McCabe Read online

  She gave an unbelieving laugh. “Are you saying I’m the reason he became a monster?”

  “No.” He tightened his grip on her fingers when she would have drawn free. “I’m saying it’s possible he really did love you. Probable in fact. Don’t get me wrong, he was never stable, but these days, he needs more of a guiding hand than he did in the past, someone who can pull him back when his anger threatens to undermine his business practices.”

  “You mean he has a partner.” That prospect had never occurred to her. Rowena regarded McCabe in mild shock. “Do you know who that partner is?”

  “Yeah, I know.” His gaze left her face briefly, then returned. His features, she noticed were completely benign, his stare direct, but implacable. “At least I have a name. It’s Bert.”

  Confused, Rowena prompted, “And Bert is?”

  “My opinion? The only person Mockerie fears.”

  …

  “Are you going to send Dancer to a liquor store?”

  That she didn’t badger him with questions made him suspicious. The one she did ask surprised a chuckle out of him. “Are you kidding? That’s all you want to know?”

  “No, but I imagine it’s all you’re going to tell me. Or maybe I should say, it’s the only straightforward answer I’m likely to get from you right now.”

  “I don’t know, Ro. You could ask me if I want to jump you in that sexy little red dress.”

  “I could.” She slid him a seductive look from under her lashes. “But I already know the answer to that one. Who’s Bert?”

  That was more like it. “No one you want to meet.”

  “See? I was right. You’re the master of evasive responses. But here’s something that might surprise you, McCabe. I can be a very patient person. Persistent, but able to wait for what I want. You’ll tell me everything soon enough. In the meantime, I’ll speculate like hell, because one thing I’ve learned is that trying to get answers out of you is the equivalent of beating my head against a brick wall and I’m no masochist.”

  He blew out the candles as they left the dining room. “I shouldn’t have said anything, Ro. Bert’s not the real threat.”

  She smiled. “So is this the verbal foreplay part of you wanting to jump me in this sexy little red dress?”

  Far in the distance, a bolt of lightning snaked across the night sky. The stars had disappeared, McCabe realized. He hoped that meant a storm was brewing.

  Maybe it would alleviate the one already raging inside him. He’d spent years of his life bottling his emotions. Rowena had been the first and only person to uncap that bottle in a positive way. Would it be a mistake to let her do it again? Would she want to do it again?

  “Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

  Not far enough under apparently. She sent him a guileless look and pointed as another lightning bolt raced through the darkness. “I hope there’s thunder,” she said. “I loved a good thunderstorm as a kid. I used to sneak out and hide under the porch stairs whenever I heard the first peal. I’d make up stories about giants and fairies, sometimes about witches with purple eyes. I was such a fan of Roald Dahl. Mostly, though, I just wanted to be scared in a fun way.”

  “The dark side of fun,” he remarked.

  She grinned. “There you go.”

  By the time they reached the hotel staircase, thunder had indeed joined the jagged streaks of lightning creeping ever closer to Carmina.

  “Too bad there’s no porch,” Rowena murmured, glancing through the window. “I could scare the pants off you in under ten minutes.”

  “You could,” he agreed. Taking her hand, he turned her on the stairs. “But why go to all that trouble?”

  She was in his arms in an instant. His mouth crushed down on hers. Her arms came around his neck, and he felt her open for him.

  “Straightforward,” she said when he simply ran out of breath and needed air. “You have so many layers, McCabe. I can barely keep up with you.”

  “Like hell.” He captured her mouth again, fed. Reveled. Savored. “You’ve been a step ahead of me since the day we met. You’re my challenge and my muse, and I’m sorrier than I can say that I hurt you.”

  She bit his lower lip as the first drops of rain began to strike the window. “You did, and I was more pissed off at you than I can say. I’m also Irish to the core, and we hold grudges with the best of them. But I’m discovering I can make an exception where you’re concerned. The mystery thing,” she whispered when he frowned. “Don’t ever lose it.”

  “I’ll make a point,” he said and used his mouth to silence her.

  If it was an assault, he’d apologize later. But he doubted it would be necessary. She twined her arms around his neck, wrapped one of those luscious long legs around his hips, and matched him heat for heat, heartbeat for heartbeat.

  She tasted like sin, dark and seductive. The temptation to ravish her overwhelmed him. He wanted to take until he couldn’t take any more. He needed to touch, to absorb the silky feel of her skin.

  Threading his fingers through her hair, he held her in place while he drew out the sensations she created.

  Energy whipped between them. Her entire body vibrated. Or was it his? The rain came harder. Thunder rumbled like cannon fire above.

  Her skin was damp, their clothing clung. Lightning sizzled through the sky, splitting the darkness into two jagged pieces. A knife slash shattering the blackness.

  What the hell was he doing?

  “Rowena…”

  “Don’t.” Letting her head fall back, she invited him to explore her throat. How could he resist? His lips grazed up and down as his hands roamed along her bare arms to her wrists. Cuffing them, he brought her hands up over her head and pushed her back against the door.

  She laughed and the sound was like hot cream pouring over him. “Are we putting on a show for Dancer?”

  “What? No.” He checked the lobby to be sure. “No.”

  “Okay, well let’s hope he’s not a voyeur.” Even as she said it, she sank her teeth into his earlobe. Energy pumped from her into him. She infused him with it. What had been bottled up inside him burst out. Madness came with it, a hunger for her he truly believed he’d conquered or at least locked away so tightly it would never escape.

  No hunger could be contained forever, a voice in his head reminded him. The key was to keep it leashed as much and for as long as he could.

  Rain slithered down the glass outside. Lightning forked through the sky.

  “We could do it here,” she said softly in his ear. “If you’re sure about Dancer, no one’ll see us. It’s dark, it’s sexy and it’s daring.”

  “I’ve never been quite as uninhibited as you, Ro.” Circling her waist, he lifted her up so she could wrap her legs around his hips. “But I am sorely tempted.”

  Her hair fell over his face when she kissed him. Her mouth was a fever on his. His entire body was on fire.

  Only a few thoughts lingered, the most important being he wanted her under him now. Or over him. It really didn’t matter who wound up in what position. But the where—now that did matter. Because he didn’t completely trust Dancer not to be a voyeur if the occasion presented itself. And the hotel had already been broken into once that night.

  “Prude,” she accused when he started to climb the broad stairs.

  “Safety and privacy first.”

  She didn’t argue. And she didn’t help him, either. Even as he carried her she rubbed her breasts against his chest, teased him with her mouth, tormented him with her roving hands.

  More lightning flashed. Had the power gone out? Did he care? There was energy to spare flowing between them. It streaked through him in razor-thin arrows of lust.

  He shoved the first door he reached inward with his foot. He thought it might be his room. If not, it was hers. He smelled summer roses and put his money on Curtain Two.

  There was a lock, and he fumbled it into place behind him.

  A hiss of God knew what escaped when he set he
r down and she squeezed him between his legs. “Careful, sweetheart. Don’t damage the goods.”

  Grabbing him by the front of his shirt and smiling while she did it, she drew him toward the bed.

  “I hate all your secrets, McCabe, and that wall I just can’t seem to get past. Maybe we’re bad for each other, but damn, we’re so good together. It’s a conundrum we’ll need to resolve at some point. And only when you’re ready to talk.” Trailing away, she held her arms out to her sides. “Ravish me, McCabe. Make me forget everything that’s wrong and remember what’s right. Make me think only about you. About us. About climbing impossible mountains and soaring back to earth so fast I can’t catch my breath.” Walking slowly back toward him with her gaze locked on his, she said softly, “Make love to me, Ryan McCabe.”

  …

  She wanted reckless and abandoned, the way it used to between them. She needed to be swept away. To feel and be felt. To be touched. And consumed.

  A few hours would do, a stormy nighttime interlude, before reality crashed back in and forced her to become responsible again.

  He caught her up in his arms, so fast she was barely aware of leaving her feet. Something like liquid fire pulsed in her veins. Her heartbeat matched the fury of the thunder outside. The floor of the old hotel rocked beneath her when McCabe let her slide back down to her feet.

  With his mouth burning on hers and his tongue plundering every part of it, Rowena was only dimly aware of his hands unzipping her dress. It fell to the floor between them. Standing there in a pair of black lace bikinis, her stiletto heels, and a silver pendant in the shape of a heart, she felt wicked. Powerful. All the things a woman should feel.

  She wanted to drive him crazy.

  If magic existed, it was here in this room. Desire cramped in her belly, between her legs, in her breasts. She pressed her body against him, set her mouth on his, and drew him toward the bed.

  The floor trembled with each crash of thunder. Lightning illuminated the room. Rowena’s hands busied themselves tugging his shirt free, unfastening his pants, running her fingers everywhere and anywhere over his skin.

  His muscles rippled. The need inside him brought a quiver that only seemed to heighten the one shimmering in her.

  Light, texture, scent, and need raced through her. Had it been like this before? She couldn’t remember, and no longer wanted to. This was the now. Stolen moments only, but something she’d carry with her forever.

  “Sweet Jesus, Ro.” McCabe detached his mouth long enough to slide his palms over her torso to her waist. “You’re…would you slap me if I said you’re perfect?”

  Humor slipped in under desire. “Given the circumstances, I’m good with it. Even if I’m not, and you’re not, and our lives sure as hell aren’t. It’s about pockets of pleasure.” She trapped his face between her hands, letting her fingers tangle in his hair. “Finding them and exploiting them. We found one, McCabe, and I intend to take full advantage of it. And of you.”

  His lips curved briefly before he dove in once more and almost took her over the edge with his mouth alone.

  The entire room spun. If he hadn’t laid her on the bed, her legs would have given out and she’d have fallen onto it. He covered her with his body, helping her remove his jacket, shirt…and pants.

  Her bra came off, exposing her breasts. He took his time there, drawing each nipple into his mouth and grazing the diamond-hard tip with his tongue.

  Shockwaves of need shuddered through her, more electric and alive than the lightning outside. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t care. It was all about more, about the hunger churning inside her.

  He only left for a moment. For McCabe, protection would be key. For a moment, she half-wished… No, she didn’t!

  The leading edge of darkness in her head vanished when McCabe returned.

  “This is about us, Ro. You and me. Don’t go anywhere else.”

  He knew her way too well. But he didn’t know everything. Not by a long shot.

  “Stop,” she said when he began to move on top of her. Dragging herself out from under him, she confronted his half-lidded gaze. She pointed. “I want control this time. Down.”

  With a slow grin he obeyed. In the process, he grabbed her hips and pulled her on top of him. “There we go, sweetheart. This is my idea of willing surrender.”

  He was rock hard. Her entire body was zinging. Sliding lower, she watched mild surprise glaze his eyes as she lowered her head and took him into her mouth.

  His muscles tensed, his breath caught. Her entire system went electric. With a moan of pure desire, she took them both up and up and up. Then, just when she thought her slamming heart would give out, she drew herself forward and guided him into her.

  Through half-closed eyes, she saw his expression of surrender. “Okay,” he managed. “I’m gone. I’m yours.”

  His muscles quaked; her body quivered. She rode him while he bucked. He set his hands on her hips to hold her in place.

  Their rhythms matched. They always had. She flew upward on a lightning bolt of need, then simply soared over the precipice as he pumped himself into her.

  Her head fell back. Her eyes closed. Maybe she screamed. If she did, she couldn’t imagine where it came from. Her limbs simply gave out and she collapsed on top of him.

  He caught her but barely, groaned out some sound, and pulled her head onto his shoulder. “Christ! Dead. Gotta be. Am I breathing? Are you?”

  Rowena had no idea, or particular concern.

  Time passed. Beyond the walls of the old hotel, the storm circled. The intense center of it receded then returned. Rowena’s heart went from pounding to thumping before it finally settled into a semi-normal rhythm.

  “I almost forgot how incredible it was between us. It felt like there were fireworks exploding inside me.” Moving her head, she regarded McCabe’s shadowed face. “How did we survive those marathon bouts of sex when we were first together?”

  “We were younger then, probably ate better.”

  Humor kindled. “Speak for yourself. With the exception of Beckett’s french toast and syrup, I avoid most sweet foods.”

  “Even Mars bars?”

  “They don’t count. Mars bars are their own food group.”

  “And ice cream?”

  “Dairy product. Apple bread, too. You can’t win here, McCabe. The only apples you ever consumed were baked in a pie. Your mother didn’t teach you well when it came to fruits and vegetables.”

  He stroked her shoulder with the tips of his fingers. “My mother was a crappy cook. My father and I had to fend for ourselves from day one.”

  “So you did have actual parents. You weren’t plucked from a cabbage patch.”

  “If I had been, I’d probably like vegetables.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to say I’m sorry again, Ro. For hurting you. For making you sad. For making you wonder.”

  “I’m still wondering, but the hurt’s a fading memory. One of many.” She set a palm flat on his chest, kept her voice steady. “He’ll never give up, will he?”

  “No.”

  “And if he doesn’t succeed in finding us, he’ll eventually turn his attention back to Parker.”

  “It’ll take a while, but yes. Parker’s your Achilles heel.”

  “We need a plan.”

  “I’m working on one. You need to trust me to keep both you and Parker safe.”

  Rowena raised her head. “I can keep myself safe, but I’m afraid Parker needs more than I can give him.” She glanced out the rain-spattered window. “The storm’s coming back. Thunder’s closer.”

  Drawing his arm from her shoulder, McCabe fingered the pendant around her neck. “My heart’s never been as hard as most people think, but honest to Christ, Ro, sometimes I wish I could shut it down completely. I never think straight when I’m with you. My mind veers off on tangents.”

  “Past, present, and future?” she teased.

  “Two out of three.” Before she could ask the obvious questio
n, he slid his hand around her neck and brought her mouth down onto his. “Let it be, okay? I’m really not in the mood to brood. I want the heat and the night and you, and not in that order.”

  She could give him that, for now at any rate. But questions had begun to percolate inside, and once that happened, there was no locking them back up. Even as he kissed away almost every curious thought, a single question continued to burn deep inside.

  Who was Ryan McCabe?

  Chapter Twelve

  McCabe didn’t give her the time or space to dwell on questions he’d rather she didn’t ask. They had to capture all of Mockerie’s attention before he turned it on Parker. Neither he nor Rowena were blameless in this mess. The child was.

  They made love again. And again. Once in the bed and then in the shower. Dawn gave way to streaky sunlight and a pair of texts from Dancer that said simply, Not fair, McCabe.

  Rowena read them and laughed when his expression darkened. But then she’d always been less concerned about privacy than him.

  “So was he watching us?” she asked as they took the rear staircase to the kitchen. “Or just imagining?”

  “There aren’t any cameras in the rooms, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  She shot him a grin over her shoulder. “It is, and how do you know? When was the last time you stayed here?”

  “Tito’s not a pervert.” He hoped. “And neither is Dancer.”

  She was wearing the heart, McCabe noticed. As much as it pleased him, he found himself wishing she’d also slipped back into the fuck-me red dress. Instead, she wore a pair of crop jeans, tangerine sneakers, and a matching tank. He had a sudden craving for orange juice.

  Coffee kickstarted his brain. Rowena went with green tea and a granola bar she dug out of the almost bare pantry.

  “I like the french toast better,” she remarked, and hopped up onto a high stool next to him at the counter. “So do we have a plan yet, or can I help you brainstorm one?”

  “I’ve had a general plan for quite some time. Where Mockerie’s concerned, nothing can ever be written in stone. There are some things we’ll have to do on the fly. A lot of things, actually.” Linking his fingers with hers, he brought them to his lips. “You look gorgeous today, by the way. I like your hair long and loose.”