Far From Heaven

The way he spoke of dark, terrible secrets made all of her angst seem like elementary school stuff. That was how she felt with him suddenly, like a trite child dealing with someone much older, more sophisticated and infinitely more knowledgeable. What that knowledge might entail, she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

“I don’t have any dark secrets,” she muttered.

His dark gaze flickered over her features. “Of course you do.”

“No, I—”

“Very well, then, tell me why that idiot broke up with you tonight. Tell me what’s so bad about you that he couldn’t deal with it.”

“He thinks I’m crazy.” It just burst out. Rolled off her tongue as if it didn’t even shame her, though it did. She wanted to fold up and disappear. Now he would probably release her like she had the plague, leap from the car and never look back. When he didn’t, she was compelled only to keep talking, pushing him, daring him. “He thinks I need a psychiatrist. I see things. Like…these hollow-eyed dead souls in my mirrors. They reach for me. I dream about stuff I can’t even describe to you, stuff that makes me wake up screaming and fighting the empty air. Tonight I somehow lost twenty minutes, like a freaking alien abduction or something. And I really don’t know why I’m telling you this—”

“Don’t stop.”

She found she couldn’t. Something about him was drawing it out of her, as if the words themselves were being pulled from the depths of her soul. “He thinks I’m too needy, too clingy. He’s an idiot. Oh, I need a shrink. I’m the weak one. What he doesn’t realize is if he saw half the crazy shit I did, he would be in a padded f**king cell by now.”

“Indeed.” It should probably disturb her that a slow grin had spread across his face, but it only enflamed her blood more. Dear God, did he understand her? Did he get her? After all these years searching for the one who would, had she found him within the space of an hour?

But this was only a one-time thing. She couldn’t afford to lose her heart to a stranger.

“Yet I’m still here,” she said softly, getting better control of her vehemence so that she wouldn’t end up bursting into tears. “I’ve made it this far, so I’m doing fine. I’m upset at him but I don’t need someone to…to rescue me.”

His lips brushed the outer ridge of her ear. “Mmm. Was it a savior you were looking for?”

She sucked in a breath at his ministrations, especially when those lips parted and trailed lower, to her neck. Her p**sy ached so hard she squeezed her thighs together, trying to assuage the building demand. “I…might have been. Whether I wanted to admit it or not.”

Ash’s hand dropped to her leg. The entire appendage jumped at the touch, and by reflex her own hand flew down to grasp his. The sudden movement only assisted his hand in slipping under her dress, his hot fingers curling around her rigid muscle. “Maybe tonight I can fill that capacity,” he murmured.

All she knew was that she wanted him to fill something.

“Maybe tonight, Madeleine, we can do what we can to save each other.”

Any remaining resistance inside her broke. She turned her face to his and sought his mouth with hers, finding it even hotter than the rest of him and just the perfect balance between soft and firm. His gentleness surprised her and sent her desire spiraling higher. Her hand abandoned his and she curled her arms around his neck, drawing him closer and leaving him free to explore her body as he wished. She wanted those hands everywhere, anywhere, all over her, right now. His tongue stole between her lips and their mutual groans mingled together, his gruff and strained, hers weak and breathless.

Oh, it was sweet. He tasted like pure heat and sin, and before she realized it, she was tilting her h*ps toward him, silently inviting his hand to slip farther up her thigh. She spread her legs wider, hoping he’d take the hint. She was wet, burning up, excruciatingly aware of the emptiness throbbing in her sex. “Please touch me,” she begged against his lips, when it became apparent he was cruelly content taking his precious time.

He did touch her, but not where she needed him most. His hand moved up to her left breast, cupping its weight as his thumb circled her tightly budded nipple through her dress and bra. God, she needed these clothes off. She needed his clothes off. As if he’d read her mind, he abandoned his exploration to grasp the strap of her dress and yank it off her shoulder. He shoved the cup of her strapless bra down and, despite her earlier plea, apprehension overtook lust and she cast a glance out the windshield.

“We should go inside,” she said.

His reply was to lean down and kiss the bare swell of her breast. She couldn’t help it; she arched into him, stroking his silky soft hair and murmuring incoherently. His tongue swirled around her nipple and then his lips fastened to it, sucking her so deep and hard it stung. She cried out, the throb in her sex so intense she undulated against the empty air in a vain attempt to ease it.

He obviously had no intention of slaking that need for her. Not in the way she expected. He had her other breast bare now and he divided the attentions of his mouth between them, licking and sucking one, fondling the other, until they were as heavy and aching as her p**sy.

Her entire body felt thick and languorous with need, and all she could think about was him plunging into her molten core. How good it would be. Good was too weak an adjective, but damned if her brain could be bothered to conjure up another. It would be so good, in fact, the mere thought of those delectable thrusts was enough to drive her over the edge. For the first time in her life, she shuddered with cli**x while nothing at all touched her between her legs.

When she came to herself, she was sprawled backward, half lying against the door while he leaned over to reach her. She vaguely remembered having cried out words, but couldn’t remember for the life of her what she’d said. Her hair was in her face, her skin tingled all over in the aftermath, and Ash looked down at her with dark, lightless eyes. They reflected nothing, not even the overhead lamps outside. But she guessed, given his angle, they wouldn’t.

She stared at him in amazement. “No one’s ever done that to me before. I mean, made me come…like that.”

“Pity.”

Maddie agreed completely. Wow. If he could do that barely touching her, what could he accomplish if he had free rein of her body? She hoped, as he withdrew to his seat and she set about fixing her clothes, that he was about to show her.

Chapter Five

Ash had partaken of the delights of mortal flesh before. Many, many times. But none of them, in all his years, had tasted as sweet as his Madeleine. Whether it was because she’d been his forbidden fruit for so long, or if she was simply different from other human women, he didn’t know. Nor did he care.

Madeleine unlocked the door to her apartment and led him inside, flipping on a light as she went. Still it was dim, and she kept her face averted, but that didn’t hide the rosy blush lingering in her cheeks from their interlude in her vehicle. He longed to put his lips back to that heated flesh and get another taste. Unwrap her luscious body and revel in it all night.

She wandered in the direction of the kitchen, pushing her dark hair back with one pale hand. “Um, would you like something? A drink, or…”

Ash smiled. The only thing he would like right now was her, wrapped around him. “No.” Then, remembering the pitfalls of human courtesy, he hastily added, “Thank you.”

“Okay.” She exhaled as if she were trying to get a grip on some internal struggle. Her gaze met his for a moment, then she bit her lip and turned away. “I’m going to have a glass of wine, if you don’t mind.”

Why would he? The flavor would linger on her kisses. While she entered her kitchen, he looked around her living space. He’d seen it before, but there was something bizarre about standing here while she was completely aware of his presence. Oddly, he felt even more like an intruder than when he was invisible to her.

It was small and sparse, but tidy, with little flashes of her personality here and there to cover the imperfections. Colorful pillows to hide a few worn patches on the couch, flowers in oddly shaped vases to cover scratches on the end tables. Books, books and more books. Her main indulgence. They lined shelves, rested in a couple of small stacks on the coffee table. He could picture her curled in the corner of her big, cushy couch, her reading glasses perched on her nose as she escaped into another world. He’d seen her do it many times.

But he wasn’t a voyeur—he just liked to peek in at times and watch her do mundane things. Wash her dishes. Vacuum her carpet. Read her books. Most human activity fascinated him, if only because many of them went about their unimportant lives ensconced in their safe little bubbles, blissfully ignorant that they were sitting ducks for him and his kind.

But Madeleine fascinated him even more. She struggled through the life others took for granted knowing full well there was a shadow hovering over her, and yet she soldiered on. She bothered to vacuum her carpet and read her books. She was brave enough to try to have relationships. He’d seen others under contract refuse to leave their beds, their lives reduced to nothing but terror. The more they let the fear take over, the more it took from them. Until there was nothing left.

Then again, most of them knew exactly what they’d done, and what was coming for them. Madeleine did not.

It was enough to give him a pang of disgust for the pathetic being who’d given her away so easily. It was also enough to give him a pang of disgust for himself, but he was accustomed to those. There was a cruel injustice about the fact that Gatlin still lived, having been so traumatized by his experience with Ash that he now walked the straight and narrow. That, at least, was a consequence he hadn’t seen coming.

Madeleine reentered the room from her kitchen, carrying her wineglass and giving him a wavering smile. “Do you mind if I ask what you do?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Contracts. It’s so dull, I hate to bring the evening down by talking about work. What about you?” But he already knew.

“I waitress, and I work in my friend’s indie record store.”

“Hmm. And how is it you have a night off from all of that?”

She laughed. “It’s rare, but it happens. I have tomorrow night off too, actually. I can’t remember the last time I had both Friday and Saturday night off.” Her lips closed around the rim of her wineglass and naturally all his thoughts went to where he wanted to see those lips close around his body. The ruby liquid slid toward her mouth, its destination as inevitable as his own. He wanted her. He watched the delicate contractions of her throat muscles as she drank, remembering how she’d come apart in his arms.

Her gaze flickered at him over the rim of the glass, catching the soft light in the room. When she lowered it, she didn’t look away, and he didn’t want to wait anymore. The time for that was long gone.

He reached her in only a few steps, taking the glass from her trembling fingers and setting it on a nearby end table. “Feel better?” he murmured, following the fall of one silky lock of her hair with his fingertip.