Novels 03 After Twilight, page 15
God, he loved this woman.
The thought slammed into him, leaving absolutely no room for discussion. With a sigh of pure need, she shifted, rising and then slowly, slowly, sliding down.
Leaning forward, kissing her neck, he reveled in the feel of her, surrounding him, stroking him. And then, suddenly, she was moving, with a steady motion that set his soul on fire. He released her breasts, his hands settling on her hips, guiding her, urging her.
The pace grew frenzied and he gripped her, feeling her body sliding against his. Deeper, deeper, faster, faster, until he exploded in a fury of light and color. From far away he heard his name and answered.
Kacy.
Kacy.
She filled him, surrounded him, until there was no beginning, no end. They were one, spinning toward the stars. And he danced with her, holding tight as the intensity grew, threatening to burn him alive, and knew that at last, he’d found love.
Chapter 15
THE SOFT PATTER of rain against the window pulled Kacy from sleep. She stretched contentedly, feeling like a cat. Braedon shifted in his sleep, one leg thrown across her possessively. She smiled, luxuriating under the heavy warmth, the attachment running deeper than skin.
She turned her head to look at him. His face was softer in sleep, the harsh lines of life washed away. Still, it was a strong face. His chin was shadowed with the bristle of the beginnings of a beard, the same sooty brown as his hair. She reached out and trailed a finger along the line of his jaw.
Blue eyes flickered open, and his mouth curved into a slow smile. “I was dreaming about you.” His words whispered across her ear.
“You were?”
He nodded, his gaze locking with hers. “Shall I tell you what happened?” There was laughter in his voice, and a raspy thread of passion.
“No,” she sighed, answering his smile with hers. “I think I’d just like to imagine it.” There was something wonderfully intimate about lying here, just being together.
He rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand, his look turning serious. “Kacy, we really need to talk about all that’s happened.”
She laid a finger against his lips, shaking her head. “Not now. There’ll be time enough for that tomorrow. Right now, I just want to be here—with you. I want to feel like this forever.”
“Like what?”
She tried to find words for her feelings. “Like we’re safe within a magic circle. Like as long as we’re together, nothing bad can ever happen.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the touch of his fingers sending an arc of fire shooting through her. “What if there is no such thing as a magic circle, Kacy?”
“There has to be. Otherwise there’s really no sense in living, is there? I mean, that’s got to be what it’s all about. Finding that secret place. A safe harbor. Somewhere where you can always know you’ll be loved and accepted.”
He reached over to trace the curve of her lip, his touch gentle, almost reverent. She searched his eyes, waiting for his response. “I’ve been so busy building an empire, I think that I’ve forgotten some of the things that are most important in life. The magic circle you were talking about.”
“It’s easy to do. We get lost in our ambitions and forget the things that matter most.”
“Well, I, for one, am definitely guilty of that. But somehow, here with you, I almost feel like it isn’t too late.”
“It’s never too late for anything, Braedon. You just have to want it badly enough.”
“And if I want you?”
She sucked in a breath, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her side. “Then I suppose you need to step into the circle.” She held out her hand, waiting, terrified of the step she was taking, yet certain it was where she wanted to be— needed to be. Certain, too, that he belonged here, with her. That somehow she had something he needed, too. And that, together, they would be two halves making a whole.
His fingers closed tightly around hers as he pulled her gently into his arms. “Let me be your safe harbor, Kacy.”
She sighed and moved against him. “I think that you already are.”
Their lips touched and the familiar sensation began to build, their bodies fitting together like pieces of an intricate jigsaw puzzle. Her breath caught in her throat at the fire in his eyes. There was desire there, and something more.
She swallowed, touched by the raw emotion reflected in his gaze. She was hesitant to put a name to it, but hope flashed inside her and, for a moment, she dared to believe that this meant as much to him as it did to her.
Sparks flew between them and she pushed against him, wanting the contact, amazed at the intensity of her need. He smiled and rolled on top of her, bracing his arms on either side of her. She met his gaze, a tiny smile curling the corners of her lips, her eyes locking with his, her heart laid bare.
She reached over, fumbling for the switch on the lamp, not wanting to break the contact.
His hand covered hers. “I thought you were afraid of the dark.”
She smiled, flipping the switch and settling back into the warmth of his arms. “Not when I’m with you.”
Enrico Gienelli couldn’t sleep. He paced the worn carpet in front of the fireplace, wondering if he’d ever feel warm again. Mrs. Macnamara’s house was like ice. Despite constant prodding, his fire merely smoked, the glowing coals mocking him, refusing to put off any real warmth.
He’d tried the bed, buried in blankets, but his mind was whirling and his thoughts only added to his discomfort. So now he was reduced to pacing, wrapped like a mummy in a shroud of worn blankets.
Ireland was a godforsaken wilderness. Give him Italy any day. Specifically Milan, with its elegance and culture. His mind turned to azure skies, crimson wines, succulent pasta, and beautiful women. For a dago from the Bronx, he’d certainly come a long way.
He shivered. Reality returning.
At least there was one bright spot in this ever darkening nightmare.
Kacy Macgrath. A beckoning pool of innocence on a canvas of rotting black. There had to be a way to save her— protect her from barracudas like Max Madison and Braedon Roche.
He sat down in a chair, suddenly feeling dizzy. He pulled the blankets closer, wondering if he had the courage to be a hero. Probably not. He was too old. To much a product of Madison’s world.
His thoughts turned to Max. The man was a loose cannon. He’d always been a bit of a wild card, but his need to protect his brother had kept him grounded. Now, without Alex as an anchor, Max was adrift in anger and nothing would stop him from exacting revenge. Rico sighed. No matter who got hurt in the process.
Rico thought about the brothers, wondering for the millionth time why he’d gotten involved with them. There had been something unnatural about their relationship. Something almost parasitic.
Max had protected Alex to the point of controlling the man. Alex had been little more than an amiable puppet. A mouthpiece for his brother. If Max said jump, then Alex would ask how high. Rico stroked his moustache. And yet that didn’t quite characterize it either.
There had been something more to Alex, a stillness, a deadness. As though he’d always worn a mask. At least with Max, what one saw, one got. But with Alex, there had always been a feeling of uncertainty. As if the charming shell hid something deeper, more dangerous.
Rico shook his head at his wild imaginings. Alex Madison was dead. He posed no threat to Rico now. It was Max he had to worry about. Max and that goon of his. Anson.
Rico considered calling in long-owed favors to dispose of his problems, but dismissed the idea. Killing was messy, and no matter the wise guy, there was always the chance the hit would be traced. Besides, a favor called in would put him back in the middle of a world he’d sooner forget.
One thing people could say about Enrico Gienelli, or at least about Eduardo Baucomo, he learned from his mistakes. No, the best thing to do with Max was to watch him and wait for the opportunity to stop him. Something short of violence, hopefully.
Rico shrugged philosophically. In the past he’d always managed to land on his feet, and, one way or the other, he’d find a way to handle his old cellmate.
In the meantime, he had to deal with Roche. In some ways Roche made men like Max and Alex seem like cartoon characters. Roche was a predator. Pure and simple. Oh, he hid it behind the legitimacy of business, but he was still ruthless. What he wanted he simply took and used it until he had drained everything of value from it.
Rico hadn’t ever dealt personally with the man, but he knew the type. Knew it intimately. A man like Roche had taken his life away. Leaving him to rot in jail for something he hadn’t done.
Bitterness flooded his mouth, the taste sharp and vile. He swallowed, pushing the memories down. The past was over.
Dead, and buried deep.
But he couldn’t, wouldn’t let Kacy Macgrath become Roche’s latest victim. He would protect her. He would save her.
And with what he knew—il pezzo di tórta. He smiled, translating the thought into English. It would be a piece of cake.
“Oh, my God, the professor.” Kacy sat up straight, the sheet clutched in her hand.
Cold air wafted across his body, and Braedon shivered, reaching to pull her back to him, delighting in her warmth. “You’re not going anywhere.” He pulled her head down, brushing his lips across hers.
“Wait.” She pushed back, laughing, straddling him, her hair cascading around her shoulders. “I’m serious. The professor will be here in less than an hour. I can hardly meet him at the door like this.” She gestured, the movement emphasizing her lack of clothing.
He ran his hands across the smooth skin of her belly. “See that you don’t. I’m not a sharing kind of man.”
She bent to kiss him, her hair curtaining their heads in a fragrant cloud of silk. Twining his fingers in the soft strands, he pulled her closer, wanting somehow to lock her inside him until he was certain she was safe.
She met his passion with her own, kissing him until he felt dizzy with need. Then with a laugh she was up and gone, the physical separation almost painful for him.
He reached for her, and she gave him her hand. He caressed it with his thumb, trying not to pull her to him again. “Don’t you want me?” He kept his voice playful, but the question was serious.
Her gaze stroked him, tracing the lines of his body, touching him as surely as if she had used her hands. “Make no mistake, Braedon Roche.” Her voice was hoarse with unspent passion. “I want you.” She blew out a breath, breaking the intensity of the moment. “But right now, I need a shower.”
“With me?”
“I suppose that could be arranged.” She smiled impishly and dashed toward the bathroom.
He was on his feet and had her in his arms in an instant, carrying her toward the bathroom.
God, he loved this woman.
* * *
Braedon sat on the bed, watching as she brushed her hair, the movements smooth and serene. It felt simultaneously soothing and sensuous. She touched him on so many different levels. “Kacy. We need to talk.”
She frowned at the tone of his voice, coming to sit by him, her eyes questioning.
“I …” He faltered. Unsure of where to begin, only knowing that he needed to tell her the truth. The whole truth. This thing between them was too important to be based on lies. Well, not lies exactly, omissions of truth. He ran a hand through his hair, for the first time in a long time at a complete loss for words.
“Braedon?” She took his hand, the concern in her voice almost undoing him.
“There are just some things I need to tell you. About Alex and—”
“The things I told you about last night,” she cut him off, her grip tightening on his hand. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything. I had no right to dump my problems on you. In fact, I shouldn’t have involved you at all. It’s just that I wanted to be completely honest.” She met his gaze, her green eyes searching his. He prayed she couldn’t see his guilt.
“Kacy, no, that’s not it. I want you to share things with me. I can help.”
Hope blossomed in her eyes as she smiled.
He held up a hand. “But there are some things you need to know. Things I should have told you from the beginning.”
“Braedon, whatever it is, I’m sure we can deal with it together.”
He hoped so, oh, dear God, he hoped so.
She laid a hand on his face, her eyes filled with compassion and something else. Something he was afraid to put a name to for fear he was wrong.
“So what is it you need to tell me?” She sat back, waiting, with no idea at all the bombshell he was about to drop.
He blew out a breath. But it had to be done. If they were to have any chance at all, it had to be done. “I’m—”
The doorbell rang, its incessant buzzing cutting into his words.
Kacy jumped and then smiled. “The professor.” She glanced over at the clock. “Right on time.” She grinned and leaned over to kiss him, her touch sending shivers of delight coursing through him, a delicate contrast to the dread filling his heart.
The doorbell rang again.
“Looks like it’s your turn to be saved by the bell.” She rose and headed for the hallway.
“Kacy?”
She turned, her hand on the doorframe.
“We’ll finish this later. Okay?”
She smiled, the action seeming to light the whole room. Hell, his whole life.
“Fine. But right now, I have to work. Which means you need to go.”
He walked with her to the door, watching as she pulled it open, greeting the little Italian as if they were old friends.
“Professor.” He forced a note of cordiality into his voice. It wasn’t that he really had anything against the man. It was just hard to be certain who to trust.
“Signore Roche.” The man gave a dapper bow.
Braedon almost expected him to click his heels together and pull out a monocle. The man seemed to be harmless enough and it was obvious he was crazy about Kacy. “I was just going.”
The professor nodded politely, turning his attention back to Kacy, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. “It seems I am always interrupting the two of you, no?”
Braedon’s blood pressure increased as he watched the man’s lips linger on her skin. He forced himself to remain calm. He couldn’t judge a man’s character based on his own jealous reactions. Maybe Matt would have something. Or not—which, frankly, would be even better. In the meantime, he needed to withhold judgment. Kacy liked the old geezer.
Like Bremmerton, the voice in his head whispered.
Braedon clamped down on his rising emotions. He prided himself on being clearheaded and in control, no matter how desperate things got. This situation was no different, and imagining rivals where there were none was ridiculous.
Baucomo was watching him with amusement, as if he could read his thoughts. Braedon shrugged and the little man turned back to Kacy. “I’ll wait in your studio, my dear. Good day, Signore Roche.” He inclined his head politely and withdrew.
Braedon placed both hands on Kacy’s shoulders. “Look, I know you need to work and I have some things I need to tend to, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. I want you to wait here with the professor until then. It’s not safe for you to be wandering around on your own.”
“I’m a big girl, Braedon. I can take care of myself.”
He looked into her eyes, willing her to listen to him. “Then do it for me.”
“Fine.”
“Promise me, Kacy.”
“All right, I promise. I’ll stay right here.”
“With the professor.”
She sighed. “With the professor. Now go.”
He bent to kiss her, his mouth lingering over her sweetness. Finally, breathless, he pulled away, satisfied to see that her breathing was equally ragged. They stood for a moment lost in each other’s gaze, and then she pushed him away.
“Go. I’ll be here when you get back.”
“And we’ll talk.”
“And we’ll talk,” she repeated with a thread of exasperation in her voice.
He stepped onto the stoop, the door clicking shut behind him. Alone, he looked into the gray Irish mist, praying that when he told her who he really was, she’d understand what he’d done and forgive him.
Chapter 16
“I LIKE WHAT you’ve been doing.” Rico examined the miniature with the magnifier, admiring her work. The scope of her talent was amazing. The hat had been restored to its full glory, the colors vivid and crisp, but still a perfect part of the old keepsake.
Kacy leaned back so that he could see better. “I’m not completely happy with the left-hand corner.” She shifted in her chair and they looked at the little painting together. “I’m tempted to start over.”
Rico frowned, concentrating on the blue velvet drape in the background. “Well, I see what you mean, but I think that you’ve done the best you can. The canvas is warped slightly and it’s not like we’re dealing with a true masterpiece.” He stepped back to take in the painting as a whole. “I think you’ve accomplished what the owner requested.”
Kacy bit her upper lip, still studying the miniature. “Maybe, but I’m still not totally happy with it. I’ll wait until it dries before making the final decision, and then I’ll start on the dress.”
Bits of paint had flaked away from the bodice the woman wore, the pale green fading into the pigment of her skin. He looked back at the work she’d already completed. It was meticulously restored. Yet she wanted more.
She wanted it to be perfect. Even better than the original. Her instincts were solid and, in art, that was everything. He smiled at her. She was an amazing woman.
Stroking his moustache, he pulled his thoughts back to the painting. “I’m sure it will look marvelous when you finish. Have you had time to look at the other one?”
“No.” Kacy ran a hand through her hair and Rico noticed for the first time how tired she looked. “I’m afraid there was a little excitement here last night.”
