Thief of Hearts (4 page)

She could snap his spine like a breadstick, he was sure. And yet, she was afraid of his touch. “Or not,”

he joked, hoping to lighten the mood. “Hey, I’ve done terrible things, too. In med school one time, I brought my cadaver to breakfast at the local Denny’s. Man,” he said nostalgically, “the food inspector sure got pissed. On the bright side, my cadaver was a cheap date.”

She giggled, then choked off the sound and looked at him severely. “No more of that,” she said. “I’m here to keep you safe for a few days, not to play wifey.”

“Don’t
play
wifey,” he said promptly, “marry me.”

“Ha, ha.”

He decided not to mention the fact that he wasn’t kidding. “So now what happens?” he asked.

Good question, Kara thought, once again stretched out on the couch. She had decided to look after Dr.

Dean—Jared—for a very simple reason and her conscience had nothing to do with it. He had chased her not to hurt her or turn her in, but to ask if she was all right. That was when she realized Carlotti would come after him. That was why she was here. Jared’s stunning good looks, great sense of humor and outstanding dedication to helping others had nothing to do with it. There were plenty of good looking men in the world. Gorgeous, dark-haired men with a lightning smile. With a sense of common decency that was as much a part of him as his white coat and stethoscope. Phenomenal at healing and cooking, stitching head gashes with the same hands that whipped up a perfectly fluffy omelet. Dr. Dean was nothing special. Not him.

That surgeon, she thought with disgust. The bimbo who used him and dumped him. He’s too good for someone that idiotic.

She slammed the pillow over her head, muffling a groan.
And if he’s too good for a surgeon,
she reminded herself savagely,
he’s a damn sight too good for you, silly bitch
.

So the question remained: now what happens?

Sleep. Then lunch. He hadn’t wanted to go to bed; he’d wanted to keep talking to her. She first thought it might have been because he was interested in knowing her as a person, but that was too conceited to be considered for more than a moment. No, she was interesting to him, like a virus was interesting, if dangerous. He knew she could shake up his nice little life and so he was drawn to her, the way the new kids at Juvie were drawn to the ones who graduated to robbery and murder.

So he’d kept after her, talking to her and asking questions and telling her about himself and when she reminded him he hadn’t slept in twenty hours, he had looked stubborn and shrugged and asked her what her earliest memory was, because his was of his dad chopping onions while onion-tears streamed down his face and ever since then he’d felt kind of funny about onions, they were “the meanest vegetable”.

Tomatoes were the nicest, so round and sweet and juicy, they were—

She interrupted him, he argued, they bargained. He agreed to sleep for a few hours if she would let him take her to lunch when he woke. To which she agreed, looking forward to the lunch and mad at herself for looking forward to it.

He had given her a longing look over his shoulder as he trudged to his solitary bed and she’d been ridiculously tempted to follow him and undress him and find out if he was as good at other things as he was as kissing.

But that was madness, pure and simple and she wasn’t about to open herself up to a citizen, someone who didn’t know the first thing about survival or what she had been through. Someone who would be shocked and horrified at what she did. Someone who would wait around long enough for her to love him, then abandon her once she depended on him.

Dr. Jared Dean was the best kisser in the world. And she didn’t intend to find out anything beyond that.

* * * * *

It was no use. He couldn't sleep. He pulled his pillow from beneath his head and punched it. It was too hot--
he
was too hot—and Kara was too close.

The more he tried to ignore the fact that The Delectable One was sleeping just a few feet away, the randier he got. It wasn't fair...why couldn't his bodyguard be dull and ugly? Uncomplicated and bow-legged?

It's just because you're in a dry spell
, he told himself.
When was the last time you got horizontal
with anybody? The last time you got some nooky, they were still debating whether Gore or Bush
had won the election. Right? So just...put her out of your mind.

Right. Sure. Piece of cake. Ha!

As if in response to his frustration, his door creaked open with ominous slowness. Jared clutched the blanket beneath his chin and stared at the large, menacing silhouette framed in the doorway. He was a fan of horror movies, so he knew he was about to be stalked, chased, then cut in half with a table saw, only to be saved at the last minute so he could appear in the sequel. A
bad
sequel.

"Leave me alone," he said to the approaching silhouette. "Go find Jennifer Love Hewitt."

The silhouette stopped short of his bed. His curtains were wide open, and as the moon came out from behind the clouds he saw it was Kara. Her silhouette was menacingly huge because she was wearing an armadillo suit.

"That's a new look for you," he observed.

"God, I want you," she replied, approaching so quickly her armadillo tail knocked everything off his bedside table. "You're all I can think about, Jared."

"That's nice. Really! Uh. What are you doing?"

She was unscrewing the jar she was holding. Then she tossed the lid behind her where it hit the floor with a clatter. She reached into the jar with her armadillo paw and extracted something small. Which she flung at him.

Jared felt the pickle slice hit his forehead with a wet smack. "Pickled vegetables make me sooooo horny," she whispered. She then upended the jar all over herself. Pickle juice rained down on his floor...and her armadillo suit. She writhed and moaned within the dill scented shower.

"On any other day, I would find this extremely weird." In fact, he felt pretty sanguine about what was happening. "However, it's been one of those days, so nothing surprises me."

He heard a purring sound as she unzipped her armadillo suit and stepped out of it. For a moment she was naked in the moonlight, her skin almost alabaster in the eerie lighting. Then she pounced on him. Her breasts brushed his chin as she leaned forward and sucked the pickle off his forehead. He heard her crunch, gulp, then felt her tongue as it slid back and forth across his forehead.

"Ummmm," she moaned, "Vlassic."

"Uh...Kara...are you on any medication that you want to—?"

"Shut up and take me," she commanded, her breath redolent with dill. "Take me like you know I want to be taken."

"Okay...but I'll have to stop and fill up my gas tank, first."

"Stop that. There's something you should know."

"I can't imagine what the hell it could be," he said, with perfect truth.

"When I eat pickles...afterwards, I must always wash them down with your dick."

"Wha—aigh!" Shockingly, she reached back and grabbed him. Even more shocking, he was as firm as a crisp pickle.

Quick as a fish, she whipped around and dived for his dick like a gull diving for a herring. Instantly her warm, wet mouth was on him, while he was face-to-face, so to speak, with her delectable ass. It looked good enough to eat. He leaned forward and gently bit down on the plump, smooth flesh.

She hummed in response, which sent glorious vibrations through his dick, vibrations he felt all the way up to his eyeballs.

Her head was pistoning up and down like that stupid woodpecker toy he had as a kid. And speaking of peckers, his was so hard he felt like it had to be three feet long. Her lips surrounded him, her teeth scraped him—very, very gently!—and he groaned around a mouthful of her ass.

There was a 'pop!' as she pulled her mouth free of him. Then she whipped back around, straddling him.

She laced her fingers behind his neck and jerked him into a sitting position. "I want you," she growled, sounding uncommonly like the kid from
The Exorcist
. She smelled strongly of pickles. Her breasts pressed against his chest.

"That's swell," he said, "because I want you, too, but maybe we could slow down a little—"

"Less talk," she murmured. "More fucking."

"Okey dokey."

She seized him, accidentally catching several pubic hairs. He let out a yelp, but by then she was stuffing him inside her. She rode him enthusiastically, squealing happily every time she impaled herself. Her breasts bobbed. Pickle juice dripped from her shoulders. He held onto the side of the bed for dear life as his orgasm thundered closer, closer...

She twisted, jerked, bounced. He started to come at the exact moment her momentum pushed him from the bed. He slammed into the—

—the—

Floor.

Jared jerked awake, staring at the ceiling. The armadillo suit was gone. So was the lingering odor of pickles and, of course, Kara. He had semen on his stomach and one fuck of a headache.

"Jesus Christ," he gasped, then started the long climb back into bed.

* * * * *

The 'thump' of Jared flailing his way off the bed inserted itself into Kara's dream as his bedroom door slamming open.

She sat up on the couch and saw him walking softly toward her, splendidly naked. His shoulders were broad and his chest was lightly furred with crisp black hair, hair that tapered down past his belly button into his lush pubic hair. His sex jutted toward her. He wasn't smiling.

She saw, with no real surprise, that she was naked, too.

"Come closer," he said, even as he did so himself, and then he was standing before her, his hand on the back of her neck, urging her forward. "Touch me."

"I—"

"With your mouth, Kara. Touch me with your mouth. I want you to, and
you
want you to."

"It's a secret." The wanting. The craving.

"I won't tell." The pressure on the back of her neck increased, and she opened her lips and took him.

His long, rolling purr of satisfaction kindled her own excitement.

His palms were on either side of her face as he rocked his hips against her mouth. Then he pulled away and knelt between her legs. He spread her thighs wide and pushed her back, then pulled her legs across his. His hands were busy at the small of her back, pulling her toward him, and she felt him enter her with sweet and delicious slowness.

She tried to bring her arms around him but, strangely, couldn't move them an inch. She was pushed back so far, her legs were so wide. He crouched and rode her, rode her. It was hard to get a breath. It was hard to even want to.

"When I'm done," he said, perfectly calm, "I'll leave."

"Yes, that's—"

"—what people do, yes. I know. You didn't think you could have a normal life with me, did you?"

"Why can't I?"

"Why
should
you?" He pulled out and, with savage swiftness, flipped her over. Shoved her, hard. She grabbed wildly for the couch, and found herself bent over the armrest. Felt him grip her ass, part her cheeks, and brutally shove himself inside her.. Red agony slashed across her vision as he shoved and withdrew and pushed some more. His fingers dug into her flesh, marking it, and she squirmed to get away. To her extreme humiliation, beneath the pain she could sense something else begin to stir.

"Say it."

She said nothing. He
shoved
, harder than he ever had, so hard she could almost feel his cock in the back of her throat. His fingers were busy between her legs, pinching the tender lips, pulling on them. He withdrew almost all the way and she went limp, thinking he was done, and then he rammed himself into her again. She made a sound between a moan and a scream.

"Say it or I'll stop."

Everything was tightening, was getting hotter, and it hurt, God it hurt, but it felt embarrassingly marvelous, too, and he couldn't stop before she found her climax, he couldn't: "Everybody leaves."

"Good. Yes. Everybody leaves." Although his brutal thrusting didn't stop, his fingers between her thighs became gentle, toyed with her throbbing clit, swept over it, squeezed it, rubbed, rubbed, rubbed...

Things went dark, very dark around the edges as her orgasm screamed through her. She lay across the arm rest for a moment, gasping, then turned over.

He was gone.

* * * * *

The next morning, Jared and Kara managed to get up, refresh themselves, have a pleasant conversation, and leave together without actually making eye contact.

Jared crept around the apartment feeling guilty, and nearly screamed when he opened the fridge and saw the jar of pickles on the second shelf.

For her part, Kara was mortified. She prayed Jared couldn't read her expression. She didn't like pain, she had
never
liked pain, so what was with that dream? In real life, if Jared ever tried such a thing, she'd break his arm in two places.

Right?

* * * * *

After driving downtown to find a restaurant, they'd parked the car and walked, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. Indian summer had been going on for more than a month.
Chicago in
October
, Kara mused.
You gotta love it
.

Jared stopped in his tracks so suddenly, she went two steps past him before realizing he wasn’t walking.

“You want to eat here?”

Surprised, Kara turned to look at him. “You said I could choose. If you don’t like sushi, they have other things. You can have a steak, or—”

“It’s not that.”

The man looked decidedly nervous; she wondered what was up. Jared seemed singularly unconcerned about his life being in danger, but ill at ease when confronted with the prospect of a Japanese restaurant.

“What’s wrong?”

He was looking through the front window, shading his eyes and squinting. “It’s okay,” he said at last. “I don’t think he’s working right now. We can go in.”

He pulled open the door to
Ish
, a trendy sushi restaurant with a terrible name and astonishing food. He held the door for her and, with a wary look inside, she went in. The interior, like every Japanese restaurant she had ever been in, was understated and completely different from the outside. The building housing this restaurant was gray cement, the entrance to the restaurant shaded with a dirty green awning.