Blood Red

Big Jim and Bobby noticed Mark first, followed by the others. Lauren let out a little cry, staring at him.

“I’m all right; it’s…grime, that’s all,” he said. Then he looked at Jonas and knew his voice was thick with suspicion when he asked, “What the hell happened to you?”

“I killed him!” Jonas said triumphantly.

“Stephan?” Mark said.

Jonas’s smile faded. “No,” he admitted. “But one of his right hand men. And he’s dead now. Deader than a door nail. He went up in a puff of…” He paused, getting a good look at Mark. “Soot,” he said weakly.

“He’s hurt,” Deanna said reproachfully. “Leave him alone.”

Mark stared at her sharply. She looked much better than someone who’d just woken up from a coma had a right to.

He stared at Big Jim. “Who let him in?” he demanded. Too harshly, he thought with a wince.

“I did,” Deanna said, carefully getting to her feet.

“Oh?” He looked at the others.

Lauren stepped closer, staring at him. She was tall, wearing a plain sleep shirt, yet she looked as elegant as a queen. Her eyes were such a brilliant blue, and her hair was like a cascade of the sun’s rays down her back. If she were differently dressed, if it were a different time, she really might have been Katie.

But she wasn’t Katie. She was Lauren. Just as beautiful. Articulate, talented, her own person. He knew that. And she had come to mean everything in the world to him.

Life, love…salvation.

“I fell asleep,” she said. “Then Jonas knocked…and Deanna heard him first.”

“I’m glad to see you’re doing so well,” Mark told Deanna.

“We’ve got everything under control,” Big Jim told him. “In case you want to shower.” He looked pointedly at Mark’s grimy clothes.

The sun would come up soon, and they did seem to be fine, Mark thought. Apparently Jonas had been in the house for a while, and nothing dire had happened. And Big Jim was there—ready to rip him to pieces if he caused any trouble.

“All right. I’ll shower.” He turned to Jonas. “Then you and I are going to have a talk.”

“He’s hurt!” Deanna said again.

“He’ll be just fine by the time I’m out of the shower.”

“I’ve got some clean clothes you can wear,” Bobby told Jonas. “You might want to wash away some of the stuff on you, too. The blood and the, uh…whatever.”

Mark nodded curtly to the lot of them and started up the stairs to his own room, where he stripped off his clothing, knowing he wouldn’t wash it or have it cleaned—it was going in the incinerator. He stepped into the shower.

As he turned the water, he heard the door to his room open. And he knew who it was.

He waited, standing beneath the hot spray, grateful for the sheets of water raining down on him. And the heat. The heat seemed to cure all the little aches and pains.

“Mark?”

He didn’t say anything, just watched her come closer.

“You’re angry at everyone, but you shouldn’t be. Jonas coming into the house…was my fault.”

Finally he said, “He’s in now. Fault doesn’t matter.”

“But I thought you believed Jonas was…good. Not evil.”

He ignored her implied question and said, “If you’re going to torment me, you might as well get in here.”

She hesitated, but a second later she stepped in beside him. The water seemed to heat up a notch. Hotter, harder. No. It wasn’t the water. It was his senses. It was her.

Suddenly he didn’t care about anything but the moment and having her there and safe.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, her arms encircling his back. “Honestly, you don’t know how sorry I am,” she whispered. She started to speak again, but he turned into her arms and found her lips with his own.

The soot that had covered him was gone. It had washed away down the drain like a bad dream. The heat was good, and Lauren’s skin was sleek against him. The soap smelled clean, like the woods, like pine. It was a pleasant, subtle, earthy scent. Like the lithe, supple vitality and life of her in his arms, it was completely arousing. Like the feel of her flesh, so hot and slick, it was an aphrodisiac. The pressure of her body against his was almost unbearable. The taste of her was erotic. He buried himself against her, holding her, kissing her, caressing her curves, everything heightened by the time and place, the water, the heat and the steam. He felt her lips against his flesh, felt her move against him, touch him…God, she knew just how to move against him. Knew when to keep her touch light. Knew when to make it rough.

When and where to caress and kiss and torment…

He lifted her against the tile. She held tight and settled onto him, like liquid steel as she arched and moved and rode to his urging, clinging to his shoulders, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Her fingers stroked his shoulders and back. Her whispers and kisses fell against his throat and shoulders and earlobes, and when they had both climaxed to the music of the steam and their own heartbeats, she found his lips, desperately clinging while he eased her back to the ground.