Flash and Fire (21 page)

“Showing you how it can be,” was all he said, the words gruff, the sentiment gentle.

And then, in the bedroom, amid the soft, seductive sounds of the man-made waterfall that was just beyond his window, Pierce showed her a tenderness Amanda hadn’t thought him capable of.

This gentler lovemaking brought forth another wave
of passion from her, draining her even as it swept through her veins with the force and speed of a flash flood.

His lovemaking, whether breathtakingly passionate or achingly tender, made her wild and reckless.

His lovemaking made her free.

Amanda stirred. She was reluctant to open her eyes and give up the last vestiges of the joy and peacefulness she had experienced as she had drifted off to sleep in Pierce’s arms.

But sleep receded on light, padded feet, like a cat
silently slinking away into the shadows. In its place came
the steely grip of panic laced with horror.

Oh God, what had she done?

Her heart pounding, Amanda slowly turned in the king-sized bed to face the warm body next to hers.

Pierce was sleeping soundly. The brooding expression was gone. His features were softened. A totally unfamiliar, contented smile was on his face.

Sure he was content. She’d become another notch for him.

Amanda felt regret stab the point of its dagger into her heart, then twist it. Worse than that, she’d almost raped him, she thought, remembering how she’d yanked his shirt from him, how she’d fumbled with his trousers, with his underwear.

Her face grew hot. She’d undoubtedly fed his ego and given him something to crow about.

Hot tears gathered in her eyes and threatened to clog her throat. She blinked them away, furious with herself and this sudden display of weakness on top of the huge, glaring mistake she had made last night.

She didn’t have time for tears. She had to get out of here before Pierce woke up.

Holding her breath, Amanda watched Pierce’s face for any signs that he was waking up as she eased slowly out of the bed.

He didn’t even stir.

The only light in the room came in from the full moon through the window. It highlighted Pierce’s face and made him almost impossibly good-looking. Amanda stared at him for just a beat, momentarily wishing that things were different, that he was the man she wished him to be, the man she’d pretended he was during their lovemaking. Someone kind, who could love.

If she could buy into that she thought ruefully, she’d be the most gullible woman in the world, and she’d already paid her dues in that department.

With a sense of urgency throbbing through her, Amanda looked around for her clothes and then remembered that they were all in a heap on the floor in the other room.

Silently, she made her escape. Then, as a precaution, she softly closed the door behind her.

Fumbling, cursing her own weakness, Amanda quickly slipped her dress on and zipped it. When she picked up her panties from the floor, she realized that they were torn and useless. She felt naked and vulnerable without underwear, but she couldn’t stay here either. She couldn’t bring herself to face Pierce.

Swallowing another curse, Amanda picked up his undershorts and pulled them on. The briefs were loose around her hips and felt really awkward, but if she didn’t move too fast, they’d do.

She checked her purse for the change that she’d need to call a cab. With a quarter burning in the palm of her hand, Amanda snuck out of Pierce’s apartment.

Like a prostitute, slinking away in the night, she thought bitterly.

Amanda hoped Carla wouldn’t wake up when she arrived home. She didn’t feel like explaining anything to the woman.

She didn’t even want to think about it herself.

Chapter Twenty Two

By the time Amanda undressed and climbed into her own bed, there wasn’t much of the night left. What there was of it, she spent tossing restlessly, sleeping in tiny snatches.

She couldn’t remember the details of anything she dreamed, only that she felt haunted.

Each time she shut her eyes, she could see Pierce’s face,
his eyes and his mouth mocking her. She’d let her guard
down and he had slipped past, like a thief in the night.

No, that wasn’t accurate. She was rationalizing the situation. He might be a thief, but last night, she had given him the key.

Given? She’d all but thrown it to him.

Subconsciously, she had wanted last night to happen. Logically, she had known she’d regret it, but still, she had wanted it to happen.

And the bum had been there, ready and able to make the catch. He’d been there, willing to take advantage of her vulnerable state.

Now that she was thinking clearly again, she knew that Pierce had gotten what he wanted. She wouldn’t have to be worried about looking over her shoulder and seeing him anymore. For all intents and purposes, he was out of her life.

The thought, as she lay there staring at the ceiling, dawn slowly lightening the room, was supposed to comfort her. It didn’t. Knowing he was out of her life gave her precious little solace.

She’d found, to her surprise, that they had something very important in common. They had both felt very alone as children. Alone and almost stranded. The only difference was that she was isolated in a sea of plenty and he in a whirlpool of nothing. They’d both learned to depend on themselves, she with some help from Whitney and he totally through his own resources.

They had deviated after that. She’d mellowed and he’d hardened. Perhaps if it hadn’t been for Whitney, she thought with a cryptic smile on her lips, she would have turned out to be more like Pierce.

Now there was a thought.

Amanda rolled over onto her side. God, but she felt so unsettled. It was as if she were descending, headfirst, into a chasm with no bottom.

Resigning herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to get any more sleep, Amanda sat up in her bed. With a deep sigh, she dragged both hands through her hair and attempted to pull herself together. Her eyes drifted to the heap on the floor.

The dress she’d worn last night was lying there, crumpled. Right next to his light blue briefs.

Oh, God!

She had to get rid of Pierce’s undershorts before Carla discovered them and plied her with a dozen smirking questions. Carla would like nothing better than to be propelled into a real-life soap opera.

Not if she could help it.

Scrambling out of bed, Amanda had only had enough time to snatch up the undershorts when she heard someone pounding on her front door. She looked at her watch. It was six-thirty.

Who—?

The pounding came again.

Amanda grabbed her robe from the edge of her bed and shoved her arms through the sleeves, unconsciously holding on to the scrap of blue material.

She hurried to the front door, the open robe flapping around her legs, and looked through the peephole. Her heart froze.

Pierce filled the entire concave space, his image crammed into the tiny, half-inch circle like an action figure that had been shrunken down.

Her first impulse was to run to her room and lock the
door behind her. But she wasn’t a child anymore, cowering
and hiding until the adult storms had passed. She had to face things, even Pierce. She had to clear the air between
them before it became too polluted for either one of them
to breathe. After all, indirectly, she did work with the man.

You play, you pay, she thought bitterly. Except that for her, it hadn’t been a game. However much of a mistake it had been, it had been for real.

“God damn it, Amanda, open up!” Pierce demanded, his voice loud enough to be heard up and down both sides of the block.

Terrific. Now the neighbors knew.

She took a cleansing breath and pulled the door open, telling herself that she could face anything, even an overly cocky male.

Pierce strode into the house like a panther laying claim to his domain. He had on a pair of faded jeans. He was bare-chested and his bare feet were jammed into worn sneakers that were partially unlaced. He looked rumpled and angry. Very, very angry.

He was carrying a carton of eggs.

When he’d woken up fifteen minutes ago, he’d had the strangest sensation. It had taken him a hazy moment to realize that this alien emotion he was feeling was contentment.

At least that’s what he assumed it was. He’d only experienced it before when it had pertained to getting the edge on a particularly elusive story, or getting out of Iraq with his skin intact.

It had never remotely involved waking up on the morn
ing after a sexual conquest. Though he always enjoyed having sex, once it was over, it was over. There was no
mythical afterglow that he’d heard women gush about, no
feeling of peace. He’d be drained, his appetite satisfied and his job—which was what he’d viewed his part of the bargain in bedding a woman to be—well done. He’d
never heard any complaints about his performance.

But the feeling of well-being had never before curled through him like early morning fog along the heath.

The feeling had dissolved immediately when he’d found the space next to him empty and there had been no answer when he’d called out her name.

It had taken him only a moment to ascertain that Amanda was gone.

Cursing her vehemently, as well as himself for not having the good sense just to roll over and go back to sleep, he’d pulled on only his jeans and his sneakers. He’d probably have left the latter behind if his feet weren’t so damn sensitive to bare ground.

Taking his wallet and his keys, and stuffing her torn underwear into his pocket like a talisman, he’d been out the door in less than five minutes. The eggs had been an afterthought.

As he walked in, Pierce forced himself to curb his anger. He didn’t want Amanda believing that she meant more to him than just an intriguing interlude, because she didn’t.

“I brought you something.” He held up the egg carton casually, his voice giving absolutely no hint of the anger he still felt inside, of the odd sense of betrayal that she had left in her wake.

It was stupid to feel that way and he knew it. Hell, he was only here because she had turned out to be such a great lay and he didn’t want to end it yet. When it was over, he’d let her know. And it would be, soon.

But not yet.

The decision appeased the edginess he felt bubbling inside.

Amanda stared at the offering incredulously. “Eggs?”

He flipped open the carton, exposing two rows of six medium-sized eggs for her perusal.

“You can either use them to fix us breakfast, or you can throw them to release whatever inner frustrations had you slinking out of my apartment in the middle of the night like a cat burglar.” He presented them to her. “Just as long as you don’t throw them at me.”

When she reached for the carton, he smiled. “Souvenir?”

“What?’

Pierce nodded at die light blue material that she was still clutching. “You’re holding my underwear in your hand.”

Amanda stared at the briefs as if she hadn’t seen them before.

“I—I didn’t have any to put on,” she stammered, hating herself for it. “You tore mine off.”

She could feel the blush rising to her cheeks. After they’d made love in every conceivable place in his house, she was blushing in front of him like some idiotic schoolgirl.

But now that the glow of passion had faded, she was embarrassed. Acutely so.

“Trade you.” Pierce stuck his hand into his jeans and pulled out the torn scrap she’d left behind in her flight from his apartment. “It’s not exactly a glass slipper, but I’d be more than happy to see if it fits you, Mandy.”

“It fits, it fits!” Amanda said between clenched teeth.

Amanda thrust his underwear into his hand, taking hers with as much dignity as she could manage, given the situation.

Pierce tucked the undergarment into his pocket. “So,” he said, indicating the carton, “what’ll it be, Mandy? Are the eggs going to be meals, or missiles? If I have a vote, I cast mine for meals.”

His eyes slid over her. Beneath the opened robe, she was wearing an old jersey that had long since lost its color and shape from too many washings. Why the hell did that look sexy to him?

“I’m starving.”

Amanda blew out a breath and put her hand out for the carton again. “I might as well fix us breakfast.”

He draped an arm around her shoulders as he turned her around toward the kitchen. “Good choice.”

She let him guide her. “You can’t just take over like this, you know,” she informed him, trying desperately for some foothold before she lost it all.

“I know.” But he made absolutely no move to withdraw his arm.

She laid the carton on the counter. “Last night didn’t mean anything,” she insisted doggedly, more to convince herself than him.

He was more than willing to agree to that. He didn’t want last night to mean anything even more than she didn’t. Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t get some mileage out of teasing her.

“I think we singed the carpet.” He grinned at her obvious embarrassment. Pierce didn’t think women blushed anymore in this day and age. Certainly none of the women he’d ever had did. “I might not get back my cleaning deposit.”

Amanda sighed. She didn’t like being the source of his amusement.

“You’re not taking this seriously, Pierce.”

He noticed that she’d stopped calling him by his last name and didn’t know if he liked it or not. He didn’t want her getting hung up on him. The last thing in the world he needed was to have a woman hung up on him, even one like Amanda who behaved like a wildcat in bed and a lady out of it.

“The only thing that’s serious, Mandy, is death. Everything else . . .”

His voice trailed off as he shrugged indifferently.

Amanda sighed again and shook her head as she took out the large frying pan. For a second, she tested its weight in her hand. She rested it on the burner, though her first inclination was to put the metal pan to better use. Her eyes flickered over his face.

“You’re very transparent.” Pierce grinned as he slid onto the bar stool.