“What are you—” I glanced back, figuring the vampire legion was already there and we were dead; why fight it? But the only thing behind us was the traffic, the normal crush of people, and the big, black chrome-and-glass hellhole.
Except there was something off about the glass. The sun was down, so why did every floor flicker orange and yellow, like the dancing light of— “Fire,” I said.
“The Strega’s final solution.”
“To what?”
“Everything. Revolt. Invasion. Capture. He had the building rigged.”
“They’re going to burn.”
He looked at me and the Jimmy I knew—or at least the one I’d discovered since he’d showed up in my hospital room—was back. “Got a problem with that?”
“Not a one.”
Chapter 41
We checked in to the first hotel we found. I hit the gift shop, charged a T-shirt, sweatpants, and some flip-flops to the room. I guess, for the time being, I did heart New York.
When I got out of the shower, Jimmy stood at the window. Something about the slump of his shoulders made me uneasy. He should be happy. No more desire for blood. No more controlling freak of a father. We’d gotten out alive.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Let’s see.” He faced me. Though the red pinprick in the center had disappeared, I still didn’t like what I saw in his eyes. “I’ve killed Ruthie and a shitload of others, ruined any chance we had to win this war, hurt you, debased you, why wouldn’t I be all right?”
“You didn’t kill Ruthie.” I left out the others. I was pretty sure he’d killed a few people since he’d been in the Strega’s lair. Best not bring that up.
“I may as well have.” He turned away again. I wasn’t sure what to do.
Love is stronger than hate.
Trust Ruthie to show me the way.
I opened my mouth to tell him, but I couldn’t. I’d never been very verbal with my feelings, at least the softer ones. I could shout hatred from the rooftops, but when it came to love… I was better at show than tell.
I let the towel drop to the floor. His reflection in the window tensed; his eyes closed. I moved up behind him and pressed my breasts to his back. He never had found a shirt. His skin against mine felt delicious. Would he-taste just as good?
I licked his shoulder—definitely delicious—so I nibbled at his neck, inched my palm around his side and laid it against his flat stomach.
“Lizzy,” he said, his voice full of warning.
“Make me forget the other times,” I whispered. “Love me like you used to.”
For an instant I thought I’d gone too far by referring to the Strega’s high-rise. Then he moaned as if I’d punched him in the gut, turned and gathered me into his arms.
I touched his face, lifted it, met his eyes, let him see that I’d never stopped loving him. I doubted I ever could. Even when a despicable creature had lurked inside, I couldn’t give up the hope of reaching Jimmy, of bringing him back. And I had. That alone was cause for this celebration.
His hands skated over me, reverent but sure, tracing the curve of my thigh; the swell of my breast. My head fell back; his lips brushed my neck, ins tongue tracing the vein.
I didn’t tense; I trusted him completely. He needed me to.
His mouth warmed me from collarbone to belly button. My skin tingled at the scratch of his beard, the flutter of each and every kiss. He was on his knees again, arms around me, face pressed just below my breasts. I rested my hands on his shoulders, kneading the harsh knots beneath the skin until they smoothed, though they never faded completely away.
I took his hand and drew him to his feet, then with me onto the bed. He still wore his loose trousers. I worked them over his hips, following the descent with my mouth. He was hard; I couldn’t wait. I made a move to straddle him and he reared up, tumbling me onto my back and sliding into me.
Sure, slow strokes, deep, wet kisses, I lost track of how long we lay together, bodies in tandem, light, tender touches, a murmur, a moan. He never lifted his mouth from mine, even when our movements became faster, more frantic as we climbed together toward that peak we craved.
His hand cupped my breast, lifting, stroking, the sensation shooting from my nipple straight to my center. He framed my face with his palms, brushed our lips together, tentatively met my tongue with his own, delving within as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of my mouth. The last time I’d been kissed like that I was seventeen and so damn in love I thought I’d die of it.
That memory made me come in a rush that left me gasping. As the tremors faded, he pulsed, increasing the tempo, drawing out the orgasm. His forehead dropped to mine for just an instant before he rolled to the side. I caught his hand as he fell away, and his fingers tangled with mine.
There’d been something different about that last kiss, something I couldn’t put my finger on, especially since I was drifting toward sleep on a killer combination of adrenaline letdown and afterglow.
I slept without dreams for a change. God, it felt good.
I woke up and knew instantly what had been different about his kiss. The empty bed, the empty room told the tale.
That last kiss had been good-bye.
Epilogue