Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [94]
She thought she heard a soft chuckle from him, but she couldn’t be sure, since he was holding her so securely in his arms. She supposed she ought to move away, but at the moment she couldn’t. If it were up to her the world could have ended there and then, with her wrapped tightly against his body.
“You see,” he whispered a long time later. “Sometimes I’m right. You don’t always have to be responsible for everything.”
“Yes,” she said, hiding her face against his warm, smooth skin.
“That doesn’t make you weak, or vulnerable. Sometimes it’s just nice,” he said, stroking her long, thick hair.
“Yes,” she said.
“But you aren’t going to make the mistake of falling in love with me, are you?”
She moved her head to look up at him, her eyes still swimming with the remnants of her tears. “Yes,” she said. “I am.”
She would have thought that would drive him away. She didn’t care—her defenses were long gone and right then there was no gaining them back. She heard his sigh, his muttered curse. And then he began to make love to her all over again, slowly, with infinite gentleness, this time without a word, just kisses, soft, sweet kisses everywhere.
It would have been one thing during the cover of a long dark night. During the brightness of the dawning day it was positively, deliciously decadent. Afterward he carried her into the shower, setting her down on the built-in tiled seat from La Casa’s glory days, and proceeded to wash her with sweet, rose-scented soap. And then he knelt at her feet and used his mouth on her, bracing her legs on his shoulders as the water poured down around them.
They ended up in the swan bed in the bright daylight, and Jilly was past wondering if Dean or Rachel-Ann were going to come wandering in. All she could think about was Coltrane and the wicked, delicious things he was doing to her body. The wicked, delicious things she was doing in return.
He took her in ways she hadn’t even thought of, and she lost count of how many times, or when one session blended into another. It was a blur of heat and passion, sex and love, and when she took control, taking him in her mouth, she climaxed from the sheer pleasure she was giving him.
And they slept. Sweaty, sticky, exhausted, they slept the day away, tucked up safely in the swan bed, while the ghosts kept watch over them.
There was nothing to be afraid of, Rachel-Ann told herself when she pulled into the driveway at La Casa de Sombras. Jackson’s monolithic G-Wagen was nowhere in sight, neither was her brother’s Lexus. Her own car was still there, as well as Jilly’s Corvette, and she parked Coltrane’s Range Rover in the stall beside it.
She slid out, looking around her nervously, half afraid something might jump out at her. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the ghosts who frightened her this time. She wasn’t sure if they’d ever frighten her again. They were the ones who told her to run last night, who tried to save her. She had a great deal more to fear from the living.
The house was quiet, still, deserted. The living room was just as she’d last seen it, before she’d run. The glass coffee table was smashed on the floor, broken dishes and glasses all around. No one had cleaned anything up.
And she wasn’t going to, either. She was going upstairs, pack as much as she could carry and run, before anyone tried to stop her.
Jilly would lecture her. She’d be sure Rachel-Ann was getting involved in another disastrous relationship, the first step on the inevitable downward spiral into drugs and alcohol, and Rachel-Ann wasn’t in the mood to argue or explain. She didn’t quite understand herself the difference with Rico.
But it was very different, and both too new and too old to be dissected. Some things you just take on faith. Her future with Rico was one of those things. The details would sort themselves out eventually. Right now, for the first time since she could remember, she felt alive. Hopeful. Strong.
Coltrane might be around there, as well, unless Dean had given him a ride