Midnight Crusader Page 15

  Gradually, so as not to frighten or upset her, he parted his lips so they could exchange breaths and the first inquiring trace of his tongue. She moaned, not a wanton sound of need but a tender expression of awe that seized his heart like a fist to squeeze unrelentingly. He had never wanted anything so much in his entire life as the sweetness of her awakening passions. To be the one to first stir them within her. The honor overwhelmed him.

  He followed that initial foray with increasingly invasive sweeps, to taste, to explore, to lathe along the luscious offering of her mouth, of her trust, of her innocence. A heady bouquet that made his senses buzz and his reason blur. Their only junction was lips and fingertips, but he was aware of her so keenly she could have been poured down his body like hot wax. The centuries’ old ache to know her, to claim her as his own, tensed along his forearms and through his thighs, twisting in his belly and flaming in his groin. If their touch grew more intimate, he feared he would explode from all the turmoil massing inside.

  Heightened emotions quickened a sharpening to all his other faculties. Above and around the chaste kiss, his desires seethed, the passions of the man warring with the hunger of the beast also residing within. He could scent her mortality, the fragrant tease of it on the tip of his tongue and up his nose, where it provoked a dangerous havoc. Over her soft, hurried breaths, he could hear the enticing beat of her heart beckoning him to follow along that hearty, rich trail pumping through her, to partake of her soul as well as her body, to enjoy both to the limits of ecstasy where they would share what had long been denied them. She would let him. She would enjoy the new experiences he'd bring her. But she wouldn't understand what drove him to cross boundaries he'd placed between love and lust and longing to keep her safe. For him and from him.

  Her tongue slipped over and around his. Her palms adored the lean angles of his face. He sampled the delicious prospect of her surrender, sucking and nibbling on her lower lip until she whispered his name with the reverence of a prayer.

  And her fingertips traced down the strong line of his throat, over the high neck of the knit pullover he wore. Grazing the gauze protecting the raw burns cut into his flesh. She hesitated, and before her questions could form, he jerked back with a shock of pain and self-preservation.

  She gasped at his abrupt withdrawal, staring up at him through eyes limpid with complex demands and uncertain emotions. Her moist lips begged the return of his.

  His mind swirled, his mouth wetting for the taste of her acceptance. Of her ... blood.

  She'd cut herself.

  Suddenly, the hot sensations grabbed control of him, bringing an angry ache to his gums and a seething urgency to burn along his starving system to burst within his brain. His nostrils flared to inhale the intoxicating warmth of promise.

  He could dazzle her with vampiric magic. She would never know what he'd taken from her along with her trust.

  But Zanlos would know. And how much greater danger would that place her in?

  The wounds at his throat pulsed and flamed. The effects of the silver still poisoned him, sapping his strength. She could provide what he needed to return to his full potency. Her love. Her trust. Her blood.

  His to take. Hers to give without ... choice.

  He took a hasty step back. In the living room, Mel yowled and skittered for the bedroom. The animal recognized him for what he was.

  Breathing hard, aware that his hunger raged in his stare, Gabriel averted his eyes from the tender expectancy offered in her upturned face. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the gash in her calf, to the thin line of crimson staining her torn nylons.

  "You've cut you leg."

  Naomi blinked to scatter the fog of desire. His words reminded her of the pain when the car door struck her. She felt, for the first time, the sting of the cut and the throb of the bruise rising around it.

  "You need to clean that and bandage it tight so nothing will get to it,” he told her in a strangely thick voice. Where had the spicy, expectant mood of moments ago gone? Gabriel had pulled back into himself, to the aloof observer, who said little and displayed less of what was going on behind his steady, dark stare.

  She wanted him to stay. She wanted him to indulge her with more of what fired her emotions to such an unexpected frenzy.

  But he was backing away, evasive, nervous, eager to be gone.

  "My ride's here."

  His statement startled her. She hadn't heard a car pull up.

  But when he opened the front door, she could see his big boat of a car at her curb. And she could just make out beneath the cool gleam of the street light, the figure of a woman behind the wheel.

  Hurt and jealousy speared through her. Was this woman the reason for his abrupt change of passions?

  Had she been wrong to think he wanted her as badly as she did him at that moment?

  He had someone else waiting.

  "Good night, Naomi. Lock this door behind me."

  She watched him hurry down the front walk. When he opened the passenger door, the driver's face was briefly illuminated. She was beautiful, with creamed-coffee colored skin and striking bone structure.

  What was this woman to Gabriel McGraw?

  The car sped away, cloaking Naomi's question in a cloud of exhaust and mystery.

  Leaving her at the threshold of desire and doubt.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rita never came back to the apartment. The woman who snapped orders at the girls that night was a stranger.

  Or at least that was how it felt to Naomi as she watched from Marcus's side as a tough-talking and rough-acting Rita pushed the dancers to their limit. Time was running out. The next night they'd use the full set for rehearsal. Workmen assembled it in the background, causing a constant distraction and hazard to the performers as they worked through their extremely physical routine. Rita yelled and cursed and corrected until each move was sharp and fierce and ultimately warrior-like. And exciting. Naomi's adrenaline raced as she followed the movements. If she knew how to exact such control and confidence, she could have handled the situation with Jeannie the night before. She never seemed to have control. Others always stepped in to rescue her. Gabriel, Rita, Zanlos and even Marcus. Being a victim in their eyes suddenly presented an ugly picture. One she could close her own eyes to no longer.

  She watched the violent poetry of self-defense play out before her and compared it to her own placidity. Zanlos had saved her career, Rita her mind, Gabriel her emotions. What had she managed to accomplish on her own? She was a shadow who existed during the evening hours at this hotel. She followed Kaz Zanlos’ edicts without question, even though she suspected they were illegal. She'd left her sanity in Rita's hands, too afraid to search out a name for her malady on her own. Gabriel ... he created a confusion in her boring routine of service to others because he made her want something for herself. And she was afraid to take it. On the fence. Middle of the road. Afraid of her shadow. How could she expect the respect of others if she had none for herself?

  The only thing she had was her work, and Zanlos had ordered her to reel Gabriel into a trap. What was wrong with her that she couldn't recognize right from wrong? Zanlos was in the wrong, yet she couldn't make herself act against him or his commands. Gabriel was a cop, one of the good guys, yet she considered betraying him.

  Her hand was at her throat, gently rubbing the faded marks below her ear. They seemed to throb angrily with objection every time her thoughts gave way to turmoil, until it hurt her physically to contemplate her options. Follow Zanlos’ orders. That was the path of least resistance, the road that caused no pain of body or conscience. Even if it was wrong.

  That's what a weakling would do. A doormat without a mind or opinion of her own.

  "I've got to get some air."

  Marcus reacted to her curt announcement with alarm. “If you'll wait until they're finished, I'll go with you."

  "I don't need a baby-sitter, Marcus.” His wounded frown prompted
her to place a hand on his bulging forearm. “But thank you for the offer. I'll only be gone a minute."

  He nodded toward the stage. “Is it just me, or do we have a little more estrogen than usual pumping up there?"

  "Rita's working them hard because the opening is so close, and we still don't have the number right."

  "Right. Must be it. To the casual male observer, it looks like she's out to bash anything with testosterone."

  Naomi grinned. “A big boy like you threatened by a girl with attitude?"

  "Make that grrrrl. And I'm not the least bit intimidated."

  "Yeah, right."

  They shared a chuckle over it, but Naomi's brow pleated in concern as she walked through the nearly-ready-for-company casino. Marcus was right. Something was different about Rita. That he'd noticed it, too, made her all the more worried. And another worry wasn't something she needed at the moment.

  The night was thick with heat and activity. As she stood on the front walk, she was constantly jostled by tourists rushing to this or that show. Subconsciously, she tightened her grip on her purse. Many stopped to read the “Opening Soon” marquee, and the buzz she overheard was heartening. They were going to make a fortune.

  But who, exactly, were they?

  The man in the shadows, the one Gabriel had asked her to name?

  An ache started to beat at the back of her neck, beginning its slow spreading toward her temples. She massaged the offending knot of tension, thinking to stem the inevitable headache. She closed her eyes briefly, but against that curtain of black, she saw the blur of black and silver. The rattle of metal and thunder of horse's hooves matched the pulsing rumble in her head.

  "Naomi, are you all right?"

  At first she thought the voice was part of the hallucination. However, when she opened her eyes, he was there before her, not in knightly armor but in a varsity jacket snapped up beneath his chin. Her initial thought was to wonder why he wasn't sweating in the oppressive desert heat.

  "Gabriel, are you coming to work?” Did she sound pathetically hopeful? “Marcus is eager to apologize to you for the misunderstanding."

  "Misunderstanding? Is that what he calls attempted murder?"

  "He thought he was protecting the girls. And me."

  "Did Zanlos send him after me? Or did you?"

  Her surprise was too quick and complete not to be genuine. “Me? What reason would I have to want you harmed?"

  He avoided the question. “Zanlos then. I'm sure he has reasons aplenty."

  Then she heard herself saying before she could hold the words back, “Not really. In fact, he'd like to meet with you to discuss your ... differences."

  "Differences. An interesting understatement. I think I'll pass. Your boss and I know exactly where each other stand."

  "Gabriel, he is a powerful ... and dangerous man. Please don't—"

  "Don't what? Do my job?"

  "Please don't endanger yourself over something that doesn't involve you?” She paused, feeling an odd shiver of déjà vu. When had she said these words to him before? How did she know he'd ignored them then just as he would now?

  "It does involve me if he's breaking the law. Is he, Naomi? You would know that better than anyone. Who's financing this little gig? Where's the money coming from? The Mob?"

  "No. There's only one big investor, and there's nothing illegal involved. Can't you believe that and let it go?"

  "I can't because you don't. You know as well as I do that something's not right about this whole setup. What is it, Naomi? I'm going to find out with or without your help. If you help me, I can protect you."

  "Why does everyone think I need protecting? I'm not a child!"

  His gaze warmed suddenly to throw her off her rant. That heated look reminded her of the taste of his kiss. “No, you're no child. But you could find yourself in the middle of something you can't get out of. If you do, call me. Promise you'll call me."

  "And how do I reach you should I find myself falling off my fence?"

  "Rita knows."

  "Rita's not exactly a reliable source these days."

  Gabriel's focus sharpened. “What do you mean? What's happened?"

  "I don't know. She's just acting odd, angry at the world and happy about it. She hasn't been home. She won't talk to me."

  He digested this with more seriousness than she'd thought he would. His advice was strange and alarming. “Be careful around her."

  "But Rita's my friend.” Her only friend.

  "Perhaps, perhaps not. I'm only saying you need to be careful what you say and do around her. She might not keep your confidences."

  "What aren't you telling me, Gabriel?"

  "That's all I can say."

  "Secrets. Everyone is up to their eyebrows in them, and no one can see the truth.” She pushed away from him and walked to the curb and back, arms wrapped tight about her bosom. She could feel her heart racing.

  "Do you know the truth, Naomi?"

  She answered sadly. “If I did, I'd know who to trust."

  "Trust me."

  "Says you."

  "Says your heart. Listen to it."

  She saw movement out of the corner of her eye. His big car pulled up to the curb. The lovely woman with the café au lait skin was behind the wheel. Trust her heart. She could feel it breaking.

  "I have to go back inside. I'll think about what you said."

  "Naomi."

  She looked up into his intense dark eyes. She could see more he wanted to say steeping there in those endless depths, but he never spoke any of it. With a wry smile, she turned away and reentered the hotel. Through the smoky glass, she saw him get into the car.

  He'd said he would never hurt her.

  Liar.

  * * * *

  "What's wrong?"

  Gabriel glanced at the woman behind the wheel. “What makes you think something's wrong?"

  Charmaine shot him a chiding look and repeated, “What's wrong?"

  "The woman I put in place to protect her has been compromised. Something's going to happen soon, and I'm no closer to finding out what it is than I was when I started. I no longer have anyone I can trust on the inside."

  "You could have."

  The bland remark captured his full attention. He looked at Charmaine closely, seeing her for the lovely, talented and loyal woman she was. The potential was there. She would never refuse him. She couldn't if she wanted to. But for all the centuries he'd been existing in this world of gray between life and death, he had never manipulated the will of one in his control to knowingly place them in danger. Never. And he wouldn't start now, even when the stakes were so unbearably high. His answer was gruff and final. “I would never ask that of you."

  "You don't have to ask, honey."

  "You have your daughters to think of."

  Charmaine actually laughed. “My daughters? If it hadn't been for you, my daughters would be picking through garbage cans or selling themselves on the street to survive because I'd probably be dead. Sugar, there's nothing I wouldn't do for my girls, and because of what you've done for them, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

  "You don't understand the danger."

  "Danger? Doll, I grew up in the inner city. What does a white bread boy like you know about danger?"

  He couldn't contain his grin. Then he was serious once more. “Charmaine, these are not nice people. These aren't even bad people. They are unnatural creatures, like me. They have no mercy. They have no souls."

  "And they have your girlfriend."

  He looked straight ahead, the agony of that truth tightening every muscle in his face.

  "Answer me just one thing."

  Hearing the somber quality of the question, Gabriel twisted in the seat to listen. “What?"

  "If something was to happen to me, would you see my girls are looked after?"

  "Yes."

  "Then that's a better deal than anyone else has ever given me, unnatural or not. Have you got a plan?"


  "Do you know how to dance?"

  "Like Ginger-damn-Rogers with a tan."

  "Then I have a plan."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Sixteen

  "Miss Bright?"

  Naomi turned in answer to be confronted by the woman who'd driven Gabriel McGraw's big car. She was even more flawlessly lovely up close. Immediately, Naomi wanted to hate her but found she could not. Because beneath the perfect makeup and stylish clothes was the embodiment of the school of hard knocks. It was evident in the defensive posture, in the nervous glances toward the door that said she didn't belong, in the shadowing of fatigue and caution smudged beneath the straight to the point stare. A kindred spirit in the world of woe and worry.

  "My name is Charmaine Johnson. A mutual friend sent me to help you out of a jam."

  "And what jam is that, Ms. Johnson?"

  "I'm a dancer."

  "We already cast the show, Ms. Johnson. I'm afraid there are no more openings.” Jeannie's spot was technically open, but Naomi was chafing from the arrogance of Gabriel trying to push another of his lady friends upon her.

  Charmaine chuckled, a sound as warm and rich as honey-laced bourbon. “I'm not applying for a job. I'm here to help you do yours."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Let me put it better. I am a dancer and a damn fine singer, too. But what I have and what this show needs most is soul."

  Naomi stared at her blankly, and Charmaine laughed out loud. “See, you don't understand it when I spell it out to you. But you'll see what I mean. What you got now is a bunch of pretty little Denise Austins up there bouncing around trying to look bad. What do those preppy chicks know about survival, about the jungle?"

  "You've been to the jungle, Ms. Johnson?” She arched a delicate brow.

  "The concrete kind, and it don't get much meaner than that. What you got is a whole lot of attitude without an ounce of soul. Not Soul Train, soul,” she amended before Naomi could comment. She tapped her chest with a closed fist. “Soul from in here. Deep down and dirty, hunt for your supper, protect your family instincts. And none of these girls, not even you, Miss Bright, has a clue as to what that looks like."