After Moonrise: Possessed\Haunted (21 page)

“You’re beautiful, Harper,” he said softly. “The most beautiful
woman I’ve ever seen.”

Must have this man.

“Get it yet?” he asked. “I’m not allowing myself to push you
for anything, but I’ll work you until
you
have to
have more.”

“I’m past the point of needing an explanation. Do
something!”

Chuckling, he picked her up and set her in the tub. Warm water
rained against her bare skin, and she loved the dual sensation of the gentle
patter of liquid and the harder kneading of his rough hands. He concentrated on
her back at first, going up and down, then moving lower, giving her time to get
used to each touch before conquering someplace new.

Any time a negative emotion would try to intrude and she would
stiffen, Levi would slow down and concentrate on revving her back up. It wasn’t
long before her body was so sensitized her mind ceased to matter.

“I’m ready,” she said. Her hands tangled in Levi’s wet hair,
her nails scouring his scalp.

He tugged from her hold, peered down at her, breathing harshly
as he searched her face. And, oh,
he
was the most
beautiful man
she’d
ever seen. Rugged, powerful,
determined.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He waited, just waited, and realization finally dawned. He
expected her to direct him—and so, that’s exactly what she did. She led his
mouth to the places she wanted him, and she wanted him everywhere.

He moved far more slowly than before, but the more she moaned,
the more she arched into him, the more fervently he worked her, as if the tether
of his control was in danger of snapping. Her desire ramped up and up and up,
until her blood was molten in her veins, until her limbs shook and she was
arching and writhing toward him—exploding from the pressure as pleasure consumed
her.

Straightening, shaking, he said with a half smile, “That was
fast.”

“You complaining?”

“Rejoicing. I’ve never been closer to death by heart
attack.”

A laugh bubbled at the back of her throat. Humor with sex. How
unexpected. But she really, really liked it.

“Sure you’re ready?” he asked.

More than ready. On fire. “You don’t know, Detective
Hottie?”

“Just making sure, princess.”

“Did you bring protection?”

He nodded, left the shower and returned with a condom already
sheathing the long, thick length of him. He didn’t waste any time, but picked
her up, growled, “Wrap your legs around me,” and thrust deep the second she
obeyed.

A strangled cry left her. He filled her perfectly and, oh, did
her pleasure spark back to life. He pounded hard and fast, and reclaimed her
mouth just as savagely.

“Good?” he demanded, and she knew he wasn’t talking about the
sensations rioting through her but the thoughts in her mind.

Even so, the answer was the same. “Amazing.”

Faster…faster…harder…harder…until they were both moaning and
groaning. He held her waist in such a strong grip, she knew she would have
bruises tomorrow. Bruises she would savor, because they would remind her of this
moment, of his total possession.

“Harper,” he shouted, climaxing.

“Levi!” She was right there with him, crying out his name,
enfolding him in her arms.

For a long while, he remained just as he was, his head resting
on her shoulder, the rough pants of his breath trekking over her skin, his
heartbeat drumming against her own. She could have fallen asleep just like that,
because, despite everything that had happened, everything that would probably
happen, she was suddenly more content than she’d ever been, but cool droplets of
water began to splash on her, rousing her.

“Shower…turn off,” she begged, then blushed when she realized
she’d sounded like a caveman.

“Only if we can do this again in the bed,” he replied, leaning
back to turn the knob.

“Only if you’re about a thousand degrees.”

“Cold, baby?”

“Beyond.”

“Well, what my princess desires, my princess receives. I’ll
heat you up.”

Dirty little turd.
“Well, the
prince has just made the princess desire a nap. Alone.”

“Is that so?” He set her on her feet, only to dig his shoulder
into her stomach and hoist her up fireman-style.

“Levi! Put me down right now!”

“Why? I’m the prince’s evil twin, who tricked the princess into
going to bed with him, and now I’ve decided to hold you for ransom. And as I’m a
stone-cold baddie, you’re gonna need to do something to keep me from pillaging
your people before that ransom is paid.”

He carried her to the bed, and she laughed the entire way.

CHAPTER TEN

Levi snuggled Harper in his arms, sated in a way he’d
never been before. She was such fun, her laughter a study and gift of music.
With only a smile she lit him up on the inside, shining a spotlight into hidden
places. She fit him, her passion a match for his own, her cries for more an
aphrodisiac, her kneading hands a revelation.

As long as he’d kept them both on the edge of pleasure, their
minds had been too wrapped up in what was happening at the moment to delve into
the dark, dangerous territory of past and future. He’d been right. That was
exactly what she’d needed to relax and let go.

Afterward, exhausted from hours of learning her body, he’d
noticed the haunted look had disappeared from her eyes. Those baby blues had
crinkled at the corners as she smiled and teased him about his insatiability,
color had been high in her cheeks, and her lips had been red and swollen from
where he’d bitten and sucked.

Now, though, in the silence of the night, enveloped by shadows,
Harper asleep and breathing deeply, evenly, he couldn’t stay
out
of those dark, dangerous places. The two of them
had been living in a building with a spirit of the dead. How could they not have
known? How had he developed the ability to see into the spirit realm, when
everyone he knew who possessed it had developed it before puberty or worked hard
to spark it to life? How had Harper?

Harper. His pretty princess. He felt as if he would lose her at
any moment, felt helpless as a baby. As if she would simply float away, never to
be seen or heard from again. He’d willingly fight her demons for her, but a fist
and even a gun could not stop an unseen force, could they?

Despite what he’d said in Peterson’s office, Lana was probably
dead. The painting probably wasn’t the future, but the past. Harper had probably
stumbled upon her friend’s torture and slaying.

Probably. How he hated the word, but he hesitated to think in
absolutes without more proof.

Lana’s death had probably occurred while Harper was missing.
And Lana’s undead status would also explain the lack of bruises on her body, why
Harper had never noticed any injuries and how Lana had taken off and hidden so
expertly.

And, really, Harper’s entire disappearance could be explained
by the blackouts—meaning, she had never been abducted. She could have remained
in a fugue state, unable to deal with what was happening, from the time she’d
found Lana on that table to the time Lana reappeared in her life.

Lana’s spirit would have repressed what had happened, too,
continuing on as if everything was business as usual.

A few niggling questions remained, however. Why had Harper’s
blackouts continued? To allow her to slowly come to grips with what had
happened? And then there was the timing of everything—Levi’s own blackouts, his
appearance here, the fact that
he
could see Lana.
Harper seeing her was understandable. The two were bonded. But him? No.
Unless…he was somehow bonded to Harper and saw what she saw.

Also, Lana had reported Harper missing, only to go missing
herself? Talk about a major coincidence. And yet, that would explain why Lana
had never returned to the station and reported Harper as found.

So many questions, new and old, and Peterson might have all the
answers. That look of abject sympathy as Harper had spoken of her painting…that
promise to do a little digging, spoken in a tone of dread and suspicion…

Peterson clearly suspected something terrible.

Harper mumbled something incoherent and began twisting out of
his embrace. Dread worked through him as he loosened his hold. She sat up,
stayed still for a moment, stood. Between one sexual marathon and the next, he’d
had her place her painting and supplies in the proper places, mimicking the
setup of her studio.

“Harper,” he whispered, but there was no response.

Silent, she padded to the table with the brushes and paints. A
soft light cascaded over the entire area, allowing him to watch her. With fluid
motions she mixed colors, dipped the tips of the brushes and began to paint.

Levi sat up and scrubbed a hand down his face. He stood, nearly
tripped as he shoved his legs into his underwear and closed the distance between
them. Rather than study the canvas, he studied her face. Her eyes were closed,
the length of her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks.

Her expression was scrunched, her skin pale as milk. Protective
instincts rose to the surface, and he had to fight the urge to shake her awake,
to make her stop. He hated that a horrible image of blood and pain held her
captive, but more than anything else they needed to see the killer’s face.

She worked for hours. Several times she would stop and a tear
would trickle down her cheek. He could tell she was trying to jerk herself out
of sleep because her breathing would change, becoming choppy, ragged.

He would say, “Keep going, sweetheart. I’m here. Levi’s here,”
and she would rally and continue.

He wanted this thing done, wanted its horrors out there, so
that they could know what to fight, where to go, what to do. Maybe they’d luck
out and get to tell Peterson to suck it.

Finally Harper’s arms fell to her sides and her paintbrush
dropped to the floor with a thump. Still she stood there with her eyes closed.
He dared a look at the canvas—and nearly roared with shock and rage and
fear.

She had painted the killer, and it was Topper as he’d feared.
She’d also added more blood. Blood on the walls, on the floor, on the slab. On
the man—and on the woman.

On Harper.

She’d painted over Lana’s face and added her own. Oh, the woman
still had Lana’s dark red hair, but that face as delicate as a cameo was
Harper’s all the way.

Without thought, he swooped her into his arms and stalked to
the bed to gently lay her across the covers. He did not want her to see that
thing. Wasn’t sure what it meant—wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it
meant.

And he’d thought himself helpless before.

She’s not a spirit,
he assured
himself. He could touch her, could feel the warmth and softness of her skin,
smell the sweetness of her scent.
She’s alive.
Well.

She stretched her arms over her head, arched her back. Her
eyelids fluttered open, closed, fluttered open again. She drew in a deep breath,
only to go still. Her gaze homed in on him.

“I painted,” she said, her tone dripping with anxiety.

Unable to form any words, he nodded.

“Let me see.”

He held her down. Her wide gaze, still on his face, searched
and searched. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words emerged.

She stiffened. “I finished it.”

Another nod.

“It’s bad.”

Yet another nod.

“Really bad.”

Finally he managed to find his voice. “If you want to see it,
you can see it, but I want you to remember a few things. Okay? You’re here.
You’re real. And I’ve got you. I’ll never let you go.”

Her lips parted as she fought for breath and jerked upright.
Her gaze drove past him, straight to the canvas. Horror cascaded over her
expression.

“That’s…”

“Yeah.”

Slowly she stood. One step, two, she approached it. Her arm
stretched out and she traced a fingertip through the blood dripping down the
woman’s leg. Crimson stained her soft, white skin. “I can’t… That can’t… There’s
just no way…”

“You’re here,” he repeated, staying close. “You’re real.”

“I would remember if something like this happened to me!”

Maybe she had done more than stumble upon Lana. Maybe she had
been forced to endure a little torture of her own, but she had escaped.

Topper was now locked away, he reminded himself. She couldn’t
be hurt again.

“We’ll go see my friend Bright.” Levi’s words were croaked.
“He’ll test your DNA against what we found in the killer’s house.” Topper had
gotten sloppy there at the end, when he’d left that female on the billboard, and
that’s how they’d snagged him.

He’d stopped abducting women at night, with no one around to
see as he stunned them and stuffed them into the trunk of his car. His last
victim had rarely left home, and never at night, but Topper, who lived in the
same neighborhood, had seen her, wanted her and had gone in to get her.

Eyes wider than before, Harper swung around to face him. “You
know who he is? You already found him?”

“Yes.”
And I nearly split his spine in two
with my fist
. “He’s in prison and can’t harm anyone else.”

“I…I want to talk to him,” she said, shocking him.

“No,” he growled, then more calmly repeated, “No. He’s not
allowed to have visitors right now.”

“Try again.” Scowling, she slammed her hands on her hips. “That
might have worked on someone else, but I happen to be a
Law
& Order
fan, and I know my rights according to Hollywood and
television.”

Stupid TV, ruining everything. Levi could put in a request with
Topper’s attorney, and if Topper approved it, yeah, Harper could visit him. And
as much as Topper liked the ladies, he’d say yes. “We aren’t bringing you to
Topper’s attention.”

She mouthed the name, shuddered, then shook her head, obviously
forcing her determination to rise. “He’s locked up. What can he do to me?”

Uh, only annihilate her mentally. No biggie, though, right?
Questioning evil had never brought anyone satisfaction. Evil lied. Evil taunted.
A person would be better served keeping their eyes on the road ahead, running
the race of life.

“He can make you cry, and if you think I’ll sit back and watch
that, those multiple climaxes I gave you killed your brain cells.”

“I don’t care. I want to talk to him,” she reiterated.

“Have I ever told you I prefer soft, malleable women?” he said,
as mean as a honey badger. This was too important to him. He couldn’t cave.

“I. Don’t. Care.”

His eyes narrowed to tiny slits as he leaned into her. “You
want to bring yourself to the attention of a killer who might have friends on
the outside? A guy who would be willing to pay someone to hurt you just to send
him the pictures? Yeah, that kind of thing has happened before.”

Finally he spotted a crack in her stubborn facade. But still
she said, “I don’t want to, no, but I
have
to.
Knowledge is power, and right now I’m pretty much without power. He’s got it
all.”

“Lies are weakness, and lies are all you’ll get from him.”

“I have to try.”

“If I refuse to help you?” he said on a ragged breath.

“If you refuse to help me,” she replied, stepping into his
personal space, peering up at him with anger and determination, “I will work
around you. I’m tired of wondering. I want the truth, once and for all. I want
Lana protected.”

“Peterson said the painting wasn’t of the future. Maybe Lana
doesn’t need protection.”

“And Peterson knows everything? Her word is law?”

Good point. “All right,” he said. “I’ll put in a request to see
him.”