Gabriel (15 page)

“Gabe?” She rose on an elbow.

“Losing another person I care about,” he murmured. “That’s what I fear most.”

Her lips parted, but the hammering of her heart prevented any words from emerging.

“It’s why I lost it the night I found out about the hit-and-run. Why I insisted—”
His voice broke off, his throat worked as he swallowed. He turned his head. Her gaze
traced the inflexible line of his jaw, noted the small muscle ticking there as he
visibly reached for control and, after several tense moments, gained it.

“Why you insisted I stay here tonight,” she finished.

He turned back to her. “Yes.” He reached for her.

Long, elegant fingers that typed out the grittiest, most thrilling books were gentle
as they traced her jaw…when his thumb whisked across her bottom lip. A shudder quaked
through her, and the tremor rocked straight to her soul. His touch singed her skin,
and she imagined when he removed his hand, his fingerprints would be imprinted there.

“I was rough when I kissed you,” he said, voice low, dark. She almost missed his words
under the wild pounding of her heart. Desire she’d only heard in her most secret dreams
throbbed in the rough tone.

God, if I’m imagining it, please let me have this illusion. Just for a little while.

“Did I scare you?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she breathed. His thumb pressed into her bottom lip, the tip grazing her teeth.
Her lashes fluttered closed as she savored his caress. When she opened her eyes, she
met the burning intensity of his regard. Blue flames leapt and danced in his gaze,
stoking the fire deep within her body that was longing to be quenched by his touch.

“Your kiss didn’t scare me,” she said, taking her flimsy, tattered courage in her
hands. When it came to chasing down criminals, or wielding a gun, she could do both
with no problem. But admitting the secret she guarded like a dragon with his precious
treasure…she shook in her socks, but forced the words past her lips. “
You
do.”

His thumb stilled on her mouth. “You just said—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “Gabe, I’ve dreamed so often of your kiss, your touch. How
can I be afraid of it? But you—” she swallowed and dropped her gaze to his chin, her
nerve faltering. “You have such”—she hesitated—“power over me. You always have. And
because of it, you also hold the ability to hurt me. Badly.”

Surprise flickered across his face, flashed in his eyes like a bolt of dry lightning.

“I would never harm you, Leah,” he insisted.

“I know. That’s not the man you are. At the same time…” She straightened, and his
hand fell away from her face. Her soul cried out for the return of his touch, but
instead she curled her legs under her, placing distance between them.

“Leah,” he said, and waited until her eyes lifted to meet his again. “You said you’ve
dreamed about my touch. How long?”

Her nails bit into her palms as she warned herself to be cautious with her words and
heart.
Too late
, an inner voice whispered.
It’s much too late.
Did she want to be careful? Or did she want to discover what it felt like to be touched
by him, loved by him? For so long she’d imagined the press of his body to hers, the
pleasure of being skin to skin. Tonight she’d almost lost the opportunity ever to
experience that pleasure—even if only for one night.

“Too many years to count,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes.

A tense, heavy silence hummed between them. He remained quiet for so long, regret
started to creep in. Her stomach twisted. Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut?
Years?
Damn, she’d probably freaked him—

He dived for her. He swallowed her gasp with his mouth as he bore her down to the
pillows, crushing her mouth beneath his. He slanted his head for a better angle, deepened
the kiss, demanded more. She met him thrust for thrust, stroke for stroke, groan for
groan. Tonight she wanted to lose herself in passion and forget the doubts and fears.

Her stomach clenched hard as liquid heat rolled through her, streaming through her
veins, streaking to her breasts, down her belly to the place between her thighs. She
wanted him fiercely, with a desire that had no rival, except one.

Her love
.

He lifted his head, cradled her jaw. His heart thudded under her palms as she laid
them on his chest and gazed into his eyes. Damn, she could fall into them, drown in
them, and thank God for such a lovely death.

On the tail of a raw moan, he took her mouth in an orgy of pleasure. His tongue dove
between her lips and claimed her like a pillaging warrior on a rampage. The taste
of him was sweet and potent like a full-bodied wine. She groaned in his mouth. Lifting
her hands from his chest, she tunneled her fingers through his hair, twisting the
strands in great handfuls, holding him steady for the delicious feast his mouth offered.

“Leah,” he groaned. He drew back, nipped at her bottom lip then laved the sting with
his tongue before sucking the flesh between his teeth. “You’re so sweet. So damn sweet.”

He peppered her jaw and chin with small, stinging kisses before returning to her mouth.
His lips covered hers, and they weren’t gentle or sweet. His kiss was wild, out of
control. Greedy. She eagerly sucked on his invading tongue, wrapping hers around his.
They kissed like long-lost lovers, not like two people touching for the first time.

Hurriedly, they divested each other of their clothing. She didn’t know who gasped
at the first contact of flesh to flesh—him or her. Maybe they both did. Her breasts
pillowed his chest, and he felt so perfect against her. The height she’d always cursed
as the bane of her existence was now a gift. Her mouth fit to the base of his neck
where she sipped at the hot, musky scent of his skin.

He leaned back, peered down at the chain and pendant he’d gifted her with seven years
earlier. “You still wear it,” he murmured, tracing the rendering of St. Michael. She
shivered as he lowered his head and placed a soft kiss above the jewelry.

Of course she still wore the pendant; it had been all she’d had of him to hold next
to her skin…all she believed she would ever have of him. But she couldn’t voice the
telling admission aloud, so instead she cuffed the wrist of his hand caressing the
chain, guided it down her body, and pressed it to the heart of her desire. His fingers
instantly curled, cupping her sex. A strangled cry escaped her throat as the tip of
his fingers parted her, pressed into her heat.

“You’re wet, baby,” he ground out, rubbing the heel of his palm against her clit and
causing a riot of pleasure there. She moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck.

She needed more. Needed his mouth, his touch. Needed him inside her, possessing her.
And then she needed him to hold her close afterward, murmur in her ear that he loved
her just as much as she loved him.

With a soft oath, he levered off her, eyes closed as if in pain. After a moment, he
reopened them. “Condoms.”

“My bag,” she whispered,

He recaptured her mouth in a burning kiss before scrambling off the bed and retrieving
her overnight bag. She dove inside and pulled out a foil-wrapped condom. She shoved
the bag off the mattress as he plucked the protection from her fingers and sheathed
himself before settling between her thighs.

His eyes glowed with an inner fire, and she shivered at the primal expression that
hardened his face. Without breaking eye contact, he guided his cock to her body’s
portal and pushed forward. She bucked toward him.
Wanting
.

“Easy,” he murmured. His hands clutched her hips, holding them as he slowly impaled
her. “Easy, sweetheart.”

She didn’t want to take it easy. She needed,
hungered for
his thickness buried to the hilt inside her, his flesh meeting hers, their connection
so visceral it couldn’t be denied.

“
Now
, Gabe,” she demanded, pleaded. “Please.”

He loosed a harsh groan, shifted a hand from her hip and stroked it up her torso,
cradled the nape of her neck. With a low rumble, he pulled her up for a hot, ravenous
kiss. His tongue plunged between her lips, dueling with hers, licking at the roof
of her mouth, consuming her even as he pushed into her body.

“Hold onto me,” he ordered, his voice barely recognizable over the dark rumble from
his throat and chest. She did as he commanded and encircled his neck, pressing her
cheek to his shoulder and clinging to him as if he were a raft in the middle of this
passion-tossed sea. “Don’t let go, baby. Don’t let go.”

Her heart clenched at the same time as her sex.
I can’t,
she whispered to him in her soul.
That’s my problem. I can’t let go of you.

His wide palms cupped her bottom, and he pulled free of her body only to return and
plunge deep, filling her to capacity. She cried out, shook against him.

“Shh,” he soothed. “I have you.”

Yes, he did
. He held her, whispering sweet words of praise and passion in her ear as he made
love to her, branded her, claimed her with every inch. Even if he didn’t realize that
he possessed her, she knew another man would never, could never, touch her body or
her soul as he did.

He fell forward, his palms pressing into the pillow on either side of her head. With
every roll and thrust of his hips, he carried her higher and higher. Desire and love
sped through her as they raced for the finish. She loved how he completed her like
a perfect puzzle piece. How he tore her apart with the force of his passion, but forged
her back together again with his tenderness.

God, she loved him
.

The words lodged in her throat; she couldn’t voice them aloud. But she could show
him with her body, her need for him. Could surrender wholly to him, savoring every
groan and uttered erotic curse in her ear, against her skin. All too soon, a wave
of orgasm swelled and, before she could shuffle back from the edge, it crashed upon
her. The world went black, but she didn’t go into the abyss alone.

He held her, protected her…anchored her.

Chapter Seventeen

Leah flipped off the light in Gabriel’s bathroom before opening the door to the bedroom.
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, biting back a whimper. Passionate sex hadn’t
eased the aches already plaguing her body. Instead, making love with Gabriel had added
soreness to places no liniment or aspirin could reach.

She glanced over her shoulder to the sleeping male on the bed. The smooth, strong
length of Gabriel’s back steadily rose up and down, undisturbed. Love swelled inside
her chest, inflating her lungs, clogging her throat. She exhaled a long, silent breath,
hoping to relieve the pressure that seemed to fill her to bursting. But nothing could
alleviate the delight in just looking at him—or the fear lurking along the edges of
her mind, stealthily waiting to invade and steal her joy.

Hell, she wasn’t some doe-eyed Pollyanna who believed sex transformed pumpkins into
horse-drawn carriages and ogres into Prince Charmings. Even mind-blowing, can-you-puh-lease-write-a-manual-for-the-less-gifted
sex wouldn’t change a person. A faint curl of humor appeared and vanished in the next
moment like a wisp of smoke. The same issues that existed between them before he’d
covered her mouth with his were still there after the heat had simmered.

The next time she met his eyes, would desire darken the arctic blue? Or would it be
regret, self-contempt, and anger she saw?

A shiver raced over her, through her. When she left the bathroom, she’d intended to
climb back under the sheets and press her body against his, share his heat and inhale
his warm rain-and-skin scent. Instead, with the hem of Gabriel’s borrowed shirt brushing
against her bare thighs, she turned from the bed and fled the room.

If only she could escape her thoughts as easily.

She moved on quiet feet to the kitchen.
Coffee
. Sure it was something-in-the-a.m., but sleep was no longer an option.

Gabriel’s kitchen was as familiar to her as her own. She tugged open the cabinet drawer,
and the small motion set off an answering protest in her shoulder. Which of course
brought the memories from the evening’s attack rushing in with malicious glee.

She slapped her palms down on the counter as if bracing herself for the onslaught
of terrifying images. The attic ladder. The cold edge of the knife against her skin.
The glint of the blade as it arced down toward her. And that awful whisper.

“Tell my special boy I said hello
.”

Special boy…special boy…my special boy… Why did—

Holy shit!
Recognition and shock collided, hurtling ice through her veins. That phrase—
Catherine’s phrase for Richard
.

The intruder had said to tell his special boy hello. But tell
who
hello? He couldn’t have meant Richard—he was dead. What special boy had he been referring
to?

I’m missing something. What am I missing?

She sensed it, wriggling right beyond her conscious mind’s grasp. So close but…damn!
What can’t I see?

Abandoning the coffee, she hurried out of the kitchen and cut a beeline for the dining
room and the tote bag Gabriel had placed on the table earlier. Snatching it up, she
continued to the living room and perched on the edge of the couch. Since leaving Chay’s
home, a voice had been nagging her to remember…something. But whatever it was eluded
her. Now that same voice insisted the answer was close. And could be found in the
papers she’d combed through time and time again. With shaking fingers, she withdrew
the long, white envelope with her name and Whelan Investigation’s address printed
on the front.

She opened the flap and withdrew the yellowed flyer, leaving the letter inside the
envelope. Slowly unfolded the paper.

Her uncle’s likeness stared up at her. She smiled and traced the black-and-white picture.
He’d been so handsome. Even on the two-dimensional image, Richard seemed vibrant,
alive, his grin wide as if inviting a person in on one of the many jokes he liked
to tell. Tell badly. She shook her head, heart seizing. Her uncle had loved to laugh.

She glanced down, skimming over the gender, age, height, weight, race, last seen wearing—

Oh. God
.

A bell clanged in her head, the clamor deafening. Her hands trembled, and the flyer
shook. Again, she read the single line. Last seen wearing: dark blue blazer, light
blue shirt, dark blue pants.

Her heart pounded against her rib cage so hard her chest felt bruised. But the soreness
dwindled in comparison to the queasiness wiggling in her stomach like a worm on a
hook.

Catherine’s words came back to her. “
He had a business dinner and wore the dark blue jacket I’d given him for his birthday
two months earlier. He’d paired it with a light blue shirt, and he’d laughed when
I told him he resembled a peacock.”

Then Leah recalled Chay’s statement about the last time he’d seen Richard.
“He came upstairs to say good night before he left that night. Blue jacket, blue shirt.
It’ll stay burned in my mind forever…”

The nausea in her stomach burned an acidic path up her chest to the back of her throat.
Catherine’s recollections were of Friday night when he’d left home, while the details
Chay had relayed were of
Thursday
night, before Richard disappeared.

Yet both Catherine and Chay had described the same outfit.

Catherine could be mistaken, but Leah doubted it. Richard’s mother remembered every
detail about her son with an obsessive memory that defied her eighty-plus years and
the intervening span of two decades.

Chay, on the other hand, claimed not to have seen Richard at all on Friday. So how
could he know what her uncle had been wearing?

The truth slammed into her with the force of a sledgehammer.

He must have seen Richard the day he vanished
.

How else could he have known about the blue jacket and shirt? And if Chay had lied
about seeing him Friday, then Malachim, Rafe, and Gabriel had also lied about the
sequence of events that night.

But
why
?

The “why” of it lurked at the back of her mind, whispering its evil like the serpent
in the Garden. It made an awful sense. If one—or all—of them had something to hide.

It explained their verbatim recitation of events. And it would also explain Gabriel’s
abrupt about-face in deciding to help her with the investigation.
My God
. What if his intention had not been assisting, but
hindering
? Malachim, Rafe, Chay—they were his best friends since birth, closer than brothers.
And his fierce protection of them rivaled a lion’s over its pride.

“What are you doing?”

She jerked, fisting the flyer. “Gabe!” she gasped, willing her racing heart to slow.
“I didn’t hear you.”

He crossed his arms over his bare chest. Moonlight streamed into the room through
the floor-to-ceiling windows. The pearly glow flowed over him, transforming him into
a marble statue. Hard shoulders, muscled arms, ridged abdomen, and the chiseled angles
of his face—all hard as stone. The tousled curls tumbling around his cheekbones and
the faded denim hanging low on his hips were the only soft elements about him.

Even with doubts and questions flooding her mind, desire heated her blood, coursed
through her in a hot torrent. Her heart continued to drum but no longer out of surprise.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His gaze flicked down toward the flyer in her fists.

Deliberately, she relaxed her grip on the wrinkled paper. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmares?” His voice gentled. She bet he understood about the sly terrors lying
in wait until a person slept before they attacked.

“No.” Leah shook her head. “But I did start thinking about last night. And how since
leaving Chay’s house yesterday something has been nagging at me. Something important
I’m missing. It came to me a few minutes ago.”

The warmth leeched from his features, leaving a chill that pierced her flesh and bone
to the very soul beneath.

Damn
.

“What did you realize?”

She stared at him. She licked her lips, dread robbing her mouth of moisture. Part
of her feared asking the question hovering on her tongue. Once she voiced her suspicion,
she couldn’t take it back—couldn’t repair the damage or pain her words inflicted.

Yet the other part of her needed to know the truth. For the sake of Richard, justice…and
herself.

“I realized that Chay killed Richard.”