Just Before Sunrise (29 page)

The adjoining bathroom was done in white with a pedestal sink and a simple bathtub. A wooden rack held a stack of fluffy white towels. Imagining herself wrapped in one, she filled the tub with water as hot as she could possibly stand and dumped in bath crystals from a jar sitting on the edge of the tub. She inhaled their fragrance. Zoe would be able to pinpoint the various scents, but Annie just breathed them in, already relaxing.

She peeled off her dog-smelling clothes and left them in a heap on the floor, to be burned in the morning, she thought. She washed her face with soap and water, feeling her fatigue in her burning, puffy eyes, her throbbing head, the stiffness throughout her body.

Had Vic Denardo broken into her apartment and left Otto for dead?

If not Denardo, who?

Through sheer force of will, she pushed the images and the questions to the back of her mind. Like her heap of clothes, they were something to deal with in the morning.

She stepped into the tub and slowly immersed herself in the steamy, fragrant water. Almond. That was what she was smelling. She breathed deeply, sinking back against the cool porcelain.

The floor above her creaked. She could hear Garvin walking around. In a moment, she heard the water come on, presumably in his own bathroom. Did he know she was in the tub on the floor below? Even with Otto recuperating at the vet's, with a man suspected of two brutal murders having followed her and maybe having beaten up her dog, she could feel her body responding to the simple thought of Garvin MacCrae taking a shower. Warm water slid over her, swirled around her.

So much, she thought, for a calming bath.

Maybe almond was an aphrodisiac. She would have to ask Zoe.

She groaned. Distractions weren't going to work.

The telephone rang, such a surprise she jolted up and then back down again, sliding under the water, almost drowning herself. She came up gulping for air, her heart racing.

Otto. It was the vet calling to tell her he'd taken a turn for the worse.

Without thinking, she leaped from the tub, dripping water, skin pink from the heat. She snatched one of the huge, soft bath sheets and wrapped it around her, opening the door out into the hall.

"Garvin?"

No answer. He'd probably picked up an extension in his bedroom.

She crept to the bottom of the stairs. There was no light on in the first-floor hall, and the air felt even colder just out of her hot bath. But she didn't want Garvin to think she was unavailable to take a call.

"Garvin, I haven't gone to bed yet."

Of course, the call could be for him and have nothing to do with her or Otto. She glanced around, suddenly aware of her situation. Her towel was swept imperfectly around her, water was dripping off her onto the hardwood floor, and she was shivering, preciously close to being stark naked.

Perhaps, she thought, she should retreat back to the bathroom.

"Annie."

She went still, looked up at the top of the stairs. Garvin was silhouetted in the shadows. But she could see he had on a towel much smaller than hers, just wrapped around his waist.

"That was Cynthia." His voice was low, deep, penetrating the silence. "She wanted to know if everything was all right. She apologized for being so unpleasant tonight. I told her you'd had a break-in but didn't go into details."

Annie held her towel close. "I see. Thank you for telling me. I thought—I was worried it was about Otto."

"I know."

The length of stairs might not even have been between them. Annie felt his eyes on her, was aware of her bare shoulders, the water dripping from her hair into her towel. Garvin hadn't moved.

"Annie."

His quiet voice told her: he wouldn't come down unless she made it clear that was what she wanted. A lot had happened today. He wasn't going to take advantage of any vulnerability she might be feeling, any desperate need for closeness.

But she wanted him downstairs with her. Any resistance or any reluctance she'd had was gone. She couldn't even remember why she'd felt it. She was alone, and it was dark, and nothing seemed more right than having him there with her.

"Good night," he said. "Sleep well."

"No—wait."

He turned back, his eyes riveted on her. She could hear the rain lashing against the windows.

She let her towel drop just a little. "I'd like to be with you tonight, Garvin."

His gaze remained on her. "You're sure," he said.

She realized it wasn't a question, more an observation. She nodded. "I'm sure. Trust me. I'm getting cold standing here."

He started down the stairs. "I wouldn't want you to get cold."

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, her gaze drifted to the damp, dark, curling hairs on his chest, his taut abdomen. She studied the line of his jaw, the softness of his mouth. The only light came from her bathroom, making his eyes difficult to read.

He smiled, touching a finger to her lips. "Feeling warmer?"

"As a matter of fact, I am."

Her towel had lowered steadily, not quite exposing her breasts, but his eyes were on hers, as if he were trying to see all the way into her soul. She took a shallow breath, more aware of herself than she ever had been. Every inch of her mind and body seemed open and revealed, not only to him but to herself. She had nothing to hide, not even how much she wanted him.

He trailed his fingertips into her damp hair, snared it up into his palm. "Oh, Annie," he whispered, raw and hoarse, and his mouth came down on hers in a searing kiss, erupting everything that had simmered between them for days into a rolling, uncontrollable boil. Sensations tore through her, her blood sizzled. She clung to him, her towel falling to her waist.

"Tell me this is right," he murmured into her mouth.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes." He drew back an instant, locked eyes with her. "Yes, it matters."

She nodded, her pulse skipping. "I've no doubts."

But he did. She could see them encroaching. A slight darkening of his eyes, a tensed muscle working in his jaw, a tightening of his hold on her—on himself. Wanting her left raw and bare all the emotions—the guilt, the anger, the horror—he'd locked up five years ago. He could have sex with a woman, Annie thought, so long as emotion didn't come into play. So long as he didn't
care.

"I'm not asking any more of you—or myself—than tonight," she said.

He skimmed a finger down her throat, across the swell of her breasts. "Annie, I'm still going to want you tomorrow. One night isn't going to end it for me. If that's what you're hoping—"

"It's not."

"Good." He caught a lock of damp hair and tucked it behind her ear. "I want you, Annie. Only you."

"That doesn't scare me, you know."

He drew in close, deliberately skimmed his palms over her breasts, down her sides. "Maybe it should," he said, and kissed her again. Her towel sagged to her feet. She didn't know what happened to his except that it was gone. She moaned at the feel of his hard, taut body against hers. His answering moan was low, deep, and without any warning, he scooped her up, her legs a vise around his waist, and carried her into the bedroom. He swept back comforter, blankets, and top sheet with one hand, then fell with her onto the bed, groaning her name in the milky darkness.

Need overcame her, desire pent up from that very first moment she'd spotted him across the crowded Linwood ballroom, all tense and outraged at having a competitor. She couldn't get enough of touching him, stroking him. Nor could he of her. She could feel his desperate need, let it fuel her own as his mouth lingered on hers, slid down her throat, found her breast. She arched, moaning, dazed and hungry with want.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered and with one hand stroked the curve of her hip, slipped his fingertips between her legs. She shut her eyes, buried her head in his chest. One sensation after another stunned and rocked her, and she writhed with pleasure, a tangle of limbs and aching, shimmering desires.

"Garvin." His name came out in a strangled cry.
"Now."

He didn't need to be told twice. Fumbling in the drawer to the nightstand, he produced a small foil package. He gave her a wry smile. "The perfect host."

But his voice was hoarse, ragged, and in a few seconds, protection seen to, he eased back onto her, coursed one palm up her side, sending her pulse racing. She was aching and wet and vibrating with the need to feel him inside her. "I'm not fragile," she whispered. "You're not going to hurt me."

She didn't know if he heard her or not, if she'd even spoken aloud, for in that next instant, he settled into that dark, hot spot, then plunged inside, fast and deep and so hard it took her breath away. Pleasure speared through her, spread, tumbled out of control. Her blood sizzled, her head spun. She was in a dark labyrinth, wading through even darker caverns, searching, wanting. She heard soft voices urging her on, other voices warning her back, until finally there was no moving forward, no turning back. She cried out, and light spilled over her.

"Annie."

She wrapped her arms around him in the dark, held herself close to him. "I'm all right. More than all right."

She felt his smile, the feather touch of a kiss on her hair. "I know."

She opened her eyes, looked at him. "You do, don't you?"

He stroked her hair. "Mm."

"What about you? Are you okay?"

"Just fine."

She smiled. "I don't mean
that
way. I mean—" She frowned, thinking, not wanting to spoil the moment with their lovemaking still fresh. "I think deep down you're afraid if you love me, if I love you back, that I'll come to a bad end."

He was silent, and in the darkness and the stillness, Annie was struck by how different her life was. Six months ago she'd been living in her cottage on the coast of Maine, running a maritime museum, enjoying Otto and her friends, and not thinking too much about the future. Now she was in San Francisco in bed with a man she wasn't sure could ever really let himself love again.

She wriggled free of him and sat up, aware of the tangle of sheets around them, the soft sheen across her breasts and stomach that told of their lovemaking. "I'm right," she said stubbornly, but not without sympathy, "and you know it."

His gaze held hers, his expression impossible to read in the shifting shadows. "Was tonight about love, Annie? I don't know. I think it was just about you wanting me and me wanting you back. I think you're just as afraid—maybe more so—of letting anyone else into your life, risking loss."

His words held the ring of truth. Here today, gone tomorrow. That was her philosophy in all things, wasn't it? Why not in love? She shivered, suddenly cold. "I'm still right," she said, finding an edge of top sheet, drawing it up over her breasts.

"Let tonight be what it was, Annie," he said softly.

She noted his use of the past tense, knew he was leaving her bed even before his feet hit the floor. Silhouetted against the shaft of light coming from the bathroom, he looked magnificent. She wasn't sorry. She knew she'd been cast into labyrinths and caverns for a reason. Somewhere, hidden in a deep, dark place within one of those labyrinths, one of those caverns, was the part of Garvin MacCrae that would risk loving again. That would take the chance that another woman he loved wouldn't die on him and leave him feeling responsible.

He was already pounding up the stairs. She heard him curse. A door slammed shut.

She wasn't afraid. Not in the least. Not of him, not of herself. And she had no regrets about their lovemaking. Yes, she'd wanted him, and he'd wanted her. She wouldn't deny it. She felt bad about how awkwardly their night together had ended, but no matter what happened tomorrow, she'd have tonight.

Another door slammed. Water came on.

He was taking a shower, she thought.

"I hope it's a cold one," she muttered, knowing that the night would have brought on more lovemaking, hours of it.

Groaning under her breath, she slipped from her bed. Her ill-fated bath awaited her. The water, of course, was ice-cold, the smell of almonds long dissipated. She drained the tub and filled it again, suddenly energized. In the full-length mirror, her breasts looked heavy and swollen, her skin pink. All from lust, she thought. Pure lust. She gave her reflection a sly smile. There was nothing wrong with wanting Garvin MacCrae, she thought. Nothing at all.

Or with having had him, she added silently.

She pulled on her nightshirt. Everything suddenly seemed so very clear to her. Garvin had stomped upstairs not because he'd had her and once was enough but because he'd had her and once wasn't enough.

She crawled into bed, the sheets still warm from their lovemak-ing. She stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, wondering if he was up there blaming her fears rather than his own for why he was spending the rest of the night alone in bed. Well, let him. She'd warned him that she was no good at one-night stands. Serious issues existed between them, and they needed to be confronted. Maybe her timing was a little off, and maybe he had good reason to think her own fears had forced her subconsciously to drive him off.

Above her, his shower clanked off. She thought he kicked the door open.

Hugging her comforter around her, she closed her eyes, knowing she would sleep well, not in spite of Garvin MacCrae but because of him. For the first time in a long time, she was thinking not just about today but about tomorrow.

Chapter Thirteen