Another Dawn (31 page)

      
Her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips, sending shockwaves of longing through Luke. To taste those lips again would be pure heaven. He'd never forget that night in her room, when she'd kissed him the way a woman kisses a man she wants.

      
Kiss me...

      
Now, Luke. Now.

      
"There was a man in my dream," she said, jerking Luke's attention back to the present. "A very handsome man."

      
"Someone you remember?" He prayed that wasn't the case. After all, she'd called
his
name.

      
"Someone I know," she said, smiling sadly. "Someone I want to know better, but that's impossible."

      
Impossible.

      
"Do...do I know this man?" Luke was fishing, but he couldn't stop himself.

      
She nodded slowly and gazed deeply into his eyes. "Yes," she whispered. "God forgive me, but the man in my dream...was you."

      
"Oh."
 
He tried to swallow, but failed.

      
Her lower lip trembled and she brought her fingertips to her mouth. "I must be bad. Mrs. Fleming said nice women don't think about...about that."

      
Luke drew a deep breath. "About...sex?" His voice squeaked. Actually
squeaked
.
 

      
She nodded vigorously, one lone tear trickling down her face. "It's wrong to want a...a priest," she whispered, covering her face with both hands.

      
Her misery struck a chord deep inside Luke. Only wanting to comfort her–
really
–he reached out and drew her against him. She came willingly, throwing her arms around his waist as her tears fell against his shirt. Her entire body trembled with the force of her crying.

      
He stroked her hair and held her tightly against his chest, savoring the close contact with a woman he'd grown to care about more than he dared. Much more.

      
Her firm breasts pressed into his chest, and the feel of her slender body against his made him burn. His need to comfort her waned in light of a far less noble urge.

      
Lust. Plain, old-fashioned lust.

      
She hiccupped and sniffled, then tilted her face up to meet his gaze. Her lips were swollen from crying, and so close....

      
"Sofie," he whispered, pulling her even more tightly against him. "Sofie."

      
She brought her hand to his cheek and brushed her thumb across his lower lip. "Tell me how I can feel this way about you?" Shaking her head, she added, "And why I can't convince my heart that it's wrong? It doesn't
feel
wrong to...to..."

      
Luke rubbed her back with the flat of his palm, afraid to answer. Fire burned in his gut, flared in his groin, and threatened to incinerate him on the spot. He should pull away from her, rush up the stairs, and forget about her dream, about touching her, about kissing her, about making love to her.

      
But he couldn't. God help him, he just couldn't.

      
She dropped her hand to his shoulder and rested her head beside it. Gazing down at the top of her head, he thought nothing could feel as right as Sofie in his arms.
Nothing.

      
Was his fate not only to save Zeke and Shane from hanging, but also to love Sofie? There was that word again.

      
Love.

      
He couldn't escape it any more than he could stop wanting her. Needing her.

      
She was in his blood, under his skin, and every other cliché he could think of. She was the balm to soothe him, and the weapon to destroy him. Sofie was everything, rolled up in a sexy little package that would be the death of him yet.

      
"Luke?"

      
And now she was using his real name. Even that flimsy barrier was gone. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes?"

      
"Why can't–don't–priests..."

      
He stopped breathing and cupped her face in both hands, bringing her gaze up to meet his. Right or wrong, this
thing
between them would not be denied.

      
But it wasn't wrong. Not really. And it wasn't fair not to tell her the truth.

      
"I'm a man, Sofie," he whispered, inching closer to her lips. "You're a woman and I'm a man."

      
"But–"

      
Unwilling to hear her protests, Luke silenced her with his lips. Gentle at first, then harder, he kissed her completely, thoroughly.
 

      
She moaned, drawing his tongue into her warm mouth. Through their multiple layers of clothing, she pressed her hips against his, and Luke came unhinged.

      
Like a wild animal released from its cage, he crushed her to him. Deepening their kiss, he cupped her sweet bottom in his
 
hands and lifted her up and against him. The urge to sample the treasure hidden within the folds of her Victorian skirt shattered his self-control.

      
Recklessly, he urged her down to the rug before the fire, never breaking their kiss. He covered her slim body with his own, devouring her sweet lips, stroking her warm tongue in a parody of what he wanted to do with the rest of his body.
 

      
Once buried deep inside her, he would find the release he so desperately needed. She whimpered against him and pulled him closer still, encouraging him to follow through with what they both wanted.

      
Desire. Hot, molten, controlling. It washed through him in wave after wave, increasing with every breath, every stroke of her tongue against his, every beat of his heart.

      
Pulsing and merging as one, they strained against each other, their mouths committing the act their fully-clothed bodies craved. He maneuvered his hand between them and released the endless row of tiny buttons at the front of her dress.
 

      
Skin. He wanted skin. Her skin.

      
A drawstring held her archaic undergarment closed. Impatient, he jerked it free and eased his hand inside, savoring the feel of her satiny flesh against his palm at last.
 

      
He maneuvered his lips from hers and across the delicate slant of her jaw, then down her silken throat. Holding his breath, he rested his mouth against her pulse, doing the macarina in the side of her neck, mimicking the frantic beat of his own heart.

      
Slowly, he slid his hand along her exposed skin, stroking the soft slope of her breast, trembling with the need to taste where he touched. Though she was a tiny thing, her breasts were full. Tempting.

      
With shaking fingers, he found her rigid nipple, gently stroking, then rolling it between his thumb and index finger. Her moan incited and enticed him and he suckled the tender skin at the side of her throat, wishing it were her breast pressed against his mouth.

      
"Oh, Luke," she whispered, stroking his back and cupping his buns in her hands.
 

      
The need to taste her was nearly his undoing. Hurriedly, he pushed aside her gaping dress and cupped her breast. When he lifted his face from her neck and gazed down at her beauty, his breath caught and his hunger swelled to something with a life all its own.

      
But she was too beautiful, too special to rush. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to her breast, circling her nipple with his tongue. A moan rumbled from his diaphragm as she locked her fingers behind his neck and urged him closer still.
 

      
Then, trembling, he closed his lips over her and drew her nipple deeply into his mouth. Ambrosia. The nectar of the gods.

      
This was heaven.

      
Then a little girl's scream of terror turned heaven into hell.

Chapter 12

      
Sofie's blood froze at the sound of Jenny's scream. Was the killer in the house? After the little girl?
No, please no.

      
Luke lurched to his feet, abandoning Sofie on the rug before the fire. She sat up too quickly and a wave of dizziness assailed her, but soon she was rushing up the stairs behind Luke.

      
Jenny had to be all right. Sofie would never forgive herself if anything had happened to the little girl while her protectors wallowed on the floor downstairs.

      
Another scream rent the air. Luke flew down the hall and threw open the door. Sofie followed him into the room, both reaching the little girl at almost the same time.

      
Luke dropped to his knees beside the bed and grabbed Jenny's shoulders, but the child only screamed again and he jerked back as if stung. Her eyes were closed. She was asleep.

      
"She's having a nightmare," Sofie said, sitting on the other side of the bed and placing a firm but gentle hand on the girl's shoulder.

      
Luke met her gaze from across the bed, his expression wretched. Guilt, of course. Sofie knew it well.
 

      
"I'll check the window, just in case."
 

      
Sofie merely nodded, knowing the windows and doors of the house were secure. No one was here but them. No one but Jenny to stop a priest and a fallen woman from a roll in the hay.

      
Jenny tensed and whimpered, and Sofie gently shook her, prepared for her to awaken terrified. Where had Sofie learned about nightmares and about children? From her mother? From medical school? From personal experience?

      
Except her most recent dreams had been anything but nightmares.

      
"Noooooo," Jenny moaned, bolting upright in the bed, her eyes wide with terror.

      
"Shh, it's all right."
 
Sofie held her at arm's length so Jenny could see her face. "I'm here, Jenny. No one will hurt you. It was just a bad dream."

      
"I'm here, too, Jenny," Luke said from behind Sofie.

      
"Yes, sweetie."
 
Sofie bit her lower lip. "Father Salazar is here, too."

      
Father Salazar, not Luke. And don't forget it again.

      
She felt his gaze on her but didn't dare turn to face him. Besides, she needed to make sure Jenny was all right.

      
The little girl blinked several times in the dim light, looking from one to the other of them. Luke went to the nightstand and turned up the flame on the lamp until a cheerful golden glow chased away the shadows.