Books by Maggie Shayne (243 page)

Amber got out her side. "Worse comes to worse, there's always the trunk," she told him.

He shot a look at her over the top of the car, then hit the lock button on the keyring. "You
are
feeling a little better, aren't you?"

She averted her eyes, shrugged. "Let's get inside,

Edge."

He nodded, and when she came around the car, slid his hand around hers and walked with her to the door.

The innkeeper was a small, round woman of indeterminate—but likely beyond middle—age. She came to the door in a flannel bathrobe that was cinched tight around her middle, with pink fuzzy slippers on her feet. Locks turned, the door opened, and the woman blinked up at Amber from amid a mass of artificially red curls.

"I'm so sorry to bother you at this hour," Amber said. "But we were hoping you might have a room available."

She wrinkled her nose, looking from Amber to Edge, who stood back a little, keeping to the shadows. He sent her a smile. "Just a pair of weary travelers, ma'am," he said. "We'll pay full price, even though the night's all but over."

Pursing her lips in thought, the woman hesitated only a moment, then finally gave a nod and opened the door wide. "Oh, come on in," she said. "You look too sleepy to do any more driving tonight, anyway."

She stood aside while they entered. The foyer was dimly lit by the small table lamp she must have flicked on when she heard them ringing the bell. She moved behind the large desk that occupied a corner, took her seat and pulled a large book down from a shelf on the wall beside her. "Well, welcome to Haven Inn. I'm Mrs. Monroe, but my guests call me Sally," she told them.

"It's the only rule. And your names are?" She stood there, with her pen poised over the page.

"Smith," Edge said quickly. "Mr. And Mrs."

The woman had pulled a pair of rectangular bifocals from her top drawer and was in the process of putting them on when she stopped and looked up at him, the glasses held halfway to her face. "Smith?"

"No one ever believes me," Edge said. "It's the curse of having such a common name."

She smiled, turning the book toward him. "Just sign in, and add the make, model and license plate number of your car."

"Of course."

"And I'll need a credit card.''

"We'll be paying cash," Edge said as he scribbled down some blatantly false information in the book. He set the pen down, pulled his wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open. He took out a stack of ones, pulled out six of them and slid them across the counter to the woman.

Amber saw the bills and frowned, then she shot a glance at Edge, caught the intensity in his eyes, the gleam. He was messing with the woman's perceptions.

She smiled and took five of them. "The rate is only $80 per night," she said. "Plus tax, of course. Total comes to $86.40. I'll get you some change." She unlocked a drawer in the desk.

"Edge… " Amber said, a warning tone in her voice.

He sent her a wink. "Come on, love, I'd let her keep the change, but I'm damned if we won't need it for gas and things along the way."

We can use my plastic
, she told him with her mind.

Too easily traceable. Stiles has friends, don't forget. It's not worth the risk.

The woman handed him a ten, three ones and some change. More money than he'd given her in the first place. He'd managed to get the room for free and make a tiny profit.

Amber sighed, shaking her head at him in disapproval and vowing silently to mail a check as soon as she got home. The woman smilingly handed over a key. "Top of the stairs and off to the left. Breakfast is served at eight."

"We're not going to want to be disturbed, Sally," Amber said. "After driving all night, we'll probably sleep until sundown. Though I might creep out for a snack at some point in between. Can you make sure no one bothers us during the day?"

"Well… well, yes. I suppose I can do that."

"Thanks."

"Do you need help with your bags?"

"I'll get them later. Right now, I just need to sit down and rest my eyes," Edge said. He sent her a smile. "Go on back to bed, Sally. We promise not to disturb your sleep again."

She gave him a shaky little smile, succumbing to that irresistible charm like every other woman in creation would do. Herself included, Amber thought, as she followed him up the stairs. He'd been right when he'd said she seemed to be feeling a bit better in the car. She
was
feeling better, in spite of the persistent dream. Being with him again was the reason for it. She knew that, even though she couldn't quite figure out why. She responded to him the way the sea responded to the tug of the moon, and she felt like a fool for it, but that didn't change the facts. She felt warm all over when she was near him. Even the threat of an impending grief too big to bear seemed to fade when he was with her.

Idiot.

They didn't need to use the key. Unoccupied, the bedroom was unlocked, the door standing open. The room was almost too cute to bear, with its pink and blue quilt on the bed, its pillow shams and canopy and the curtains in the windows, all made of the same fabric. Plush pale blue carpet lined the floor. The dresser sported an antique replica clock and a lamp that could have been a prop from
Gone with the Wind
.

Amber walked in, then went straight across the room and through the door at the far end to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. While she was in there, she started a hot bath running in the claw-foot tub.

When she returned, Edge was lying on the bed, arms folded behind his head, looking relaxed and comfortable.

"Thoughtful of you, running me a bath," he said without looking at her.

She pursed her lips, moved to the bed and sat down beside him. "I suppose you're welcome to it. There's not all that much time before daylight. I can take mine after."

"Or we could take one together."

She shot him a look. He was still lying there, still looking completely at ease.

He shrugged at her scowl. "Hell, the damage has already been done, love. It's not like you can get any more pregnant than you already are." He shrugged. "Not much more I can do to you, is there? Besides… the good stuff."

"Edge, I just don't think… "

He sat up, one hand sliding around her nape. His touch silenced her, and reluctantly she closed her eyes, let her head tip backward.

He leaned closer to her, his lips near her ear, so that she felt his cool breath when he spoke. "I want you, Alby. Have since I set eyes on you."

She pursed her lips, tensed up. "I thought it was make believe."

"What, I wasn't convincing enough?" He put his mouth on her ear, nibbled the lobe. Shivers and heat ran through her all at once. "It was never an act, love. Never. I thought it would ease up once I'd had you. Forbidden fruit is sweeter and all that. But it only got worse." He slid his hand slowly to the small of her back, moving it there in gentle circles that tingled and burned.

"So you want me," she said.

"And you want me," he replied.

But I want more, she thought against her will. She closed her eyes, told herself not to let the thoughts swirling around in the depths of her mind leak out where he could see them. She didn't just want him. There was something else, something so deep it penetrated her soul. She knew him. He was inside her, a part of her. Had been since before she'd set eyes on him. Sharing blood had intensified the feelings, and she imagined carrying his child did so even more. But it didn't matter why she felt the way she did. It only mattered that she felt something about a million times more powerful than desire for him. She didn't like being the one who cared, the one who was bound to be hurt. She would have far preferred being the object of adoration and knowing all the time that she could take it or leave it. Never be the one to care the most. How many times had she given that advice to Alicia? Never need a man more than he needs you. And never,
never
let yourself need someone so badly that the thought of being without him becomes paralyzing.

"Let me hold you, Alby," Edge said softly. "Let me take away some of the worry, just for a little while. Hmm?"

Damn her, she didn't have the willpower to say no. She let him turn her toward him, let him kiss her, felt her entire body tremble in bone-deep reaction that was as much emotional as physical. He was rain to her parched, thirsty desert. He threaded his hands in her hair, and she drank in his kisses, his touches, his essence. And then, suddenly, he lifted his head away.

When she blinked her eyes open, it was to find him frowning at her, studying her face. "You're…you're crying," he whispered.

She sniffed and lifted her hand to wipe the errant tear from her cheek. "A combination of sleep deprivation and raging hormones," she told him. "Ignore it."

"Alby, there's nothing about you I can ignore." Tenderly he swept her hair off her forehead, tucking it behind an ear. She'd never seen him look quite the way he looked right then. "What can I do to make it better?"

She blinked her eyes dry, told herself it didn't matter what she did or didn't do in the hour before dawn. It couldn't possibly make her love him any more. It was too late for her. Swallowing her certainty that she was in for a heartache of preternatural proportions, she leaned up to him and pressed her mouth to his. "Make love to me," she told him.

He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her, even as he scooped her off the bed and rose to his feet. He carried her across the room and into the bathroom, set her down on the edge of the tub and broke the grip of his mouth on hers long enough to shut the water off. Then he dragged a hand through the water a few times.

"Nice big tub," he observed, unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it off.

God, he had a chest to die for. She ran her hands over it. "You were always into working out, weren't you?" she asked. "Even as a mortal. That would explain your penchant for stealing expensive workout equipment."

He shrugged. "It was pretty much a job requirement, back then." He unbuttoned her blouse, peeled it off her, slung it over a towel rack beside his own.

"As part of a gang, you mean?"

He nodded. "It wasn't like it is today. We weren't a group of malicious thugs, just a bunch of kids who did what we had to to get by." He tipped his head to one side. "You read the file Stiles kept on me."

She nodded. "How did you know?"

"I saw it. While I slept, I was there with you, Alby. In your head, inside that room where they kept you. It was the damnedest thing."

She frowned, but he only pulled her close for a lingering kiss, undoing her bra in the back while he was at it. And in a moment she was no longer able to focus on wondering what the hell all of this meant, or whether it might be possible he felt more for her than just wanting.

By the time Edge had worked her out of her jeans and himself out of his, she was entirely focused on sensation, on the moment. On the way his hands felt on her backside, his mouth on her throat and breasts, his body pressing against hers.

Edge slid his hands down her thighs, pulling them up and around his waist, an act that opened her to him, let him rub against her. Then he stepped over the edge of the tub, into the water, and sank slowly down, until he leaned back and she knelt on top of him.

Her breasts dangled over him, and he stretched up, catching one in his mouth, tugging at the nipple with his teeth until she moaned. Then she moved herself over him and lowered her body, taking him inside her. He closed his eyes in apparent ecstasy, and that encouraged her to move. To raise and lower herself over him, to drag her nails over his chest to make him feel the way he was making her feel.

God, it was good.

His hands clasped tight on her buttocks, drawing her hard and tight to him, and then he shifted his hips, moving inside her, but slowly. She threw her head backward and muttered his name.

But he kept to the slow pace, exploring her body with his hands and his lips. He ran his fingers over her spine, curled his hands on her shoulders, ran them down her arms. It was as if he were memorizing every inch of her. When he ran his palms over her abdomen, she looked down, seeing the little mound her belly made, how hard and tight it was. His hands trembled there.

She met his eyes, wondering what it meant. A pregnant woman didn't show in the first few days. Did he doubt her now, when her very body seemed to be insisting that she'd lied to him?

No. She saw only wonder in his eyes. Wonder, and something more.

He moved his hand lower then, until his thumb found the nub of sensation so close to the place where they were joined. He rubbed her there, and she shivered. He suckled her, hard and then harder, increasing the pace of his movements inside her. Then she was moaning his name as he drove her over the edge.

Edge held her until the ripples of pleasure began to fade, then pulled her upper body down so she lay on his chest in the warm water. He stroked her hair, kissed her neck. "Is it better now?" he asked her.

She closed her eyes, loving the feel of his body against her, his arms around her. "Yes," she lied. "Lots better now."

Amber might have felt better, Edge thought, but damned if he didn't feel worse. He didn't know what the hell the woman was doing to him. She'd crept into his veins and was spreading through his system somehow. She was changing him. He didn't like it. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't what he wanted.

Hell. He didn't know what he wanted anymore. Life had been so simple before he'd decided to cross paths with this woman. He'd known exactly what he wanted. His priorities were limited: self-preservation and revenge. Now those things seemed to have been displaced by other things—her safety, her well-being, her happiness. And that of her child.

His
child. Imagine that.

Those things had first risen up to become as important as his own goals and desires. Then they'd become more important. Now they seemed to have shoved his own need for vengeance and sense of self-preservation right off the chart. Those things paled in comparison to her. To the baby.

Beyond that, there were all these other changes happening inside him. The newfound power and strength and psychism. The voice in his head that no one else could hear. The one that led him to Amber, even when going to her proved less than healthy for him. The one that thought it was funny to see Edge beaten down by a gang of mortal women. Not that he didn't find it mildly amusing himself, in retrospect. And it was all because of her. Somehow or other, her blood, her taste, her touch—all of it had changed him. In every possible way.