HEART OF MIDNIGHT Page 14

  Gray's weight came down on her fully, crushing her into the bed; his mouth slanted over hers, and the concept of loss and loneliness was smothered by the sleek, hot thrust of his tongue. He tasted like salt and musk and need. He tasted like a passion so extreme her head spun with it. He felt like the sun, hot and heavy as he sank deep within her, burning her away until she was nothing without him.

  *

  Leroy was proud of his salon.

  True, it was small, and the location was definitely dragged down by the presence of that rat-infested hotel on the corner, but he had learned to count his blessings. The rat-infested hotel had offered him a steady income when his trendier clientele tapered off, and he did meet the occasional wealthy eccentric here.

  Take, for example, the man whose hair he was trimming now. He had stumbled across Mr. Soames in the dark, musty confines of the Royal's private bar, evidently enjoying the rather doubtful ambiance. It didn't take a genius to know that the man had money, real money. He was nothing to look at; in fact, Mr. Soames was remarkably nondescript. But he still reeked of quality. His suit was Armani, and not off-the-rack Armani, either, the tailoring was too perfect. Besides, Leroy had discreetly inspected the label. His shoes were handmade, his nails manicured, his linen the finest.

  Leroy continued trimming the gentleman's hair, wishing all his clients could be so well-dressed, so well-groomed. Mr. Soames had an air of real class about him. Leroy shuddered delicately as he thought of the Pacific Royal. His clients there were nothing more than peasants and ruffians. If he didn't need the money to supplement his income and his upwardly mobile lifestyle, he wouldn't go near the place.

  "I hear you do a lot of business with the Pacific Royal."

  Leroy jerked, caught off balance by his client asking a question about the very thing he was thinking of – almost as if Mr. Soames had been reading his mind. "Unfortunately, yes," he muttered.

  "Then you must cut Samantha Munro's hair," the man said in his light, bland voice.

  Leroy's eyes widened at the obvious search for information; then he smiled in satisfaction. Samantha Munro was a classy lady. She stood out like a diamond amidst dross at the Royal. Perhaps that was what – or should he say who – had drawn Mr. Soames to spend time in the Royal's bar. He probably assumed that Leroy was Samantha Munro's stylist. He wasn't, but he didn't see that that little point needed explaining when Mr. Soames was playing such a subtle game. "Sam has gorgeous hair," he murmured resuming trimming.

  "I saw her picture on the front page of this morning's paper. Looks like she's engaged to Lombard. A step up from managing the Royal, I imagine."

  Leroy's scissors jerked again at the mention of the cold-eyed barbarian who inhabited the Governor's Suite. He was more of the opinion that having any kind of association with Lombard was a step down – especially for a lady like Samantha Munro. It was almost inconceivable that Lombard was one of the Lombards and as rich as Croesus. If Leroy had only known that, he would have charged him more for the haircuts he'd done. He should have had danger money just to step inside that suite. "If the engagement's real," he said, not bothering to hide his disdain. If Samantha Munro was engaged to Lombard, he was a horse's ass.

  Mr. Soames smiled pleasantly into the mirror, his expression enquiring without being vulgar.

  Leroy didn't need further prompting. Something out of the ordinary was going on at the Royal. Samantha Munro had been whisked away and replaced by a look-alike, and those barbarians in the Governor's Suite who claimed to be in the telecommunications business were up to something. He wasn't certain what, but he was only too happy to fill in the gaps with his own inventive guesses.

  *

  Gray walked into the kitchen of the safe house. He had showered and dressed and was now ready to leave.

  "I'm making arrangements to shift you to Sydney until this is over," he said abruptly. "You can move into my house. The security's better than anything I can rig up here, and my sister, Roma, will keep you company."

  Sam put down the coffeepot, which she had just rinsed, leaving it to drain, and eyed him levelly. "I don't want to go to Sydney. If you're in danger, I want to be here."

  "If a situation develops, I'll handle it better if I know you're safe. If you're within reach, I won't concentrate worth a damn."

  "In other words, I'm a distraction."

  A muscle in his jaw worked. "You know you're important to me."

  Sam took a deep breath, swallowing her hurt, the emotions that clamoured for release, and simply concentrated on keeping her face blank. She even managed to lift her shoulders in a dismissive shrug. "Then I'll see you … whenever," she said coolly.

  He went utterly still, and this time she had trouble breathing at all. There was something tense and dangerous about that complete stillness, like the calm centre of a storm or the waiting moment before a large predator sprang on its chosen prey, and she realised she'd finally managed to goad him beyond that iron control.

  He was on her so quickly that she barely had time to blink. The world tilted wildly as she was hoisted over his shoulder. Her belly was uncomfortably squeezed as he strode along, his arm anchored across her legs. Her skirt flipped up so that cool air sifted against her thighs and thinly clad buttocks, leaving her feeling vulnerable and exposed, which was odd when she considered that she had been naked with Gray just minutes before and now she had all her clothes on.

  The room cart-wheeled. She was on her back, lying across a bed, her legs dangling over the edge. It was a different bedroom, she realised, a different bed. Gray had simply carried her to the nearest one.

  For the second time that day he stripped her panties from her and tossed them aside. He tore open his pants and pushed them down just low enough that he could free himself. He was inside her in one fierce motion. Sam braced herself and arched into his thrust, and the raw force of it lifted her from the bed. The intensity of pleasure that washed through her made her shake. He hadn't bothered with a condom, and the knowledge made her breathless with excitement; a part of her gloried in that loss of control. She closed her eyes and lifted her hips in an attempt to contain him, but he pulled back.

  "Open your eyes," he demanded.

  Her eyes flickered open and fastened on his. She moaned, lifting again, but again he evaded her attempt to sheathe him. He caught her hands and held them above her head, and his thighs shifted, spreading hers further apart until she was completely open to him, unable to move beyond that simple arching of her back.

  A dark flush moved across his cheekbones; sweat sheened his face as he loomed over her. "Don't do that again," he muttered, low and taut. "Don't close yourself off from me."

  "You want too much."

  Her words tailed off in a gasp as he penetrated her again with one hard shove. The relief of the penetration quickly gave way to the familiar heavy tension that laced her belly and lower back as he began to move with long, powerful strokes.

  There was no seduction, no teasing foreplay or gentle build-up. She didn't want those things right now, she realised as pleasure spiralled fiercely. She'd goaded him, and he had responded, giving her exactly what she needed: his undivided attention. His lovemaking was raw and powerful and primitive, but it was lovemaking. He was frustrated that he wasn't getting his way with her – that she had had the temerity to dismiss him – and was fighting back the only way he knew how. But if he didn't care for her, he wouldn't be making love to her now. He had been leaving; their time together had been over for the foreseeable future. She had challenged him on the most basic level, and he had responded like the healthy male animal he was.

  His rhythm shallowed out as he pulled her more firmly beneath him, one hand still shackling her wrists while he tilted her hips to take more of him, deeper. His thrusts became shorter, sharper, as he relentlessly drove her toward climax. He wouldn't allow her not to climax, she realised dimly, and it wasn't something she could withhold, anyway. But then, it had always been this way. How could she hold on to her reserve when she
was locked beneath him? It was a wonder she could hold on to her sanity.

  The storm broke outside, darkening the already sullen day, scattering rain against the windows and increasing the smothering heat rather than relieving it. Fresh moisture sheened her skin, and when Gray released her wrists, she clung to his shoulders, her fingers twining in his shirt to anchor herself against his heavy thrusts.

  Her clothing was twisted and uncomfortable and sticking to her skin; her breasts throbbed fiercely against the constriction of her bra. Her breathing was fast and shallow; she couldn't seem to get enough air. It was as if the storm had sucked up all the available oxygen and left her floundering, her world narrowed to the dark, slitted intent in Gray's gaze as he pushed her further, higher, than she'd ever gone before.

  His thumb rasped across the small, swollen bud between her legs. Her hips jerked, and she screamed with the stunning force of her climax. A low, grating sound broke from Gray's throat as he rode her hard through it. Heat shimmered, furnace-hot wherever skin met skin. Sweat trickled between her breasts, plastered his shirt to his broad, heaving chest, and still he drove into her, his gaze fixed on hers, demanding an even greater surrender than the one she'd just given him.

  Tension coiled with abrupt suddenness, and the wildness boiled up, taking her again with shocking swiftness. He groaned as she tightened around him, but this time he shuddered, arched, his muscles corded as liquid heat exploded deep in her belly, swamping her senses, wiping her mind clean of everything but Gray and utter, bone-melting exhaustion.

  The rain continued to fall, heavier now, the dull rhythm a balm as she lay quiescent beneath Gray's heavy weight, floating in a haze.

  She was hot, so hot, but she didn't want to move; she wanted to stay here all afternoon and wallow in the afterglow of complete physical exhaustion, to drift in a daze that had no beginning and no end. She didn't want to do anything that might disturb Gray. She could feel him still, lodged deep inside her, and she didn't want to relinquish any part of him. He had made love to her as if he owned her. The act had been darkly erotic, unbelievably carnal, a primitive claiming that had satisfied something deep inside her that she had never acknowledged. He had ripped away her feeble defence, and he had done it ruthlessly and deliberately. She knew she should regret it, but with the scent of their lovemaking filling the room, swamping her senses, she wasn't capable of regretting anything.

  He might have forced her surrender, but in the end she had given it gladly. She knew with sudden clarity that she more than loved Gray; he was a part of her, whether he wanted to be or not, enmeshed in her past and, now, in her future. Loving him had forever changed her, and she couldn't change back.

  There would never be another man for her. No one else could, or would, ever take Gray's place – he burned too vividly, too strongly, to ever be eclipsed.

  She had waited for him for seven years, unknowingly kept herself chaste for him. If this was all she would ever have of Gray, then she would go to her grave, if not content, then at least knowing that she had tasted the dizzying heights.

  He stirred and raised himself on one elbow. His fingers brushed her cheek, pushing hair back from her face. His voice was soft, dark, a bare whisper. "Did I hurt you?"

  Sam framed his face with her hands, his stubble deliciously rough against her palms. "What do you think?"

  He eased himself from her body, fastened his pants, then pulled her up by her hands until they were both standing beside the bed. "I think I went a little crazy. I didn't use a condom."

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and made a call, his voice terse as he told Carter to delay for another hour; then he picked her up and carried her through to her room, then her bathroom, and began removing her clothing. Sam stood quietly, her legs wobbly as he peeled her rumpled skirt from her.

  When she was naked, he removed his own clothing and flipped on the shower lever, waiting until the temperature was to his liking before coaxing her into the shower with him.

  Lukewarm water cascaded down on Sam's face, washing away the heat and sweat, dousing her in a stream of coolness that made her shiver with delight.

  His hands were gentle as he washed her, his voice a low, dark rumble, as raw as the storm outside as he murmured his praise of her body, of how much he loved to touch her, the things he wanted to do to her, the things he wanted her to do to him.

  Sam absorbed it, like parched soil soaking in the water streaming down. His concentrated attention, the earthy promise behind every brush of his fingers. The dark delight of his voice.

  He made love to her in the shower, lifting her and setting her back against the tiled stall. She braced herself on his slick shoulders as he wrapped her legs around his waist. Time stood still as his fierce gaze settled on hers. "You're mine."

  She touched his mouth, traced his strong jaw and felt that same primitive fierceness well up in her. "And you belong to me."

  His eyes flared, his chest expanded, and she felt the rub of his chest hair against her sensitive breasts, the hot nudge of his naked sex between her legs, and then he was pushing inside her, his entry difficult because she was still swollen and tight from the last time. "You won't leave me again. I want you living in my house, sleeping in my bed. And when this is over, we're going to get married."

  "Yes." Sam didn't see much point in denying what she wanted so much. The simple act of declaring her love had cut the ground from under her feet. She couldn't hide from Gray anymore. She loved him. She would walk through fire to be with him. If she had to be separated from Gray while he was in terrible danger, then she would do that, too, no matter how much she feared for his safety.

  He penetrated her increment by slow increment. She was sharply aware that he hadn't sheathed himself this time, either, and that she didn't want him to. Heat flushed her skin. The sense of fullness was utterly delicious; she felt poised, on the brink, held firmly in his grasp, yet holding him inside her. He was so powerful, and yet she contained him and ultimately eased him in a physical act that made even the strongest man vulnerable. Maybe she would never have all of him, never have the certainty of his love, but at least she had this.

  She felt the deep prod of him snug against her womb, and then gasped as he withdrew, then surged back into her. The storm was pulsing both inside and out. Gray held her tightly in his grasp, the powerful flex of his hips and torso dictating the rhythm as they stood beneath the warm cascade.

  When it was over, he dried them both and carried her back to bed, sliding in with her and immediately covering her with his body. She felt his intent, knew what he was doing and couldn't deny him. He was making sure of her, holding her beneath him – physically dominating her in an act as old as time. She didn't protest, but gloried in the fact that he felt he had to be sure of her when she was the one who wasn't certain. In his very domination he gave her the security she needed. As he gently entered her again, she lifted herself willingly to meet the slow, careful invasion, offering him the reassurance of her body in return.

  He hadn't said he loved her, simply that he wanted her, and that would have to be enough for now, because she loved him so completely that there was no choice. She knew what it was like to love and lose, to have no one.

  All the important relationships in her life had been marked by death: her parents, her aunt and uncle, her grandfather, the baby she had conceived with Gray. Now Gray was entangled in a ritualistic, vicious dance with death, and she didn't think she could bear it.

  "Don't you die on me," she said in a voice that was little more than a husky whisper. From somewhere she found the strength to lift her head and press her mouth to his damp shoulder.

  "I won't die." He raised himself enough that she could feel the delicious chill of the sweat that had sealed them together evaporating from her skin, see the implacable set of his jaw, the narrow, intent glitter of his eyes. He moved his hips, and her breath hitched in her throat. He dipped, his teeth fastened on the tender join of her neck and shoulder, making her arch helples
sly into his next gliding thrust.

  "I won't die," he repeated. "I'm coming back for more of this."

  Chapter 13

  The phone rang. Gray climbed from the bed and strode into the en suite bathroom to retrieve his phone from his pants pocket. When be reappeared, all the lazy warmth had faded from his expression. He was once more the grim, cool warrior, his emotions locked beneath the iron grip of a control she was only now coming to understand, and fear.

  He left the room, naked, to complete the conversation. When he came back, Sam knew that this time he was leaving.

  There was the sound of a vehicle, followed by a sharp knock at the front door.

  "Carter." He swore softly. "Damn his hide. Why couldn't he be late for once?"

  He leaned down and kissed her, his black gaze possessive. "We still need to talk, but there isn't time. I've taken too much time as it is."

  Sam sat quietly, propped against the pillows, a sheet draped across her breasts, while Gray pulled on his pants and shirt, then went to let Carter in.

  When he was gone, she picked up her sadly crumpled clothes and tossed them in the laundry basket in the corner of the room. She noticed the absence of her panties and quickly freshened up, then dressed in jeans and a shirt from her case, before padding barefoot to the bedroom just off the kitchen, where they'd made love. She couldn't bear the thought of Carter perhaps choosing this bedroom, walking in and finding her discarded underwear on the floor.

  She found and stuffed the lacy scrap in her pocket, and was on her way out the door when she heard Gray talking to Carter in low tones, his voice little more than a rumble. Sam paused just short of the kitchen door, pleasure humming through her at the velvety cadences of that deep, hypnotic drawl. Just the sound of his voice made her tighten up inside, the delicious languor of lovemaking giving way to a soft burst of heat that made her breath catch.

  Gray was her lover, and he wanted to marry her. She could already be pregnant.