Page 32 of Killjoy (Buchanan-Renard 3)

  He tilted her chin up, brushed his mouth over hers, and then whispered, “Then trust me. That’s my rule. You have to trust me.”

  She thought she understood what he was asking. And he was right. Love and trust went hand in hand.

  It was now or never. Please, God, don’t let him be repulsed. She stepped back into the soft light from the bedside lamp, waited until he had let go of her, and then, before her courage completely deserted her, she pulled the T-shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor. She turned so that he could see her ravaged back.

  Most of the damage had been done to her lower spine. The angry, ugly scars puckered her skin. She was afraid to turn around, to look into his eyes.

  “Sugar?”

  There was laughter in his voice. Confused by his reaction, she stood as stiff as a corpse with her hands at her sides staring at the wall.

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m a little more interested in the front right now.”

  “What . . .”

  He gently turned her around and pulled her up against him. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “Damn, I’ve been dreaming about this. It’s better than the dream, though. Much better.”

  “But my back . . . You saw . . .”

  “We’ll get to that,” he promised. “I’ve got a lot of territory to cover,” he whispered as he kissed a tear away from her cheek. “But in my present condition, I’ve gotta prioritize.”

  Before she could argue, or worry, or cry, his mouth took absolute possession of hers in a kiss that was sinfully carnal. His tongue slid in and out of her mouth in a ritual of lovemaking until she was trembling with desire.

  His hands were everywhere, caressing, stroking, teasing, as his mouth slanted over hers again and again. He rid her of her inhibitions, and she eagerly kissed him back. She stroked his chest, loving the feel of his coarse, dark hair under her fingertips.

  He growled low in his throat with pleasure when she tweaked one of his nipples between her fingertips, and so she did it again.

  They were both panting for breath when he ended the kiss and stepped back. He let his shorts drop to the floor, staring into her eyes, reveling in the passion he saw there.

  Avery held his gaze as she slid her hand down to remove her panties. The look of surprise when she realized they were on the floor made him smile over his handiwork.

  She let him have his moment. “You’re good,” she whispered shakily.

  He followed her onto the bed. Bracing his arms on either side of her, he leaned up and said, “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  His face was taut with passion. The way he was looking at her made her feel bold. “Neither have you,” she whispered back. She moved restlessly against him, her hands slowly easing down his sides. His body was as hot as his gaze.

  John Paul loved the way she touched him. Hell, he loved everything about her. She made him crazy. She pulled him down for another kiss, and this time he let her be the aggressor. Their tongues dueled as their hands learned the secrets of each other’s bodies.

  When she touched his erection, he thought he might just lose it then and there, and he tried to get her to stop, but she wouldn’t. He could barely breathe because of the ecstasy she evoked. His hand slipped down between her thighs, his fingers caressing her intimately until she arched off the bed and cried out.

  He held off as long as he could until he was desperate to be inside of her. He hungrily kissed her soft, sweet mouth as his knee nudged her thighs apart. Gripping her derriere, he leaned up so that he could watch her. In one slow push, he entered her, then plunged deep.

  She arched up against him at the same time, crying out in rapture as she wrapped her legs around his thighs and squeezed him tight.

  Capturing the sides of her face with his hands, his mouth covered hers and his tongue sank into her warm sweet mouth. He took his time. Long, slow thrusts that cost him dearly. Beads of perspiration covered his brow, and as he made love to her, he realized it had never been this incredible before. Never.

  Avery was overwhelmed by the sensations rushing through her. They were so intense, so new. She couldn’t let him slow the pace any longer. She came undone in his arms, wild, more demanding, her nails scoring his shoulders as she met his thrusts with equal passion.

  Driven to please her and give her fulfillment before he claimed his own, he tried to slow down, but she would have none of it. Their lovemaking turned uncontrolled, primitive, almost savage. He was consumed.

  Avery could feel her control vanishing, but she wasn’t afraid. It was the most amazing feeling to be so uninhibited and to let herself go without fear or worry. She knew she was safe in his arms, and as she reached the precipice and her body began to shiver for release, she arched up against him. Wave after wave of undiluted pleasure coursed through her body as she clung to him.

  Impossible to hold back, his orgasm was triggered by hers, and he climaxed deep inside of her, clenching his jaw in ecstasy.

  They stayed joined together as one for long, blissful minutes. Their breathing was ragged, and neither one of them had the strength to move. Their hearts pounded in unison. He buried his face in her silky hair, closed his eyes as he inhaled her wonderful fragrance.

  “Damn,” he whispered. She’d taken every ounce of his strength. His bones felt like liquid as he tried to move so he wouldn’t crush her.

  She obviously didn’t mind his weight because she squeezed him when he shifted his position, and whispered, “Not yet.”

  Had he been too rough with her? The thought popped into his head and anchored there. He could have been more gentle, but she’d been so wonderfully uninhibited, he’d gone a little crazy.

  “Avery? You okay?”

  She smiled because of the worry she heard in his voice. And then she whispered, “So that’s what all the fuss was about.”

  And then she laughed with such delight, he smiled in spite of his exhaustion.

  With a sigh, he rolled away, then got up and went into the bathroom.

  She pulled the sheet up, adjusted her pillow, and fell back. She was still a little overwhelmed by what she had just experienced. Sex, she decided, sex with John Paul anyway, could definitely become addictive.

  The bed springs groaned when John Paul stretched out beside her. She opened her eyes and smiled. He looked so arrogantly proud of himself. He was on his side with his head propped up staring at her.

  She looked thoroughly ravaged. Passion lingered in her eyes, and her lips were swollen from his kisses.

  She knew she’d satisfied him, but she still needed him to tell her so. Silly how she could feel so powerful a minute ago and now the old insecurities were creeping back. No, she hadn’t disappointed him. Why wasn’t he telling her so?

  He could see it happening. In her eyes. They were clouded. He didn’t think she was regretting anything . . . just worried maybe.

  He knew he’d guessed right when she said, “What are you thinking?”

  He tugged on the sheet, pulling it down to the tips of her breasts. She pulled it back up.

  “Bet I can get this off you faster than a prom dress,” he drawled.

  “Oh, brother. You’re pretty happy with yourself right now, aren’t you?”

  “Damn right I am,” he said as he leaned down and kissed her. His tongue slipped inside and tickled the roof of her mouth. When he pulled back, she was breathless. But then, so was he.

  Oh, how she loved this man. He was so completely perfect for her. She reached up to brush his hair off his forehead, an excuse to keep touching him. She couldn’t seem to get enough.

  “‘Heavens to Betsy’?” he drawled. “That’s what you said, sugar, when you were coming apart in my arms. Actually, you screamed it.”

  She laughed. “I did not.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “I know what you shouted, but I’m not going to repeat it.”

  His grin was l

echerous. “Guess what.”

  Her fingers trailed down the muscled cord on the side of his neck, then crossed his shoulder. She gently traced it with her fingertips.

  “What?” she asked lazily.

  “Prom dress is gone.”

  Startled, she lifted her head and looked down. The sheet was around her ankles. “You are good.”

  He leaned down and kissed each breast. His fingers slowly circled her navel. A jagged scar crisscrossed the lower part of her abdomen. The raised, puckered center indicated a bullet had done the damage. Probably a .38, he thought. Or maybe a .45.

  Damn, it was a miracle she had survived. He leaned forward and took his time kissing every inch of her stomach, smiling as she inhaled sharply. He rolled back on his side so he could watch her face as his hand slid down into her soft curls.

  Avery was having trouble catching her breath. “Do you want . . .”

  “Oh, yeah. I want.”

  Moaning softly, she moved restlessly against him, her toes rubbing his lower legs.

  She tried to touch him, but he grabbed her hand. “Relax, sugar. Let me . . .”

  It was as far as he got. She was surprisingly strong. And bold. She pushed him onto his back and leaned over him. “Relax? I don’t think so, John Paul. This is a team sport, isn’t it?”

  He couldn’t answer her. Her hands had captured his arousal, and she was slowly driving him wild with her caresses.

  “And . . .” she whispered as she straddled his hips and kissed him passionately.

  “And what?” he asked, his voice as coarse as sandpaper.

  Her eyes sparkled when she answered. “I’m definitely a team player.”

  Chapter 31

  THE MAN WAS INSATIABLE. AVERY WOKE UP AT NOON. SHE didn’t usually sleep so late, but John Paul hadn’t let her get much rest during the night.

  She was on her stomach with one arm hanging over the side of the bed. He was tickling her back. His fingers were as light as feathers. Was he trying to drive her crazy, or was he being so very gentle because of her scars?

  Oh, God, her scars. Even Carrie, who loved her like a mother, couldn’t stop herself from grimacing when she looked at her.

  “You awake yet?” he asked. “Avery?”

  She didn’t say good morning. She blurted, “What do you think?”

  “About what?’

  “My back.”

  “Can you handle the truth?”

  Uh-oh. She didn’t like his tone one bit. She could feel her defenses building inside her. “Yes, I can handle it,” she said tightly. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Your sweet little ass.”

  She rolled over and looked up at him.

  “It’s the first thing I noticed about you when you came strutting inside the lobby of that spa.”

  Smiling, she said, “I didn’t strut.”

  “Sure you did.”

  “You’re a pervert.”

  “You’re a liberal. I figure that makes us even. About the scars . . .”

  She was still smiling when she asked, “Yes?”

  “They’re just scars. They don’t define who you are. Now get up. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes. Move it,” he said as he rolled off the bed.

  He was stark naked and seemed thoroughly happy about it. He was gorgeous. All muscle and male.

  “Put some clothes on for Pete’s sake.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you go around like that in the swamp?”

  “I wish I could, but I can’t, not with the gators and snakes.”

  He grabbed his jeans from the chair and went into the living room. Avery took a quick shower and put on a pair of navy shorts and a pale yellow blouse. Her hair was tucked behind her ears when she padded barefoot into the living room.

  John Paul went into the kitchen to fix her plate and placed it in front of her. Then he handed her a bottle of Tabasco sauce.

  He’d prepared scrambled eggs with lots of pepper. She took a bite and quickly washed it down with orange juice.

  “You like spicy food,” she said, smiling.

  “In Louisiana, spicy food is a way of life.”

  “What was it like growing up in Bowen with a father everyone in town calls Big Daddy Jake?”

  “Interesting,” he answered. “My dad’s quite a character, always got something going, if you know what I mean. He’s a bit of a con, but he’s got a good heart.”

  He told her a couple of funny stories about the mischief that he and his brother, Remy, got into when they were boys. He mentioned his father and his younger sister often, and each time, she noticed, his voice softened.

  “Mike’s as bossy as you are.” His smile indicated he thought that was a good thing. “She’s a surgeon,” he added proudly. “Her name’s Michelle, but everyone calls her Mike, everyone but her husband. They’re expecting their first baby in September.”

  “Theo,” Avery said. “She’s married to Theo, and he’s an attorney with Justice.”

  “That’s right.”

  He told her another story while she ate her breakfast, and then she helped him do the dishes.

  “It rained hard early this morning. Thunder shook the rafters.”

  “I didn’t hear a thing.”

  “I wore you out.”

  He sounded cocky. She decided to let him have his due. “Yes, you did,” she agreed as she folded the tea towel and put it on the counter. “We have to make plans.”

  “I know,” he agreed as he followed her into the living room. She curled up on the sofa. He sat down in a chair, kicked his shoes off, and propped his feet up on the opposite end of the sofa. He was such a big man he swallowed up the chair.

  “But not today,” he said. “Today we rest and talk. Tomorrow we plan.”

  “What will we talk about?”

  “Not what, but who,” he said. “We need to talk about Jilly.”

  She had put it off as long as she could. Nodding, she said, “Carrie kept a diary. She was very young, around eleven, when she started writing in it. The diary wasn’t filled with her hopes and dreams and crushes, though. No, it was all about Jilly. Every single page was filled with one horrific incident after another involving her sick sister. Carrie told me she wanted to have some kind of record . . . proof, I guess, in hopes that one day Jilly would get caught, be put away. She thought that if the doctors read her diary, they would realize how dangerous Jilly was and make sure she stayed behind bars for the rest of her life, but I think there was more to it than that. I think that deep down Carrie believed that one day Jilly would kill her.”

  “That was a hell of a way to grow up,” he said.

  Avery agreed. “Carrie stopped writing in the diary when Jilly left town, but she always kept it, just in case Jilly came back. I knew where it was hidden, but Carrie wouldn’t let me read it.”

  “But you did read it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did. I wish to God I hadn’t, though. I was old enough to think I could handle anything, but there was such scary, sick stuff in there . . .”

  “How old were you?”

  “Fourteen. I read every word, and I had nightmares for months. Carrie had put in a lot of details, and I learned all the twisted facts about Jilly.”

  She was hugging a throw pillow to her chest in a death grip. The sadness in her eyes was heartbreaking.

  “I hate talking about her,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “There really are monsters in this world. Predators,” she said. “Jilly’s one of them. Do you know what scared me the most after I read that diary?”

  “What?”

  “That I would wake up one morning and be just like her. You know, Dr. Jekyll–Mr. Hyde. Genetically, I’m forever linked to her.”

  “That isn’t going to happen, Avery.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “You have a conscience. That’s not going to go away. You’re nothing like her.”

  “That’s wh

at Dr. Hahn told me,” she said.

  “Who’s Dr. Hahn?”

  “A psychiatrist. I was waking up screaming every night, and in desperation, Carrie took me to Dr. Hahn.” She added, “Carrie made me promise not to tell anyone because she didn’t want people to think I was crazy.”

  “She was worried about what other people thought?” he asked, trying to keep the censure out of his voice.

  “Dr. Hahn was wonderful, and he helped me . . . cope, I guess you could say. Carrie didn’t know why I was having the nightmares because I hadn’t told her I’d read the diaries, and I think it was the third or fourth session when Dr. Hahn asked her to come in and I told her then what I had done. She had a fit, of course, but when the doctor had gotten her to calm down, he asked her if he could read the diary, and she agreed. She would have done anything to help me get over what she called my night terrors.”

  She smiled at John Paul as she swung her legs down from the sofa. “I think the doctor had nightmares after he read them. I grew up knowing that Jilly was crazy, and Carrie did tell me stories, but they paled in comparison to what was in the diary.”

  “What did Hahn say about Jilly after he read it? What was his reaction?”

  “He was excited.”

  “Excited?” he repeated, not understanding.

  “He was sure Jilly was a pure sociopath, and he wished he’d had the opportunity to study her. Based on what he read, he concluded that Jilly was morally and emotionally stunted, which was why he believed she was incapable of feeling guilt or remorse. Other people’s pain certainly didn’t make her feel bad. On the contrary,” she explained, “she enjoyed hurting people for no apparent reason. She just liked it. She was a master at blaming others and rewriting history, and she was very deceptive.”

  John Paul put his feet down on the floor and leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees.

  “She was . . . amazing, the way she could manipulate people. Everyone loved her, no matter what she did. She was so damned clever.”

  “Give me an example.”

  “When she was quite young, she started having fun with pets. She tortured and killed Carrie’s cat with gasoline and a match. She told Carrie what she’d done, but in front of their mother, she cried because, she said, she so loved that cat. One of the neighbors took her to get an ice cream cone to make her feel better. By the time she was a senior in high school, she was into bigger and better. She was the most popular girl in school, of course. Everyone loved Jilly. A girl named Heather Mitchell was voted homecoming queen, and Jilly was voted first attendant. According to Carrie, Jilly was gracious about it at school, but when she came home that afternoon, she went into a rage that lasted for hours. She nearly destroyed the house. Carrie’s bedroom suffered the most damage. Not Jilly’s room, of course. Then, after dinner, she became real quiet and got that sly look in her eyes and pretended to accept it.”