The Reunited

FIFTEEN





A hot meal.

A hard run through downtown.

And when he got back to the hotel, Joss deliberately sat in the lobby for an hour.

Surrounded by people, listening to them come and go.

Dimly, he was aware of their thoughts. The chaos. It was like rain pounding against an umbrella he carried, though. It didn’t leave him overwhelmed this time. Finally.

It was an exhausting exercise and his head was still reeling, so he didn’t feel at all bad about missing the evening powwow in Jones’s room. He headed to his, showered, and crashed.

It was another night of deep, tormenting dreams.

He would have liked to fight, but this time . . . the dreams reached up and grabbed him. Pulled him under. Choking him . . .

* * *

CHOKING—

F*ck all, the pain choked him, but it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that he get up. Get on his feet and get her away from here. Struggling to roll over, he clawed at the grass, searching for something to hold as he clambered to his feet.

But there was nothing—

Then there was something.

A hand. Pressing on his chest.

Her hand. “Be still now, do you hear me? You must be still. Oh, look at . . . no. It will be fine.”

Fine . . . No. He wouldn’t be fine. Everything was getting black and gray, his vision fading as he tried to focus on her face. “Amelie. You must run now,” he rasped, grabbing her wrist and trying to blink away the gray clouds that wanted to hide her face from him. “Run. Get away . . .”

“Hush. I need to stop the bleeding.”

“It will not help. You must run—”

In his bed, he flung out a hand, closed into a tight, useless fist.

* * *

“YOU didn’t really think I’d let you run.”

Dru gasped for air as Patrick let her up, just once, for a gulp of air.

Then he was pushing her down again and the heavy, wet silk of her wedding dress was sucking her under.

The cold water pressed in around her, and it was deep, so much deeper than a bathtub full of water should be—she’d been taking a bath. That was all. Taking a bath, in her wedding dress . . . then he was there, trying to push her under.

His hand fisted in her hair, jerking her back up.

She blinked the bubbles and water out of her eyes, sputtering and gasping for air. And realized . . . they weren’t in her bathroom anymore. They were on a bridge. The wet, heavy silk of her gown was gone, replaced by an equally heavy, equally ornate dress of all black.

“Mourn him, do you? Foolish cow. Think you can run away from me?”

Dru stared at the man in front of her. The angry glint in his eyes reminded her of Patrick, although he wasn’t Patrick. The cool, angry words . . . they reminded her of him, as well. Even the way he made her skin crawl . . .

“Amelie, dearest. Did you really think I’d let you leave me?” he asked casually, just before he backhanded her.

Amelie . . .

She went flying. But before she could crash to the ground, big, gentle hands caught her and she sagged against a chest that seemed terribly, terribly familiar.

The black, ornate dress melted away.

As he pushed one big, capable hand into her hair, Dru stared up at him. “You again.”

It was the guy from the park.

The one who’d kissed her.

The one who made her feel like . . . everything.

“He hit you before. I remember that,” he murmured, studying her cheek before looking past her to stare at not-Patrick. “Does he still?”

She turned her head, followed his stare. He was watching the man who’d reminded her so disturbingly of her fiancé. “I . . . nobody has ever hit me before. Well, he has. But only him.”

The man shook his head. “You’re wrong there. He hit you before . . . when we were all different.”

“That’s nice and . . . unclear.”

“Another life,” he murmured. Cupping her cheek, he stroked his thumb along the sweep of her cheekbone. “I always remembered. But you’ve forgotten . . . haven’t you?”

She stared up at his face. “If I ever knew you, I’d remember.”

“Not if you weren’t supposed to.” He pressed against her lower lip. “He hit you before . . . and he killed me. After that, I don’t know what became of you. But I think you do. If you’ll let yourself remember.”

Dru grimaced. “That’s insane.”

“So is kissing a man you’ve never met . . . but you did that. And you did a damn good job of it.” He lowered his head, rubbed his lips over hers. “Wanna do it again?”

As she opened for him, that sane voice in her mind whispered, “This is just insane.”

But the voice was quieter this time. Quieter . . . and she wasn’t quite so sure of her sanity, either.

“It’s not insane . . . this is the most rational either of us has ever been.”

“Is it?” She stared up at him, some part of her insisting that this was crazy. All of it. But she couldn’t. Because it felt right. Seemed so right. Far better than anything having to do with Patrick . . .

“Don’t think about him,” he ordered.

“Hard, that. Seeing as he’s standing right . . .” Dru lifted her head, and then stopped in midsentence once she realized Patrick wasn’t, in fact, standing there.

And they weren’t there anymore.

They were in a bright, open room that seemed strangely familiar, although she knew she’d never seen it in her life. The walls had the most ornate wallpaper on them, pink vining flowers that climbed up to a high, airy ceiling. A lovely, four-poster bed that made her think of a time gone by.

“Do you remember this?” he murmured, turning his arms so that they stood facing the bed.

Dru blinked. “No. Why should I? I’ve never seen this place.”

He sighed. “You have . . . in another life.”

A laugh escaped her. “Another life. You must have knocked your head or something . . .”

“Look in the mirror, Dru. See us . . .”

She lifted her head and her breath froze in her lungs. He wasn’t the same. But the eyes . . . she knew those eyes. He stood at her back, longish blond hair pulled back from his face, his clothes clean but roughly made. She, though, her hair was done up in ringlets and curls, swept up high off her face, displaying her neck, a fine necklace. The gown she wore was something she expected to see on the cover of a romance novel, the kind where the man had his shirt half open while the woman was bent back over his arm at an impossible angle.

Swallowing, Dru shook her head. “That’s not me.”

And then she clapped a hand over her mouth. For it wasn’t her voice, either. Softer, huskier, slower.

“It is you . . . it was. Before he took you away from me. Don’t let him take you away again.” He dipped his head and kissed her neck. “This was us. I loved you from the minute I saw you. Do you remember?”

Tearing away from him, she stumbled over to the mirror, certain this was a trick. That red-gold hair . . . no, that wasn’t her hair. And those certainly weren’t her tits. She glanced down at her chest and grimaced. “I can’t breathe.”

“I can help you with that.”

“I just bet,” she muttered sourly, but when she went to turn around, he stopped her. Stiffly, she stood there while he went about stripping her out of a dress that left her baffled. The dress. A petticoat? Other bits and pieces of clothing she didn’t recognize. Finally, she stood there in long, lacy underwear, a chemise, and a corset. “I still can’t breathe.”

“I always loved seeing you like this.” He dipped his head and kissed his way down her neck. “Your favorite thing to do was tease me . . .”

“You want me to believe we were lovers . . . in another life.”

“No.” He sighed.

She felt him tugging, and then abruptly, she could breathe as the laces at her waist eased up. “We weren’t. I wanted to be. You were . . . uncertain. Scared. I guess I don’t blame you. I wasn’t the kind of husband you’d been looking for, and you didn’t know how we’d make it. But I would have made things work. I just needed you to trust me.”

The corset fell away and she looked down as big, rough hands closed around her waist.

Her breath gusted out of her as he pulled her against him. The room spun. And a soft bed was at her back. “We weren’t lovers, but we will be,” he whispered. “Do I stop now? Are we going to wait until we’re finally together, or can we at least have this?”

Her breath hissed out of her as she realized their clothes were gone.

She hadn’t taken them off. Neither had he.

And it wasn’t that other face she saw above hers.

It was the man she’d met in the park.

A harsh, craggy face, too rough to be handsome, but so f*cking sexy he made her hurt from want. Eyes so dark and soft, like molten chocolate, and she just wanted to gorge herself. A mouth that was just perfect.

Reaching up, she touched his lips. “This is insane.”

“No . . . insane is what we’ve been doing for the past hundred years, being lost. Now we’re together.” He pushed his knee between her thighs, pressed the muscle length against her. “Do we wait? Do we stay lost?”

Dru curled an arm around his neck and pulled him closer. She stroked one hand down his arm and lifted her leg, wrapped it around his waist. “Even if it’s insane, I don’t want to wait.”

“It’s not insane.” He slanted his mouth over hers. “And we won’t wait.”

No . . . no, we won’t, she thought. It seemed as though no sooner had that thought left her mind than they were on the bed, his long, muscled body pressed to hers. As his hands cupped her breasts, she closed her eyes. So strange . . . and so not. She could almost believe this actually had happened. That maybe this wasn’t just a dream.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he rasped, pushing a hand into her hair. “All my life, Dru. I’ve been waiting all my life . . .”

“I can almost believe that.”

“Believe it.” He pulled her into his arms, lifting her as though she weighed nothing.

He laid her on the bed, his hands practically shaking as he stroked them up her thighs. “I won’t hurt you,” he said gruffly. “I won’t . . .”

Dru pushed up onto one elbow and hooked her hand around the back of his neck, tugged him close. Scraping her teeth along his lower lip, she whispered against his lips, “If you don’t shut up already, I just might hurt you.”

For a second, something flashed in his eyes. And she felt something from him. That burn on her brain, it seemed to flare, expand . . . hunger pulsing. “Shutting up, ma’am.” He took her mouth with his.

The heavy, solid weight of him was so unlike anything she’d ever felt. Yet it felt so perfectly right . . . so right . . . The wide, muscled wall of his chest crushed against her breasts, harsh, ragged breaths escaping him. She could feel the hard, rigid length of his cock. His hands stroking over her.

And that hunger . . . it was like it surrounded her very being. Overwhelmed her. Warmed her.

She sucked in a desperate breath, only to lose it when he reached between them, teasing her with the head of his cock. Slow, torturous . . . ah, hell. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she arched up. “Weren’t you the one whinging about waiting?”

“Whinging?” Laughter lurked in his voice as he scraped his teeth over her neck.

“Whinging . . . whining, whatever you Americans call it. Bitching . . . would you just f*ck me already?” she demanded.

His body went tense. Rigid.

Dru caught her breath. She’d been behaving herself so long, being the demure little twit who’d never dare speak her mind, but she hadn’t thought—

A groan rumbled out of him. So fast, he moved so fast, one hand coming up and cupping her face, spearing over her cheek, fingers splaying wide. “Open,” he demanded against her lips. “Open your mouth.”

And he didn’t wait. He just pushed his tongue demandingly into her mouth, hungry and certain. At the same time, he thrust inside her. Deep, so deep, and she screamed, shocked, into his mouth. Wide and hot, burning, he pierced her, and even when he was buried inside her, it was like he couldn’t get deep enough, rocking against her.

“More, damn it . . .” He groaned. “Give me more.”

Trying to breathe, trying to keep from flying into a thousand pieces, she wrapped her arms around him, holding on to the wide shelf of his shoulders. Her heart skittered in her ribs as he lifted his head, just enough to stare into her eyes.

“Dru?”

She heard his unspoken question, dancing through her mind. Felt it in a way she couldn’t explain. Reaching out to him on that same connection, she tugged him back to her.

Yes, she thought. She needed more.

A dream wasn’t enough.

As he started to move against her, she sobbed against his lips. If this only happened in a dream, she just might wither away and die . . .

It will happen again, and for real, he whispered into her mind. I’ll make damn sure of it.

But she couldn’t think about that. Not with everything that swamped her in real life. Not with the sensation of him driving inside her, the swollen head of his cock scraping over every sensitized nerve ending. Not with the feel of his presence pulsing inside in a way she couldn’t even begin to explain.

It will happen, baby girl . . . it will . . .

The need pulsed. Expanded. And as he gave her another one of those breath-stealing, soul-shattering kisses, she started to shake, a shuddering that echoed in her very core. Stretching out, bit by bit . . .

As he withdrew, she cried out, clenching down around him, desperate to keep him inside her, her nails biting into his shoulders. He snarled, shoved deeper, harder.

She felt his hand tangling in her hair, the other hooking under her shoulders to hold her steady as his hips slammed against her. And it was so damned good, so damned amazing . . .

And although it was nothing but a dream, she climaxed hard, so hard, it stole the very breath from her lungs and left her crying.

Before she could even process what was happening next, though . . . she started to fade.

She could even feel the edges of the dream unraveling. Felt it withering away . . .

“Stay with me,” he rasped.

Dru struggled as the dream started to fade.

“Look at me.”

Lost, fighting whatever it was that seemed to pull her away, she stared into those dark eyes. They anchored her, pulled her in. “Just look at me. Stay with me,” he said, his voice firm . . . and yet under it, she heard a desperate plea.

“Shit,” he whispered.

“What’s happening?”

“We’re both waking up.” He looked around. “I can’t hold this outside of dreams.”

“What’s your name?”

Just before he faded completely, he flashed her one quick smile. “It’s Joss.”

* * *

JOSS . . .

She came awake with his name echoing through her mind, his taste lingering on her lips . . . her entire body was still shuddering with the aftereffects of the climax, and although she knew she hadn’t had sex, it damn well felt like she had.

There were tears on her face. Her heart still raced.

And fear had her skin like ice. The fear only got worse when she licked her lips and thought she could taste the echo of his kiss.

“Don’t let him take you . . .”

As his words circled through her mind, Dru swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat there, her entire body trembling, shaking, her gut a tight, cold knot.

Deep inside, in her soul, she ached.

It felt like somebody had taken her heart and just shattered it, smashed it, and then sewn up the biggest pieces without bothering to make sure everything fit. She felt incomplete. She felt broken.

All from a dream.

“I’m losing my mind. Went nuts under the stress, that’s all.”

Except she didn’t feel like she was going crazy.

That thought made her laugh. Oh, right, like the typical crazy person feels off their rocker. Sighing, she shoved her hair back and buried her face in her hands. She had to get a grip. Ever mindful of the cameras, she pretended to sit there, like she did every morning, tried to pretend she hadn’t just had the very foundation of her entire world rocked. Just stop thinking about it. Just don’t think . . .

It shouldn’t be that hard.

But the dream, it was like it was stuck on instant replay, right there in her mind.

Another life . . . I always remembered. But you’ve forgotten . . . haven’t you? Those dark eyes, locked on her face, so intent. So full of want, need, desire.

Love.

If I ever knew you, I’d remember, she’d told him. And yes. She knew that to be true. That man . . . Joss . . . he wasn’t a man she’d forget. Wasn’t a man she’d let go.

Unless he was taken from her.

He killed me . . . Remembering that was like a brutal, two-fisted punch to her heart, and she wanted to scream from it. Wanted to rage, to cry.

He hit you before . . . and he killed me. After that, I don’t know what became of you. But I think you do. If you’ll let yourself remember.

Let yourself remember . . .

Maybe I really am losing my mind.

There was a massive headache pounding behind her eyes, courtesy of the massive amounts of rum she’d taken in last night after Patrick had left. She’d feigned sleep until he locked the door and then she’d promptly made free with the liquor cabinet and tried to drown herself in a vat of rum, but it hadn’t done any good.

Neither had the blistering shower she’d taken.

Now she was stuck with a brutal headache, a brutal hangover, and crystal-clear memories of what she’d done.

She’d had sex with that monster. Again.

Granted, if she hadn’t had sex with him, he would have just raped her. Again. She’d much rather be in control than let him force her again, but in the end, she still felt dirty. Used.

Bruised.

It hadn’t bothered her quite this much before. Oh, it had bothered her, but now . . .

What had changed?

Except she already knew.

Don’t let him take you away again . . .

She met a man. She shared a stolen kiss.

And suddenly, the shadowy, insubstantial dreams that had haunted her weren’t so shadowy or insubstantial.

Let yourself remember . . .

She was either losing her mind . . . or she would wish she was, if she did let herself remember, she suspected.