She dropped the towel.
He wrapped his arm under hers and literally swept her off her feet and carried her into the guest bedroom, laying her gently on the bed and leaning above her. He smoothed back a lock of her hair and asked, “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her. She wondered if he was especially good or if she was just woefully inexperienced. But she wasn’t really: she had lived, not promiscuously, but she had dated, been in a few relationships deep enough to care, to become intimate.
It was the tension...
Her fear. And it was Dan.
She forgot thought; she gave way to sensation, the sweet, wet, fire of his lips and tongue, the feel of his hands, masculine and large and a bit rough against her flesh...
Touching him, feeling the pulse and rope of muscles beneath her fingertips.
The air in the room was cool against the growing heat of her flesh. A drape was just slightly open, allowing in a tiny stream of moonlight that seemed to dance over them as he slid out of his jeans. His mouth moved against her throat and her breasts and down her torso, and she gasped and drew her fingers down the length of his body, loving the power in every twist and turn of it. She writhed against him, twisting and turning, took in the sweet, salty taste of his flesh, and she teased and kissed him.
She felt his stroke against her thighs. His movement as he thrust into her, so slowly at first, a tease even there that seemed to elicit an even greater longing until they were locked as one and moving in an electric wave of energy that was sensuous and wild.
He held her, rolled with her, moved with her. Their lips met and their tongues parried and broke away. And it was forever...and it ended too soon, and she lay beside him, still ecstatic at first, heart pounding, breath coming at a million miles an hour...
And then...
What the hell had she done?
She wondered if the trickle of the moonlight showed that she was blushing red from head to toe, so embarrassed she had all but presented herself on a silver platter to him in the hallway.
She couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
But it didn’t matter. He lay beside her gasping for breath himself. He turned, rising on an elbow at her side, and looked at her with a gentle and tender smile and murmured, “Wow. You’re beautiful. And you know what’s even better?”
She hoped he didn’t expect an answer. She couldn’t create sound now and certainly couldn’t form words.
“Beautiful inside and out,” he murmured.
She should speak, of course. But she still couldn’t. He lay down again and pulled her gently to him so that she rested cradled by his side.
He didn’t say anything else; they just lay there in that moonlight.
She was almost dozing when she felt him adjusting the way he lay. Then she pressed into him. Bodies slid along each other.
They made love again.
Later, as he held her, she finally slept.
So deeply, and so at ease.
Nothing stirred in the shadows and soft moonlight.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dan wasn’t at all sure what it might have been that he ever thought was unappealing about Katie Delaney.
Waking early, he pulled the covers tightly around her and left her curled up with a pillow, the fiery streaks of her hair splaying over the soft mauve cover on the second pillow where her head rested.
He forced himself to dress and walk out of the bedroom.
He first called Axel. Agents had watched the cameras through the night. They had seen the dogs chase each other around and nothing more. No one had come near her house or the fence or made any attempt to enter.
“I’m expecting to hear from Angela soon, but while I’m pleased to report that no attempts were made against Katie—”
“God, no, another murder?” Dan asked.
“No. A letter. An exact copy of the letter that was sent to the newspaper years ago was sent again, received at the crack of dawn this morning. There was an addition to it—a single piece of paper claiming the Axeman was immortal, a true demon from the depths of hell, and that anyone who thought he could be caught or killed was sadly mistaken and might well feel the kiss of the axe.”
Dan was surprised by the amount of fury the words awakened in him. He knew he had to control it—he simply despised that kind of grotesque arrogance.
“We’ve got to prove him wrong,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” Axel agreed. “I’m going to the autopsy for the woman we know as Jennie. So far, we have nothing on her. They pulled prints, but they aren’t in the system. We’re trying DNA, and because we put it on a desperate rush, we should have results back soon.”
“I bet she’s not going to be in the system. I’m not a profiler, but I’ve attended enough lectures. I see Jennie as someone who first came to New Orleans as a lost soul. Maybe she ran away from home, maybe she had an abusive parent or guardian. She wanted to get away from home as soon as possible. Somewhere in the city, she came across Neil Browne, charming and charismatic, and who seemed to be the answer to her prayers. She fell for his doctrine, for his promise of power over others. But she was a pawn, nothing more.”
“If that’s the case, George Calabria is truly innocent. He wasn’t in New Orleans back then,” Axel said.
“No. Neil Browne is a separate entity. We know that from Katie.” He was quiet for a minute. “What we don’t know is whether there is someone else behind Neil Browne. In other words, Browne may be nothing more than a patsy, too. Someone may have been pulling the strings from here all the time, staying safe, even, or waiting for the right time in New Orleans for his end game.”
“That’s a scary thought. But
