isabelle,” Mac said, leaning over her. “Can you hear me?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the EMT, a man in his mid-thirties pick up Isabelle’s arm and feel for a pulse at her wrist.

“Don’t touch her hand,” Mac snapped at him, only to realize the man was wearing latex gloves.

“Here,” Dixon said from behind him, extending Isabelle’s glove to the paramedic. “Put that on her.”

“Mac?” Isabelle whispered shakily.

“Right here,” he said, taking her other hand in his and leaning down close. Her eyes moved toward his voice and, as she blinked, he could see them focus. Just as they did, though, tears welled up. “What?” he said. “Isabelle, what is it?”

“He’s coming for me,” she said in a choked voice that was barely audible. “I’m next.”

Isabelle hadn’t been able to get into the shower fast enough. It was bad enough that she’d lain on the filthy floor of Linda Vista but what she really needed to scrub off was the stench of the operating room. As she turned off the hair dryer, she could hear Mac’s voice in the living room. He’d been on the phone almost non-stop: with Ben, with Sharon, with Sergeant Dixon. As always, he was in control, sure of himself, though clearly he’d been worried about her.

As she set the dryer down and looked at her reflection, it wasn’t her face that she saw, nor even Angela’s–it was the Chameleon’s. His voice echoed in the bare operating room.

“Next time, Isabelle,” he yelled as the pain in her hand radiated up her arm. “It’ll be you!”

She gripped her wrist, staring down at the clenched fist and willed it to open. But her fingernails bit hard into her palm, building on the pain.

“Oh god,” she muttered, prying each finger open, both hands shaking.
 

Though she’d half-expected a burn mark, only the red indentations of her nails were there.

“Isabelle?” came Mac’s voice from just beyond the closed door. “Are you all right?”

She jumped a little at the sound.
 

“I’m fine,” she said, quickly, tightening the towel around her and then slipping on a fresh set of gloves, though her hands trembled. “I’ll be right out.”

Mac stood in the hallway, waiting for her. Though his eyes quickly went to the towel tucked in at her chest, his eyes quickly focused on her hands. Gently, he took them in his.

“Since when does ‘fine’ include hands that shake?” he asked quietly. “You know, it’s all right
not
to be fine.”

She looked down at their hands, trying not to cry again, but failing. He put a finger under her chin and lifted it.

“I just got off the phone with Ben,” he said. “I told him about us.”

She blinked at him and felt the tears slip down her cheeks.

“You what?” she managed to get out.

“He wasn’t happy about it,” Mac said, with a tight smile. “But he’s not actually my boss and he’s not going to say anything to my boss–though I will.”

Isabelle had been about to protest.

“Look,” Mac said, grasping her at the shoulders. “I’m not going to hide our relationship any longer. I don’t care
what
Ben thinks, or the FBI. You mean too much to me.”

“But–”

He put his index finger to her lips.

“It’s done, Isabelle,” he said, the deeply blue-green eyes gazing calmly into hers. Now his smile was genuine. “And I’m glad.” His finger drifted lightly across her lips, then slowly back along her jaw, as he leaned toward her. “Aren’t you?”

Even through the tears, she couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Yes,” she breathed, as his hand slipped to the nape of her neck and his lips found hers.

• • • • •

Unlike the frantic collision of yesterday, Mac’s kiss was slow and soft. She closed her eyes to the feathery feeling of it, trying to put the awful images of the day behind her. His lips gently suckled hers but when they moved to her cheek, she knew he was kissing away the tears that continued to fall. The feel of it was so incredibly tender and nearly as devastating as his frenzied passion. And as his mouth slowly returned to hers, she realized her lower lip was quivering. Mac must have felt it too because his lips closed around it and his hands slid up her back and lightly held her close.

There were so many sides to Mac: the agent in control; the all-male animal of passion; the profiling analyst; the gentle lover. The image of removing her gloves and touching his chest burst into her mind with a force that was like a blow. He’d told Ben about them.
 

Wasn’t that commitment?

And as Mac’s tongue slowly stroked her lower lip, Isabelle saw with sudden clarity that it wasn’t Mac who was not ready for the reading.
 

It was her.
 

Who is the dark-haired woman who filled him with grief? Do I really want to know? Would knowing mean the end of
this
?

With a start, Isabelle realized that Mac was no longer kissing her and she quickly opened her eyes.

“You’re tired,” he said lowly. “Maybe it’s time for bed.”

“No,” she blurted out, louder than she’d intended. “I mean,
yes
.” She forced herself to stop and took a deep breath. “What I
mean
is that it’s time for bed but not to sleep.”

• • • • •

Inwardly, Mac kicked himself.
 

I should never have let Isabelle see the crime scene.
 

She was a civilian for god’s sake and he had somehow managed to overlook that. And he knew exactly how. Standing there with nothing but a towel on, it’d taken every bit of willpower he could muster not to just pick her up and carry her to the bedroom. But she was obviously shaken and for good reason. The pain in her eyes was clear.

Without a word, he simply wound his arms around her petite frame, shorter than usual without the high heels, and held her to him. He stroked her silky hair as she lay her face on his chest and slipped her arms around his waist. He’d do anything to quell that pain. It called to the protective part of him–the part he knew all too well.

“What you saw today would frighten anybody,” he whispered. “It’s a natural reaction.”

For several moments she didn’t say anything but then her arms gripped him tighter and she slowly shook her head.

“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” she whispered. “I’m afraid of losing you.”

Mac frowned at that and pulled back to see her face. She was crying again.
 

“Isabelle,” he said. “How can that be? I just said that I told Ben about us.”

In answer, her hands moved to his chest and as she stared at them through the tears, he looked down as well to see the gloves that he hardly noticed any more.
 

It was the gloves again, and the readings, and her insistence that they weren’t ready for that. He’d ignored it at first, seeing how much it upset her. Well maybe now was the time to settle it once and for all. But as the tears once again slipped down her face and her lower lip quivered with emotion, he knew now was
not
the time. In fact, there weren’t any words that he hadn’t already said. Instead, he did what he’d wanted from the start. He bent and picked her up, feeling her arms tighten around his neck and her body curl against his chest, and he carried her to the bedroom.

• • • • •

Though Mac released her onto the comforter and began to stand, Isabelle didn’t let him go. She clung to him as though she were drowning.
 

“Don’t go,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, sitting on the bed to face her. “Wild LAPD helicopters couldn’t drag me away.” She tried to smile at the lame humor but the lopsided attempt only emphasized how awful she must feel. A sharp stab of pain and regret lanced through his chest. “Isabelle,” he whispered, caressing the side of her face.
 

Her gloved hand immediately covered his and she tilted her head, pressing her face to his hand, still trying to smile. As she did, the long, dark strands of hair that had covered her opposite shoulder fell behind the graceful curve of her neck. Slowly but steadily, he leaned into her and lightly placed his lips on her bare shoulder. He hesitated, waiting for some reaction, but when there wasn’t one, he moved his mouth toward her neck and lightly kissed her again. A sigh whispered shallowly from her lungs. As he moved higher, he allowed the tip of his tongue to trace the short route before he paused again and softly sucked at her satin-smooth skin.

“God, that feels good,” she breathed, her voice still quaking. And now Mac realized her entire body was trembling.

Again he moved higher, tasting her, feeling the warmth just below the surface. She tilted her head to accommodate him and his lips landed on the side of her neck, suckling the offered flesh with a firmer press of his lips. He took his time, willing the quiet quaking of her body to stop, moving slowly and deliberately. Another low breath escaped her and his mouth sensed some of the tension in her relax. One delicious bit at a time, he moved up her neck along her jaw and then finally to her mouth. Her full lips were already parted, her eyes already closed, and he took three, soft and lingering kisses to cross her mouth. The beautifully swollen lips responded by kissing him back, equally lightly, but trying to follow him.
 

But as his hand gently kept her face from turning, his mouth slipped under her jaw, to the front of her throat. Her chin tilted up and he took the opportunity to move closer, let his hands slip to her back, and he leaned her backward.

• • • • •

Isabelle felt Mac’s warm breath, moist against the skin of her breasts as his mouth moved steadily lower. Slowly, the images of Angela’s body, the memory of her pain, even the grimacing face of the Chameleon began to fade as Mac’s unending and insistent kisses demanded she stay in the present. And as her heart began to beat faster, she knew her body was responding to a demand that was far more than that.

His strong arm wound beneath her as he leaned her further back, followed quickly by a small tug on the towel and the feel of the fabric falling away. Cool air drifted over her body but the sensation didn’t last long as Mac’s wet tongue wound its way quickly down her breast. Her body tensed in anticipation, not helped by the gnawing bite of his lips. She pushed her fingers into his thick hair as he let her settle back onto the bed. But as he moved onto the comforter with her and she spread her legs to allow his hips between her knees, she realized he was still dressed.

“No,” she whispered. His lips stopped their gentle massage and he looked into her eyes. “Your skin,” she said reaching for the first button on his shirt. “I need to feel it next to me.”

A little smile formed on Mac’s beautifully curved mouth and with a final, light kiss, directly on her nipple, he got up. Isabelle gasped at the sensation and, as she watched him undress and put on a condom, the peak of her breast shivered erect. Just the sight of him–the bunching of his thick pectorals, the taut cords that wrapped the tops of his hips, his long, powerful thighs, his engorged arousal–was enough to send a flood of warmth between her legs. His eyes swept over her as he came back to the bed and, at the edge, he paused. As though he were committing her to memory, he took in every inch and she squirmed under his intense gaze.

Finally, though, he climbed onto the bed and she felt the hair roughened skin of his thighs between her knees, his warm chest covering her mound, and his moist mouth on her breast, just above her nipple. She closed her eyes at the tingling sensation of his tongue lapping at her, his lips gnawing into the sensitized flesh. Slowly, he worked toward the tightening tip and her hands gripped his hard shoulders. His tongue traced a hot, wet circle around the sensitive peak, over and over, grazing the stiff nub. Isabelle felt her own hips gyrate in a tiny circle, unable to keep them still. But when his mouth closed on the aching center of her breast, her hips pulsed and a shuddering gasp escaped her.

Something like a growl rose from Mac’s chest, moved into his throat, and then vibrated inside his warm mouth around the peak of her breast. A wild tingling erupted on the engorged tip, electric in its intensity, as her other nipple hardened in empathy. They both throbbed with desire as Mac suckled the one thrusting point. He teased it, tugging gently. He sucked the tortured peak, taking the entire quivering tip into his amazing mouth. Isabelle squirmed under his weight as Mac’s mouth paused and her entire world focused on what he would do next.

Lightly, his tongue whisked the pebble-hard point.

She moaned, releasing the breath that she hadn’t realized she’d held.
 

He whisked the tip again and then again, back and forth, and her moan turned into a high-pitched whimper. But when Mac took it between his teeth and lightly bit, Isabelle quickly inhaled and felt her back arch wildly, utterly beyond her control. Though the weight of his chest kept her hips from bucking, she arched herself completely off the bed, and felt her breast tug free of Mac’s mouth. An anguished moan was torn from her throat and her fingers dug hard into his bunching shoulders.

“You taste,” Mac whispered hoarsely against the skin between her breasts, “as good” he said between lapping and gnawing kisses that ran down her tummy, “as you look.”
 

His harsh breath washed over her abdomen as his tongue probed her navel. Though her back had begun to relax, it arched again at the brief invasion. His mouth was incredible, moving lower still, suckling the tender flesh between her hips, tracing a hot, wet line to her mound and Isabelle suddenly realized where it would end.

Though she’d heard of it, no one had
ever
touched her like that. But as Mac moved his body lower and she widened her knees around his broad chest, her entire body quivered in anticipation.