Hell Fire

Stolen Kisses

We reached the house just before nightfall.

Chance seemed subdued. If I knew him, his mood related to Saldana coming to his rescue. That had to be a blow to his ego. There was no telling how he’d react to finding out I died in the woods; if it hadn’t been for Jesse, I would have still been lying there.

After a quick perimeter check, we went inside. The place seemed secure, but I was glad we’d taken care of the wards. It occurred to me that we might want to mark the windows too. I didn’t know if it would prevent glass breaking—probably not, in fact—but it might keep bad things from crawling over the sills.

I put Butch down, and he went into the kitchen to see if there was any food in his dish. Shortly thereafter, I heard crunching, so I guessed there was. No question, I should tell Chance what had happened.

Instead I mumbled, “I’m going to see if I can coax some hot water out of the shower.”

“I’ll check the water heater,” Saldana offered. “The pilot light may have gone out.”

“Thanks.”

Jesse knew I didn’t care about the shower. I was beyond that. I needed comfort and privacy, but I leaned toward the latter because the former would involve choosing someone to console me, and then I would feel guilty about the guy I didn’t turn to. And it was hard enough for me to open up in the first place.

I found a pair of worn jeans in my backpack and a clean shirt, a pink cotton gauze blouse that should’ve clashed with my hair, but didn’t. Then I unearthed my polka-dotted cosmetic bag. I’d need soap and shampoo if I went through with the notion of cleaning myself up. Too bad I couldn’t hose myself off where it counted. I could still feel the dark thing’s presence, like it was peering at us from the forest.

The house is warded, I reminded myself. Nothing can get in.

Then I remembered the way the warlock had sent the undead thing to crawl around and around the house, breaking our wards at Chuch’s place with its fetid blood. I shuddered. Surely Butch would let us know if anything like that arrived. The one good thing I could think of about being in Kilmer—we were so far off the grid, I couldn’t imagine Montoya tracking us down via mundane means, and it would take him a while to hire a decent practitioner to employ any finding spells.

Thinking along those lines just gave me another set of worries. Did we leave blood at the scene back in Laredo? Anything they could use to track us? But the crime scene at the compound had been such a mess that it would take a CSI unit weeks to sort out the bodies. There shouldn’t be any mundane clues.

When I went down the hall toward the old-fashioned bathroom, I saw Chance sitting in the parlor. He stared at his folded hands, much as he’d been doing on the cot in the makeshift jail. I knew something was bothering him, but I lacked the emotional fortitude to help him through his issues when I had so many of my own.

I stripped out of my clothes and left them piled on the bathroom floor. For long moments, I let the water run and stood staring at my left palm. The blisters around the brand looked oddly like petals adorning the flower pentacle, and the mark throbbed steadily in time with my heartbeat.

It meant something. When I’d touched my mother’s necklace, it triggered a spell, but I didn’t know exactly what it had done to me—or who left it for me to find. I wanted to think it must be something good, and that it came from my mother, but given the dark place where it sat waiting, I couldn’t rid myself of the fear I now carried a taint.

In response to that thought, I stepped into the shower beneath tepid water, taking my soap and shampoo with me. The water felt strange and soft; it lathered too much and took at least two minutes to rinse out of my long hair. Soon the stream went from lukewarm to chilly, so I soaped up quickly and got out even faster. This wasn’t the place to sit down under the hot water and fret. I’d have to do that somewhere else.

When I emerged, dripping onto the cold tile floor, I realized I didn’t have a towel. In this place, we’d been lucky to find any linens at all. I didn’t want to wiggle into my clean clothes all wet, and I shied from the idea of drying off on the dirty clothes I’d just removed. Dammit, I was tired of living like a squatter.

Someone rapped twice on the bathroom door. I cracked it and found Chance waiting, face averted. In his hands he held a fluffy white towel; I recognized it from the Kilmer Inn. I could feel a smile building at the corners of my mouth. As I lusted for that symbol of civilization, I pretended nonchalance.

“You stole a towel?”

“Three,” he corrected with a half smile. “They owe me more than three towels too. I paid three hundred and forty bucks for one night! You want this or not?” He held it beyond my reach so I’d have to open the door to get it.

“Oh, I want it.” Maybe he didn’t think I’d do it, but I swung the door wide and stood there, water trickling from my hair, running in rivulets along my bare skin. I showed nothing he hadn’t seen before, but I succeeded in shocking him.

Chance went still as I snagged the towel and wrapped it around myself. “You have no shame,” he said huskily.

“None,” I agreed with a smile that felt wicked.

I shouldn’t tease him. I really, really shouldn’t.

“And a mean streak wide enough to put the Mississippi to shame,” he went on, still studying the curve of the white cotton covering my breasts.

I nodded. “That’s true too.”

Life sparked through him. I couldn’t explain it, but he shook off whatever had been bothering him before. A smile shaped his sinfully lovely mouth.

“You have ten seconds to close the door, Corine.”

“Or what?”

I watched his mouth move as he counted. Nerves clenched my stomach in a good way. I needed the distraction, and I’d probably like whatever he meant to threaten me with.

Nine.

I didn’t shut the door.

Quick as a lightning strike, he knotted his hand in the slick rope of my hair and spun me toward him. Breath left me as he buried his face in the damp skin between my neck and shoulder. As he nuzzled, he let out a little growl that thrilled me in ways I shouldn’t allow.

“You smell so good,” he whispered.

I hadn’t even put on the frangipani perfume he loved yet. This was just me, and somehow, his reaction stirred me all the more, making me feel like he craved the unadorned essence of me. What woman didn’t want to feel she could drive a man wild with only her skin and her smile? Power thrummed through me in a heady rush.

I used to find him an immensely civilized lover. I used to fret about making myself attractive to him, making him desire me. Right then, he didn’t seem remotely in control. Molten gold sparked in his tiger’s eyes. Maybe I wasn’t ready to commit, but I wanted him. I always had.

Chance backed me into the bathroom, spun me, and pressed me up against the bathroom door. I felt every inch of my nakedness in contrast to his sleekly clothed muscles. He’d grown even harder since I left.

When his mouth took mine, he didn’t ask if I wanted it, or if I’d permit it. Heat sparked between us like two live wires, and I came up on my toes.

Part of me knew how easily he could finish it—rip off the towel, unfasten his pants, and do me up against the door. He kissed me, all urgency and raging need. As our lips clung, he rocked against me, letting me know how close he was to doing just that.

A kiss became ten, and then twenty. He kissed me like he had nothing better to do for the rest of his life, and I twisted against him. I didn’t know if I wanted more or to get away from his wonderful, merciless mouth. He ran it down my throat to my shoulder, alternating lips and teeth, and I wanted him to do that everywhere.

I shook, but he trembled too.

His breath came in great, harsh gulps as he pulled me against him, tighter. My hips moved. I probably wouldn’t have objected if he had raised me up and finished us. But he didn’t. He continued to tantalize us both with sweet, slow movements, hip to hip.

“I want you so,” he whispered. “You have the softest damn skin”—he ran his fingertips down my bare arm—“and your hair, I haven’t had you with this hair. You’re fire and ice, and everything about you is burning me up.”

I think he wanted me to give permission to take the last step, but I couldn’t. Before that happened, I needed him to tell me things it would never occur to Chance to say. He’d broken his sexual restraints, but he had emotional bonds to slip as well.

I also needed to know his gift wouldn’t kill me before breakfast the next morning.

No matter how much we wanted each other—and I could no longer deny that was the case—we had issues to resolve. I let out a shivery breath and couldn’t resist taking one last bite, right behind his ear. He’d always been a sucker for that. Chance tensed, letting out a sound that half excited, half alarmed me.

He dropped his head on my shoulder and groaned. “You’re not going to say yes, are you? Heartless. You’re a heartless woman.”

“I’m not the one who knocked on the bathroom door while you were naked. Seems like you shouldn’t have put yourself in line to be tempted.”

“That happens when you breathe,” he muttered. But he stepped back, taking my hand instead of my whole body. Before I could warn him, he pressed a kiss to my newly branded palm.

A whimper escaped me. “That’s not good for me.”

“Jesus, Corine. What happened? Did you handle something? Didn’t Saldana know to get you the salve?”

I barely refrained from snapping at him, No, we came to save your ass instead. I didn’t want to tell the story naked. Some things were bad enough without being made worse by extraneous circumstance.

“I’ll tell you later,” I muttered.

Secrets that I shared with Jesse didn’t sit well with him. Jealousy flared in his lambent gaze, quickly suppressed. “Just . . .” His hands fisted at his sides. “Don’t let me catch you making out with him again, or I swear to God—”

Talk about a bucket of cold water. “So that’s what this is about. Jesus, Chance.”

Apparently he hadn’t been overwhelmed with desire. This was vintage Chance. He wanted to mark his territory, so he put on a passionate display. And I should have known the difference. After all, he found me plenty resistible until Jesse showed up.

“That’s not why I kissed you.”

I flung open the bathroom door. “I need to get dressed.”

I never learned. I berated myself as I rubbed the towel all over, trying to forget how easily he’d made me want him. I hated being stupid, and I never seemed to learn from my mistakes where Chance was concerned. By the time I had my clothes on, I only wanted to smack him a little bit.

I stomped out of the bathroom, hoping Jesse had told him about our encounter in the woods by now. By Chance’s dead expression, he had. My ex looked cut to the core that I hadn’t bothered telling him what happened. I’d died and hadn’t seen fit to confide in him.

And it hurt him. I saw the shadow of it in his eyes. It was more than the fact that I’d shared something with Jesse—that he’d saved me. Chance felt iced out, treated as peripheral when he wanted to be center stage with me. Well, good. Let him see how it felt to be manipulated and kept in the dark.

And Jesse was a son of a bitch too. He would’ve sensed what was going on in the bathroom, so he’d informed his rival how he saved my life, a talent Chance seemed to lack. In fact, sometimes he actively endangered it. He’d probably also reminded Chance how he rode to my rescue, coming a thousand miles to save me.

“You’re both assholes,” I said aloud.

They jumped. There was oil in the next room if they wanted to play at Greco-Roman wrestling. Hell, if they enjoyed it, they could always settle down together, and leave me alone.

Before either of them could reply, three things happened at once.

Thunder boomed so loud it shook the house, but there was no resultant lightning, no onslaught of rain. The night felt deadly quiet.

A young girl’s voice called out, “Is anyone there?”

And a dead man’s radio began to play.