Black Opal (10 page)

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My hand found Dean’s as he led me down the darkened hall and turned on the light in Shayne’s bedroom before I entered. He followed me inside, and pulled me to him. He brushed his lips over mine, and my knees turned to jello.

Dean broke the kiss and said, “I’m glad you’re with me. Coming here hurts. I see all the things I couldn’t do.”

At first, with my head still swimming from his kiss, I didn’t know what he meant. Then, it hit me.
Shayne.
I tipped my chin to look into his eyes. “You were a teenager yourself when she disappeared. What could you have done?”

He shrugged. “But I became a fucking cop and still couldn’t find out what happened to her.” His hands slid from my arms. “My family expects perfection. I always figured they were disappointed.”

“Listen to me.” I grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him closer to my face. “You did everything you could. If they
are
disappointed, which I’ve seen no evidence—”

“You haven’t met my father.”

“Well, he’s the one with the problem. Not you.” I chose my next words carefully. I didn’t want to make this about me, but I wanted him to know I understood. “My mom can’t stand me for what I am. I spent a lot of my life trying to turn that around before I finally accepted it was out of my hands.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him tight.

“Your mother is a fool.” He smiled. “Having met her, I can say this with authority.” He brushed his lips against mine. “You’re the best thing I’ve got. Thank you for coming here.”

I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his, my body tingling at his sharp intake of breath. Talking like this in an unfamiliar place made me feel very close to him. Closer than the—admittedly fantastic—sex we had. No man, not even the one I married, ever talked to me like this. Wanting to hold onto this feeling forever, I deepened our kiss.

Dean slid his hand under my shirt, his touch feather light on my stomach, and backed me up to the bed. I let him push me backward and get on top of me. He traced my jaw with his fingertip, sending shivers through me. Desire and goose bumps tightened my skin. “When we first met, you spooked me.” He leaned in to kiss me, cupping my cheek in one hand. “I’m glad I took a chance,” he whispered against my face, his eyelashes tickling my skin.

“I thought you were a jackass.” I wrapped my legs around him. “I’m glad I took a chance, too.”

We kissed, tongues entwined, hands roaming each other’s bodies. I slid my hand under his shirt, caressing the hard ridges of muscle, thrilling at the warmth of his skin under my fingers. For that moment, it didn’t matter who didn’t want either of us because we belonged to each other.

###

Our kisses and caresses intensified, our bodies arching under each other’s touch. Eyes locked on mine, Dean pushed my t-shirt up and popped my bra open. He took my nipple in his mouth, moving his tongue back and forth over the sensitive tip. I moaned and wove my hands in his hair, trying not to dig in my fingernails as need tightened between my legs. In the back of my mind, I wondered if this was an appropriate venue for a tryst. The thought faded away as Dean kissed me again and murmured against my lips, “I want you.”

I wanted him too much to think about decorum. I reached between us and undid the button on his pants. Bracing himself on his knees, Dean tugged my jeans and panties down to my ankles, pushed down his own pants, and settled himself between my legs. At his movement, I became aware of a lust killer. The old bed squeaked. Loudly. Oblivious, Dean lowered his mouth to mine, pushed his hand between us, and teased me open with his fingers.

“Dean, I can’t,” I said against his lips. At first, he pretended not to hear, moving his fingers in ways that made my breath catch. After a few more seconds, I repeated myself.

He drew back from me, confusion clear on his face. “What is it?”

“The bed squeaks.”

Dean, still breathing heavily, glanced around the room. “So? It’s old.”

“Your sister…she might hear.”
Was that it? Or was there more?
Dean’s angry words about my refusal to spend the night with him popped into my head. Maybe, deep down, I didn’t want to have sex here because I couldn’t go home to Memaw’s house. Maybe after all the things we’d said to each other, I was scared of what the sex meant. By our own admission, this was more than an extended session of bumping uglies. This was real for both of us.

Dean watched me, his body bathed in the soft light the bedside lamp put out. “I’ll stop right now, if that’s what you want.” Desire burned in his eyes, but hurt flickered there, too, waiting for my rejection. My fears and insecurities made convincing arguments. If I put a stop to things now, my relationship with Dean would stay right where it was when I got here. If I didn’t stop, things would get more complicated.

I stared at Dean and realized I wanted tonight to be different.

“I don’t want to stop, but I want to get off the bed.” Lust thrummed in me, but something more drove me. All the things we said to each other meant Dean felt the same way I did. I wanted this relationship with him more than I wanted anything else. I got off the bed, shimmied the rest of the way out of my clothes, and motioned him to sit on the window seat. Dean groaned as he realized what I had in mind and obeyed. His fingers burned against my skin as I straddled him and looked into his eyes. I traced his jaw line and ran my thumb over his full lower lip and lowered my head to kiss him, both of us inhaling deeply, trying to get as much of each other as we could.

He broke the kiss and whispered, “Now. Hurry.”

I slid down on him and gasped. We moved together, drowning in each other’s eyes.
I don’t want to live without this man.
My pleasure built into a throbbing ache, and I put my hands on his cheeks to keep his eyes locked on mine. The intensity of it drove me over the edge, and I shuddered first, squeezing my eyes shut. Feeling this way was worth the risk of heartbreak.

Dean put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me in for a kiss, sucking my tongue into his mouth, nibbling on it. I bucked against him, holding back a scream that would have woken the house, and he let out a strangled cry. Spent, we both relaxed, gasping together, the stubble on his chin digging into my shoulder.

“Spend the night in here with me,” I whispered between gasps. “I want to be with you.”

Dean drew back to look at my face, his eyes still half-lidded and sleepy with the afterglow of good sex. “You sure? That bed’s little. You might sleep better alone.”

My heart swelled at his kindness. This was my out if I wanted it. But I’d realized something while we made love. Distancing myself in this way wouldn’t immunize me to heartbreak if our relationship ended. It was too late for that. Our connection terrified me, but I needed it. I needed him.

“Please?” I kissed the corner of his mouth. I got off him and held out my hand. He smiled and took it, letting me lead him to the bed and crawling between the sheets with me.

Dean’s breathing deepened into the slow pattern of sleep almost immediately. I lay there, wide-eyed and full of what ifs, my body begging me for sleep after such an eventful day. Dean’s arms tightened around me. He was mine for the night. Neither of us knew what tomorrow would bring, or even if we’d make it until the end of the week.
Perhaps the secret to life is about enjoying the good moments for what they are…moments in time.
I let my eyes close and drifted into the worst nightmare I’ve ever had.

10

I lay somewhere cold and damp, pain slamming in my head. The only light I saw in the inky darkness was a square of light somewhere above me. Disoriented, I tried to push myself to a sitting position, but something was wrong. Nothing worked the way it should have. My brain sent signals to my limbs, but they failed to respond.
A nightmare. That’s all this is.
I tried to wake up and could not. I felt a bolt of pure panic.

As I lay shivering, a figure appeared over me. I tried to speak, to ask for help, but nothing came out other than a mumble. A hot, hard hand grasped my wrist and pulled something off my finger. Then the figure climbed down where I was and began covering me with scoops of something. It peppered over my skin and the fresh, damp scent hit me. Dirt.

A scream built in my chest but stuck there. I needed to let my dream tormentor know I didn’t want to be buried because I was alive. But I felt paralyzed. More moans and mumbles escaped my mouth. The person burying me ignored them. The dirt covered my face, spilling into my mouth. I couldn’t even turn my head to the side to spit it out. Eventually, the dirt covered me all over. Every time I tried to draw a breath, I choked on granules of dirt.

Above, I heard banging and hammering. I prayed for rescue. But then footsteps receded, and I heard a car start. My heart slowed, and I wondered if I could die in a dream and survive in the waking world. That thought scared me enough to wake me up.

I sucked in a loud breath and attempted to sit up. Icy hands pressing on my chest held me down. Whining and gasping, I struggled, but my attacker had the strength of the dead. I swung one arm out, fumbling for the bedside lamp. I clicked it on, and the room flooded with light. Crouched on my chest, her face inches from mine, was Shayne.

“Get away from me.” My terror-stricken voice cracked and crumbled. I pushed at her, but my hands went right through her. I did the only thing I could think of to do. I opened my mouth and screamed so hard it scraped my throat raw.

Dean jerked awake next to me and turned to see what was wrong. He took one look at me struggling underneath nothing, and his mouth fell open, the color draining from his face. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He reached out to touch me but drew back his hand.

“Shayne. She won’t let me up.” At my words, she faded into nothing. I sat up, shaking and gasping, as a flowery scent flooded the room.
I bet Shayne wore a perfume like that
.

“Where is she?” Dean leapt from the bed, sniffing like a hound. “And where did that smell come from?” He knelt and peered under the bed like a kid afraid of the boogeyman.

Despite the closeness we’d just shared, the old self-doubt seeped into me, poisonous and painful.
Is this part of my life too much for Dean? Maybe it’s too much for anybody normal.
I drew my knees up to my chest, very conscious of my nakedness between the sheets.

“She’s gone.” My raw throat barely allowed me to speak above a whisper.

Madeleine knocked on the door, and we both jumped. “Y’all okay in there?”

Dean jerked on his pants and went to the door to talk to his sister. It took some convincing, but Madeleine went back to her room believing I’d had a vivid nightmare. Dean settled back in next to me but didn’t fall asleep so fast this time.

“Can you smell that?” He pitched his voice low.

“Yes.” I explained no further. He pulled me tighter against him and kissed the back of my neck.

“Was it her in your dream? Was it Shayne?”

“I dreamed her death. The killer buried her alive back there. The dirt was going into her nose and mouth, and—”

“It’s all right. She’s gone now.” Dean stroked my arm, but his hand shook.

“I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid I was going to die in the dream.”
Should I tell him to go back to his room if he’s too freaked out?
Maybe, but I didn’t want to be alone. Not after that. “I was afraid I’d die in the dream and die here too.”

Dean drew in a sharp breath, his body tensing next to mine. He took my hand and threaded his fingers through mine. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll wake you up if you’re struggling.”

The rest of the night passed with both of us falling asleep and jerking awake. When dawn poured through the windows, Dean kissed me. “Try to get some sleep, babe.” He brushed my hair away from my face. “I have to get started working.” I nodded and curled into a ball, the tenderness in his eyes a warm comfort.

After he quietly slipped through the door, the odor of Shayne’s perfume hanging in the air made me think sleep impossible. I got up and sat in the brocade armchair near the window and tried to think of ways to lessen Shayne’s power over me. Fear from the night before lingered in my nerves like a hangover, making me feel both nauseated and exhausted.

###

I jolted awake to full daylight streaming into Shayne’s room and someone pounding on the door. I straightened in the chair and wiped sweat from my face. I checked my cell phone and saw it was nine-thirty.
How did I sleep after last night?

“Yes?” I hollered at the door.

The door cracked open and Madeleine stuck in her head. “Breakfast is in ten minutes. It’s the best meal we have, the only one Mom doesn’t cook.”

Malaise evaporating, I bit back a smile remembering the scene last night with the cakes and donuts and Dean’s and Madeleine’s open dislike of their mother’s cooking. It made the Turgeau family seem more down-to-earth. Or maybe I was getting used to the idea of this family, of having a rich boyfriend.

“I’ll be there, but it may be more than ten minutes.”

“Okay. I’ll save you a muffin if it looks like things are going fast.”

I pushed myself out of the chair, chuckling. Growing up in my grandmother’s home as an only child insulated me from many experiences. Life as part of an extended family surprised me by being enjoyable. It almost made me forget the drama with Shayne’s ghost. But not quite.

My clothes from the night before still lay crumpled on the floor. I shook them out and pulled them on. I stepped out in the hallway and realized I didn’t remember how to get back to the main part of the house. I had been so busy playing fish out of water, worrying about what Dean expected of me and what I could deliver that I hadn’t paid attention. I went back in my room—Shayne’s room—and looked out the window, trying to decide which direction to go.

Back out in the hallway, no more sure of myself but a lot more determined, I headed in what I thought was the right direction. Before long, I found myself lost in a maze of hallways, leading to rooms obviously unused by the family. I made a disgusted sound.
This place is like the friggin’ Bermuda Triangle. Amelia Earhart is probably in one of these rooms.
In my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of swishing dark hair passing one of the open hallways. Awash with relief, I called out. No response. I charged in the direction of the only other living person in this part of the house and came upon her in an alcove nestled in one of the turrets.