The Choice (12 page)

For an endless moment, they stood there, facing the mirror together, Cullinane’s powerful arm wrapped around her waist, holding her to him like a woman cherished. 

She didn’t want to feel cherished. Couldn’t afford to feel at all.

But his once-steely eyes were alive with pain and promise, fixed on her face as though he had questions as tormented as her own. His fingers spread across her ribs, his thumb grazed the lower curve of her breast. She could see her nipples peak, could feel him harden against her. Heat shimmered around them, wrapping them in a web of longing, casting them under his sorcerer’s spell.

She’d never seen a sight more erotic. Or more frightening. She stirred, tensed to escape.

He held her fast. “Don’t. Just give us this moment.”

For what? What good would it do? They were forever at odds, always would be. There was no meeting ground between them.

“Let’s not lie to ourselves,” he said. “You want me as much as I want you.”

“But I don’t want to.”

Wrapping his other arm around her so that each hand cradled one soft globe, he trapped her gaze in the mirror while he squeezed her breasts gently, his cock pulsing against her ass.

“Neither do I, Jillian. But that doesn’t seem to matter.” His hands caressed her with slow, soft, swirling strokes.

She couldn’t look away, even as his hands glided over her waist, caressed her hips. Slid to her belly, one hand spreading fingers wide in possession, the other cupping her mound.

Jillian’s nostrils flared. She rocked into his hand, sought more. Cullinane smiled, and the effect was dazzling.

She reached up and tugged his hair loose from the leather band restraining it. Dark locks fell to his shoulders, outlining his dangerous, compelling beauty, the silver streak at the temple a mark of his power. Silver eyes glowed, and she fell deeper into his spell. He lowered his head, fastened his lips to her throat, suckled gently. Jillian let her head fall back with a moan, her body arching under his hand.

“Let me make you come,” he murmured.

She fought to remain in control. “No...no, I can’t.”

“You can, Jillian. You want this, I want this. Just for this moment, forget all the rest. Let’s burn this out of our systems.”

If only that would work. She shook her head dully, struggling to extract herself from the web their desire had woven. “Can’t...can’t forget.”

“Forget what?”

“My...”
My sister
, she’d almost said. She tore herself from his arms and backed away. Oh, God. He’d gotten too close, too near her secrets. She shivered, realizing how much she’d wanted to open up to him, to let down her guard.

Terrified, she stared at him for a heart-pounding moment, chilled to realize how close she’d come to baring her soul to the man who protected her enemy, the man who blocked her goal.

Seeing him standing there, holding her in a gaze so dark and intense, his body ready for her, her own crying out for his even now, Jillian lifted shaking fingers to her lips—

—then whirled and ran out the door.

Chapter Nine

That night Cullinane hung up the phone after activating the signal for a meet with his handler, and his gaze caught by the image on the monitor. The pool glowed azure in the light beneath the surface. A shadowy figure moved through the trees nearby.

Jillian. As she approached the water, he leaned closer to the screen. A simple black one-piece swimsuit shouldn’t be as erotic as a bikini, but somehow, just like the woman, what she hid was even more alluring than what she revealed.

He zoomed in the camera, frowning at the lines of strain on her face. The secrets she wouldn’t share were taking their toll.

Now her identity wasn’t enough. He wanted to know more. Who did she love? Who loved her? Who would send her out and leave her so alone?

Kindred spirits they were, both so solitary, both caught up in lies. Crazy that she might be his closest counterpart, even as she represented his greatest threat.

Somewhere deep in them both, like called to like, and Cullinane wanted to answer.

She dove gracefully into the pool, then began slicing strong, clean strokes through the water.

He watched her and burned. “Someday, Jillian whoever...someday, it’s going to be just you and me,” he promised himself as much as her. “Without all that separates us now.”

He settled in a chair before the screen, letting his eyes drink their fill of what his body and soul could only crave.

* * *

Each stroke through the cool water cleared away some of the deadly debris of the morning’s shattering encounter in the gym. She’d spent far too much time since then asking herself questions she was afraid to answer. Was she fooling herself that she could do this? What was it about Cullinane that made her stray from her duty?

She longed for the sweet taste of freedom, of a life no longer bowed under the burden of righting wrongs that had ended Belinda’s life. Hafner’s wrongs...her own wrongs...would she ever again know life out from under the cloud?

She kicked harder, trying to out-swim her thoughts.

“My, so intent. The Gulf might be a better challenge, my dear.”

Jillian flipped to her back at Hafner’s voice, frowning at his slurred cadence.

“Yes, I’m drinking. I thought you might wish to join me. They say you’re not in trouble if you don’t like to drink alone.” He smiled, waving the bottle of tequila. “Besides, I’ve got a salt shaker in my pocket and limes right here.” He held up the other hand to demonstrate. “Of course,” he chuckled, “that left me no hand for glasses, so we’ll have to share the bottle.”

“No, thank you.”

“No? Just one. Come sit and talk to me.”

It was what she needed to happen, wasn’t it? To be alone with him and watch for her chance, so she could get out of this place before it was too late? And one shot of tequila wouldn’t kill her. She couldn’t take him down out here in the open, anyway. Cullinane would have guards patrolling the grounds, even now.

“All right,” she said. “I’m coming out.”

Open delight brightened his face. “Good. It’s about time.” He edged across the deck with the cautious gait of the inebriated, headed toward the table and chairs at the end.

Jillian swam to the steps, then rose from the water, surprised to feel chilled, given how steamy the night was. Hafner had set down his burdens and returned with her towel, holding it open. He wrapped it around her and leaned close. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of his liquor, stepping away quickly.

“Sorry—I forgot. Not in your job description, the watchdog says.” With that, he threw back his head and laughed. “Come on, come on,” he gestured. “Have a seat.”

“The limes aren’t sliced,” she offered. “Shall I get a knife from the kitchen?”

“No, no,” he waved away her objection. “I’m prepared.” Hafner chuckled. “Cullinane’s no Boy Scout, but I am, at least right now. Be prepared, that’s the motto, right?” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a knife unlike any she’d ever seen. The ornately-carved handle bore a design that obscured the necessary button. With a whisper of a click, it opened, a curving blade revealed.

He noted her scrutiny. “Like it? It was a gift from...a woman I knew.” His tone was off, a faraway look in his eyes. 

Jillian’s blood chilled. It couldn’t be Belinda he meant, could it? She watched him cut the limes with slow precision. Should she ask? Did she want to know?

“Here,” he held up a section. “Open your hand.”

Jillian complied, and he placed the lime segment in it.

“Have you done this before?”

“I don’t drink much.” Hardly ever, really. She’d experienced firsthand what a mean drunk could do to a defenseless kid.  

“Pity. All right, then, curl your hand like this and lick the web between your thumb and forefinger.” He demonstrated, then poured salt in the wet spot.

Jillian followed.

“Now suck the lime, lick the salt, then take a shot.” He held the bottle, waiting.

She complied, hissing at the tartness, licked the salt, then took one swig and shuddered.

“There you go.” Hafner beamed proudly. “When we hit the bottom of the bottle, I’ll let you have the worm.”

“No more for me, thanks.” She shivered again. “I’d better go.”

“Naw, there’s a robe in the cabana. Go put it on, then you can use your towel to dry your hair.” He nodded toward the enclosure. “Pretty red hair, like the glow of the sunset,” he nodded morosely. “Pretty red-haired girl.” He sank onto the cushions. “Go on, Jillian. Or do you want me to get it for you?”

She shook her head, then moved away.

Inside the dark cabana she found a small closet, pulled off the towel and wrapped her hair. Then she opened the door and reached inside, unable to see the contents. Her fingers settled on lightweight terrycloth that she drew out, shaking it to be sure no spiders or night creatures had nested within.

When she reached the door, preparing to don it, a shaft of pool light slanted through the door and her eyes took in the dark purple fabric, the metallic gold stripe that sparkled in the light.

She went still. Belinda had owned a robe like this, one that Jillian had made for her as a joke because it was royal purple and she had called Belinda Queen B. She’d even embroidered that on the inside collar, Queen B. Jillian’s fingers shook, and she dropped the robe.

“Jillian? Did you find it?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll be right out.”

“I’m coming after you,” he called in sing-song.

She heard the scrape of his chair and his unsteady step. Cursing the darkness, she stepped outside, hoping to get a quick glimpse of the inside collar band before he noticed.

But he was already there. Snatching it from her fingers, he held it out for her like a lady’s cloak.

Jillian slipped it on, her heart gone still and cold. “Whose robe is this?” 

Hafner shifted uneasily. “Just someone I knew.”

She had to know. “A woman?” 

“Yeah.” He grew very still, staring off into space. “Someone I...” He stared at his hands as though they were foreign objects, then abruptly balled them up and stuck them in his pockets.

“Who was she to you?”

Lightning-quick, his gaze sharpened, the predator awakening. “Why do you care?” He pulled the towel from her hair and began to dry it. “She was...no one important.” 

Jillian stood there, allowing the hands of the man who’d murdered her sister to wield a towel gently over her scalp.

The same hands that had held that curved knife, cut the lime into sections.

She remembered the autopsy report she’d scanned quickly on the parish deputy’s desk.
Unusual lacerations on subject’s body.
And Belinda’s throat had been slashed.

Jillian jerked away, but Hafner was faster. Grabbing her upper arms, the light of madness in his eyes, he yanked her against him. “I’ll have you, Jillian,” he warned and crushed his mouth against hers, stale liquor breath all but gagging her.

He held her so close she couldn’t get room to maneuver. She struggled to bring her arms up between them. He shoved her against the cabana wall, trapping her. She tried to knee him, but he kicked her legs apart—

Suddenly Hafner flew backward into the pool, cursing and flailing, coughing and spitting water.

She gasped for breath, lost her balance. 

Cullinane steadied her. “Are you all right? I got here as fast as I could.”

Jillian stared at him. “I should have been able...” She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding.

“He caught you by surprise, and his hold was too tight. You would have broken loose with a little more time.”

Would she have? Reeling from the shock of the series of revelations, hampered by the tequila, would she have recovered soon enough? And that knife—where had it been while he grabbed her?

“I don’t know...” Again, she shivered. Did Hafner suspect? Had she given herself away? Or was he only drunk and making a move?

“Hey...easy now,” Cullinane soothed, drawing her close. Behind him, Hafner’s sputtering slowed. “Get him out of here and put him to bed,” he barked to someone behind her. “He’s drunk.”

Then they were alone.

He tipped her chin upward, and his eyes crackled with a tempest of rage and violence and hunger.

Jillian backed away, fighting for breath, shaken less now by Hafner than by Cullinane. She was upset enough to cling to him, and she shouldn’t—but she was so tired of being strong, of holding him at arm’s length...tired of fighting herself. The power of the hunger he called from her unnerved her. She wasn’t finished with her mission, and this craving sapped strength she desperately needed.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned, her voice a near growl. He called to her on some level she couldn’t fight, and she had to.

“Why not?” his low, dangerous voice challenged. “We’ve been headed for this since we met.”

“We can’t.”

“He can’t touch you like that. I won’t let him,” Cullinane raged. His control unraveled as days of hunger, of a need he couldn’t afford, gnawed at him. Made him half-crazy. He could kill Hafner with his bare hands right now and not even blink. Thank God Solly had been close on his heels; left alone at the scene, Cullinane couldn’t be sure what he’d have done. When he’d seen Hafner with her on the monitor, he’d come to attention; when Hafner had glanced at the knife in his hands, he’d leaped to his feet. When Jillian had entered the cabana in the darkness and Hafner had followed, Cullinane had shot from the room.

But nothing to that point compared with the rage that flashed like chain lightning when he’d come through the trees and seen Hafner closing in on her, forcing himself upon a woman he had no right to touch. Cullinane had no idea how fast he’d covered the remaining distance, only that the white-heat of wrath had seared through his body, wiping out all but the need to make Jillian safe.

Seeing this gutsy, strong woman scared had been too much. She’d been valiant and resilient through everything he’d thrown at her. The thought of that fierce, bright spirit being defiled by worthless scum like Hafner...