there was no pain. Only delirium. He drew down her slacks, inch by
maddening inch, following the path with his lips.
She wanted. She had never wanted before. Only dreamed. Her body was
slick with sweat, writhing with need, but he continued to kiss and
caress, making her claw at the sheets as he nibbled on the back of her
knee.
The heat was unbearable, yet she wanted more. As his fingers skimmed up
her thighs, her body convulsed. She couldn't draw air. A roaring
filled her head, bolted through her system, terrifying her. With a wild
mixture of pleasure and fear, she reared up. The climax slammed into
her, a velvet fist, which had her falling back, gasping.
"My God, you're sweet." He could barely breathe himself as he brought
his mouth back to sear hers. Before her shudders had stopped, he was
driving her up again. She wanted to scream out his name, but could only
whisper it as her hands slid over his damp skin.
"Please." Her breath was sobbing out now. Sensation after sensation
poured into her body until it was a mass of fevered pleasure. Yet it
wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. "I want ..." She cried out
again, flinging out a hand and sending something crashing.
"Tell me." He was crazed to hear it. The pressure had built to a pitch
he'd never experienced. Yet he held back. "Look at me, and tell me."
She opened her eyes. His face was all she could see, and in his eyes,
she saw herself. "I want you." Reaching up, she dragged his mouth to
hers. She cried out again when he filled her.
SHE SLEPT FOR AN HOUR, exhausted, across his bed. He'd sat beside her
for a long time, stroking her hair and wondering how to keep her in his
life. Even being in love with her all that time hadn't prepared him for
what it would be like to be her lover. He'd imagined it. Countless
times. But whenever he had, he'd had only women as comparisons.
There was no one like Emma.
If he had to beg, he'd beg. If he had to fight, he'd fight. But he
wasn't going to lose her again.
When she woke, he was gone. She lay, stomach down, across the bed,
trying to adjust her mind to what had happened to her body. It seemed
impossible that she had felt all those things, done all those things,
without a moment of regret or hesitation. Even hours before, she had
been certain she would never want to be touched again. And yet, perhaps
today was the first time she truly had been touched. Smiling, she rolled
over and thought idly about getting dressed and finding him.
Then she saw his gun. It was still holstered, the strap slung across
the back of a chair a few feet from the bed. She had used a gun, Emma
remembered. Though much of that last horror with Drew came only in
vague patches, she could clearly see those final moments. She could
remember how it had felt to wrap her hands around the gun, to pull the
trigger. To kill.
To know she was capable of that made her stomach coil into knots. She
had loved and married and killed in a little less than two years. Now,
she had the rest of her life to wonder how she could have done any one
of the three.
When the bedroom door swung open, she groped automatically for the