True Colors (12 page)
Sheila glanced around, as if checking to make sure no one nearby could overhear. “I’d get into a lot of trouble if I gave out his info, but someone at the newspaper might be able to help you.”
He leaned in closer, taking a moment to breathe in her flowery perfume. Holy Christ, this woman smelled like heaven. The need churning to life inside him began to overwhelm the bone-shaking satisfaction he’d found during his last kill. He needed to find John Logan soon, or he’d have to find a way to take the edge off.
“Who at the newspaper?” he asked, keeping his voice low, like hers.
“A good friend of Logan’s, Alex Trudeau, took the photo you saw.”
“And you think he’ll point me in Johnny boy’s direction?”
Sheila’s eyes glinted at that. “Alex Trudeau is a she, and rumor has it she knows your brother quite well.” She winked at him, clearly happy to help without breaking any rules. “If you know what I mean.”
Butch’s heart swelled, and his cheeks heated with excitement. It sounded as though John Logan
did
have a girlfriend. “Do you know how I might contact Alex Trudeau?”
did
have a girlfriend. “Do you know how I might contact Alex Trudeau?”
“I can’t give you that information, either, but I believe she’s listed in the phone book.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A
lex woke slowly, aware first that she felt . . . better.
Much
better. Sitting up, she ran her hands through her out-of-control curls to try to tame them. The action reminded her of Logan’s fingers clutched in her hair as he kissed her breathless and aching. Right before he’d stepped back. Damn. It figured she’d think of that first thing.
lex woke slowly, aware first that she felt . . . better.
Much
better. Sitting up, she ran her hands through her out-of-control curls to try to tame them. The action reminded her of Logan’s fingers clutched in her hair as he kissed her breathless and aching. Right before he’d stepped back. Damn. It figured she’d think of that first thing.
She pushed back the pang of disappointment that knotted in her belly and got out of bed. Right now, she was hungry, which she considered a good sign. When she’d fallen into bed last night, slightly nauseated and fighting a headache, she’d thought she’d never want food again.
First, she stopped in the bathroom to take care of business and wash her face. The mirror told her that empathy wreaked havoc on a girl’s face. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and her skin looked ashen, her cheeks hollow. If she stretched out on her back and rested crossed hands over her chest, she’d look ready for a coffin. Lovely.
Breakfast would help, she decided. A heaping plate of protein and carbs to chase away the pallor, to restore energy. Then she’d figure out her next step. No way in hell did she plan to just sit back and let her new psychic ability drive a stake into what she had with Logan. If she was going to learn how to cope without him knowing she could drop into his head right after something bad happened to him, she had to get busy.
As she walked down the hall toward the kitchen, she wondered why the brood of pooches hadn’t spent the night sprawled in various positions around her bedroom as usual. In the arched doorway that led to the living room, she stopped to see each member of the menagerie occupying a different area of carpet, some still dozing, others lifting their furry heads to ask with their eyes how she was today. She saw why in the next instant and stopped to stare, eyes welling within a heartbeat.
Logan was sprawled on his back on her sofa, in cargo shorts and nothing else, one tantalizingly veined forearm thrown over his eyes, his other hand resting flat on his muscular abdomen. A light snore told her he hadn’t heard her stir, and that was fine with her, because it gave her a chance to admire that tan, ripped body.
Her mouth watered, and she swallowed, getting familiar now with the tightening low in her belly when she was around him. A woman would have to be dead not to appreciate the planes and valleys and ridges of this man’s physique. The fact that he’d camped out on her sofa after she’d so unartfully fled to bed last night just made him all the more appealing.
Determined to do something nice for him, to make up for the night before, she went into the kitchen, a trail of furry critters in her wake. She fed them, taking care to lavish lots of affection on each, shooed them out the back door into the warm sunshine, then got started on breakfast for humans.
She’d transferred the last of the sizzling bacon to a paper-towel-covered plate when Logan’s hands settled on her shoulders from behind, his palms warm against skin bared by the straps of her tank top. Instant tension stiffened her spine, but when nothing nasty happened in her head, she relaxed again. The empathy was behaving as she expected.
She turned toward him with a smile, faintly disappointed to see that he’d donned his white T-shirt. “Good morning.”
He studied her face for a moment, eyes narrowed and critical. Any second now he would probably try to take her temperature. She figured she must look better than she had in the mirror earlier. Caffeine and a couple of bacon strips—not to mention the sight of the tantalizing beefcake snoozing on her sofa—had done wonders to perk her up.
“I’m fine,” she said when he continued to scrutinize. “I had a bad day yesterday, but it’s over.”
“You sure?” he asked, Scope-fresh breath wafting over her face.
“Positive.” She took a chance and sealed the assurance with a kiss, one hand holding the plate of bacon, the other resting against his stubbled cheek.
He didn’t respond at first, and she thought, Crap, here we go again. Somebody fetch me a dunce cap.
But then he started kissing her back, and she nearly dropped the bacon as he stepped into her, forcing her back against the counter. He angled his head to take the kiss deeper, one hand settling at the curve of her waist, the other coming up to cup the back of her neck.
He tasted like cool water and mint, and she sank into his scents and textures, losing herself in the stroke of his tongue, the contact of his warm hand against her nape, the growing nudge of his erection against her hip.
He lifted his mouth from hers just an inch. “You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting you,” he breathed against her cheek.
Her knees weakened, and the bacon plate almost slid off her hand. Luckily, she held on to her composure and the dinnerware. “I have a pretty good idea,” she replied, canting one hip against the bulge in his cargo shorts.
He groaned, low and hot. “There’s nothing sexier than a beautiful woman holding a plate of fresh-fried bacon.”
She thought he’d kiss her again, perhaps venture a palm up to her breast to cop a quick feel, but instead he eased back and rescued the plate. “Shall we eat?”
She stood frozen in shock as he placed the bacon on the table, then moved to the coffeemaker to pour himself a cup.
Again
with the food over sex? What the—
Again
with the food over sex? What the—
“Does your coffee need freshening?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Uh, sure.” Okay, she thought. She could deal. He had a hard-on the size of Florida, but he wanted food more. Interesting.
Mystifying
.
Mystifying
.
She shook herself out of her bewilderment and—okay, she’d admit it—disappointment, and used a spatula to scrape scrambled eggs from the skillet into a bowl.
“There’s toast,” she said.
“Yum.” He reached around her to snag the slices out of the toaster, taking a second to brush his lips over the side of her neck.
She froze again, her heart stuttering at the light, random embrace. Good God, was this his idea of foreplay? Because it was working. With a capital F.
“Coming?” he asked as he pulled out a chair and settled.
Suppressing a snicker at his deliberate word choice, she joined him at the table.
“What?” he asked as he sank his teeth into a crisp slice of bacon. “Are you blushing?”
“No.” Yes.
Flashing a knowing grin, he helped himself to a heap of scrambled eggs. “So, what was going on yesterday?” he asked. “You weren’t yourself.”
She hesitated, not sure what to say. “I had a headache” seemed so cliché. And while that wouldn’t be a total lie, it still struck her as dishonest. She really didn’t want to lie to this man. Yet, she couldn’t imagine telling him the truth. So, what, was she going to spend their entire relationship lying to him?
“Alex?”
She met his inquisitive gaze and forced a smile as she dug into her breakfast. “Like I said, I had a weird day. It’s over now.” She forked up some eggs, followed them with bacon, willing the off-kilter sensation inside her to click back into place. Everything would be fine.
“You were sweet to stay the night,” she said.
“Sweet had nothing to do with it. I was worried about you.”
A rush of warmth started in her stomach and spread outward. She couldn’t believe her absolute blind luck that this incredible man had landed in her life. “So . . . we’re a thing, right? A boyfriend-girlfriend thing.”
A broad grin took over his face. “I’ve been thinking so, yes.”
“Excellent. Because there’s something I want to do.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Have sex.”
She grasped the hem of her shirt and whipped it over her head.
“Hey, I wanted to do that,” Logan protested, catching her shirt against his chest as she tossed it at him.
And then his breath stopped at the sight of all that exposed creamy skin. My God, he thought. She was so . . . so beautiful. And her breasts, tantalizingly cupped by a very Alex-like, no-nonsense white cotton bra, were perfect. Not small, not big. She had the Goldilocks of breasts: just right. And he couldn’t wait to touch and taste.
When she turned and walked out of the kitchen, he scooted his chair back and followed without thought, his eyes on the sway of her hips and then the deft work of her fingers as she reached behind her to unhook her bra and let it drop to the hallway floor. He stepped over it without hesitation. In the bedroom, she turned to face him, naked from the waist up, and he stopped in midstride, gulping as all the blood in his body surged downward so quickly he felt dizzy.
But then he spotted the scar, halfway between her collar bone and her right breast, and his lust cooled. Dark pink and slightly raised, it stood out as a testament to both the psychosis of a madman and her indomitable will to live.
As if she knew the direction of his thoughts, she caught his chin in her strong, warm fingers and urged his gaze away from the mark.
“Don’t look at that,” she said. “Look at me.”
He gladly gazed into her rich brown eyes and lost track of himself for a moment. So alive, he thought. So vibrant. And here with
him
. He didn’t think he deserved her, deserved this, but that didn’t stop him from cupping one of her soft breasts with a suddenly shaking hand.
him
. He didn’t think he deserved her, deserved this, but that didn’t stop him from cupping one of her soft breasts with a suddenly shaking hand.
She let her head fall back, making a low humming sound deep in her throat as he grazed his thumb over her hardening nipple. While he stroked and swallowed and stared reverently down at the smooth skin of her arched throat, his mouth dry, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her shorts and wiggled out of them.
In a matter of seconds, she stood naked in front of him. Grinning and rosy, eyes glittering with intent. “You’re still dressed.”
He returned her grin and stripped faster than he’d ever stripped in his life.
She watched with one eyebrow lifted, not the least bit shy as her gaze fixed on the erection he freed from his shorts. He heard her soft intake of breath and grew harder still. This is all for you, baby.
She stepped forward and grasped his face in her palms, kissed him, openmouthed and wet and deep, and he was lost all over again. So easily. She sucked him in, and he went willingly, drowning in her sweet almond scent, lost, so lost.
When her fingers curved around his cock, her grip firm and hot, his knees went so weak they almost buckled. Jesus, he wouldn’t last, not if she kept touching him like that. His synapses started to wildly misfire, sending come impulses to every cell in his body. The incredible glide of her palm on him robbed him of the ability to speak, hell, breathe. He needed to tell her to slow down. Oh, Jesus, slow the fuck down . . .
As if sensing he was too close, she released him and gave his shoulders a light shove, sending him bouncing onto the bed. He didn’t care if she didn’t want to take it slow. They’d do slow later. Much slower, much later.
She straddled him, trapping his cock between their bodies, rubbing her heat over him so lightly he couldn’t stop himself from rearing up and catching his hands in her hair. While he kissed her, tasting bacon and coffee and Alex, she shifted position, lifted her hips and . . . sank . . . down . . . onto . . . him.
He went still, his mouth still on hers, his breath locked in his lungs, every muscle in his body tensed to the point of pain. Holy Christ. Tight. Wet. Heat. If she moved, he’d explode.
She rested her cheek against his and let out a shaky breath.
Neither moved for a long moment, savoring this first joining, breathing steadily and evenly, focusing. Once he thought he had himself under control, he cradled her against him and changed position, levering her back so that her head was at the foot of the bed and he was braced over her, his weight on his rigid arms.
She arched on his first thrust, her breath hitching. “Oh . . . God.” It came out choked and hoarse.
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