Dancing in the Dark Read online

  People he became entranced with—died.

  After she left the room Eric waited five minutes, then picked up the telephone, dialing Tony's number. His partner picked up on the second ring.

  “Haskins.”

  “It's me.” Eric didn't waste time on pleasantries. “We need to talk.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be resting.” There was a note of patient exasperation in Tony's voice. “I'd have thought with Sara there, you'd have better things to do than think about work.”

  “Sara's the reason I'm calling. Turns out the guy who sent her flowers used a lyric from a Sinatra song on the card. ‘I Think of You.’”

  “Same as Laurel Henry.” Tony's tone was all business now.

  “Exactly. It could be coincidence, but I don't want to take a chance. I want it checked out. Molly threw out the flowers, but there's a chance we can recover the card, maybe find something in the handwriting or better yet a print. I tried her house, but she's not answering. Hopefully, we can catch her in the morning. In the meantime, why don't you send a squad car over to check out the Dumpsters at the magazine. It's possible the card is there.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, run background on Jack Weston, and put a rush on Sara's phone records. And it wouldn't be a bad idea to order a drive-by every hour or so. I want someone watching out for Sara 24/7.”

  “All right, I'll make it happen. By the way, I got the preliminaries on the wreck. The brakes definitely failed. No hydraulics. They're running diagnostics now. If it wasn't an accident, we'll find out.”

  “Good. And as long as you've got the tech's attention, I want you to pull the accident report on Tom Martin. I want to know what happened that night. You've got to admit there's a certain symmetry. Anything else I need to know about?”

  “Nothing new on the Sinatra killer, if that's what you're asking. Brady talked to Katie Brighton. Strictly off the record.”

  Katie was FBI and an old friend. “She have any thoughts?”

  “Nothing we haven't already covered. But she suggested Brady talk to a friend of hers. Another Fed. A profiler. I figure at this point anything goes. Hell, I'd settle for a clairvoyant if she was dead-on.”

  “I'll take whatever we can get.” Eric sighed, his head throbbing.

  “So we hold out for a break. And in the meantime, you watch your back.”

  “It's not my back that needs watching.” He lay back against the pillows, Sara's blue eyes flashing through his mind. “And that's what scares the hell out of me.”

  Sara sat on the sofa, wishing she could sleep, knowing it was impossible. The photo albums called to her as if they had human voices. Charlie, Tom … the past. Her life. She tried to push the memories aside, to concentrate on the future, but her past and future were tied together in a way she could never have imagined. Life intrinsically bound in time, nothing escaping without being part of the other.

  Silly.

  But real, and, as she opened the album, heartachingly tangible.

  Sighing, she stared down at the photos. Charlie on his fourth birthday. Chucky Cheese—Madison Avenue's idea of parental hell—the wonder of a preschooler's existence. The memory brought a strange combination of joy and tears.

  He'd been so little, so much of his life ahead.

  And he'd been everything to her. Her life wrapped up in peanut-butter smiles.

  Oh, dear God, she ached.

  And there was nothing to take the pain away.

  Nothing.

  “You must have been an incredible mother.”

  The words washed over her, and she forced herself to concentrate on the here and now, valuable minutes ticking away, charged against her life account as if they didn't matter at all. She tilted her head, her mind angry at the intrusion, her heart rejoicing that he was there.

  There were no words, and she struggled to find something—anything—that captured the essence of what she was feeling. “He was my baby.”

  “Your heart.” Eric's words were simple, and she knew they were honest. God's truth.

  “And it died with him.” She'd never said that out loud, never admitted her fears, but somehow, with Eric, she needed to tell the truth. Needed him to know where she stood.

  “It didn't die, Sara.”

  She clutched the scrapbook to her chest. “How can you possibly know that?”

  “Because the heart is amazingly resilient. It has an infinite capacity to love.” He reached out to touch her cheek, his dark eyes seeing far more than she wanted them to. “No one can ever replace them, but that doesn't mean there isn't room for someone new.”

  She swallowed, fighting against the emotions battling inside her. It was easy to be confused. There were so many questions. So much guilt and worry. She wanted to let go, if only for a minute. To let herself feel something good again.

  To lose herself in the gray of Eric D'Angelo's eyes.

  “You're supposed to be resting.” She needed to change the subject, to steer away from the things that scared her.

  “I don't think my head got the memo.” He shrugged, the gesture emphasizing the strength of his body—his sheer size, her living room dwarfed by his mere presence.

  She held the photo album as if it were a shield—in some intrinsic way, a barrier to the future, protection from life. The thought scared her even as it comforted. Like an ostrich, she'd managed to bury her head in the sand, hiding from all the things that threatened to hurt her. Possibly missing life in the process.

  “I couldn't sleep.” There was a world of meaning in his words, but she wasn't going there. She couldn't—wouldn't.

  “The doctor prescribed a sleeping pill.”

  “I've no need for a sleeping pill, believe me.” His silvery gaze met hers, the truth behind his words hitting home with an impact well beyond the physical.

  “So what is it you want?” She regretted the question as soon as the words were out, her body already anticipating the answer.

  “You.” The word was simple, soul rending. And more frightening than she could have anticipated. Frightening because it was what she wanted more than anything.

  Anything.

  “I'm not sure I know how to do that anymore.”

  His smile filled her with hope. “I think it's like riding a bike. You just have to let go and remember.” He studied her for a moment, the intensity in his gaze leaving her breathless. “You have to find it in your heart to trust someone, Sara.”

  “And you think it should be you?” The question left her breathless.

  “I do.” There was something compelling about the simplicity of his words.

  “All right then.” She held out her hand, her heart hammering in her throat, a testament to the risk she was taking.

  A moment passed, and then another, and she almost pulled back, fear threatening to overcome her resolve. But then he was there, his hand encompassing hers, his body effectively blocking her fear.

  There was nothing between them now. Not her past, not his present. Nothing except the beat of their hearts and the intake of their breath. And, suddenly, she was no longer afraid. It was as if this was meant to be from the very beginning.

  Destiny at its most unpredictable.

  She'd have laughed, except the moment was deadly serious, the weight of her future hanging in balance.

  He tightened his hold, pulling her closer.

  “You can't do this.” Her words were an excuse. A coward's way out. “You're hurt.”

  “Don't use my injury as an out, Sara.” As usual he read her mind, and she cringed at the thought of it.

  “I didn't mean—” She broke off, determined to at least keep her words honest. “Well, maybe I did, but you are hurt.”

  His smile was slow and sure. “I'm well enough for this.”

  She shivered, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “How is it you can read my mind?”

  “Your eyes.” He leaned closer, his breath teasing her cheekbones. “I never knew you could read a soul
in someone's eyes.” He reached out to tuck the hair behind her ear. “You're an incredible woman, Sara Martin.”

  “No, I'm not…” She started, but before she could finish, he was kissing her, and not the tentative touch of a suitor, but the passionate possession of a lover, the kiss of a man who knew what he wanted and would not settle for less.

  The feel of his skin moving against hers was exquisite— sensual beyond belief. For the moment, there was nothing but him. His lips, his hands, the hard masculinity of his body. She needed him like she needed sustenance. Basic, like air or water. The very essence of her being.

  His hands caressed her, finding the curve of her buttocks and the swell of her breast. The one touch calming, the other exciting in ways she'd completely forgotten. She surrendered to him then, reveling in the heat that resonated between them. The magic of the moment.

  His mouth left hers to trail kisses along the line of her jaw, the shell of her ear. His tongue sending shivers of bliss dancing from nerve to nerve, whipping her passion to a fever pitch. They moved locked together, their steps choreographed by a connection both physical and spiritual. Each movement bringing them closer. Hearts beating together, clothing becoming an unwelcome barrier.

  Taking her hand, he pulled her up the stairs, the touch of their hands binding in its simplicity. He stopped in the door of her bedroom, his eyes raking over her, his need etched on his face.

  “You're sure.” Even now his thoughts were for her, and tears sprang to her eyes.

  Wordlessly, she reached up, untying the ribbons of her gown, the soft white cotton sliding against her skin to pool around her feet.

  The night air was cool, and for a moment she was afraid. But then he was there, his heat consuming her, his mouth and hands worshipping. His kisses gentle, almost reverent.

  Fumbling with buttons and zippers, she worked to free him from his clothes, desire spiraling through her with a power she'd never experienced before. It was as if she stood on a precipice, some intrinsic force urging her onward with the promise that she could fly.

  Somewhere in the rational part of her mind, she knew this was an illusion, that the magic would vanish with the light of day, but she didn't care.

  There was only the night and the man—this man.

  Finally, skin to skin, they lay down on the bed, the cool cotton of the sheets a sensual backdrop for all that was to come. He ran his hands down the length of her body, caressing her, learning her. She closed her eyes, and let sensation carry her away.

  His mouth was warm, and his touch delicious. He started with her toes and worked his way to her calves, kissing the tender skin behind each knee. Anticipation built inch by inch, until she wanted to cry out. But she stayed silent, forcing herself to wait, knowing that it would be more than worth it.

  His hands moved between her legs, his mouth following the curve of her inner thigh, his hot breath teasing her with its nearness. She arched her back, wanting more, and just when she thought she couldn't stand it, his tongue found her, laving her—loving her.

  She cried out then, the joy almost more than she could bear. Clasping the back of his head, she urged him on, her need building with each stroke of his tongue, the fire inside her ratcheting higher and higher, until finally she jumped, leaving the precipice behind, flying higher and higher, reaching for the moon—knowing that it was reflected in the silver of Eric D'Angelo's eyes.

  Eric felt her body shudder, and knew she had found release, and sliding up to cradle her against him, he was surprised at the contentment that rocked through him. It was as if he'd come home, found a place of safety he hadn't even known he'd been seeking.

  His body ached for her, but still he held her. Wanting to prolong the bliss, the peace. It wasn't often he felt this way, and he knew it was a moment to be savored—cherished.

  Her breathing was still erratic, her heart pounding against his, but she moved, pushing the hair back from her face, her gaze meeting his, eyes full of trust. It humbled him. And excited him.

  With a groan, he pulled her into his arms, his kiss demanding, absorbing her with each taste, each touch. She met him halfway, her tongue dueling with his, taking as much as she gave. He shivered as her fingers caressed the hard planes of his chest, whispering butterflylike across his bandage to land firmly against his abdomen, her palm tracing circles of fire on his skin.

  She tasted his neck, then slid down to take a nipple into her mouth. Sucking and nipping, she savored him, the warmth connecting directly to his groin. Tightening almost to the level of pain, he throbbed for her, his penis impatiently pressing against the soft skin of her thigh.

  “I need you.” The words came from some place deep inside him, and were almost guttural in pitch and fervor. He'd never felt like this. As if part of him were missing. As if possessing her was the only way to feel whole.

  She smiled up at him, and slid farther down, taking him into her mouth, the moist suction almost his undoing. Circling him with her tongue, she moved her hand as well, the rhythms combining to create pleasure so intense he thought he might explode.

  Up and down, squeezing, stroking, he fought his body for control. When he came, he wanted to be buried deep inside her.

  Connected.

  He moved slightly, the shift enough to separate them. Then, still fighting to hang on to his control, he pulled her up, the friction of their bodies moving together a pleasurable pain. Unable to wait any longer, he flipped over, pulling her beneath him, his body covering hers. Bracing himself on his elbows, he looked down at her—eyes glazed with passion, mouth swollen from his kisses, breasts alabaster against the night.

  With a crooked smile, she opened for him, the invitation more than just physical, and with a reverence of spirit, he slid home, her wet heat embracing him. They stayed that way for a moment, eye to eye, linked together as man and woman, the age-old dance suddenly taking on new meaning because he was with Sara.

  Then she pushed against him, driving him deeper, her hands pulling him closer, urging him onward. Together they began to move, finding their own private rhythm—in and out, in and out, until there was nothing but the two of them, and the incredible sensation of the dance.

  Bodies locked together, dancing faster and faster, until the world exploded into shards of crystalline light, his body and mind oblivious of everything except the power of his orgasm and the feel of her breath against his skin.

  A branch moved against the window, the scratching sound breaking the peaceful silence of the night. Sara rolled onto her back, immediately missing the warmth of the man sleeping next to her. As if reading her thoughts, he shifted in sleep, reaching for her, moonlight caressing his face. It seemed as if she'd been sleeping with him forever, their bodies fitting together like two halves of a whole.

  Tom had always needed his space. And, because of it, they'd slept on separate sides of their king-size bed. Even after sex, they'd separated for sleep. It had been comfortable, routine. But now, with Eric's hand thrown possessively across her stomach, she mourned the intimacy she'd lost.

  Or maybe it was meant to be different.

  That might explain why she wasn't feeling guilty. She was, after all, lying in bed with a man who wasn't Tom. A man she didn't even really know.

  Except that she did.

  That was the truly amazing thing—she did know him. And despite the situation, despite her past, all she felt at the moment was content.

  Warm, satisfied, and happy.

  And to be honest, she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this good. Surely that couldn't be a bad thing? Tom would have wanted her to be happy. She knew that. It was just that she hadn't been able to imagine herself with anyone else. Until now.

  She blew out a breath, uncertainty replacing euphoria. She'd loved Tom. And he'd loved her. But Tom was dead.

  “He'd want you to be happy.” Eric was awake, and as usual, reading her mind.

  She rolled over to face him, her heart swelling with emotion. “I know that. Honestly I do
. It's just that—”

  “You feel like you're betraying him. Look, maybe you're just not ready for this after all.” He pulled away, the distance more painful than she'd have expected.

  “I don't know if I'll ever be ready. At least not the way you mean. But I'm here, now. And today I realized all over again that life can change in an instant. When Tom and Charlie died, a part of me shut down, and then you came along and for the first time since their deaths I felt stirrings of life. Then Bess called, and I thought it was happening all over again.” She reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger. “I thought I'd lost you, too.”

  “But you didn't.” He covered her hand with his, his eyes full of emotions she was afraid to put a name to.

  “No. But I could have. And that's when I realized that we only go around once, and I don't want to miss my turn because I'm afraid. I know I said I wanted to go slowly. But I've changed my mind. We're here—now. Together. And that's what matters. The rest of it we can sort through as we go.” She swallowed nervously, trying to read his thoughts, praying that she hadn't misread him, that he'd felt the connection between them that she had.

  His smile was quick, his teeth white against the stubble of his beard. “I can't tell you where we're going. Hell, I'm not even certain how we got here. But I do know something good when I see it. And together, we're good, Sara. More than good, actually—we're fantastic. So unless you change your mind, I'd say we're in this for the duration.”

  “I've got my eyes on you, so best beware where you roam.

  I've got my eyes on you,

  so don't stray too far from home.

  Incidentally, I've set my spies on you,

  I'm checking all you do, from a to z.

  So, darling, just be wise. Keep your eyes on me.

  The music swelled, then faded, only to start again, the warning clear enough. Fighting against his anger, he struggled for control, letting the music wash away his turmoil. She still hadn't come to him, and the fact annoyed him. Hadn't she seen the sacrifices he'd made? The things he'd done just for her? It was almost more than he could handle. Almost.