Killing Me Softly (29 page)

Lexi slowly became aware of a rushing noise, of the dry sourness in her throat and the blinding jab of pain in her head. Voices whispered around her, shadows moved and she felt something warm and wet on her brow. She grasped the cloth; touched a hand.

Daemon’s hand. She’d know those long, slim hands anywhere.

He pulled the warm cloth away, replacing it with another cold one. The cold helped soothe the ache. Her eyes fluttered open as she felt the softness of lips, warm and slightly moist on her temple. His scent wandered into her muddled senses before her eyes cleared enough to see him.

‘Daemon.’ Her voice sounded strange to her ears.

‘Yes, my love. I’m here.’ His hands restrained her gently as she tried to sit. ‘Don’t. Lie still. Doctor Carlton will be back in a moment.’ He swallowed, hard. ‘You gave me quite a scare. Don’t ever do it again.’

Her lips trembled into a smile. ‘I’ll try not to.’

‘Good. Now I want you to lie still and close your eyes while I go and tell Doctor Carlton you’re awake. You’ll be okay while I’m gone?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, her voice husky with exhaustion.

‘I’ll be right back.’

Lexi closed her eyes and fell asleep. She woke as Doctor Carlton lifted her wrist to take her pulse. He examined her head and asked her some questions, but she felt too tired to do more than mumble in response.

She heard him say to a worried Daemon and Bev, ‘She’ll be fine with some rest. Most of it’s just shock. Just give her these for the nausea and the headache. She’ll feel better when she wakes.’

A glass of water was pressed into her hand, arms propped her up as she swallowed the tablets dutifully before being laid back down gently on her pillows.

Some time later she became aware of Cat as she entered the room, Billy close behind her. They spoke in whispers with Daemon, who was still sitting by her side. Cat sat on the bed and held her hand.

When she woke later the room was dark, the dull glow of the floor lamp in the corner the only illumination. Daemon sat slouched in a chair beside the bed, his head back at an awkward angle, his soft breathing a slight snore as he slept. One hand stretched out, holding hers.

Lexi turned slowly to look at him, but no nausea struck and there was barely a hint of pain. She let her gaze roam over this man who, by the look of him, hadn’t left her side. The thought filled her with warmth and longing.

God! What was wrong with her?

He’d made her so mad, but even through that anger, she wanted him. Even though she knew there was no future for them, she still wanted him. Wanted to be with him. Was that simple lust or was it much more? She didn’t know. She had no experience of letting anyone so close. Should she want him as much as she did, even now, when grief for Viking filled her with the ache of repressed tears? When her stalker had proved himself to be a murderous psychopath? When Cat had just woken and needed her to be there, steady and sure and strong?

How could she cope with any of that when Daemon threatened her very sense of self?

She couldn’t. That was the simple truth. He had gone behind her back and found out things about her past she didn’t want anyone to know and yet she’d been unable to tell him what she knew she should. They were two simple words – it’s over. And yet, she’d not said them. Why?

She had no idea. But right now, she desperately wanted the blissful oblivion he offered in his kiss, his hands, his body, his smile. With him inside her, his warmth surrounding her, his hands running over her, his lips setting fire to her skin, she could lose herself to a joy she’d never felt before him. She could forget her cares.

Was she wrong for wanting that? Just for a moment? Was she being completely selfish and stupid?

Looking at him now, her hand cradled in his, she didn’t think she cared.

She wanted to tell him. Wanted to take something for herself just this once. He’d told her to live in the moment. Maybe it was time she took him at his word and did just that. Stopped worrying about tomorrow. Perhaps that should be her new motto.

She sat up.

And groaned.

Her head spun, a steady hammering in her temple. Daemon had mentioned a lump on her head. She touched it gingerly. There was a tacky feeling and when she pulled her hand away she saw blood, blackened and sticky, on her fingers. There was also something else there, too. She ran her hands through her hair and came away with some crumpled leaves in her hand.

Blood and leaves. Not really sexy. And the headache pounding behind her eyes wasn’t conducive to giving herself over to passion either. A shower and some more painkillers would make her feel better.

Carefully she pulled her hand from under Daemon’s. He muttered something under his breath and shifted in the chair, his head lolling to the other side. She had such an urge to run her fingers through his hair, to kiss his sensuous lips, to feel the broad expanse of his shoulders, feel those muscles in his chest and arms that had supported her so easily today, that had filled her with a sensation of warmth and comfort in a time that was so terrible.

But he was asleep, and the shadows under his eyes made her realise how little sleep he’d had over the last few nights – and all because of her.

A need to protect and care for him overwhelmed her. Her epiphany about living in the moment could wait. He needed to sleep. She was going to let him.

Slipping off the bed, she tiptoed to the ensuite, closed the door with a soft snip and turned on the light.

Standing in the bright glow, she carefully appraised herself in the mirror.

Her face was pale and drawn with dark shadows smudging the hollows under her eyes. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek and more bits of leaf crushed in her hair.

Gently, she felt the lump on the side of her head, wincing at the shot of pain. A bit of dried blood came away on her fingers again. There didn’t seem to be any real damage, though, nothing that a shower and a night’s sleep wouldn’t cure.

There certainly was nothing wrong with her memory. She could recall the scene in the dell with perfect clarity, remembered vomiting, stumbling, falling and then passing out.

She shuddered, not wanting to think about Viking and his ugly death.

Instead, she refocused on her image in the mirror. Noticing her deep frown, she ran her fingers over the frown lines, smoothing them out, seeing the changes her face had undergone over the years. The hardness she’d developed to deal with the tragedies in her life was reflected on her face. Lines made from sadness, not laughter. But no more. The madman who sent her the letters had stepped up his campaign of terror, but she wouldn’t play his game any more. The time had come for her to draw the proverbial line in the sand. Never again would she let anyone take away something that was hers.

That letter-writing-fucker would find out she was no whimpering sissy. If he was out to get her then she would meet him in true fighting form.

The police wouldn’t sit back and do nothing now. She’d make certain of it. And according to Karl, his security friend would be here tomorrow. They’d get him when he made his next move. She’d help them do it. She wasn’t going to be a victim any longer.

Oh, she hoped the sadistic fucker would make his move soon – because then she could look him in the eye and laugh as she testified against him and made sure he paid for everything he’d done.

Anger brought colour to her cheeks, a determined tilt to her chin, a glow to her eyes. She looked more like her young self than she had in . . . well, since she was eighteen. A smile curled the corner of her mouth as she found some painkillers, swallowed them then pulled off her clothes and stepped into the shower, washing away the old self, sloughing weakness and fear away with soap and water. Tipping her head back under the hot, hard spray she let go of the tension that had built up over years and felt the headache slide away.

Feeling refreshed, she stepped out of the shower and saw Daemon standing at the doorway, his figure shadowed in the steam, backlit by the glow of the lamp in the room behind him.

Just one look. That’s all it took for her to be drowning in need again. But could she give in to it, live in the moment, even though she knew there would be no future?

For a long while she stared back at him. Then, without a word, she walked to him, plastering her wet body against his hard, dry one, her arms snaking up around his neck bringing his mouth down to hers in a hungry, seeking kiss.

‘Alexia, no. You’re not well.’

‘I’ve never felt better. Kiss me, Daemon. Make love to me.’

‘Have you forgiven me, then?’

‘Can’t we discuss all that later?’

‘I . . . ’

She kissed him before he could say anything more. ‘Please,’ she said against his lips when he didn’t kiss her back. ‘I want to feel you inside me. I need it.’ He hesitated for a moment, but she reached up, pulled his head down and pressed her lips against his.

After a moment, he pulled back, breathing hard. ‘Alexia, you’re killing me.’

‘But isn’t it a lovely way to go?’ She curled her fingers in his hair and tugged his mouth back to hers.

With a muffled groan, he met her kiss, running his hands up and down her wet, slick length as his tongue swept into her mouth. She could feel him lose himself to the same wild passion that flowed through her veins.

Between them, her hands moved down, unbuttoning his shirt, shoving it from his shoulders, stroking his silken smooth skin, fingernails digging in as his seeking hand found her core and drove her to a higher peak. Gasping, she slid her hands down, her mind, her body needing one thing. Her fingers fumbled on the button of his jeans as his finger drove inside her, making her head drop back in wild abandon leaving her neck open and inviting to his hot, wet mouth.

She pushed his jeans down and gasped as he swung around, pinning her against the wall. Lifting her legs he entered her, a swift hard jab, pleasure and pain. Again and again he plunged, the sensation of his hard body moving inside hers tipping her over the edge, and she lost all control. She marked him, teeth on his shoulder, nails in his back, her cries of pleasure matching his as she rode him hard, meeting each thrust until his control snapped and he flew over the edge.

Crying out, she joined him, flying high on a feeling of raw, pulsing pleasure. In that moment she freed herself of the constraints of fear that had fettered her for eleven years and found joy in the simple pleasure of loving and being loved. The sensation felt stronger and more powerful than anything she’d experienced so far. Tears pricked her eyes. How was she going to be able to do without this?

The answer was that she must. She had no other choice. This kind of complete and utter happiness never lasted. She knew that all too well. But she was going to be selfish. She was going to hold onto this moment for as long as she could because, if she was very lucky, the memory of what they’d just shared would make what she had to do easier to bear.

She held Daemon tighter, lips pressed to his neck as she tried to continue to live in this moment. Panting, breathing deep as he fought for control, Daemon sensed the change in her just before he felt the tear on his shoulder. Pulling back, he cupped Alexia’s face in his hands. ‘Did I hurt you?’

Alexia laughed. She touched her lips to his, the gentle caress soft, the complete opposite of the wild clash of mouths before. ‘You could never hurt me. Not in this way.’

Touched by her whispered words and yet unnerved by the hidden meaning behind them, he looked at her, a deep sense of foreboding poisoning the warmth of desire still firing his veins. He had felt certain she would retreat into herself again after what had happened today. The threat was now so real; how could she feel anything but frightened? But there was no fear inside her. Instead, determination mixed with wild jubilation had confronted him in the bathroom minutes ago, a combination he found sexy and alluring and too difficult to deny.

But now he sensed another shift in her. Shadows still coloured the skin under her eyes, which was worrying enough, but it was the look in her eyes that made his heart squeeze in his chest. Desire still glowed there, but alongside the desire was something else. Not the fear he expected, or the sorrow of grief over her horse, but a kind of painful determination.

Suddenly finding it hard to breathe, he stepped back, grabbed a towel and gently dried her hair, her body. She watched his every move in a way that would have had him hard and aching again if he had not realised her explosion of passion had been edged with desperation.

He knew what that desperation meant. He wasn’t going to let her do it.

When she ran her hands over his body he stepped back, grabbing her hand, giving her a soft kiss, evading her seeking mouth and hungry eyes.

‘We need to talk.’

Alexia smiled, slow and sexy, her voice a husky drawl. ‘My, this sounds serious.’ She reached out again but he caught her hands, placed her robe in them, scooped up his clothes and walked out of the bathroom.

Ignoring the robe, she watched as he pulled on his jeans and took a seat in the chair next to the bed, licking her lips as her eyes roamed over his body. Daemon had to hold back a groan – that look made him want to do nothing more than grab her and start the madness all over again. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her treat what they had as something disposable. He had to make her understand.

She threw him a sensuous smile and then turned to saunter across the room. He clenched his fingers at his side as she crawled onto the bed, lying close to the edge, her hand toying with the sheets, inviting him to join her with every move.

‘Alexia, please. Put some clothes on. You said we could talk . . . after . . . and I can’t concentrate while you look like that.’

She leaned towards him. Smiling provocatively, she stretched, her skin turned golden by the light of the sunrise coming in the window behind her.

‘We can always talk later.’ Her voice was a purr.

Daemon stood up abruptly and walked over to the chest of drawers, folding his arms over his chest to stop himself from touching her. ‘We need to talk now. It can’t wait.’