Twisted (19 page)

“It’s actually pretty good.” Sloane grinned at his description. “Especially with the lemon. Besides, if I’m going to gorge myself, why waste calories on soda? I’d rather use them on some extra fries.”

“I say, go for both.”

“Be the ultimate hedonist.”

“Exactly. Pleasure’s not something to enjoy half measure. Throw yourself into it, full force.”

“Like you do everything.”

“So do you.”

Sloane’s chewing slowed down. “I guess I can’t deny that one. I’m pretty much an all-or-nothing girl.”

“Which leads to our talk.”

“Or not.” Sloane gave him a hopeful look. “Can’t I plead weakness from my injury? Being spaced out from my meds? Or appeal to your logic by saying we’ve been getting along so well, why ruin it now by getting into things that are going to start a war?”

“You could try them all. But none of them would work. This conversation is thirteen months overdue. And we’re having it.”

Sloane moved her take-out wrappers aside, then pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “If you review things rationally, we already had this conversation, right in the Stockton parking lot this afternoon.”

“We got out some of our anger and emotion. But we didn’t really get into the fundamentals. There’s a reason we couldn’t see each other’s point of view a year ago, a reason why you walked away, and a reason why we never reconnected.”

“Yes, there is. We’re very different people. We have different coping mechanisms, different ways of thinking, different priorities. To make things worse, we have several things in common, none of which bode well for a lasting relationship. We’re both stubborn. We’re both proud. We’re both strong-willed. And we’re both intense about whatever it is we’re into.”

“Including each other,” Derek noted drily.

“Fair enough. We’re not just intense, we’re passionate—and, yes, that includes about each other and what we had. But that’s moot. Because the bigger issues aren’t going away. We’ll never agree about who let whom down after I got stabbed. Neither of us will ever back down. And we’ll never forgive or trust each other. So we’re at a stalemate. Effectively, nothing’s changed. Given that, what’s there to talk about?”

“You’re right.”

Sloane was totally unprepared for what happened next.

In one swift motion, Derek shoved aside his Burger King wrappers and slid over onto the bed. He caught Sloane’s shoulders and pulled her toward him, until she could feel the warmth of his body through their sweatshirts.

“There
is
nothing to talk about,” he said in a husky voice. “Not now. Maybe never.” He tilted back her head so their gazes locked. His eyes were blazing with midnight fire. Hers were startled, growing smoky with awareness. His thumbs trailed up the sides of her neck, felt her pulse beating faster. Then they shifted up to trace her lips, her cheekbones.

And suddenly the past was the present.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever fix things,” Derek muttered, his breath grazing her mouth. “But you’re right about nothing having changed, at least where it comes to how much I want you. Since you left, I’ve woken up more nights in a cold sweat than I can count. And from the moment I walked into that surprise meeting you arranged two weeks ago, from the second I saw you again, all I’ve been able to think about is getting inside you. My gut tells me you feel the same way. Am I right?”

Sloane didn’t—couldn’t—answer. The wall of Derek’s chest pressing against her breasts, the woodsy, ambery scent of his Burberry cologne, the heated look in his eyes—it was all too wildly erotic and familiar.

She was stunned, not by her reaction, but by its magnitude. Hers and Derek’s sexual attraction had always been off the charts. Their lovemaking had surpassed even that. She knew that passion as overpowering as theirs didn’t vanish just because the relationship didn’t work out. But this? It was like a dam had burst open, and they were being sucked up by the rushing waters.

“Sloane,” Derek repeated, his voice rough with restraint. “Answer me. Am I right?”

“Yes.” She exhaled the word in a rush.

Derek’s eyes darkened to near black. “Then screw our differences. Screw our similarities. Screw everything except this.” His hands worked their way under her sweatshirt, cupping her breasts, rubbing her nipples until they hardened.

Sloane’s entire body began thrumming, alive in a way it hadn’t been since Cleveland. Breathing became difficult, thinking impossible.

Her hands, of their own volition, slid under Derek’s shirt and up the hair-roughened planes of his chest. Even the bandages couldn’t dull the sensation of touching him again, nor did they stifle the rough sound he made in his throat.

“This is a big mistake,” Sloane announced, leaning up to brush her lips across his—first in one direction, then the other. “A
really
big mistake.”

Derek shoved his hands into her hair, anchored her head so he could deepen the kiss. “I don’t give a damn.” He devoured her mouth, his tongue probing deep, rubbing against hers in a hungry, rhythmic motion. “Do you?”

“No.” Sloane was right there with him. The taste of him, the sensation of his tongue taking hers in a blatant imitation of what was to come, was enough to drive away all coherent thought. She shifted onto her knees, wrapped her arms around his neck, and threw herself into the kiss.

“Your hand,” he muttered, hesitating long enough to cover her right hand with his. “We have to be careful.”

She tugged it free. “We will be. But only of that. Everything else is fair game.”

“You’re on.”

There were no more words spoken.

Derek pulled the sweatshirt over Sloane’s head, taking care to ease the right sleeve past her hand, and tossed the shirt to the floor. He then turned his efforts to getting rid of his own clothes, unzipping his jeans and tugging them down, while Sloane peeled off his shirt. Derek vaulted to his feet, shedding everything, his gaze locked on Sloane as she lay back on the bed, waiting.

She didn’t have long to wait.

He lowered himself on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. They both shuddered at the contact. The idea of prolonging the moment, savoring the preliminaries—it definitely wasn’t in the cards this time. Derek’s knees wedged Sloane’s apart, and she spread her legs wider, lifting them until she could hug his flanks. He propped himself on his elbows so he could watch her expression as his erection probed her, and pushed—deep—until he was all the way inside her.

Sloane’s back arched and she cried out, her arms going around his back, her legs tightening, lifting higher around his hips. Derek made a low, guttural sound, sweat breaking out on his forehead as her body closed around him. He began moving, penetrating her in fast, uncompromising strokes. Their gazes held until neither of them could take it anymore. Giving in to their bodies’ demands, he lowered himself fully onto her, his hands gripping her bottom so he could lift her into each forceful thrust.

The unraveling was fast, furious, and simultaneous.

Sloane’s climax boiled up inside her and erupted. Hot, gripping spasms racked her body, radiating from her core, milking Derek even as his own orgasm slammed through him. He came in a rush, spurting into her and grinding their bodies together. He rasped out her name, and Sloane gave a wild little cry—the only sound she could muster—her nails scoring Derek’s back.

When it was over, he collapsed on top of her. Their harsh breaths were the only sound in the silent hotel room, and even those began to lessen, growing slow and steady as their bodies returned to normal.

“It’s true,” Derek managed finally, his lips near her ear. “Nothing’s changed. The world could blow up when I’m inside you, and I’d never even notice.”

Sloane’s soft wisp of breath grazed his shoulder. “The world
does
blow up when you’re inside me. That’s the problem.”

“I don’t call it a problem. I call it a reprieve.”

There was a heartbeat of silence.

“Maybe you’re right,” Sloane acknowledged at last. “Maybe it is a reprieve. It’s honest. It’s uncomplicated.”

“And it feels so damned good.”

“That, too.”

“Oh, you forgot to mention that it’s also a great stress reliever,” Derek teased. “With the way we combust, think about the record number of endorphins we must release.”

“Good point.”

Derek kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. “Angel,” he murmured, inhaling deeply.

“Hmmm?”

“Your perfume. You still wear it. And it still drives me crazy.”

Sloane’s insides clenched. Yes, she remembered how crazy it drove him. She also remembered some of the spots on her body she’d dab the perfume to do just that.

“I have a small bottle in my purse.” Her fingertips traced his spine. “I can go get it.”

“Later.” His voice was muffled against her skin. “Right now I want you to stay right where you are.”

She could feel him hardening inside her. “I can tell.”

“Busted.” He kissed her, a slow, thorough exploration of her mouth. “Objections?”

“None.” She was already breathless.

“Is your hand okay?”

“What hand?”

Derek gave a low chuckle. “Am I as good as Vicodin?”

“Better. But just as addictive. Maybe more—at least in bed.”

“Bed is all we’re talking about. Nothing more. Deal?”

“Deal.” Sloane’s hands and lips were doing their own exploration, relearning his body by touch and taste.

A hard shudder racked his body, and Derek pulled her more fully under him, thrusting all the way in. “I hope you didn’t plan on getting much sleep tonight.”

“Much? How about none?”

“None works.”

DATE:
2 April

TIME:
0530 hours

OBJECTIVE:
Tyche

Spring. The season of birth and new beginnings.

The world turning green. The trees starting to bud. And the college campus bathed in a golden glow as the sun rises. Lake Ceva is brilliant. Equally brilliant is the next goddess-to-be as she enjoys her morning jog.

Tyche.

Like the waters of Lake Ceva, she glistens as the sun sheds its first light on her. She’s young, and her gait is smooth and even as she circles the path around the lake.

She has no idea of the glorious fate that awaits her. How could she? Right now she’s still just a mere mortal. Soon she’ll be a goddess.

Church bells. A reminder of the hour. I’d better go. I have a long drive ahead. I’m worried about Gaia. She can’t be left alone. And I must prepare for Tyche’s arrival. Disposing of the cell phones will have to wait. For now, they’ll remain in my pocket. After I have Tyche, I’ll dump them near a crack house in Irvington on my way back to New Olympus.

Even as I force myself to retreat, I can’t help pausing for one last look.

Yes. Perfect. The choice. The timing. The spot.

Soon I’ll have her—her and all the others.

After that, it will finally be time for my ultimate prize. My other half, the part of me that I’ve known was missing since I first read the inscription in my book:
To my little Apollo
.

Back then, I was too young to understand what that meant. But I understand now. Just as I understand what the gods have in store.

How long I’ve waited to bring
her
home. To show
her
the room I’ve built in her honor. To save her virtue by taking her with me.

To leave this mortal world and join the deities on Mount Olympus.

Gaia would determine when.

Eickhoff Hall, The College of New Jersey

Trenton, New Jersey

7:10 A.M.

Tina Carroll felt edgy.

She tossed onto her other side, dragged a pillow under her head, and made another attempt to fall sleep.

It didn’t work.

She sat up in bed, raked her fingers through her hair, irked that her sleep time was ticking away.

She’d followed this same routine every morning since last year when she’d moved into upperclass housing. Along with that came the luxury of a single dorm room. Her rules. Her way. No roommate to compromise with or work around. That meant she could become the night owl that her bio clock naturally urged her to be. She could hang out with her friends—either partying or playing cards—do her schoolwork until dawn, then go out for her jog at sunrise.

Unlike other people, Tina found that exercising relaxed her and helped her sleep. When she got back to her dorm room, she’d take a quick shower, climb between the sheets, and zone out for a solid five hours. She’d scheduled all her classes for afternoons, and none on Fridays—benefits of being a senior. All of which dovetailed perfectly with her Friday all-night poker game. So the pieces of her schedule all fell nicely into place, and her life was just the way she wanted it to be.

Until now.

This past week she’d felt creeped out wherever she went, like she was being watched. She felt it when she came or left the academy, when she walked around campus, even during her morning jog. She never spotted anyone, nor had she seen even the slightest rustle from the trees. But her guard was up at all times. Just to be on the safe side, she also locked her dorm-room door when she was inside, and she kept her blinds shut when she showered or changed clothes. Plus, she slept in a T-shirt now, rather than in the nude.

Those precautions gave her an additional sense of security. But she was still edgy and alert, ready to defend herself if need be.

And after three years of Krav Maga classes, she could do that no problem.

Best Western Garden State Inn

Absecon, New Jersey

10:05 A.M.

Sloane was in the bathroom, gingerly towel-drying her hair with one hand, when Derek returned to the hotel room.

“Breakfast,” he announced, placing a box of Dunkin’ Donuts on the dresser. “Sorry it’s junk food again, but my choices were limited.”

“So’s our breakfast break,” Sloane reminded him, tossing aside her towel and emerging from the bathroom. “We’ve got to get back to work. As for the cuisine, I’m starving. I’ll eat anything, fat and carbs included. So here I am.” She gave an appreciative sniff. “Dunkin’ makes the best coffee. I can’t wait.”