"Whatever. And second, I don't think there's much of a market for your particular brand of psychology."
"So not true."
"Butch, you and I just beat the crap out of each other."
"You started it. And actually, it would be perfect for Spike TV. UFC meets Oprah. God, I'm brilliant."
"Keep telling yourself that."
Butch's laughter was cut off as a gust of wind whipped through the backyard. "Okay, big guy, as much as I'm enjoying this, I don't think my tan's improving much, considering it's pitch dark."
"You don't have a tan."
"See? This is getting me nowhere. So how about we head home?" There was a long pause. "Shit... you're not coming with me, are you?"
"I don't feel like killing anyone anymore."
"Oh. Good. The idea that you might only cripple the guy makes me feel a f**k of a lot better about leaving you here." Butch sat up with a curse. "Mind if I at least see if he's left?"
"God, do I really want to know?"
"I'll be right back." Butch groaned and got up like he'd been in an accident, all creaky and stiff. "Man, this is gonna hurt for a while."
"You're a vampire now. Body'll be fine and dandy before you know it."
"Not the point. Marissa is going to kill us both for brawling."
V winced. "Crap. That's gonna leave a stain, true?"
"Yup, yup." Butch hobbled off. "She's going to knock our heads."
V glanced up to the condo's second story and couldn't decide whether it was a good or a bad sign that there were no lights on. Closing his eyes, he prayed that the Porsche was gone... even though he had no expectation that it would be. Man, Butch was right. Him hanging here was a situation with police tape around it. This needed to be the last time -
"He's gone," Butch said.
V exhaled like he was a tire deflating, then realized he'd gotten a reprieve only for tonight. Sooner or later she was going to be with someone else.
Sooner or later she was probably going to be with that other doctor.
V lifted his head, then slammed it back down into the frozen ground. "I don't think I can do this. I don't think I can live without her."
"Do you have a choice?"
Nope, he thought. No choice at all.
Come to think of it, that word shouldn't be applied to people's destinies. Ever. Choice should be relegated to TV and meals: You could choose NBC over CBS or steak instead of chicken. But take the concept any further than the stove or the remote control and the word just didn't apply.
"Go home, Butch. I'm not going to do anything stupid."
"Stupider, you mean."
"Semantics are for shit."
"As you're someone who speaks sixteen languages, you know that's a lie." Butch took a deep breath and waited. "I guess I'll see you back at the Pit, then."
"Yup." V got to his feet. "I'll be back in a while."
Jane rolled over in her bed, her instincts waking her.
Someone was in her room. She sat up, heart pounding, and saw nothing. Then again, shadows cast by the hall light offered plenty of hiding places behind the bureau and the half-open door and the stuffed chair by the window.
"Who's there?"
No answer came, but she was definitely not alone.
She wished she hadn't gone to bed naked.
"Who's there?"
Nothing. Just the sound of her own breath.
She curled her hands tight on the duvet and took a deep breath. God... there was a marvelous smell in the air... rich and sultry, sexual and possessive. She breathed in again, and her brain flickered, recognizing it. It was a man's scent. No... this was more than a man.
"I know you." Her body warmed instantly, blooming - but then heartbreak landed, a pain so great she gasped. "Oh, God... you..."
The headache came back, crushing her skull, making her vow to get that CAT scan ASAP. With a moan she grabbed onto her head, bracing herself against what was probably going to be hours of agony.
Except almost immediately the pain floated away... and so did she. A blanket of sleep eased over her, coated her, calmed her.
Right after it landed, a man's hand touched her hair. Her face. Her mouth.
His warmth and love healed the bottomless pit in the center of her chest: It was as if her life had been in a car wreck, but now her parts were put back together, her engine rebuilt, her bumper reattached, her broken windshield replaced.
Except then the touch left her.
In the dream she reached out blindly. "Stay with me. Please stay with me."
A big palm enveloped her hand, but the answer was going to be no. Though the man didn't say a thing, she knew he wouldn't stay.
"Please..." Tears welled. "Don't go."
As her hand was dropped, she cried out and reached forward -
The covers rustled and cold air rushed in, as did a mammoth male body. In desperation she grafted herself to the hard warmth and buried her face in a neck that smelled of those dark spices. Thick arms shot around her and held her tight.
When she burrowed even closer... she felt an erection.
In the dream Jane moved fast and decisively, as if she had every right in the world to do what she did. She shot her hand down between them and gripped that straining length.
As the big body jerked, she said, "Give me what I want."
Man, did he ever.
She was flipped onto her back then her legs were spread and her core covered with a heavy hand. She came immediately, torquing up off the mattress, crying out. Before the sensations faded, the sheets were tossed from the bed and a mouth was on her between her thighs. She grabbed onto thick, luxurious hair and gave herself up to what he did to her.
While she orgasmed for the second time, he pulled back. There was the sound of clothes being pushed down and then -
Jane cursed as she was filled nearly to the point of pain, but she loved what was happening... especially as a mouth came down on hers and the erection inside of her started to move. She grabbed onto a surging back and followed the rhythm of the sex.
In the midst of the dream, she had some thought that this was what she had been mourning. This man was the cause of the pain in her chest.
Or rather, the loss of him was.
Vishous knew that what he was doing was wrong. The sex was tantamount to stealing, because Jane didn't really know who he was. But he couldn't stop.
He kissed her harder, moved in her more powerfully. His orgasm rolled in like a firestorm, taking him in a burst of heat, consuming him with a burn that was relieved only as his c**k jerked and released inside of her. She came as he did, milking him, drawing out the sensations until he shuddered and fell still on top of her.
He pulled back and looked down at her closed eyes, willing her into an even deeper sleep. She would think that what had happened was nothing more than an erotic dream, an enticing, vivid fantasy. She wouldn't know who he was, though. Couldn't. Her mind was strong, and she could well go insane in the tug-of-war between the memories he'd hidden and what she felt when he was around her.
V eased out of her body and slipped from the bed. As he rearranged the covers and pulled up his sliks, he felt like he was shaving his own skin off.
Bending down, he put his lips to her forehead. "I love you. Forever."
Before he left he looked around her bedroom, then wandered into her bathroom. He couldn't stop himself. He had no intention of returning here again and needed images of her private spaces.
The upstairs was more "her." Everything was simple and uncluttered, the furniture unobtrusive, the walls free of fussy pictures. There was one wild extravagance, though, and he loved it, had the same one back in his room: books. There were books everywhere. In her bedroom the shelving ran floor to ceiling, with each level filled with volumes on science and philosophy and math. In the hall there were more stacked in a nine-foot glass-front wardrobe, with works by Shelley and Keats, Dickens, Hemingway, Marchand, Fitzgerald. Even in the bath there was a short lineup of them next to the tub, as if when she was in the thing, she wanted a few favorites nearby.
She liked Shakespeare, too, evidently. Which he approved of.
See, this was his kind of decorating. An active mind didn't need distractions in its physical environment. It needed a collection of outstanding books and a good lamp. Maybe some cheese and crackers.
V turned to leave the bath and caught sight of the mirror over the twin sinks. He pictured her standing in front of it and combing out her hair. Flossing. Brushing her teeth. Clipping her short nails.