Darker Than Any Shadow - By Tina Whittle Page 0,62
agitated. He had his hands on his hips, one finger tapping against his thigh.
I swallowed hard. “I know.”
“Not like I know.”
I took a step toward him, and my instincts went singing into panic, deep down and primordial. He reminded me of a panther right before the attack, gathering, on the verge of kinetics.
He held up a hand. “Don’t.”
“But—”
“I said I was angry. Very angry.”
And he was. It rolled off him like radiation. And still I moved forward, fighting the urge to run, surprised at how strong the instinct was, equally surprised at how easily I steamrolled right over it.
I was two feet from him, his breath quickening…and not only from anger. I felt it in my veins too, and the realization sang in my head. I knew this part, could play it like a fiddle. This was the only time his persona burnt to ashes, and I knew the secrets. I knew the way in. It was heady and reckless and vainglorious, but I didn’t care.
I took another step closer.
And it was so very hot, the heat of night, heavy and clinging. I smelled of old coffee and fabric softener, and I could smell him too, the salt musk of sweat, the evergreen ghost of his aftershave, and the heat, always the heat. Lightning flared at the horizon, erratic and supercharged.
And the circle cinched around us like a lasso.
I crushed my mouth against his, the warmth of the pavement rising and mingling with the sudden blood rush of want and need. He responded with violent abandon, one hand at the base of my spine, one tangled in my hair, wrenching my head back, exposing my throat. Whatever we’d released was flowing now, unstoppable, sharpened into something dark and edged like a knife.
Under my fingers the muscles of his shoulders flexed and bunched, and he pushed me against the brick wall, mouth to mouth, hip to hip. Deep down, the survival instinct keened, but I smothered it with his mouth, his hands, his demand. I smothered it with desire, and there was enough of that to obliterate it entirely.
His mouth found my ear, his voice rough. “Inside. Now.”
I kicked the door open behind me, and the interior swallowed us whole.
Chapter Thirty
He left before sunrise, slipping away in the dark like a thief. I remembered hearing him moving about the room, silent, gathering his things. It was the first time he’d stayed the night.
I glanced at the clock. Not that four hours counted as staying the night. But it was a first of some kind, that was for sure.
I dragged myself up. My mouth felt sore, and when I rolled over, a tender spot on my hip protested. I explored it gingerly. Definitely a bruise, probably from when I crashed into the counter. Or maybe not. There were other moments…
I shook my head clear. Coffee. I needed coffee. A whole lot of it, sweet as pie to kickstart my metabolism and strong as swamp water to clear my head. I stuck the pot under the faucet and turned it on. There was an explosive spurt of air, but no water.
I leaned against the counter and took a deep steadying breath. The water bill final notice. I’d meant to get to it yesterday, but then Cricket and Debbie and the snake…
I shoved the pot back in the coffeemaker and headed back to bed. I might have made it too, except for the sudden assertive pounding at my door.
I sighed. I’d known this was coming.
So I pulled my robe tighter and opened up. Garrity stood there, dressed for work, sidearm on his hip. He’d brought coffee and a take-out sack that smelled sweet and greasy.
He scowled at me. “What in the hell where you thinking?”
“I wasn’t. Mea culpa. Can I go back to bed now?”
“No.”
I stepped back and let him in. He tossed the bag next to the cash register and handed me one of the coffees. Then he leaned against the counter, shaking his head.
“A fresh corpse, a python, and a dead man’s car full of stolen merchandise with your prints all over it. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”
“My print’s weren’t all over it, only on the door handle. Maybe.” I popped three ibuprofen and washed them down with the coffee. “And I said I was sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it.”
“It’s all I’ve got.” I pulled the lid off my coffee and blew on it. “Any news from last night?”