Page 130 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
There was an exposed metal pipe along the ceiling in the communal shower at the mental institution. They’d found him swinging from it, with the rope he’d fashioned with his own hands tight around his neck.
She’d thought she would cry then. Emotion rolled through her, there was an awful constriction in her throat, but the tears wouldn’t come. Finally she’d just said goodbye to her father and ended the call, exhausted.
She’d napped. She’d ordered food. And now she was staring out the window, trying to decide what to do with the rest of her life.
“Hawaii could be good,” she said to the glaring moon. Then, “No, not far enough. But definitely somewhere tropical. Maybe . . . the Caribbean.”
From behind her a low voice said, “What about Brazil?”
She whirled around and there he was, a shadowed presence against the open rectangle of her bedroom door, cat’s eyes shining silver through the dark.
Light coursed through her, pure and blinding bright, and for a moment it was all she could do to stand still and breathe, feeling blood pound in her temples and a happiness so profound she thought it might leak through her pores in drops of sunbeam gold.
“I . . . you . . .” Astonishment was wreaking havoc with her ability to string a sentence together, and she stood there staring at him stupidly, gaping, her body taut with hope and disbelief. “You’re here. You’re here.”
“I was in the neighborhood. If a continent south could be considered the neighborhood.”
The sound she made was a weak approximation of a laugh, gutted by shock, and it made his cat eyes flash mercury bright.
“Interesting speech you gave.”
“Oh, you know,” she said, failing to match his offhand tone, “those silly speech writers. Anything for the ratings.”
He stepped away from the door, his gaze scorching the air between them like a lit fuse.
He was nude, and glorious. Had she ever seen a thing so beautiful as him, drenched in moonlight, moving toward her with that predatory gleam in his eye?
She closed her eyes just as he reached her, terrified he might be a dream. But then his hand brushed her cheek, his thumb traced the curve of her lower lip, and everywhere he touched it felt like he left a trail of fire.
He was no dream. He was here. Her rigid disbelief gave way and she was wracked with trembling.
“Yes. I’m sure the ratings were amazing,” he murmured, moving closer. “That was quite a show, Red. About-face of the century.” He radiated heat, standing so close now she felt his warmth straight through her clothes, burning her chest and stomach. He put his lips to her ear and in a thick voice said, “I especially liked the end part.”
“I thought that would be a good touch,” she whispered. His hands came around her waist. She wound her arms up around his shoulders, broad and bare and strong. “More dramatic, you know.”
He angled his head, gazing down at her with a scant smile, fire burning in his eyes. “For the ratings.”
His hands tightened around her waist and she said his name, a catch in her throat. Her pulse was a jagged throb in her neck. He dipped his head and pressed his lips against the throbbing vein. “Say it again, Jacqueline,
” he whispered, his lips moving against her skin. “I want to hear you say it again.”
Her head fell back. Her eyes slid shut. He pressed his mouth against her neck, teeth and tongue and wonderful sucking, and she felt a jolt of electricity straight down to the soles of her feet. Gasping, she said, “I’m yours.”
He chuckled, a sound with an edge to it like a purr. An arm snaked around her waist, pulling her hard against him, a hand tightened in her hair.
“No, that wasn’t quite it.” Lips, velvet soft and teasing, brushed against hers. “Try again.”
He slid his tongue across her lower lip, that hand still tight in her hair, holding her head, and for a moment she thought her knees might give way altogether, so intense was the pleasure and emotion. She tried to speak, but all that came out was the smallest of sounds, a low, choked sob.
He took her face in his hands and demanded, “Jacqueline. Say it again.”
With the first of the tears burning her eyes, she whispered, “I’ll always be yours.”
Then he kissed her, hard, until her breath was short and she was clinging to him, shaking so badly she was shaking him, too. He broke away, panting.
“That’s right,” he growled, lifting her up in his arms in one swift, smooth motion, one arm supporting her back, the other hooked under her knees. “I lay claim to you, woman. You’re mine, and you always will be, and there’s nothing in this world that’s ever going to separate us again.”
Jack buried her face into his neck and sobbed. He swung around and carried her into the bedroom, laid her on the bed, tore off her clothes, and kissed her everywhere until her sobs turned to moans. Still the tears didn’t stop, even when he came between her legs and pushed inside her, even as he told her everything he felt for her, how much he loved her, how he’d thought he would die when she’d left, his eyes rapt on her face, his body moving inside hers.
