Killer Affair

And made the mistake of looking up at him. His eyes blazed, black as night, consumed by a fire that incinerated her to her very fingertips. Yowza. She jerked her hands away from him, and actually glanced down at her palms to see if the skin burned from touching him. Her every nerve felt raw and exposed.

She stumbled backward, staring at his back hungrily as he carried the first-aid kit into the bathroom. She looked away hastily as he came out. He offered her the bathroom for a solo shower and she didn’t hesitate to take him up on the offer. Did cold showers work on women, too?

She chickened out on testing the theory and opted instead for the relaxation of a nice, hot shower. However, when she finally turned the water off and stepped out into the bathroom, she was appalled to see a neatly folded man’s T-shirt lying on the counter beside the sink.

He’d come into the bathroom while she was bathing? Her gaze whipped around to the shower door, and she was relieved—and disappointed—to see it was milky glass with wavy patterns through it.

“Hungry?” he asked as she slid onto one of the bar stools.

“I don’t know. I suppose so.” She’d been so wrapped up in staying alive and then her inexplicable reaction to him that she hadn’t stopped to think about anything as mundane as food. But now that he mentioned it, she realized she was ravenous. And thirsty.

He set a beautiful double old-fashioned glass on the counter in front of her. The elegantly carved crystal caught the light from overhead and cast prisms all over the mahogany kitchen cabinets. She recognized the crystal pattern. Her brows lifted slightly. Waterford crystal? Who was this solitary pilot for hire? Silently, he poured water from a pitcher he took from the brushed stainless-steel refrigerator for her. She drank down the whole glass in a few gulps. He filled it again, seeming to know that she’d be desperately thirsty.

He went to the refrigerator and emerged with a green and yellow fruit about the size of his fist. He pulled a knife out of a drawer and peeled and sliced it efficiently. He stabbed a piece of the fruit and held it out to her on the end of the knife.

“Mango,” he announced.

She nodded and took the juicy fruit. It was sweet, a cross between a peach and an orange. Odd, but tasty.

“Are you sure this place belongs to you?” she asked dubiously.

He frowned at her. “Yeah. Why?”

“It doesn’t seem to…fit you.”

He glanced around. “What’s wrong with it? You don’t like my decorating taste?”

He’d decorated this place? “Nothing’s wrong with it.” That was the point. It was too perfect. Too elegant, too…classy. This was the sort of place she’d pick for herself. But he…he was rough around the edges. Primal. She’d picture him in a beach shack with empty beer bottles and old pizza boxes overflowing the trash can. She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

He glanced at her wryly as if he knew what she was thinking. He turned away and fiddled with putting his water glass in the sink. “You can sleep on the couch.”

“Where are you sleeping?” she blurted.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Why? Are you offering to share my bed?”

Just how tempted she was at the idea shocked her into silence. It was all well and good to be turned on by this guy but to sleep with him? That was a big step.

To get naked with him…to experience all that masculine power unleashed…to completely let go of her inhibitions with him…

Man, it was tempting. And totally out of character for her. Obviously, she was suffering some sort of strange aftereffect of the accident and her brush with death. She’d regret it tomorrow if she took him up on his offer tonight. Reluctantly, she shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d better not.”

He frowned, almost as if confused. Opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. He turned off the overhead lights and left the room without speaking. At least he left her the oil lamp. In its soft glow, she turned to face the couch, which was underneath a wide picture window that framed a magnificent view of the ocean below. Even in the darkness, she could make out the rolling and crashing white of the breakers rushing in toward the beach. Drawn to the view, she moved over to the window. A light rain whipped around the bure, driven by a sharp breeze. Cyclone Kato was beginning to breathe upon them.

She started when something heavy thunked down behind her. Jumpy, she whipped her head around. Tom had just dropped a blanket, pillow and sheets on the coffee table.

He shrugged apologetically. “I’d sleep on the couch, but it’s too short for me, and with my back, I’ll need to lie on my stomach.”

She smiled understandingly at him, grateful that he was being a gentleman about the sleeping arrangement. Truth be told, she felt like a heel for climbing all over him, but then turning him down when he took her up on her unspoken offer. “I don’t mind sleeping out here. The couch will fit me just fine.”

He nodded once, turned and disappeared on silent, bare feet into the bedroom. Suddenly, she was so exhausted she could hardly see straight. Mechanically, she made up the couch into a bed. She left the oil lamp burning. For some reason, she wasn’t quite ready to face the dark and her suddenly overactive imagination. She stretched out on the couch.

As exhausted as she was, her brain wouldn’t unwind enough for her to immediately contemplate going to sleep. She lay there for a long time. Eventually, she forced herself to extinguish the lamp and still, sleep eluded her.

Without warning, it all hit her. The terrifying plane crash, the desperate swim for her life, the shock of finding out about the attack on the beach. She started to shiver, and then to shake. And then the tears came. At first they were no more than hot streaks down her cheeks, but before long they’d blossomed into racking sobs. She turned her face into the pillow to muffle the sound, but for the life of her she couldn’t stop the sobs from coming.

She started violently when a male voice rumbled from above her, “Oh, for crying out loud.”

Reluctantly, she looked up at his dark form within the larger darkness of the room. Even as exasperated as he sounded, his presence was insanely comforting.

He rumbled, “I suppose you want me to hug you and tell you everything will be all right, don’t you?”

Miffed at the humor lacing his voice, she snapped, “Far be it from me to force you into such an onerous task.”

He made a noise that could have been laughter bitten off sharply. But she wasn’t sure. He sighed and sat down on the couch beside her. “Fine. Come here.”

She sniffed, “No, that’s all right.”

He ignored her and gathered her up in his arms, drawing her easily into his lap, surrounding her in his big, comfortable embrace. As hard as she tried to stop it, the floodgates opened up again. She sobbed into his shoulder for several minutes before it dawned on her that his shoulder was naked. And warm. And sexy.

And in an instant, the nature of their hug changed completely. She felt it in the way his arms suddenly tightened around her, in the electric energy zinging between them, in the sudden pounding of his heart underneath her ear. Despite herself, her own pulse accelerated, her breathing growing shallow and fast. She was not going to randomly crawl all over him, darn it! Her lust for him was just a reaction to her near death experience. Nothing more. She wasn’t actually attracted to him in the least.

Liar.

When his finger tipped her chin up to him, she didn’t fight it. When she gazed up into the dark planes and shadows of his face, she didn’t say anything to forestall what was coming. And when his head started down toward hers, her lips parted in breathless anticipation. Nope, not attracted to him in the least.

Chapter 3

Tom inhaled the scent of her, female and faintly sweet beneath an overlay of deodorant soap, unable to stop himself from wanting to inhale the rest of her. Sex poured off her in powerful waves that belied her feeble attempt at maintaining her distance from him.

When her sobs first woke him, he’d been asleep in his bed, dreaming disturbing images of fire and water and spider-webs. He’d have to talk to Joe, the local bartender, about the quality of the whiskey the guy was stocking these days. He really wished he could remember how he’d ended up on that beach with that woman draped all over him.

Maybe Joe could shed some light on that, too. When he didn’t just stay home and drink himself into a stupor alone, the other place he went to drown his sorrows was Joe’s place, the Paradise Lost Bar & Grill. That would undoubtedly be where he’d picked up Maddie.

Her name rocketed through him. As clear as a bell, the moment came back to him, a bolt out of the blue. He’d stared, shocked, into her light green eyes as she introduced herself. None of the context of the moment came with the memory, though. Not the setting nor any conversation before or after. Just that one disembodied moment. “Hi. I’m Madeline-and-I-prefer-not-to-be-called-Maddie.”

She’d looked just like Arielle. Just like Arielle. The same willfulness gleamed in her striking green eyes, the same determination was apparent in her firm handshake. They were two women who knew what they wanted and both went after it full bore.

Maybe Arielle was a little more exotic in her features. But Maddie—how could he not call her that after she’d made such a point of it? He loved the fire in her eyes when she got hot and bothered—definitely looked less dissipated. Arielle had been an exceptionally hard-partying girl, and at age twenty-four, her lifestyle was beginning to take its toll on her looks. Although he’d place Maddie in her mid-to-late-twenties, she seemed worlds more…grown up. Heh. Not hard to achieve in comparison to Arielle, who had been a pampered and extremely spoiled pop star since her early teens.

Maddie snuggled closer as if she was cold, and he pulled the blanket across both of them. Nope, definitely not Madeline material. Maddie just seemed to fit her better.

Why had an obviously classy lady like her condescended to spend time with a guy like him, anyway? What did she want from him? Unfortunately, suspicion of everyone and everything came with his line of work. Well, his former line of work. He used to be a bodyguard. A damned good one. Fought over by a who’s who of international celebrities. Until Arielle. Or rather, until she died. On his watch.

Damn, he needed a drink.

He’d noticed several new bottles of whiskey in the cabinet in his room earlier. He shook off the memory of Arielle’s dead, green eyes staring up vacantly, her back arched in death spasms, her blond hair matted black with dried blood. He swore silently to himself. How rude would it be to dump Maddie off his lap and make a beeline for the liquor cabinet?

Probably unforgivably rude. And he really liked the warm, soft, cuddly feel of her in his lap like this. She fit just right against his chest, her forehead tucked against his neck, her arms wrapped lightly around his ribs. Holding her, like he was now, was…comforting. Made him feel not so alone. He wasn’t lonely, of course, he told himself hastily. But a hug felt nice now and again. Even to a bastard like him.

Maddie’s sobs renewed themselves, although quieter this time. She swiped at her eyes, dashing away tears, then tucked her fist under her chin, childlike. He recognized the body language. She was crying out some sort of trauma that had transformed itself into a desperate need for comfort. Any kind of comfort. A cuddle, or sex or whatever. And he happened to be the nearest able-bodied male able to fill her need. And Lord knew, he was willing.

No guy in his right mind would care about being used for comfort sex by a woman this hot. Not that he’d been in his right mind for the past six months or so. But still. He was totally okay with being this woman’s shoulder sponge and sex toy.

Alarm jolted him. Jeez. What if he was the cause of her being this upset? He racked his brain. What boneheaded thing had he said or done to her within the massive black gap yawning tauntingly in his memory?

He worked through the logic quickly. She wouldn’t have come home with him if he’d hurt her or been rude to her, would she? Was she on the rebound from some other jerk, maybe?

He swore under his breath. He really had to cut back on the booze. He couldn’t recall a damned thing about the past day or so.

Thing was, Tom sighed, he knew better than to be some socialite’s casual beach fling like this. He’d watched Arielle blast through men like a demolition derby driver, leaving a messy trail of wrecked lives in her wake. The sour taste of it in his mouth washed away the lingering traces of Maddie’s impossibly sexy scent.

He probably ought to do something to draw her out of her crying jag. She’d been at it for a while now. He sighed. Ever the good guy, he was. It was probably why he never got the girl. He’d vowed to hang up his good guy white hat once and for all when he came here to the end of the world. But apparently, a few vestiges of it lingered, dammit.

Instead of kissing her like he’d originally intended, he halted, his mouth inches from hers. “Can you feel it?” he murmured.

“Feel what?”

“Blood flowing through your veins. Air moving in and out of your lungs. Heat on your skin.”

She blinked a couple of times as if she was having trouble registering the meaning of his words. Lost in a sexual haze, was she? An instant of male triumph surged in his gut. So, sue him. Yeah, he got a rush out of turning on a good-looking woman.

He half whispered, “We made it to shelter before the storm. We’re safe. Doesn’t it feel great just to be alive?”

Her eyes were big and wide as she gazed up at him in the dim lamplight. Sudden, intense awareness of their bodies rushed over her face as plain as day. He didn’t have to see her blush to feel its sudden heat radiating off her. She swayed closer to him, her fingers toying with his chest hair in unconscious flirtation.

He could so have her right now. And she’d so hate him for it in the morning. He sighed and drew back slightly. He wasn’t the kind of jerk who took advantage of a woman when her emotional defenses were down. He might want to be that kind of unfeeling ass, but it just wasn’t in him to take advantage of any female like that. Not to mention he had no intention of dragging anyone else into the train wreck of his life. Despite the occasional one-night stand, at the end of the day he wanted to be alone. End of discussion.

Except, a small voice whispered at the back of his head, Maddie feels damned good in your arms.

He ought to invite her into his bed, not for wild bunny sex, but just to hold her and make her feel safe so she could sleep. But panic flitted through him at the idea. No one was allowed into his bedroom. Ever. It was his last retreat, his most private, personal sanctuary.

Instead he offered, “Do you want me to sit with you until you fall asleep?”

One perfectly plucked eyebrow curved up at him. “Do I look like a five-year-old?”

He tilted his head and studied her. “Nah. I’d put you at nine or ten at least.”

Her mouth pursed in disapproval, but her anxious eyes told a different tale altogether. And he noticed she wasn’t making any aggressive move to remove herself from the circle of his arms.

He let her off the hook and announced in a tone that brooked no argument, “You’re lying back down here on the couch, and I’m moving over to that armchair and not budging until I hear you snoring.”

She laughed. “I don’t snore!”

“I bet you do.”

“Do not,” she retorted indignantly.

He grinned down at her. Better. “I’ll let you know.” He let go of her and went to stand. But he hadn’t counted on the lady having other ideas.

“Don’t move,” she whispered, looping her arms around his neck.

“But—”

She cut him off. “I want to listen to your heart beat. It lets me know you’re really alive. When I was swimming to shore—I didn’t know if we would live or die—I was so scared—and it was so dark…”

She’d had some sort of drowning scare? When was that? She was talking as if he already knew about it. Dammit. She’d no doubt confessed all the gory details while he was drunk off his ass. Unfortunately, he wasn’t one of those men who got loud and obnoxious when he was wasted. People often mistook him for being much more sober than he was.

Maybe her big scare was how he’d gotten her into the sack with him in the first place. He’d played the “I can keep you safe, little lady” card. And at one point, that might have been true. Before Arielle got killed—stabbed to death by a stalker fan—when he’d been in charge of her security detail.

Careful not to promise to protect her, he thought and gathered Maddie close. “You’re safe now. Everything’s fine.”

Except apparently, everything was not fine. She wriggled in his arms until he turned her loose. He expected her to climb out of his lap, but noooo…she threw her left leg across his hips and straddled him. Right there on the couch. Groin to groin. Pressing down on him just like she would if they were making love. Only a few pieces of flimsy cloth kept him from plunging up into her wet, tight heat, of sliding her up and down his length until he forgot everything and exploded…

Jeez! What the hell was wrong with him tonight?

She laid her right ear against his heart and stilled, listening intently. And for some reason, it was one of the sexiest things a woman had ever done to him. Maybe because it was real. A reaching out for human connection at the most fundamental level of existence. Confirmation of a simple heartbeat. And it all but pushed him over the edge.

“We’re alive,” she murmured in awe. “Both of us.”

Ohh-kay. Poor kid had definitely had some sort of major fright recently. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbled. “Alive. Miraculous, isn’t it?” More like a nightmare from where he sat, but he wasn’t going to quibble with her about the relative benefits of being alive or dead while she was straddling him like a cowgirl about to ride him until his knees buckled.

“It’s a wild thing inside me, this feeling of having cheated death.”

Oh, Lord. He knew exactly the sensation she was talking about. It tore through a person like chain lightning, making every inch a soul tingle, every nerve jangle on edge, every breath a triumph. Blood pounded through him, hot and thick, and abruptly he could count his pulse in the throbbing of his male flesh, so hard and needy he couldn’t stand it.

Gritting his teeth against an urge to throw her down and drive himself into her until they both screamed, he managed to force out, “Honey, you’re going to have to climb off me or be prepared to do something about where you’re sitting because I’m about to have some serious self-control issues.”

She laughed. She laughed!

A noise escaped the back of his throat. Whether a growl or a groan, he couldn’t exactly say. But it made her jerk her head up off his chest and stare at him, startled, her eyes big and wide and…have mercy…aware.

He actually saw her breath hitch. Her chest started to lift, then hesitated, then finished the breath. He closed his eyes in pain. Must. Not. Do. This.

She made a little sound, a soft, “Oh,” that shot through him like a fifty-thousand-volt taser. And then she leaned forward as if to kiss him. Except the movement also had the effect of rocking her gently against parts of him that didn’t need any more rocking at the moment. She froze, her pupils black in the subtle, and suddenly unbearably sensual, light suffusing the room.

He muttered, “Yeah. That.”

She melted on top of him, flowing over him like warm honey, her body softening and relaxing against his. Her hands slid over his shoulders to toy with the short hairs at the back of his neck. Her breasts came to rest against him, hard nipples cushioned in the gently resilient softness of her breasts. Her thighs opened wider, pressing her even more firmly against him.

He closed his eyes. Threw his head back against the sofa cushions in an agony of need so great he barely noticed his back protesting. And damned if she didn’t lick his throat. She really had to quit that licking bit unless she planned to lick all of him. Soon. Hands tugged at his head, drawing it forward once more. And then she was kissing him, her mouth open and wet and inviting. How could a guy say no to being eaten alive like this?

His own adrenaline rush answered hers. He had no idea where it came from, but it tore through him like a tornado. With her body surfing his, sliding across him with her mouth—with her whole self—he rose up to meet her helplessly.

Her hands fumbled at his waist, untying the drawstring of his shorts. She lifted up enough to slide them down his hips, and then he was spilling into her hands, hard and hot and jumping beneath her touch.

“Oh, my,” she sighed.

She had to quit that sighing thing, too. It was driving him out of his mind. He reached forward, lifting the hem of her—his—shirt off her. She rose out of his lap, a naked nymph called forth from the heart of nature, perfect. Ethereal. Beautiful. Her breasts were high and firm, not large, but beautifully shaped. With a chest like that, she ought to walk around topless all the time. He restrained the urge to reach for the pale mounds and just looked at them, savoring the way they rose and fell with her rapid, shallow breathing. His gaze traced the slim inward curve of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips, the shadowed place where their bodies met.

“Well, touch me, already!” she demanded.

He glanced up at her, startled. And grinned. “Sorry. I was enjoying the view.”

She leaned down and kissed him voraciously, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw his undivided attention to her mouth. Vixen. He slid a hand up to the back of her head under her silky hair, anchoring her in place as he took control of the kiss, plunging his tongue inside her mouth. It tasted of the ocean, salty and primeval. It called him home. He sucked at her, drinking in her sighs, devouring the taste of her, the smooth slide of her tongue against his, the way she surged against him.

He skimmed his fingertips down her body, and she stretched sinuously under the light caress, inflaming the inferno already raging inside him. “Yup, you’re definitely alive,” he murmured.

She arched her back, rocking her hips against his provocatively. Except now there was nothing between them, just hot, slick flesh on hot, slick flesh.

He leaned forward, wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up and away from him. “Are you sure about this?” he murmured.

“I’m not sure about anything except that by some miracle we made it. We’re here. We’re alive.”

He could wait no longer. He plunged into all that vibrant exuberance and groaned when she cried out in joy. His buttocks clenched until they nearly cramped, driving him up and into all that heat and energy, hot and tight upon him and around him. He touched her very core, and it pulsed against him once. Twice. He surged beneath her, drawn into her as if she was a force of nature. Her internal muscles milked him powerfully, sucking life from the very dregs of his soul. And he gave it all to her. He pumped into her with abandon, holding her hips down to push into her more and more deeply.

The sea roared outside and he shouted his release inside. She threw her head back and let out a keening, shuddering cry of pleasure that broke something loose within his soul. Something he’d not even known was bottled up within him. He collapsed as new awareness of it, of her, of himself, flooded over him.

Wonder suffused his consciousness. Indeed, she was right about one thing. He was alive. For the first time in a long time. Since before Arielle. Before…