The Reunited

TWENTY-SIX





SHE dreamed.

She knew she dreamed.

Sleep held her in its tight, captive fist, and she couldn’t have broken free if she tried.

In the dream, she stood at a place so familiar, it almost hurt to see it. It was the first time it had ever been this clear, though.

The lake.

Swallowing around the knot in her throat, she stared out over the lake and remembered. Almost everything, it seemed. Bits and pieces drifting into her mind, settling into place as she stood on the shore.

It was like she stood on the edges of two places in time.

Two realities maybe.

In one reality, she saw the place as it was. She’d been here once. Following a dead-end lead. Two girls had been seen in this area . . . one had been the girl she’d been searching for . . . Sarah Hale, the runaway she’d been hired to find. Or at least somebody resembling her. And then Daylin Crosby.

Dru had never found any sign of them, but this place had freaked her out. Oddly enough, this was where she’d met up with Tucker again. He’d been prowling around the lake and they’d all but bumped into each other.

“I don’t want to be here.” She turned away from the lake to stare at the warehouse. It was old and vacant, covered with so much graffiti, the walls were barely visible under it. Perched on the edge of the lake. It was a travesty to see, really.

Because in the other reality, this place had been lovely. She stood there, remembering. Because all of those dreams, all those echoes of memory . . . they’d been real.

It was hot. Oppressively so, and she hated it. But she couldn’t make herself pull away from the dream. She could make herself stop it . . . if she had the will. She recognized that it was just a dream . . . a powerful one. And yes, there were bits and pieces of something that was more.

Yet it was simply a dream and she couldn’t be held captive in this, not if she didn’t allow it.

When he appeared behind her, she sighed and shoved her sticky, sweaty hair back from her face. “You know . . . since this is my dream, it seems that I should have a little bit of control. I don’t want to see you. So you should just go poof . . . and disappear.”

Big, muscled arms wrapped around her waist.

“Yeah? How is that theory working for you?”

Scowling, she twisted away from him, breaking his hold. Putting a few feet between them didn’t help. Turning around to glare at him didn’t help, either. It was just another strike to her already battered heart. She was relieved, though, to see that he looked like he should. Like Joss. That harsh, craggy face; short, dark hair; and those near-black eyes that stared at her like he could see right through her. So if he looked like he should . . . she dared a look down and saw her meager breasts, the long, familiar lines of her body.

Good. Very good, indeed. She had enough on her mind without having to deal with the body of the woman she’d been.

Shooting him a dark look, she said tiredly, “Well, you haven’t gone poof, so clearly the theory isn’t working at all.”

Plucking her shirt away from her sweaty chest, she turned back to the lake.

“Do you know this place?” she asked quietly.

“Vaguely.” He moved once more to stand behind her. But this time, he didn’t touch her. “You’re sad, Dru. Why are you sad?”

Why . . . oh, why, indeed . . .

Lifting a hand, she pointed to the loading dock, just a few yards away. In the strange, shifting realities, she could see it as it had been. Then, it had been green. Impossibly green. Until the ground ran wet with blood. “He killed you there.”

A harsh breath gusted out of him.

“Amelie . . .”

Dru shook her head. “Don’t call me that name,” she said. “That’s not who I am. Whoever she was, whoever I might have been, that’s not who I am now.”

She turned her head and stared at him. “I thought you remembered all of this.”

His eyes glittered as he stared at her.

“I remember you,” he rasped. “More than anything, I remember you. Everything else was just dust in the wind. Then it was all gone.”

“Dust in the wind,” she murmured. “Apt, I suppose.” She eased around him, careful not to touch. The words he’d spoken to her were still a broken, jagged wound on her heart and she just couldn’t handle it.

“You remember more.”

“Just now.” She continued toward that spot, the ache inside growing. Spreading. “He killed you. I don’t remember what it was about. I guess it doesn’t matter after all of this time . . . although . . .”

She stopped and spun to look at him, head cocked. “Do you know who he is?”

A muscle jerked in his jaw, throbbing.

“I guess you do,” she murmured. Absently, she reached up, touched the back of her hand to her cheek. Remembered the few times he’d hit her. All the times he’d hurt her. Whether it was one of the rapes, or the way he had of grabbing her wrist and squeezing, just hard enough to make the bones grind together.

And how often she’d yearned to make him stop. She could have. So many times. In so many ways. She’d had reasons, she knew that. But now . . .

It was so much harder to take now.

“I always had trouble sleeping,” she said, giving him her back and continuing on her walk to the place where he’d died. Where Thom had died. All those years ago. “Nightmares I couldn’t remember. Awful dreams. Waking up with fits of choking. Or just crying. But none of it made sense. Then I came back here and I met him. The first time he touched me, I had this awful, horrid sensation . . . death.”

“He can’t hurt you now,” Joss growled. “He can’t hurt you ever again.”

Dru smiled sadly. “Oh, I’m not worried about him now. If it hadn’t been for the job, for what I had to do, he never would have hurt me to begin with. I was counting, you know. Every time he touched me. Every time he hurt me, scared me. Threatened me. All of it . . . and I promised myself I’d bloody him. He doesn’t worry me now,” she said, her voice savage. “But then . . .”

It hit her in a rush, breath stealing. The cold water. The heaviness of her dress. She’d never learned how to swim. The weight of her skirts, dragging her down. Choking on the water. And Thom . . . in her mind, she’d felt so guilty because even though she’d longed to be with him . . . had been ready to end her own life, even . . . yes. She remembered even that. The knife she’d tucked into her purse . . . no. Reticule. It had been called a reticule. She’d had it in her bag and was thinking about killing herself. Debating over it even as she tried to convince herself there were other options. Cousins . . . she’d had cousins up north . . . yes. More memories breaking free.

Then Richard—

Big hands, hard, strong . . . but so gentle closed over her shoulders, forcing her to turn. She found herself staring at the black T-shirt stretching over his wide chest. A nice chest, all in all. She wanted to lean against him and just rest. Close her eyes for a while and rest.

“What’s going on, Dru? There’s something in your eyes . . .”

“Memories,” she whispered.

“Dru,” he growled. He cupped her chin and some of his gentleness was lost under his frustration. As he pushed his hand into her hair, he moved in closer, crowding his body against hers. “Talk to me, damn it.”

Talk to me . . .

How did she tell him this?

Sighing, she reached up and closed her hand over his wrist, thinking to tug him away. It would be easier, she thought. If she wasn’t touching him. But instead, she found herself curling her fingers around him tighter . . . clinging to him. Closing her eyes, she leaned in and pressed her head to his chest. “It was here,” she murmured again. “All those dreams, it all comes back to this place. I saw him kill you here. And I sat by your side, and watched. You told me to run, but I couldn’t leave you . . . then, when I tried to stay away from him, he wouldn’t let me.”

She swallowed. “All those details are fuzzy, but he wouldn’t let me go. I have memories of coming back here. Day after day. And then one day, he was here. He was angry . . . and then . . .”

A fist clamped around her throat and the words she tried to pushed out were trapped. Lodged there. Choking her. Choking . . .

“Dru!”

* * *

THE dream ended in a harsh, broken cry.

Jerking awake, Joss crouched over Dru and hauled her upright. Her eyes, still glazed with fear, stared into his.

Her mouth was slack, her breathing coming in harsh pants like she’d just gotten done running a marathon.

“Dru!”

She whimpered.

He went to touch her face and saw the cuffs. Growling, he used his free hand, cupping her cheek, leaning in and pressing his brow to hers. “Dru, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I . . . I can’t . . .”

Odd bits and pieces of emotion splintered off her, and he eased his shields down, flinching as he realized just how faulty her shielding had become. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t . . .”

“Shhh . . .” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her.

And as their lips touched, another one of those splintered, broken emotions fell away. No. Not an emotion. Memory—

She was back at the lake, just as they’d been in the dream. Only it was Amelie . . . with another man. She wore a black dress, stood there with her hands folded in front of her, head bowed.

“I’m leaving, Richard.”

“Leaving, are you?”

“Yes. Mama has family in Boston and I plan to spend the summer with them. I want to get away from this dreadful heat, visit with my cousins.”

The man moved closer, dipped his head to murmur, “Amelie, dearest. Did you really think I’d let you leave me?” He struck her.

The woman’s petite, delicate body went flying. She cried out, but when he approached her, she didn’t cringe, didn’t try to move away. She just lay there.

“I am leaving, Richard.”

“Leaving . . . no. No, you aren’t.”

He bent over her and fisted a hand in her hair, jerked her upright. “I warned you what happens to those who defy me, Amelie, and you’re no different. I’ll ruin you. Your family. Everybody.”

She laughed, the sound pained. “My father has already told me, you can’t do what you seem to think. The sheriff has his people watching you already. And Papa was gone the week Thom disappeared, you stupid fool. So threaten me if you wish, but I am leaving.”

He shoved her backward. “No. You are not.”

And Amelie swung out her hands, struggling to catch her balance. Her slippered feet slid on the dock and then she plummeted. Straight down into the dark, cold, watery depths.

* * *

THERE wasn’t enough whiskey in the world to get him through this, Joss figured.

So, for the first time since this had started, when the thought I need a drink rolled through his mind, he didn’t bother.

Instead, as Dru cried, he held her against his chest and stared out the window, his gaze not tracking much of anything.

He’d killed her.

It was a hollow, empty ache in his gut, and it didn’t matter that it was another life ago.

It felt like moments ago. Seconds ago. Now.

She’d died . . . and Joss hadn’t been there to protect her.

Stroking his free hand up her back, he decided he’d rather be back in the predicament he’d been in before he’d gone to sleep. When he’d just been trying to figure out the right words to make her talk to him again. Yeah, when their main problem had been a cold-blooded slaver. Sure, there had been that weird little past-lives thing, but it had been something to put on the back burner.

Now it was a boiling, raging fire, one that threatened to suck him in and burn him alive.

As her sobs started to ease, he closed his eyes.

Long moments passed after she’d stopped crying, and still they didn’t speak. He just didn’t know what to say. But finally, after nearly thirty minutes of silence, the one thought that kept circling through his head came to his lips.

“I should have been there,” he said quietly.

“And how could that happen? You were already dead,” she pointed out, her voice weary. “Listen to me . . . this is insane.”

“It’s real. And you know it.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.” He turned his face into her hair, nuzzling her gently. “It’s real. You know it. I know it. For whatever reasons, we were put back here to find each other again.”

She snorted at that. “Well, I’ll agree that it’s real. I won’t say I agree to anything else. At least I know what happened at the end of it all, though.” She sat up, nudging him against the chest with her shoulder. “Why am I cuffed to you?”

“Ah . . .” Joss looked down, staring at their joined wrists. “I didn’t want you waking before I did and trying to slip out. And that isn’t the end of it all. We’re not done, Dru. You have to know that.”

“Do I?” She jerked on her hand. “Undo these now.”

“No.” Studying her face, he tried to decide. She seemed level, he decided. Or level enough. And they wouldn’t have much more time before he had to leave. There was still work to be done, and as much as he wanted to say f*ck it, Patrick Whitmore still ranked very high on his priority list.

She stood, her eyes all but shooting fire at him. He rose with her. So pretty, he thought. So pretty and so damned strong. He hadn’t given her credit, he realized. Not enough now, and not then, either. She’d been ready to walk away. Not run in terror, but walk . . . after standing up to a monster. It had ended in a nightmare then.

This was their second chance, and they weren’t going to lose it.

A sneer danced across her face, chasing away some of the shadows and brightening her eyes. “I said, undo the cuffs.” Her voice was cool, icy, and oh so damn proper. She jerked against them.

The exact thing he’d been waiting for. He jerked back, spinning at the same time and moving in, taking her back down on the bed.

He caught his weight on his elbows and one knee, keeping the impact of his body from crushing her. “There,” he murmured, lowering his head and nuzzling the curve of her neck. “This is right about where I’ve wanted to be for maybe a hundred years. And that’s not even an exaggeration.”

“Get off me, you stupid git,” she snarled.

“Stupid git?” he echoed, lifting his head and staring down at her, amused. “How is it you can insult me and still sound so proper doing it?”

Narrowing her eyes, she said, “How proper does this sound? Get the f*ck off of me, you sodding wanker.”

“Hmmm. Sounds sexy as hell.” He dipped his head to hers. Two seconds later, he jerked his head. “Ouch! Damn it, you mean little brat.”

Licking his throbbing lip, he eyed her closely. She lay there, still. “Try to kiss me again, and I’ll do more than bite you. I’m done with you, do you hear me, Crawford? Done.”

He felt something drive into his heart . . . claws, maybe. Too jagged and rough to be a blade, and a knife couldn’t shred him to pieces like this. “No.” Shaking his head, he leaned in, pressed his forehead to hers. “It’s not done. It can’t be . . . don’t you see? We never even started. How can we be done if we never even had a chance to start?”

Her body lay below his, a long, rigid line. “It would never work. You don’t bother to look at anything but what you see with your eyes, even though you damn well have the ability. If you can’t do that . . .” Something dark and tormented danced through her eyes. “I’ve got enough to deal with, just on my own. I don’t need your crap, too.”

“I’m sorry.” He laid his hand on her neck, fingers spread wide so he could stroke his thumb along her lip, feel the graceful curve of her neck under his hand, the silk of her hair along his fingers. “It’s not an excuse, but you need to understand . . .” He trailed off, tried to figure out the best way to explain the truly f*cked-up mess that was his head. “The gifts that are in my head aren’t . . . mine. And I’m little screwed up over them at the moment. Actually, I’ve been screwed up over that for a while now and it’s . . . I can’t think clearly. Nothing’s clear. Except how I feel about you. And I know it can’t be over, Dru.” Dipping his head, he took a chance, a quick kiss, desperate as hell, pressed to her mouth. “It can’t be over. It never started.”

She twisted away from him, staring at the headboard. Very intently, it seemed. Probably so she wouldn’t have to look at him. A soft shudder racked her and he groaned, feeling the rippling of her body under his. Killing him, damn it. Just killing him . . .

“Let me up,” she whispered. And something in her tone got to him.

Rolling away, he lay next to her on the bed, eyes closed, hunger and heartache burning in him until he couldn’t think.

“What . . . what exactly do you mean the gifts in your head aren’t yours?” she asked.

He hesitated for a minute. “Are you going to talk to me? Tell me what’s going on and why you’re so determined to walk away?”

“What, it can’t be because you acted like an ass?” she pointed out.

He lifted his head, craned it around to look at her. But she wasn’t looking at him.

Unwilling to let her block him out so easy, he rolled onto his side, hovering over her. “I felt what you were feeling, Dru. Shock. Fear. And I heard you. You kept thinking, He’s one of them. At first, I thought you were just afraid, but looking back, that’s not what it was. You were pissed. You didn’t think anything better of me than I was thinking, so don’t go pulling this high-and-mighty routine. Somehow I don’t think hypocrisy is your style. We both f*cked up. We can deal with it and move on or make ourselves miserable. Which one are we going to do?”

She turned her head, glaring at him.

“I can’t read minds,” she snapped. “If I could . . .”

“It’s common courtesy not to go barging in without permission.” Lifting his hand, he laid it on her chest, felt the rapid beat of her heart against his hand. “And you’re shying away from what the problem is. Are you going to talk to me or not?”

“I’m not in the mood for this shite, but fine, you bloody moron. I’ll tell you, but then you’ll have to leave me be. And you’ll explain yourself first, you hear me?”

“Why are you so determined to leave?” he asked.

“Because once you hear what I have to say, you’ll want to,” she said, her voice thick and heavy. “Trust me.”

“No.” He shook his head.

“Yes.” She jerked on the cuffs. “Undo these. I’m not talking to you like this, like I’m some sort of prisoner.” Her eyes darkened. “I let myself be treated like a prisoner for too long. I’ve been investigating this for two years, but for more than twelve months, I’ve lived, slept, and breathed this case—I couldn’t do a damn thing without him watching, and every move I made, I worried it would be my last. It’s done now. I am done.”

* * *

ONCE the cuff fell away, Dru sprang away from the bed, desperate to get away from him. Before she let herself lean on him.

The dream had left her shaken. She couldn’t even explain how deeply it had rattled her. It felt like the very foundation of her world had been shattered, and she was still trying to find solid ground to stand on.

Joss seemed so very solid.

But it was an illusion—she knew that. He’d proven it already.

“Talk,” she said, folding her arms across her chest and turning to stare at him.

He still sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, hair mussed from sleep. With his head bowed, she let herself take a longer look at him and oh . . . what a lovely look. That body of his was absolutely delicious, she decided. Hard and strong and muscled. She’d always gone for a sleeker, leaner look, but there was just something so lovely about his strength. She wanted to climb on top of him and just spend hours learning that body. Hours she didn’t have.

F*ck it all.

“I’m probably the most screwed-up kind of psychic you’re ever going to meet,” Joss said, his voice flat, his head still bent.

She pursed her lips. He was . . . strong. She knew that much. The burn he left on her brain was almost too much, almost too intense, but she didn’t see what was so f*cked up about it. “How so?”

“Well, right now . . . I can talk to the dead, I’m telepathic, there’s some precognitive abilities, retrocognitive abilities, psychometry, and telekinesis. Plus, a very, very weird ability to manipulate matter in a way that I can’t quite comprehend. All psychic abilities have a root in science . . . there’s a way to explain them. But I can’t explain this.”

“You are what you are,” Dru said, frowning as she studied him. This wasn’t exactly what she’d expected. Joss had struck her as a little more self-assured. Self-aware, but he was bemoaning his abilities?

“No. I’m not this,” he said, finally lifting his head. He held out a hand and the cuffs he held rose, hovering above his hand, held by a force she couldn’t see. But she felt it.

It was almost like the charge she’d felt in the air when Tucker had been doing his thing, but not quite.

“This isn’t my gift, you see,” Joss said, smiling a little. “It’s borrowed. I’m what you’d call a mirror. I pick up gifts. Or rather, I’m paired with whatever psychic I need to be paired with. We call it syncing. I’m synced with another psychic, given a particular gift set, and then sent to the job. Sometimes the person who has the gift we need just doesn’t have the right . . . skills for the job. Or the right sex. The two psychics I was synced to were females. They couldn’t have done this job.”

Dru stared at him. About five seconds later, she realized her jaw was hanging open. Snapping it shut with an audible click, she shoved a hand through her hair, only to realize it was still in the braid from yesterday. Yanking it out, she snapped the band onto her wrist and started to finger-comb her hair. “You . . . so, you’re basically just . . . what, like an SD card or something?”

He flashed a grin at her.

“Actually, that’s exactly what I am. I take in data. I can take in any skill I need, take it in . . . use it, for however long I need to.” Then he blew out a breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. “The problem, though, is this last sync was bad. The psychics, well, it’s not their fault. Both of them have control and everything. It’s complicated and confidential and I can’t explain it all, but one of them . . .” He lowered his hands, curling them into fists. “She’s got too much inside her. She can handle it. I was getting a handle on it. But I needed more time. Didn’t have it. Between that, the dreams . . . all the ghosts . . .”

“Ghosts?” she echoed. Now there were ghosts in the mix.

“Hell.” He shoved upright and started to pace, prowling the room like a caged, angry tiger. “I sound like a f*cking p-ssy. Yes. Ghosts. The other psychic communicates with the dead, and this case is crawling with ghosts. I hear them everywhere. All they want to do is rest, and I can’t . . . I couldn’t help them do that until I did what I needed to do to help the others. But their voices were inside my head all the time. It was just too much, and all of it, you, the dreams, everything . . .” He trailed off, jerked his shoulder in a shrug. “I started to go a little crazy and I wasn’t thinking well.”

Then he turned, shot a glittering look her way. “I messed up. I was messed up, but that’s no excuse. I screwed up and I’m sorry. I’m still f*cked up, I’m still tired, but I’m not surrounded by death and ghosts and screams right now, and I’m also not torn in ten thousand different directions while I try and understand what’s going on with you. This isn’t done.”

As he came toward her, still moving in that sleek, easy way, predatory, dangerous . . . deadly, but oh so f*cking sexy, her breath caught in her throat. He shoved a hand into her hair, tangling as he tugged her head back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his rough voice even rougher. His eyes searched her face. “I hurt you and I’m sorry, and I want to spend the next fifty years making it up to you. But I’m not ready to give up on us just because of a couple of mistakes we made while we were involved in a very, very bad situation. You can’t tell me that’s what you want, Dru. You weren’t a coward in the last life . . . don’t be one in this life.”

It wasn’t about being a coward. But he wasn’t going to want her . . .

The shame, the misery, twisted inside her.

As he lowered his mouth to hers, she groaned and opened for him.

Maybe . . . maybe just once, she thought. Couldn’t she have just once?

He slid a hand around her waist, pushed it under her shirt.

Damn it, yes.

He’d be angry. Maybe he’d hide it, maybe he wouldn’t.

She didn’t know, and just then, she didn’t care. She’d been shoving everything she wanted, everything she needed, off to the side for too long. It was time she took something she needed. Something she wanted. For the first time since she’d started working this bloody job, she’d take what she deserved.

Pushing him back, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and jerked it off. The harsh intake of his breath echoed through the room. Staring at him, she stripped out of her sports bra. But as she reached for the waist of her running tights, he beat her to it.

Big, strong hands caught her around the waist, hauling her up against him.

“Dru, I already told you I was going a little crazy . . . are you trying to push me completely over?” he snarled against her lips as he stripped the clinging black tights away.

“Maybe.” Tipping her head back, she stared at him. “Do you care?”

“No . . .” He spun around and put her back up against the wall. “I don’t care at all.”

She was ready for him to just unzip his jeans and take her. Ready for it to just end that fast. But he surprised her as he dipped his head, skimming his lips along her shoulder. Along the curve of her collarbone. When he went lower and caught the tight bud of her nipple in his mouth, Dru gasped.

Too much time had passed since anybody had done anything like this . . . Reaching up, she gripped his shoulders, sinking her nails into them.

Gentle, slow tugs with his lips, then his teeth. Teasing strokes with his tongue. Back and forth, and each stroke sent an arrow of pleasure darting down between her legs until she was rocking her hips restlessly, the ache there about ready to make her go crazy.

Her breath caught in her throat, lodged there as he went to his knees, trailing a line of burning kisses straight down her torso. When he reached her pubis, he pressed his mouth to her and Dru tensed, her entire body tightening. One hand stroked up the back of her thigh, possessiveness in every touch.

As he guided her legs farther apart, she stared down at him, watched his dark head, so intimately close.

The sight of it was so beautifully erotic, she felt herself cramping from need, aching for want of him. He nuzzled her curls, his breath ghosting over her *. Not even a touch and it was too much. Then he flicked his tongue against her . . . and she shattered.

Too much need, too much sensation, and that light touch was all it took.

She heard a rough groan from him as she erupted with a cry and his hands came up, gripping her hips, holding her steady as he teasingly flicked his tongue over her, again, and again, pushing her higher . . . oh. Oh . . .

It ripped through her, brutal and fast and wicked. The heat of it, the intensity of it, all of it was too much. She shuddered her way back to earth, and if she’d had five seconds to think, she just might have been embarrassed.

But there was no time to think, or even breathe. Strong arms came around her waist, hauling her up. Too dazed, too breathless, she stared down into Joss’s face as he carried her over to the bed. The soft, smooth sheets were cool against her back as he laid her down, her hips on the edge.

“Stay there.” He bent over to kiss her, his voice a ragged growl in his throat.

Stay here . . . I can do that, Dru thought, her brain barely operating. Getting up. Moving . . . not going to happen.

That had been . . . wow. And he’d barely done anything.

* * *

HIS hands were f*cking shaking.

As he tore into his duffle bag, he couldn’t help noticing that small, significant detail.

Up until this case had started, he was pretty much unflappable. Women just didn’t get to him like this. They didn’t.

But Dru wasn’t a woman . . . she was his woman. The only one. His everything. And she had him shaking. If he wasn’t careful, she just might have him coming in his pants before he even had a chance to unzip them.

No. Finally spying the box of condoms, he ripped it open and pulled a couple out. He damn well wasn’t going to lose it before he made love to her. Not after all this time. It might be over quicker than his first time, but damn it, he’d still make it good for both of them.

And who the hell cared if his hands were shaking?

Rising, he turned around and then stopped, dead short, a fist rising up to grab him, a fist right around his heart. The breath in his lungs dwindled away to nothing as he stared at her. Her lids were lowered, a soft flush on her cheeks, and a smile curved her lips upward.

That smile . . . it was the kind of smile that would elicit riots. Start wars and end them. And then she lifted her lashes and caught him watching her.

Feeling like a lovesick fool . . . feeling like exactly what he was . . . he was helpless to do anything but go to her as she lifted a hand.

So much they needed to talk through, so much they needed to figure out. And none of it mattered as long as she kept looking at him like that, because it meant she hadn’t totally written him off, right?

Crossing to her, he threw the condoms on the bed next to her and knelt down, pressing his lips to the soft flesh just inside her left knee. “You’re so damned beautiful . . . so damned amazing.”

From under her lashes, she watched him, the smile fading, until nothing but naked longing remained on her face.

“Make love to me, Joss.”

“Gladly.” Skimming his lips up her thigh, along the satin of her skin, he took in her taste. Salty skin. Sweet woman. His woman. Slipping his hands under her hips, he dragged her to the very edge of the mattress and lowered his head, pressing his mouth against her.

She bucked against him, slamming her hands down on the mattress. “Joss,” she hissed out, her voice a garbled little shriek.

“I love the taste of you,” he whispered. “Love it.”

She whimpered and reached down, cupping his head in her hands and holding him against her, moving her hips, rocking up to meet his mouth. “Oh . . . like that,” she said, her voice a broken gasp when he stabbed her * with his tongue.

When he pushed a finger inside her slick sheath, she keened out his name, her nails biting into his scalp. And then he twisted his wrist, adding a second finger, screwing them in . . . out. As she came a second time, his dick gave a violent, demanding jerk.

Inside her . . . now.

As she started to come back down, he stood up, tearing his pants open, shoving them down. The kiss of air on his painfully sensitive flesh was torture, and then she sat up, languid and slow, reaching out to curl her hand around him. “Is it my turn now?” she asked, her voice breathless, odd little tremors still wracking her body as she leaned in and pressed her lips to the head of his cock.

He wanted to tell her that it could be her turn whenever she damn well wanted, except then she opened her mouth and took him inside. She curled her tongue over him and every last muscle in his legs started to tremble, threatened to give out. Closing his hands around her head, he started to tug her back. But then she took him deeper. Pulled back and rolled her eyes to smile up at him. Did it a second time, a third . . .

With a ragged snarl, he fisted his hands in her hair and started to rock forward to meet her, f*cking her mouth, easy and slow, while his legs trembled and his knees threatened to give out on him.

He was absolutely certain he’d never seen anything as erotic as this, not in his life. Dru’s mouth, so pretty and soft, on his cock, one hand holding the base, the other gripping his thigh, her neat nails biting into his skin. So erotic. So perfect. So very his . . .

His . . .

The need to come spread through him, sizzling through his spine, tightening his balls. Fisting his hand in her hair, he tugged her back, shaking his head, feeling half-crazed when she tried to take him back in her mouth. “Not this way,” he growled. “First time is inside you, damn it. In you.”

A bit of a smile curved her pretty lips. “You didn’t let my first time happen with you inside me.”

“So I’m a chauvinistic bastard.” He nudged her back on the bed, coming down on top of her, and then he had to stop, closing his eyes at the feel of her body against his. After all this time. Finally.

“Joss?”

Groaning, he turned his head to hers, blindly seeking out her mouth. He hooked an arm around her neck, needing her so much in that moment, so much he was all but stupid with it. Couldn’t think, breathe, or speak without her. She was everywhere, inside his head, his heart, under his skin.

Finally . . .

His cock jerked against the soft curve of her belly, demanding. Insistent.

She whimpered low in her throat and rocked, like she couldn’t wait to have him inside her.

Damn. He understood that feeling. Although it was like severing an arm in that moment, he tore his mouth from hers and shoved upright, fumbling on the bed for one of the rubbers. “A week,” he rasped. “When this is done, you and I are gonna find someplace where we can be alone and do nothing but this for an entire week.”

Her eyes, dark and serious, rested on his face.

His fingers felt too big, awkward, as he tried to tear the foil packet open.

“Let me,” she murmured, easing upward and taking it from him.

Licking his lips, he watched as she discarded the foil, and started to roll the latex sheath down over him. Her slim fingers were strong and confident as she smoothed it down, her hand steady.

And when she looked back up at him, there was still something in her eyes . . . something almost haunted.

No. No time for that, not anymore. Nothing mattered now. They were together.

As she lay back down, he stretched his body out over hers . . . felt that amazing, gut-wrenching connection. Nothing would ever feel as right as this, her body against his, her eyes staring into his.

Except . . .

Something was off—

She was holding back. Those solid walls of hers were back in place, holding steady as he pushed his thigh between hers. He wanted to sink completely into her. Body to body, soul to soul . . .

“You’re holding back from me,” he muttered, settling in the cradle of her hips.

“Shhh,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his jaw. One hand curved over the back of his neck, tugging him closer. She slid the other hand down over his chest, across his abdomen, and he shuddered, his muscles bunching and jumping under her touch. Her fist closed around him, stroked up. Down. “Make love to me, Joss . . . haven’t we waited long enough?”

A hundred years . . . a lifetime.

Groaning, he caught her knee in one hand, dragging it up. As he did, he pressed against her, the head of his shaft seeking out her soft, wet heat. Her lashes fluttered down. Shoving his hand into her hair, he tugged her head back. “No,” he snarled. “Look at me, damn it. I have to see you . . . see this.”

Slowly, her lashes rose.

Her lips parted.

Catching one of her hands, he twined their fingers. Palm to palm. Skin to skin. As he slowly started to sink inside her, the slick, wet tissues of her sex closing around him, he sank lower, felt her heart pounding against his. Heart to heart.

“Mine,” he muttered against her mouth. “Finally mine.”

She opened for him, twining her legs around his hips, her tongue seeking out his as he stabbed it into her mouth. So hungry for her. So desperate.

Her p-ssy, wet, slick, and sweet as sin, gripped him, milking him as he pulled out, surged back in. She cried out against his mouth. He felt the pleasure splintering through her, despite the shields she tried to keep between them. It echoed through him, and he knew he’d been right . . . this wasn’t going to last.

Working a hand between them, he flicked his thumb over the erect little bud of her *. The hood was stiff, pressing against him, and when he pressed against her, her entire body quaked. “You like that.”

She didn’t answer in words, but he felt it as she moved against him, her slender, strong body a long arch under his. She tore her mouth away, sucking in one ragged breath after another.

He flicked her * once. Twice. She tensed, the muscles of her sheath resisting him as he surged back in. Tight, so f*cking tight he had to work just to get back in. A hot flush started low on her breasts and her breaths came in broken little pants.

Another teasing stroke and her eyes locked on his. Joss stared at her, and felt it shatter through her.

Echoing through him.

As she broke into a thousand pieces, he felt it . . . and he shattered right along with her.