The Night Is Forever

low for a while.

He walked to the stairs and paused there. “Marcus?” he said aloud. But he hadn’t sensed the presence of the ghost. And Marcus didn’t respond.

It was quiet on the second floor. He went into the bedroom and placed his Glock within easy reach on the nearby table. He prepared for bed, then prowled the room anxiously before he settled down to sleep. He was glad Malachi was coming with more Krewe members tomorrow. His concentration was at a low point, maybe because he’d figured out he was a fool. Everything wasn’t forever; everything didn’t need to mean something. Adults encountered one another in life, enjoyed physical relationships, moved on....

Yes. Hell, yes, it happened all the time. Didn’t make people enemies; didn’t naturally make them lasting friends or lovers, but...

Sometimes the attraction was too strong, too much was expected, he told himself. And in those situations, getting involved was a mistake.

Oh, bull. He’d been an idiot to turn her down.

As he lay there, he heard her door open and close. She was going downstairs. He waited for a few minutes and leaped to his feet. There was nothing that suggested a break-in; he was certain he would have heard.

He left the room and walked to the landing. Sammy was sleeping there. He raised his head, wagged his tail when he saw Dustin and went right back to sleep.

Nothing could be wrong if the dog was so sedate and unconcerned, but still...

Barefoot, he moved quickly and quietly down the stairs. As he rounded the staircase, he saw her in the kitchen, wearing a robe, something that clung to her body like silk, making a cup of tea.

“Uh, hello,” he said, wishing he’d grabbed a robe himself rather than running down in his boxers.

“You all right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said thickly. “I just heard you down here.”

She stared at him. “Tea,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me, neither.”

She let the tea bag fall into the cup and, grinning, walked up to him. If a man could emit sexual desire like sweat, he’d have been drenched. He didn’t move. He was afraid to—for several reasons. There was the way he felt. There was his lack of attire. She was so close he could breathe in her scent, and if he moved, he’d have to touch her.

“This is ridiculous,” she said.

“This?”

“Us. Here. Not, um...not. You and me...not?”

“I know,” he said.

“You do?”

“I agree.”

“I mean, after all,” she told him seriously, “I’m quite prepared. I’m on birth control. It doesn’t make sense for two people to abstain when the desire is there. And, well, it’s the age of Fifty Shades of Grey—and...I want to have sex.”

“Hmm. Just sex?”

“Yes, just sex.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“What kind of sex?” he asked, but he knew she saw the grin twisting his lips.

He thought she was about to say normal sex. But she stopped herself and moved a fraction of an inch closer, her presence touching him without touching him, the heat of her excitement reaching out to him.

“Mmm,” she said softly, eyes alight. “Let’s see. Hot, steamy, passionate, wet, sweaty sex? Energetic, explosive...sensual, vital, vibrant, amazing, incredible... The kind that makes you forget everything else in the world.”

“Okay,” he said. Still, he didn’t touch her. Not yet. Then he asked, “Did you want that once—or twice? If you’d like it twice, I’ll do my very best to oblige.”

“Something tells me you’re up for the job—and that you’ll be pretty good.”

“Just pretty good?”

“Possibly excellent. This is all still theory, you know?”

“Theories need to be tested,” he said. “That’s the only way to prove them.” He didn’t know which one of them moved first. She eased up on her toes; he crushed her into his arms. He found her mouth and kissed her, trembling in his effort to control the force of everything he wanted. She returned the kiss and it was passionate...and hot, wet, steamy. His hands were on her and the robe seemed to slide from her skin in slow motion. She was naked beneath; maybe she’d been dreaming of him, of this, before she felt the urge for tea. Maybe she’d even hoped he’d come down.

Maybe didn’t matter. They were together. Everything in the kitchen—pots, pans appliances—seemed to evaporate. He slid down the length of her body where they stood, his kisses covering her flesh, his fingers sweeping along it. Desire stoked energy, and each time his lips touched a new inch of her, it seemed as though something gripped him and shook him and wouldn’t let him go. He felt her hands on his shoulders, heard her sweet urgent whispers and sought her with ever greater intimacy. She trembled, crying out at last, as she slipped into his arms. Their mouths met in another kiss and he lifted her up, seating her on the counter. She was breathless and beautiful, lips parted softly, eyes intense with sensuality.

He moved against her, thinking about his boxers, but somehow he’d lost them; he couldn’t recall when. Something on the counter crashed to the floor. Neither of them paid any heed. They just began to move, clinging to each other.

He’d wanted her. He denied himself, and now...

The excitement, the urgency, was almost unbearable. His muscles ached and trembled, and everything in him—muscle, flesh, blood—felt the building explosion.

It was inevitable; the moment of climax came and seemed to roar through him with the shattering force of a windstorm. He’d tried to hold out...and yet he felt her fall against him, heard the lyrical tone of her cry as she held him tight, shaking, all but melded to him.

And there they were, on the counter in her kitchen. Tremors continued to rack his body so that he almost feared he wouldn’t be able to stand.

He smoothed back her damp hair, feeling awkward because, as he’d feared, somehow it wasn’t just sex, although it had been incredible sex.

“I think we nailed the sweaty,” he told her, trying to lighten the mood.

He felt her smile before she pulled away to look up at him. Her arms locked around his neck as she leaned her head back.

“Pretty good on the passionate, too,” she said.

“And vital, I think.”

“Oh, yes.” Her smile deepened.

“Did you want to give our theory a second go-round?”

“There’s nothing like checking and rechecking the facts,” she agreed.

“Always important,” he said.

She slid off the counter and into his arms. He ducked down to retrieve his boxers and her robe. They ran up the stairs.

Olivia stopped on the landing, and he nearly plowed into her. He looked over her shoulder.

Sammy had raised his head again. Once more, he wagged his tail—and promptly went back to sleep.

“Thank God!” he said. “I wonder where I’d be if the dog didn’t approve.”

She laughed, caught his hand and led him into her darkened room. The moon was almost full and its opaque glow seemed to shine like a strange and magical blessing.

He fell into bed beside her and felt her hands moving over him, felt the unrestrained passion of her kisses.

“Wow,” he murmured.