“You’re serious, aren’t you?” she asked in a small voice.
He looked over his shoulder and watched as she pulled up the sheet to cover her naked flesh. The twin Fury tattoos on her breasts flashed as she moved. The third one, he knew, hovered at the small of her back. Modesty wasn’t something she worried herself with, which meant she was right and truly scared.
Finally.
“Get to the colony and stay there,” he said sternly. “I promise you’ll be safe. I won’t bother you there.”
“Nick.” Regret rushed over her features as she reached a hand out.
Yeah. Their sicko relationship was right and truly fucked. She liked it rough and he liked to give it to her, but what had just happened had crossed the line. And the fact she didn’t see that flipped a trigger in his brain that screamed, Get the hell out now. Fast.
He was out the apartment’s front door before she even took a step in his direction, and headed for the back stairs that ran down to the alley at the rear of her old building. His hearing was still in tune with what was happening around him, searching for what he’d sensed inside, which is why he heard her sniffle one floor up and from behind supposedly soundproof walls.
And shit, like he needed to hear that tonight.
He slung a leg over his Harley, parked near the Dumpster, and snapped on his helmet, not because he was worried about cracking his skull open but because it was the law. A hell-on-wheels, no-helmet biker attracted cops. And cops attracted trouble.
The bike roared to life beneath his fingers. As he tore out of the alley and onto the four a.m. deserted streets of Silver Hills, the raw power of the machine beneath him rumbled through his body.
As did the tingles. All over his skin. Stronger this time. Vibrating electric energy against his clothing so much that he was sure he had to be glowing beneath his denim and leather.
The portal had opened again. And this time what came through was no match for the darkness inside him. It was a thousand times worse.
CHAPTER TEN
“Are you sure there’s no sex in here, dearie? Because you know how I feel about all that humping and bumping.”
Casey plastered on her most pleasant yes-ma’am smile as the bell above the door jangled. A blast of crisp air rushed into the store just before Dana stepped in, wearing chic jeans, her favorite chunky boots and a bloodred leather jacket with shiny silver grommets running up and down the sleeves. In her hands she held two steaming paper cups, one of which Casey desperately hoped was filled with mocha Valencia.
Casey held up a finger to tell Dana she’d be right with her and turned the book in the sixtyish woman’s hands so she could see the author’s photo on the back jacket. “None at all, Mrs. Colbert. Joan Swan strictly writes mysteries. A little murder and mayhem doesn’t bother you, does it?”
Adelaide Colbert glanced over her reading glasses at Casey and lifted her badly red-tinted eyebrows. “Of course not. Do I look like a prude? Just so long as we’re clear on the sex thing.” She flipped the book back to examine the cover, then lifted her voice just loud enough so anyone else browsing the stacks in Casey’s corner bookstore could hear her. “I run the women’s league at Saint Michael’s First Episcopalian. I have a reputation to live up to, you know. No humping and bumping.” She winked at Casey.
Casey reached for the end aisle display and added another Swan book to Mrs. Colbert’s arms. “Then might I suggest this one as well. Definitely no sex here.”
Mrs. Colbert harrumphed, then took the books Casey had suggested toward the register at the rear of the store where Mandy, Casey’s part-time employee, rang her up with a smile and chatter about the local high-school football team.
Amused, Dana sauntered in Casey’s direction and handed her the Java House cup she’d picked up across the street. “I thought Swan wrote steamy fireman romances.”
Casey lifted the cup and took a slow sip. Ah, just like those chocolate oranges Gigia used to send her at Christmas. Life was already better. She licked her lips. “She does.”
“Uh-huh,” Dana said. “Say no more.”
Casey waited as the older woman finished her purchase and headed for the exit. Warmth spread from the cup in Casey’s hand to her fingers and then into her arms, and she hoped it would continue its journey through her chilled body. She was colder today than she had been yesterday. Colder and more tired. It had taken all her energy just to get out of bed and haul herself to the bookstore.
“Stay warm, Mrs. Colbert. Weather report said we’re in for a windstorm.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” the old woman muttered as she pulled the heavy glass door open. “Good day, Casey.”
“Speaking of the storm…” Casey handed Mandy a checkbook and the list of supplies she’d made out earlier. “Why don’t you head over to Staples now before the weather hits? I can handle things here.”