Waking Nightmare (43 page)
When he set her on her feet, she blinked, expecting to see the bedroom. But he stood in back of her before the vanity mirror in the bathroom.
“I want you to see yourself the way I see you,” he murmured in her ear, before scraping his teeth down the side of her throat. Abbie gave a quick shiver, her focus on the sight of his taller broader form behind her.
“Soft.” He cupped her breasts in both hands, rolling her nipples between thumbs and forefingers. “Yet firm.” He dragged his lips over the sensitive area beneath her ear and she felt her knees turn to water. “Delicate.” One hand lowered to splay over her rib cage, fingers tracing the place where flesh met bone. “But strong.”
Her eyelids grew heavy with desire. There was as much enjoyment to be had watching him as in the exquisite feel of his hands on her bare skin. His voice was low, raspy with hunger. His touch was restrained, as if he had a tight leash on his control that could snap at any moment.
She smiled, slow and wicked, deliberately pressing her hips back against his. His reaction was immediate, unchecked as his hardness surged against the cleft of her buttocks. “And sexy,” he rasped, his hands lowering to clench tightly on her hips.
Her head lolled against one of his muscled shoulders, and he took immediate advantage of the expanse of throat she bared. Hot stinging kisses were pressed in a precise line from shoulder to jaw, and her vision hazed.
But she wanted to see. Wanted to watch their reflections, his skin a shade darker against hers, his muscles hard and defined. Their position made it impossible to touch him as she craved, so she slid her hands over his arms, delighting in the sensation of hair-roughened skin beneath her palms.
Thoughts of the future had receded to a dim distant part of her mind. It was the present that mattered, the keen-edged appetite that could only be sated by this man, when he was buried deep inside her. She reached behind her, gliding her palms over his taut flanks, determined to shatter the ragged restraint he still clung to.
And instead she found herself going boneless, when Ryne skimmed his hand across her thigh to her sex, parting her with his fingers. “Sleek,” he muttered, rubbing her rhythmically. “Like wet silk.”
Their reflections blurred as need streaked through her. And when he stroked a finger inside her, explored her deeply, her breath broke into a sob as she climaxed, leaving her shaking and weak, unable to stand without his support.
“Greedy.” He gave a purely male smile of satisfaction. “I like that, too.” Turning her, he boosted her hips up to the counter and stepped between her open thighs. After their last shower together, he’d thought to stock the bathroom with condoms, too, but Abbie was past feeling grateful for his foresight. The head of his shaft was nudging her sex, and a desperation was building again that could only be satisfied in one way.
She took the latex from him and rolled it over the length of him with a deliberate slowness that had sweat gleaming on his brow, had his entire body quivering. When she’d sheathed him, she reached below his manhood to cup his heavy sac in her hand, stroking delicately until the harness on his restraint abruptly snapped.
He lifted her legs to his hips and pulled her hips toward him, entering her with one long deep stroke that drove the breath from her lungs. Distantly she was aware of his labored breathing, his clenched jaw, the glint of savage hunger in his gaze. Until he thrust again and her senses pinwheeled into a kaleidoscope of sensation.
She hooked her ankles behind his back, clutched his bulging biceps with her fingers and met every surge of his hips, straining to bring him closer. Deeper. Harder. Until he was imprinted on her body the same as he was on her mind. On her memory. A part of her that could never be completely separated.
His control shredded, he showed no mercy as he pounded into her. She wanted none. Dragging her eyelids open, she struggled to focus, wanting this sight, this memory to cling to.
Their sweat-dampened bodies slapped together, flesh against flesh, the sound calling to something primal from deep inside her. The pleasure careened and collided through her system. The world receded. Each individual sensation magnified. His slick muscles beneath her fingers, clenching and releasing with each movement. Their harsh mingled breathing, the tight grip he had on her hips, and the incredibly fullness of his possession.
Need fisted tightly in her belly, and she cried out brokenly, her release coming in a sudden brutal wave.
It seemed to trigger something savage in him. His hips jackhammered against hers until he stiffened, a low harsh sound of pleasure escaping him, as his body quaked violently against hers.
And while she was lost in the aftershocks of pleasure, it was even more satisfying to hear him groan gutturally, “Abbie.”
Laura Bradford sat up in bed, the sheet low enough to reveal her perfect breasts. “Are you sure you can’t stay?”
Listen to her. Trying to sound sweet and inviting but the petulance was there, right beneath the surface. Just like every other cunt, she thought fucking a man gave her rights. Women like her just never learned.
“I have an early meeting.” The bathroom light provided a backdrop for the man, Warren Denton, before he exited it to reenter the bedroom, fully clothed. He stopped by the bed to drop a careless kiss on the woman’s lips before he scooped up some personal effects from the bedside table and slipped them in his pocket.
“Do you have court tomorrow? If you do, maybe we could—”
“Not tomorrow. I’ll be busy preparing for the Frederick-son murder case for the next couple weeks. But I’ll call you. The first chance I get.”
A soundless laugh escaped as the scene played out. Pathetic bitch, trying to keep a smile plastered on her face even while she was getting the brush-off. Looked like ol’ Warren was a fuck ’em and leave ’em kind of guy.
Would it make Bradford feel any better when she discovered that the police would soon be asking Denton some very embarrassing questions? Maybe even hauling him in to enjoy some jailhouse hospitality? The lawyer’s appearance here tonight had been unexpected, but flexibility was always key.
And watching the fuck fest between the two of them had almost been worth the delay in plans.
“I’ll see you soon then.” Bradford’s voice was heard, but Denton was already walking away. A minute later the front door could be heard opening, and then closing again.
“Bastard.” A pillow was heaved toward the doorway. After a moment, Bradford got out of bed and left the room.
One gloved hand pushed the bedroom closet door open wider. Sweat slicked under every inch of the leather mask and dark clothes. Damn closet had been hot. Time to adjust the air-conditioning before getting to work.
A smile of anticipation started, grew. No more vanilla sex for Laura Bradford. She was about to experience her destiny. The closet door eased open. The satchel was picked up and set within easy reach of the bed. A running faucet sounded, giving away the woman’s location. And the feeling of anticipation surged, spreading through veins and arteries and sizzling across synapses in a rapid-fire frenzy.
Long stealthy strides. A peek around the corner and there was Bradford, standing naked in her kitchen setting an empty glass down forcefully on the counter.
Watching her brought a rush of emotion, something surprisingly close to affection.
Ah, Laura. I have such plans for you.
Ah, Laura. I have such plans for you.
Time slowed to fractions of seconds as the inner power built to an all-encompassing roar. Then stepping away from the wall into her line of vision. Relishing the instant she’d see the stranger in her home.
“Warren?” The one word was thin. Uncertain. A step closer. Two. No hurry. Let her see her future. Watch the fear take her.
“Who are you? What do you want? Is it money? Here.” She stumbled to her purse on the edge of the counter.
Was she going to bargain for her life? That was always amusing. How much did the bitch think she was worth? And how satisfying to watch her realize there’d be no escaping her fate.
But it wasn’t money she withdrew from her purse.
Shock bloomed. A gun? When had the cunt gotten a gun?
The muzzle flash was blinding, followed by a searing pain.
“I know who you are, you son of a bitch. It’s in all the news.”
Another shot, this one nearly as close as the first. The disbelief was gone, mingled rage and pain taking its place.
Drop to the floor. Crawl rapidly, clumsily backward, away from the gun and the crazy whore wielding it. Who did she think she was? How did she dare?
“Run, you bastard, you coward.” Bradford’s voice was shrill, hysterical. “That’s what you are. I saw the news. You’re a pathetic coward who preys on women because you’re nothing but a fucking loser!” The last words rose to a shriek and a bullet buried itself in the wall just inches away.
The pain was jagged agony now, joyfully gnawing through flesh and muscle. There were no choices left. Clutch the injured arm, rise, run for the front door, leave the demented whore behind.
For now.
Breath turning into a sob, stumbling away faster. Jesus, how far was the car? Two blocks? Three?
Every step brought a fresh flood of pain. Fury. Humiliation. By God, Bradford would be sorry. She wouldn’t be spared for a fate chosen especially for her. She’d die, in as hideous a death as could be fashioned. She’d merely delayed her destiny.
But first there was someone else to deal with. The bitch responsible for those news stories. She’d pay for ruining everything.
She’d pay with her miserable life.
Chapter 19
Ryne stepped gingerly, staying well clear of the UV light sources, and the plastic evidence markers that dotted the floor, and made his way to the spare bedroom, where Abbie had been interviewing Laura Bradford for the last hour.
The uniform at the door moved aside to allow his entry. Abbie was seated across from the woman on a chair dragged over from the computer desk tucked in the corner. Bradford sat huddled on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a robe, arguing with Abbie.
“He never got near me, I swear. I don’t understand why I have to go to the hospital.”
“We’d like an exam done to be sure you don’t carry any forensic evidence on your person,” Abbie explained. “We don’t know where he was, or what he might have touched. You could have minute splatters of his blood on your skin. It just helps us collect more evidence against him.”
The woman made a grimace of distaste, and apparently gave up the battle. “A few of us were just discussing it today at lunch.” She had the robe’s belt in her hands and was wringing it convulsively. “We got to talking about him, the Nightmare Rapist. How it was like
Fear Factor
, that show, you know? Having to confront your worst nightmares. One gal told everyone how she was petrified of snakes. I admitted I was terrified of heights. We were joking about it. God.” She swallowed convulsively. “How macabre is that?”
Fear Factor
, that show, you know? Having to confront your worst nightmares. One gal told everyone how she was petrified of snakes. I admitted I was terrified of heights. We were joking about it. God.” She swallowed convulsively. “How macabre is that?”
“Can you give me the names of everyone you were talking to, Laura? And anyone else in the vicinity?” Bradford rattled off several names, which Abbie wrote down.
“But it’s not like it’s news to anyone who knows me,” Bradford added, winding the robe’s tie around one finger. “It’s a running joke at the courthouse. I get teased if I so much as wear high heels. People will ask if they’re giving me acrophobia.”
Abbie exchanged a look with Ryne, who’d taken up a stance next to her chair. “So your fear was common knowledge.”
“I’m pretty open about it.” Her face crumpled, and she shoved one fist to still her trembling lips. “I had no idea that anyone was even here. We locked the door after we came in, and I’m sure Warren locked it behind him. He’s always very security conscious. That pervert had to have been hiding the whole time.
Watching
us.”
Watching
us.”
“You’ve been through a terrifying experience. But the fact that you weren’t alone tonight might have ended up saving your life.”
At Abbie’s words, Bradford managed a shaky smile. “That and my revolver. I’m sure I hit him. I saw him grab his arm. And then when I fired again . . .” She stopped, sending a guilty look toward Ryne. “Am I going to get charged for that? For shooting him, I mean? The gun . . . I don’t have a permit for it.”
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