Now, overwhelming grief filled her heart, as if the ordeal of his death had come true, an overdose of the Iboga root. Guilt mixed with profound regret and tears filled her eyes. Without thinking, Jasmine yanked back the bed covers and headed for Christian's room in the dark.
If she couldn't have Nicky, she would have the next best thing.
She crept to his bedroom, her eyes on the pale light spilling onto the carpet beneath his door. In her mind, she devised a story to tell him if he would wake, why she needed to talk. She turned his doorknob, careful not to make a sound.
After she slipped inside, she watched Christian, dead asleep. The combination of his exhaustion and the warm effects of alcohol and the pain meds had done their job. She doused the lights. Without a window in the room, everything went pitch-black. She listened for a change in his breathing. None came. He still slept.
Jasmine tugged at the black silk lingerie against her skin. The flimsy material was damp from perspiration, giving her chills. And to make matters worse, her body tensed with a rush of adrenaline. Slowly, she stepped toward his bed, her body shaking. When a tear rolled down her cheek, she knew she had to steady her nerves. She closed her eyes and imagined the beat of Nicky's heart, hearing the gentle pulse of it close to her ear.
In the dark, she pictured Nicky under the sheets.
In the dark, Jasmine would be with him . .. even if it were for the last time.
CHAPTER 13
Christian felt a soft hand touch his forehead, cool velvet across his skin. He smiled at the sensation as his mind filled with . . .
In the twilight of sleep, before he opened his eyes, she stirred his body with little effort. Dream or not, heat rushed through him, churning his blood until his mind filled with nothing but her. Pale skin and enticing curves of flesh came to life in his memory.
'Oh, Raven . . . yes,' he whispered, loving the sound of her name in the stillness.
Playing her favorite game of seduction in the early hours of the morning, he kept his eyes shut tight and moved under the sheets, surrendering to her. In the most vivid dream he'd had of her, Raven slipped under the sheets next to him. Cool air kissed the heat of his raging skin. She nuzzled her head into his shoulder, an arm over his chest. Her caress gave him comfort, but with the alcohol in his system, he wasn't in the mood for sleep.
'Come here, baby,' he whispered. 'I love you.'
'Hold me.' So faint, he barely heard her. 'Just hold me.'
With his eyes still shut, Christian rolled to one elbow and stroked the side of her face, pressing his lips to hers. She returned his urgency at first, her tongue entwined with his.
Slowly, he pulled down her lingerie and held her breast, licking her nipple. Slow circles turned into arousing flicks of his tongue. When she moaned, he heard the sound of it ripple through her body.
'No ... please,' she murmured. In a show of domination, Raven pushed him onto his back and nestled against his chest once more. 'Hold me.'
'I'm trying, baby.' He rolled on top of her again, cradling her head with a hand, his fingers entwined in her hair. 'You feel so good.'
He wanted her . . . needed her.
Unable to play the game any longer, Christian opened his eyes, his mind reeling with the vividness of the dream. No lights. Raven had turned them off. That struck him as odd. Something was off. But in the darkness, even with the room spinning, when he caught sight of her faint silhouette under him, he had no interest in anything other than toe-curling sex.
Once more he pressed his lips to hers. And Raven cried out, 'Christian . . . please. Stop. I only want you to hold me,' she sobbed. 'Please stop.'
He fought to regain control, but his body still reacted to her. His erection hammered against his pants, straining for release. He stared into the blackness, replaying everything in his head. Why was he still wearing his clothes?
This wasn't Chicago. He wasn't home ... with Raven.
He shoved the woman aside, his erection on a downhill slide, and reached for the lamp on his nightstand. Before he hit the switch, he knew what he would find. The light flooded the room and he discovered Jasmine lying beside him.
'Wha . . . ? Why are you . . . ?' Confusion muddled his mind. He suddenly felt nauseous. 'I think I'm gonna be sick.'
'Oh, God.' Jasmine pulled away from him, avoiding his eyes. She wiped her cheeks and tugged at a lingerie strap, placing it back on her shoulder.
She'd been crying. Male ego aside, a woman crying in bed was never a good thing. And this wasn't a sudden outburst, faked to get out of her predicament. Seeing her like this brought Christian to his knees. Point a gun to his head and he'd still try to outmaneuver his assailant, despite the odds. But a woman in tears left him downright defenseless.
For the first time, she looked as vulnerable as a small child.
He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. On his back and propped on his elbows, Christian stared at Jasmine, his brain completely wasted. He didn't even know what to ask. Had he gone to her room, thinking she was Raven? What kind of lowlife asshole would do that? He looked around the room. When he saw his things, a whole new set of questions crowded his mind.
Jasmine stopped him cold by reaching out a hand. The move caught him by surprise. Although Christian held his face stern, the rest of him melted like a double scoop of Ben &C Jerry's Chunky Monkey on a hot Chicago sidewalk in August.
'Please don't ... let me explain.' Jasmine fought to catch her breath with her fresh onslaught of tears. 'P-Please . . . this is not what you think.'
'Lady, I'm not exactly doing a lot of thinking right now. You better help me out.'
She told him about her nightmare, with each detail more shocking than the last. In her dream, she had witnessed her lover's death in all its cruelty. Dr. Phillips and his tale of the Iboga overdose had no doubt instigated her worst fears. She held nothing back, her face twisted in grief. Christian pictured the same happening to Raven and knew exactly how Jasmine felt.
'I needed to be held, like Nicky used to . . .' She stopped, her eyes avoiding his. 'That is all. I didn't think you'd wake up.' And with a fresh batch of tears, she admitted, 'I've lost him, Christian. I think he might be dead. And it's my fault.'
She looked so broken . . . and lost. Feeling alone for most of his life, he understood the need for emotional closeness, the touch of another human being. Her need to be held resonated with him. He rolled toward her and wiped a tear away with his thumb.
'This isn't your fault. I'm sure my father brought a lot of this on himself, with the life he chose.' Christian lifted her chin and pulled back a strand of her hair. 'Look, all you had was a bad dream. We're gonna find him.'
Tears in fragile balance teetered on the edge. But her dark eyes brimmed with something else— hope.
'You really think so?' After he nodded, she let a faint smile influence her lips. 'You realize this is the first time you have called him your father in front of me?'
'Tell me about him.'
One in a million odds she would do it, but he had to take a shot. After a long moment of silence,
