Midnight Crusader Read online

Feeling foolish with her heart racing and her dress decorated with pet fur, Naomi stalled to give her brain time to catch up. She'd spent extra time on her appearance, wanting for once to hold a man's attention. The dress was new. She'd spent more time looking for it than she had when buying her car. Its plum color and gentle folds of clingy knit flattered her pale skin and willowy form. She'd even purchased a pallet of soft pastels to accentuate her eyes, cheeks and lips. She wore her hair down and swinging about her shoulders. The only thing she hadn't changed was her perfume. The delicate yet tenacious scent of violets never failed to please her. Had the time and effort been worth it? Gabriel's lingering stare said yes. A tingle of awareness brushed across her skin.

  "Charmaine is a godsend. Have you known her long?” Instead of casual small talk, the question smacked of accusation, but Gabriel didn't seem to mind.

  "We met shortly after I came to Las Vegas. She's an admirable woman forced into a tragic situation. I helped get her back on her feet."

  "Why, with her talent, I'd think she could find work anywhere.” Secretly, she didn't want to think of Gabriel extending a special helping hand.

  "Perhaps before an auto accident left her nearly crippled."

  Of course. The limp, the pinch of pain that always pulled about her features. Her pettiness dissolved into a guilty concern. “Should she be working so hard?"

  "No, but she has something to prove to herself and her children. I've given her what I can to get her through the worst of it."

  "And what would that be?” Her tone thinned. She was thinking of Marcus's insinuations about narcotics. Trust me, Gabriel had once said. Why did she find that so difficult a proposition?

  "Encouragement. She needed someone to believe that she could do it."

  "Oh.” Could he see she was blushing in the half-light escaping from her living room? “And she's passed some of that on to me. She's offered to help me get the better of some problems that have been holding me back, too."

  "Anything I can help with?"

  "No. Not just yet anyway.” A lie. Why else had she asked him here other than to experiment with the power of love? Was it love? Or would infatuation be a better term for what stirred inside her whenever he was near? Could one love a stranger? Her head said no. Her heart had made up its own mind the first time she'd seen him. And just when was that, she wondered? Certainly not that night on the Strip when she'd thought he was an angel.

  He'd never felt like a stranger and, from what she'd been told, they shared a segment of her missing past. A good piece? She wondered. Or were the memories concerning him the tip of another nightmare? She didn't think so. She felt uncertain around him but not afraid, never in danger.

  He was watching her closely, as if he could read the complexity of thoughts tumbling through her head and heart. He remained silent and still, giving her time to sort them out. Finally she plunged right in over her head and hoped he wouldn't let her sink.

  "Are the memories we share good ones?"

  He nodded. “For the most part, I'd say yes. But I let you down, Naomi. I disappointed you when you were depending on me. I let my responsibilities get in the way of your happiness. That won't happen again."

  "A promise?"

  "A pledge."

  Okay, so far so good. She began to pace, plucking an exotic night bloom from one of her bushes and twirling it between her fingers. The petals fluttered like the fragile state of her emotions.

  "Tell me about my life in D.C. Was I happy there?"

  "You were busy."

  "Did I like my job?"

  "You were afraid, Naomi. You helped Zanlos’ partner Nick Flynn get information to expose an illegal extortion ring he was involved in."

  "I did?” She stopped, stunned. She couldn't imagine herself embroiled in intrigue. Where had she found the courage? Then she continued walking, her step quickening apace with her thoughts. “If I betrayed Mr. Zanlos, why did he bring me with him to Las Vegas?"

  "As insurance. For when I came after him."

  She wanted to deny it, but it felt right and reasonable. And so very Kaz Zanlos. It hurt to think that her boss, whom she revered, had used her as a shield to hide behind. It hurt, but that didn't make it any less true. She'd always assumed that theirs was a relationship of professional respect and mutual need. He needed her quiet, behind-the-scenes capability and she needed the security she always felt when in his service. If he'd held her in such regard, why had he let her go on existing in an emotional limbo? Why had he hinted at her mental weaknesses as the cause for her memory lapse? To make her feel more dependant and afraid of the world beyond his employment? To keep her fragile and uncertain and unable to make choices on her own?

  What kind of man manipulated those in his care to such a cruel degree?

  He let her think he'd brought her with him to protect her, when all the time he was protecting his own interests at her expense.

  Waiting for the threat Gabriel represented to surface.

  "And here you are,” she stated quietly. “For him or for me?"

  "Both."

  She'd wanted him to claim it was for her. Selfishly, she wanted to believe she was the only reason, the motivating force behind his cross-country quest. But knowing Gabriel as she did from their limited new acquaintance to the deep abiding truths held in her heart, she knew that duty was much of the man he was. Duty tempered by but never ruled by desires.

  "And which would you sacrifice for the other, Gabriel?"

  Her softly asked question brought a sudden fleeting change to his expression. Guilt. But his words denied the conclusion she drew. “I already answered that. I won't put my job before your safety.” Now, he paced the small garden area, building up to something she was sure she wasn't going to like.

  She didn't.

  "I've been asked to go to California."

  Leave? He couldn't leave. Panic rattled through her like window glass after a sonic boom. “By whom?"

  "My boss."

  "I thought you were a policeman."

  "I am. Of sorts. What I do is very specialized."

  "And dangerous."

  "Yes."

  "And you'll go alone?"

  "Yes.” A pause. Here was where he should end it. It was the right and honorable thing to do. What he always did when he came to this kind of difficult crossroad. One road read “work” the other “want.” Rolland's early words nagged at him, warning him of the futility of those wants, but looking at her bathed in moonlight, he couldn't find the necessary character to walk away. Even if it might be best for her. “Unless you would go with me."

  The suggestion startled her into a long silence. “With you? As what?"

  "Whatever you want to be.” He took a step toward her, then, thinking better of it, retreated two. “I have searched for you, Naomi. Now that I've found you, I don't know that I can let you go. I don't know that I have the will to go on without the reward of you to encourage me."

  The simplicity of his statement nearly knocked the knees out from under her. They went weak in a sudden quake of humility.

  "I've never been anyone's reward before.” Her tone tightened with the sharp edge of despair. “What if it's a reward of less value than you anticipate?"

  "Naomi, you could never disappoint me."

  "I can't have children.” There. Though gracelessly blurted out, she'd said it. Now he knew. She waited in agony for disdain and rejection to surface, for him to realize she was damaged goods.

  But miraculously, the only thing shining in his gaze was tenderness. Questions, yes, but not disgust. Not dismay. Not rejection. His fingertips touched to her face, drawing a gentle line through the tracks of dampness tracing the curve of her cheek.

  "A sad circumstance that we both share, for I can't father children either. It would have to be just the two of us."

  She placed her hand over his. His was surprisingly cool in the balmy evening, almost as if he'd been holding an icy beverage.

  "Two who have been so alone becoming
one. How could that be a disappointment?” She turned her head slightly to press her lips to his palm. He went so still she could swear he stopped breathing. At that moment, he looked almost as afraid as she felt. “I'm not very good at this,” she said at last.

  "At what?” His voice rasped softly.

  "At this seduction thing. I've never been good at games. I prefer things to be direct."

  "Then be direct."

  "I want you to kiss me again, Gabriel."

  He complied without a moment's hesitation. It's what he'd been waiting for for centuries, for her to ask him to cross the barriers of polite restraint. Though modern women required no such delicacy, he considered in his heart and soul Naomi to be the shining epitome of courtly love. And that involved an entirely different set of rules.

  He'd courted. He'd waited. He'd shown infinite patience.

  And now she'd asked him to toss all that aside to let passion reign.

  Who was he to argue?

  He found her mouth softly parted. There was no rush. He took his time reacquainting them both with the sensations they'd discovered earlier. Sweet. They were so sweet. He used his hand to tilt her head this way and that. She was pliant and wonderfully receptive to his touch, responding with a shy eagerness that made restraint a saintly virtue. He wasn't that saintly or virtuous when her tongue slipped in to tempt his. He was hungry, starving, for this taste of her. Hungry for the reality of dreams that had sustained him through decades of loneliness. Hungry for the completion of a promise, that she would be his, not in the way of the savage creature he'd become, but in the gentile fashion of the man he'd once been when he was deserving of her love.

  He knew he couldn't be that man again but, lost in this tender exchange, he felt as though he was, as if it were truly possible. So, with dark urges carefully suppressed, he became that man for the moment, to lavish Naomi with what might have been, with what he'd wanted to be for her.

  Then his free hand skimmed up the dip of her slender waist to weigh her small breast with the side of his thumb. Her compliance ended. She went stiff and still. When she stepped back from him, death couldn't have been crueler an ending to what he'd envisioned for so long. But even though it might nearly kill him, he would respect her wishes.

  "Can we continue this inside?"

  Her tiny question shattered his tension into sharp shards of expectation.

  "If that's what you want.” His tone growled with anticipation.

  She took his hand and led him, as if he'd need to be guided, into her small, neat little home, through the lighted living room to the promising mystery of her darkened bedroom.

  In that shadowed bower where long held fantasies would finally know fruition, Gabriel hesitated. The man who'd show the ways of love to Naomi Bright should be a man. Not a creature of perpetual night. Was it fair to let her believe he was something he was not? So many had used her, lied to her. This was a time for honesty. Or was he afraid that without this extra tie of intimacy between them, that he wouldn't be able to keep her once she discovered what he truly was? The truth needed to be shared before anything else passed between them.

  "Naomi,” he began in a voice rough with regret and reluctance.

  "You don't need to say anything,” she insisted. She started unbuttoning his shirt, focusing there because she was unable to meet the intensity of his gaze. Afraid she would see a truth there she didn't want to recognize. Not at this moment.

  "I have to. There are things you should know."

  He put his hands over hers to still them, but she shook off his staying touch. “I don't want to know them now, Gabriel."

  "Yes, you do. Or I can't continue this in good conscience."

  "Damn your conscience. Do you think I need to know that you're using me to get to my boss? Do you think I have to hear that there's something special between you and Charmaine? I can see that with my own eyes. Do you think this room is a confessional where you have to bare your sins? I don't want to know about your sins, Gabriel. What you've done isn't as important as what we're about to do. So don't keep me waiting."

  She was nearly in tears. And she was right. They'd both waited long enough.

  He tilted her chin up so he could take her mouth in a long, languid kiss. When he leaned back, her eyes were still closed, and her breathing hurried along in excited little puffs. That rapid movement of her chest created a delightful friction between the soft fabric of her dress and the tightening pucker of her nipples. They stood out in bold relief against the clingy knit.

  "That was some speech,” he murmured, lips brushing over the curve of her cheekbone.

  "You liked it?"

  "You really think I'm a cad, out to bed you and betray you?"

  "I think you're the sexiest man I've ever seen, and I've wanted us to be naked together since the first time I laid eyes on you. How's that for a speech?"

  "Works for me."

  "Then why are we still dressed and talking?"

  Her speech was a bluff. Hopefully, he'd have her clothes off before he realized it. Oh, she wanted him. That wasn't the problem. The problem was the niggling fear that once they reached a certain point in their passionate exchange, she'd freeze up and deny them both the pleasure of completion. She didn't tell him her suspicions about past abuse. She wanted him to erase those doubts, those fears, to soothe them away with his touch and his kisses.

  She couldn't have that if she let him know she was shaking right down to her recently painted toenails.

  In the darkness, his bare chest gleamed like polished marble. Pale. She hadn't expected his skin to be so fair, but given the midnight hours he inhabited, she shouldn't have been surprised. Cool, so cool to the touch, like that unyielding stone. Nothing else about him was cold or resistant.

  He combed his fingers back from temple to nape, his hands fisting gently to tilt her face up to his.

  "I like your hair down like this. Free. Like silk."

  The rough purr of his voice chafed a quivering deep down inside her where her body had a vague recall of pain rather than pleasure. On this night, he would give her something else to remember.

  "And I like this dress. Did you wear it just for me?"

  Before she could nod, he'd found the floating hem to gather the soft fabric as his hands traveled upward until the garment slipped over her head. Beneath it, she wore a pink slip and matching wisp of panties. She'd never felt so naked in her life, but as he gazed at her, never had she felt so adored.

  She gasped as his mouth touched to the lacy bodice. Her areola puckered as the fabric dampened beneath the insistent tug of his lips. Sensation pooled and became a tight, tremulous ache there at the tip of her small breast and more embarrassingly against the cotton crotch of her panties. She arched into the heel of his hand as it cupped her suddenly hot and eager sex. He let her movements encourage his until her hips pushed and ground against his palm. Her wet heat told him she was ready, at least to go one step further.

  One step at a time, he told himself with a rigid self-control.

  He leaned back long enough to skim the slip and the scrap of now hot silk from her body. And though he wished to look his fill, the way her arms crossed protectively over her bosom and her hands sought to shield the nested curls between her thighs, he knew this was an awkward moment for her. He couldn't bear to think she was ashamed of anything they might do together.

  "You are so lovely, you take my breath away. You are a goddess, Naomi. Let me worship you."

  He'd chosen the right words.

  With just a slight hesitation, her guarded gestures relaxed, and her beauty was revealed to him fully as her arms lifted to ride the hard swell of his shoulders. Her gaze offered him everything he desired.

  His arm curved beneath her rounded bottom, lifting her up off her feet so he could carry her to the bed. He laid her down upon the coverlet, where she glowed like precious pearls within a satin jewel box.

  His hands shook as he stripped off his clothing.

  As he came
down toward her, one knee on the mattress, his palms on either side of her head, her gaze slipped from his, and her shift in focus brought a furrow to her brow. His skin jumped where her fingertips rested upon his rib cage. Her touch was light, curious.

  "You have no wound, not even a scar from where Marcus shot you."

  "It was just a scratch. I'm a fast healer."

  "I wish my scars would disappear as easily."

  He took her tiny hand, bringing it up so he could press a kiss upon its palm.

  "That's why I'm here,” he told her just before his mouth came down to capture hers for a tender, thorough plundering. Her tension defused into a series of liquid tremors.

  He sought her breasts, making her moan and twist from the way his lips tugged and tasted. Threads of fire burned from those achy pinnacles, streaking through her system to form a lake of molten longing at the juncture of her thighs. His kisses trailed down along the sweeping line of her torso to the jut of one hip. Her breath came in expectant shivers as his tongue traced over that rise to delve into the sacred hollow and soft mound below. She gasped as he shared a kiss so intimate her body wept with joy.

  And then he was lifting up, challenging her tenderly with his burning stare. Did she want to continue? Was she ready to go on?

  She reached up, burying her fingers in his mane of blond hair, clutching so she could drag him down to discover the answer within her wanton, open-mouthed kiss.

  She tried not to stiffen as he moved above her, as the velvety tip of his engorged phallus trailed across her thigh and belly in its search of its reward. She was his reward. She would remember that now when older, darker memories threatened to crowd the pleasure of this moment aside. His reward.

  He claimed it with a sudden strong push, spreading pressure not pain up to the very valley of her scarred womb. And there he remained, huge, unmoving, letting her adjust to his size and shape. Letting her brief alarm lessen to an awareness of how beautifully they pulsed together, like a single, reverent heartbeat. A pulse that increased to a heavy, impatient throbbing.

  Her acceptance sighed into his mouth then was followed by the encouraging lift of her hips asking, more please.