In Too Deep

The sound of his own laughter startled him. Delight gleamed in Isabella’s eyes. She reached up to take down her hair and then she unbuckled his belt.

They undressed each other in a haze of hot, shuddering excitement. Finally Isabella stood before him wearing only her panties. He looked at her, overcome by a sense of wonder. He cupped the gentle swell of one of her breasts in his hand and drew his thumb across the tight little nipple.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said.

“No,” she said. “But you make me feel beautiful.” She flattened her palms on his bare chest and slid her fingers up to close around his shoulders. “You, however, are absolutely gorgeous.”

He knew he was probably turning red, but he did not care.

“Sounds like we have a mutual admiration society going here,” he said.

“Works for me.”

He fell with her onto the bed, careful to make certain that he landed on the bottom. She sprawled on top of him and kissed him with an abandon that enthralled him. He felt her warm, damp mouth on his throat and then his shoulder. She started to go lower.

In an effort to get a grip on what was left of his self-control, he rolled Isabella under him, anchoring her there. In response her eyes became luminous. He could have sworn that the energy level in the bedroom kicked up a few more degrees. The place was so hot now, he half expected bolts of real lightning to appear.

He wanted to take his time, to make everything perfect for her, to imprint himself on her so that she would never forget him. But when he moved his hand down over her belly and slipped his fingers under the waistband of her panties, he discovered the liquid heat between her thighs. The scent of her arousal drove him to the edge. He groaned. The knowledge that she was so hot and wet for him undermined what little was left of his control. He was a man in the grip of a raging fever, and he had never felt more alive.

When he probed she made a soft, low sound and twisted beneath him. Her nails sank into his back. He raised his head and looked down at her.

“I want you,” he said.

He knew that his voice sounded stark and savage with the force of his need. He was afraid that he might frighten her. But she wrapped herself around him and opened her thighs so that he could settle between her legs.

He seized the invitation and thrust into her. She was snug and tight and he was desperate not to hurt her. He longed to please her but the need to join with her in the most intimate, elemental way was paramount tonight. The small muscles of her passage resisted at first but he pushed steadily deeper until she sighed and closed around him, accepting him completely.

He dragged his mouth across hers as if he could somehow seal the bond between them with a kiss.

“Remember me,” he grated.

“Always.”

Then he began to move within her, seeking the rhythms that pleased her. She clutched at his shoulders. Her head tilted back on the pillow. She closed her eyes.

He felt the tension gathering in her. She started to tremble in his arms. He sensed the first small contractions sweeping through her lower body.

“Fallon,” she gasped.

Everything inside him went rigid. For a timeless moment he hung there with her on the edge of the abyss. The searing intimacy was the most profound sensation he had ever experienced.

The storm broke. And then he was flying with Isabella into the dazzling energy that fueled the heart of chaos.

7

He awoke to the sweet-and-sour aroma of the ginger-scented soup. He could hear Isabella moving about in the kitchen. He hauled his arm up over his face and looked at his watch. An hour had passed since he had carried Isabella into the bedroom and made love to her as though the future of the world depended on it. Maybe his own future had depended on it, he thought. One thing was certain. He felt a hell of a lot better than he had an hour ago. Almost human again.

He climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom. When he saw the man in the mirror, his sense of well- being faded rapidly. It was replaced with dread. She’ll want to talk about it, he thought. He was not good with conversations of that sort.

He washed up, dressed and went back into the front room, determined to do what a man had to do. Isabella was waiting for him. She had put on a fresh shirt and a pair of trousers. She looked a little flushed and her eyes seemed brighter than usual but she made no comment on the fact that he had just emerged from her bedroom.

“Dinner’s ready,” she announced. She ladled the soup into two bowls. “Have a seat.”

It dawned on him that she was acting as if nothing of significance had happened between them. He’d been worried about having the conversation, but now he was more alarmed by the fact that she didn’t seem interested in discussing what had occurred on her new double bed. Maybe the sex was what she had meant when she talked about decompressing together. He did not want to think that was all it had been for her.

Warily, he sat down at the table. “Smells good.”

“It’s my grandmother’s recipe. She used to make it for me whenever I got a cold or felt ill. Vegetable stock, ginger, garlic, soy sauce, vinegar, water chestnuts, tofu, red bell peppers and then, at the very end, you drizzle in some beaten eggs. The eggs come out looking like little noodles.”

When she put the steaming bowl in front of him, he discovered that he did have an appetite, after all. In fact, he was suddenly starving. He picked up the spoon and started to eat. Nothing had tasted so good in a very long time. The sense of well-being flooded back. Nothing like sex and home cooking to put the world to rights.

Isabella sat down across from him. She looked pleased to see him eating with enthusiasm. “I understand that this Mrs. Bridewell could manipulate the paranormal properties of glass, but that clock isn’t generating any energy now.”

“It has to be wound up first,” he said.

She pursed her lips, thinking. “But winding up a clock is a mechanical action. How does that produce paranormal power to activate the special properties of the glass?”

He liked the way Isabella’s brain worked.

“Good question,” he said. “That, as it happens, was Bridewell’s real genius. She found a way to use mechanical energy to ignite paranormal energy that was otherwise locked in stasis.”

“Like using a mechanically generated spark to ignite the pilot light in a gas fireplace?”

“Right. According to the J&J notes on the case, Mrs. B. also supplied the client with a small mirror that could be used to switch off the curiosity.”

“So the customer didn’t accidentally zap himself?”

“That was evidently the idea. The deactivating devices were not ordinary mirrors, however. The glass involved, like the glass in the killer toys, possessed unique properties that have never been duplicated. To my knowledge, none of the small deactivation mirrors survived. There are no examples in any of the Arcane museums.”

“Holy cow. I’d like to read the file on that case one of these days.”

It was the first time she’d shown any curiosity about the history of the agency, he thought. Progress of a sort.

“Sure,” he said. “Remind me tomorrow. You can tell me what you’re running from then, too.”

“Not tonight?”

“I’m too tired to concentrate tonight.”

“Okay,” she said.