Dancing in the Dark Page 22

  There were lights everywhere. Hanging from houses, draped across lawns, woven amidst streetlights and telephone wires. Like floating garlands in blue, green, red, and the most amazing shade of purple. A whirlwind of light and color that erupted into the night, leaving the viewer breathless with delight.

  It was a wild combination. Picasso, Monet, and velvet Elvis. Abstraction taking form and shape to create an indefinable but amazing whole, the pervading feeling one of joy. Complete and absolute joy.

  “But it's not Christmas.” The words, when they came, were senseless. There was no way to express what she was really feeling. But as Eric's arm slid around her shoulders, she knew he understood. That's why he'd brought her here.

  “Season isn't exactly the driving force on 37th Street.”

  “It's amazing.” They walked slowly up the street, Sara with her head tipped back, her gaze feasting on the blinking, twirling lights.

  “There'll be more eventually. All the houses.”

  “I can't even imagine.” Some apartments, along with the first few houses on the block, were dark, sort of a peaceful prelude to the explosion of light to come. They passed a house festooned with white lights, twinkling balls decorating the eaves, reminding Sara of beehives.

  Across the street, a waterfall of blue and green fell from roofline to grass, ending in a glittering pool of silvery light, complete with illuminated tropical fish.

  “Some people think it's a little much.” Eric grinned down at her, pointing to a light-encrusted motorcycle. “But I like it.”

  “It's incredible.” A hedge draped in blinking green was covered with fuchsia “flowers,” the effect garish and fantastical all at the same time. They stopped and Eric pulled her close, the combination of flashing lights and crisp cold air more of an aphrodisiac than she could have imagined.

  His lips closed on hers, his heated breath caressing her face, and she abandoned herself to the feeling. Lights, heat, cold, and joy combusting. The kiss at once possessing and exploring. Giving and taking. Everything a kiss should be.

  He opened his coat, pulling her inside, the beat of his heart a tantalizing tempo. She opened her mouth, reveling in the moment, the man. She stroked his back, then his shoulders, ultimately twining her fingers through the crisp darkness of his hair.

  She traced the line of his teeth with her tongue, inhaling him, sucking his essence deep inside, holding it there for a rainy day. There was magic afoot in the swirling lights and the heat of the man. And she wanted nothing more than to have him take her. Here. Now.

  A car honked, the occupants yelling their approval, and she pulled back, grinning like a fool, feeling an odd combination of embarrassment and elation. Elation won as she drank in the glory of the night. “I can't believe more people don't know about this.”

  Eric laughed. “Everyone knows about it, Sara. They've even had coverage in the national press.”

  “So I'm totally clueless?” She twirled in a circle, trying to take it all in. “How long have they been doing it?”

  “Around fifteen years, I think. It started with one guy.” He pointed at a house up ahead covered with pulsing spirals of light, a huge oak tree in the front yard literally dripping with color. “Jamie's the mastermind behind it all, but the idea was infectious and the neighbors were soon hanging their own lights. The tradition grew from there. These days, they're having block parties to paint lights.”

  “That's why the colors are so amazing.” She slid back into his embrace, relishing the contact. “How do you know so much about this?”

  “I have friends on the street.” He pointed to a white frame house with a garden motif, corn and carrot lights bright against the branches of a crape myrtle. Chili pepper lights and miniature palm trees filled another corner, brightly colored parrots in the trees overhead. There was even a small corral of cows—in Santa hats—twinkling on the lawn. “This is where I come when I need a little spiritual revitalization. Sometimes it's easy to forget the world is essentially a good place.” He shrugged, stepping over a bed of light-filled pumpkins. “This reminds me.”

  Part of Sara's ebullience evaporated, reality hovering just at the edge of sight. Eric lived with the worst of humanity every day, constantly dealing with the kinds of things that most people never saw at all, except maybe for six seconds on the ten o'clock news. And yet he hadn't lost the ability to find joy in Christmas lights.

  It was comforting and humbling. She pressed close, their frozen breath mingling in the air, the world around them a blinking kaleidoscope of brilliant light. And just for the moment she could pretend that all was right with the world.

  After the magic of 37th Street, searching Sara's house for intruders was a less than enchanting return to reality. But a necessary one. Eric flipped on the kitchen lights, searching the shadows.

  Sara'd been quiet on the ride home. Not completely withdrawn, but certainly preoccupied. Under the spell of the lights, anything had seemed possible. And just for a few minutes their problems had disappeared.

  But, of course, nothing had truly changed, and now they were back where they'd started, a hunter out there, quite possibly with Sara in his sights, her friend clinging to life by a fingernail. And despite his intensifying feelings for Sara, or maybe because of them, he knew the most important thing right now was for him to put emotion aside and concentrate on doing his job.

  “Everything's secure,” he called, purposefully keeping his voice light. Coming round the corner, he stepped into the foyer where Sara was waiting.

  “You're certain.” Her gaze darted around the hallway as if she expected something to jump out at her.

  “Positive. The house is empty, and Jenkins is right outside. He'll keep you safe.”

  “You aren't going to stay?” Her attention jerked back to him, fear and longing flashing in her eyes.

  “I didn't want to assume.” The words were inadequate, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.

  “I think maybe we're past that point.” Her smile was genuine, and it warmed him through. “Besides, I feel safer with you here. Can we maybe just talk for a bit? I could make coffee.”

  “Sure.” He wasn't certain he was up to small talk. Truth was all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and make them both forget the problems that surrounded them. But instead, he'd play the game. For Sara.

  And that, in and of itself, said a whole lot about the state of his emotions. He wasn't in the habit of catering to someone else's needs. But with Sara, it seemed instinctive. Second nature.

  He followed her into the kitchen, automatically reaching for the carafe, filling it with water as Sara opened the coffee, their movements almost choreographed, as if they'd made a thousand pots of coffee together.

  Their hands touched, and the spark that shot between them was almost a tangible thing, Sara jerking back, her eyes widening. At least he wasn't alone.

  “You think he's out there?” Sara had turned to look out the kitchen window, the dark night obscuring any view.

  He moved to stand behind her, not touching her, but close enough to feel the rise and fall of her breathing. “Not in your backyard, if that's what you mean. He's too smart for that.”

  “That's what scares me.” The words were whispered, and he felt her shiver.

  “It's not as bad as all that. Tony and I are working overtime to put the pieces together. Forensics is studying and restudying the evidence; every detective on the force is following leads. We've even asked the FBI for help.”

  “But you said it yourself—he's smart. And whatever is happening here, he's the one calling the shots.”

  She sounded so hopeless he wanted to lie, but he fought the urge, knowing there was strength in truth. “For the time being maybe. But sooner or later this guy is going to slip up. Maybe he already has. You've just got to hang tough until something breaks.”

  “Waiting. Wondering.” She swung around to face him, tears filling her eyes. “This monster may have killed my husband, my son. He maim
ed my friend. Put her in a coma. And he almost killed you. And now it looks like it's connected to me. Me.” She pounded a hand against her chest. “He's hurting the people I love, Eric. And I can't do anything to stop him. Nothing. Not a goddamned thing.” She was crying now, her pain raw, unfettered.

  He pulled her close, intending to comfort her, but instead she tipped back her head, her lips meeting his, her kiss hot and wanton, desire laid bare. There was an urgency, a need to connect, to become one. Her need combining with his. Combustible.

  He'd never known anyone who could make him feel this way. Complete and hungry all at the same time. It was as if madness had set in, wiping away all common sense, leaving nothing but a surge of something primal, something so basic it defied words.

  Man and woman. Nothing more … nothing less.

  He'd have laughed, except that he couldn't breathe. Her tongue probed his, demanding, taking, sucking some part of him deep inside her. He pulled away, sliding his mouth across the smooth skin of her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears.

  There was an intensity that had been missing before, the sense that time was important, that every minute they had together had to mean something, count in some intrinsic way. He knew it was probably a product of her fear—their fear. But he couldn't stop it any more than he could stop a speeding train. The gates had been opened and there was no holding back.

  She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, her hands shaking with need. Finally, in frustration, she pulled at the cotton, each button straining in protest, then giving with a satisfying pop.

  They laughed as he shed the now-tattered shirt, the sound embodying joy. The joy of belonging. Of needing. Of finding magic amidst horror. They belonged together. And at least for the moment, neither of them was fighting the fact.

  Her hands were soft against the bruised planes of his chest and back, kneading, stroking, building the heat inside him with every touch, every caress, circling, smoothing, her kisses tracing lines of fire along the curve of his neck and shoulders.

  With a passion he hadn't known he possessed, he pulled her lips back to his, some primal need pushing him to brand her, mark her as his own, the soft murmur from her throat, telling him that she was surrendering. And, at the same time, conquering, a mutual drive sending them both on a spiral of pure desire. Need crescendoing into heat so powerful it threatened to unman him.

  He slid her sweater over her shoulders, his hands unerringly finding the soft flesh of her breasts, his fingers rubbing the hard buttons of her nipples, feeling them respond to his touch, tightening with each stroke, each rasp of his skin against hers.

  She moaned, the low sound sending spikes of raw passion shooting through him, his body tightening to the bursting point, his need ratcheting up to a level he wasn't sure he could survive.

  Somehow, they found the sofa, the soft cushions absorbing the thrust of their bodies as they pushed together, grinding in their need for release. For joining.

  She laughed again, and he swallowed the sound, drinking her in like some exotic elixir, wanting more with each sip. She reached for his buckle, and before he had time to think about it, had it open and off, the fly of his jeans open as well, her magic fingers already sliding the zipper down, setting him free.

  The air hit him, cold and unforgiving, but before he could complete a shiver, her mouth closed around him, her heat sending shards of pure pleasure dancing through him. She moved against him, up and down, deeper—deeper still, until he was shaking with desire. Wanting her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

  Filled with urgency, he pushed her upward, his mouth connecting with hers, tasting himself on her lips, the sensation binding in its elemental essence. Her skirt had twisted about her hips, a thin barrier of satin the only thing keeping him from finding his way home.

  With the twist of a hand, he heard the satisfying sound of material splitting, and felt the silk of her body against his. Raising on an elbow, his eyes met hers, the promise there taking his breath away.

  This was as it was meant to be. Perfection in joining. And with a single thrust, his eyes locked on hers, he slid home, her heat pulsing around him. For a moment, time stood still, and there was nothing but Sara—surrounding him, caressing him, loving him.

  Then, with a motion that followed music beyond hearing, they began to move. Body to body, joined together for all time. Deeper and deeper he drove, until they were one, no beginning, no end, just a spiral of pleasure, a promise that nothing could break. An inextricable flash of ecstasy that bound them together forever.

  At least that's what he prayed.

  Chapter 25

  Sara had never felt like this.

  Never.

  It was as if every neuron in her body had fired at once, expending all of her energy, leaving her like a boneless cat, content against the warmth of Eric's body, which was insane and wonderful all at the same time.

  She rolled over to face him, the action taking him deeper inside her. There was something to be said for joining. Soul to soul, a connection that nothing could break. She tried to remember if she'd felt like this with Tom, but had trouble remembering.

  Which frightened her and soothed her all at once, the past making way for the present in a way that could only be good.

  “We're going to get through this.” Eric's voice was rough with emotion, the aftermath of their lovemaking obviously affecting him as much as it had her.

  She nodded, not sure she really believed his words but cherishing the emotion behind them. “I always seem to find a way to survive.”

  “You haven't had an easy time of it, have you? First your mother dying, then the pervert in the foster home.”

  She pulled away from him, immediately missing the contact, but unwilling to move back. The specter of her past wavered between them, creating a gulf bigger than the simple act of physical separation. “How did you know about that?”

  “Jack told me.”

  She eyed him warily. “He talks too much.”

  “He cares about you.”

  Bitterness swelled through her. “That's why he lied to me about Tom.”

  “He was afraid of losing you.”

  “But he wouldn't have. At least I don't think so.”

  Eric reached out and pulled her close again. Part of her wanted to withdraw, knowing that loving brought the potential for great pain, but another part of her relished the contact, his touch making her feel whole again.

  Eric was silent for a moment, and then reached down to trace the line of her shoulder, his touch sending heat spiraling through her. “So tell me about it.”

  “What part exactly?”

  “All of it, I guess. Except for Tom and Charlie dying, I really don't know much about your past.”

  She shrugged, shifting so that she could see him. “Sometimes it feels like someone else's life. After Mother died, I officially became a ward of the state. But at eight I wasn't exactly prime adoption material, and it didn't help that all I wanted was my mother back. At first, every time they placed me somewhere, I'd run away, certain that if I went home, I'd find that the whole thing had been a nightmare, that my mom was still alive.”

  “But she wasn't.” His voice was gentle, touching her somewhere deep inside.

  “No.” She was surprised to feel the prick of tears. “So I stopped running away, and at first it wasn't so bad. My foster parents were really nice. I even began to call them Mom and Dad. But no one explained to me that foster care wasn't forever. And when the family got transferred out of state, I was left behind.

  “It was like losing my mother all over again. And I made up my mind that I wasn't going to care again. Ever. Only then, when I was ten, I met Jack.” She smiled at the memory. “He was so gruff and so caring. He listened to me. And despite my misgivings, we formed a family of sorts. Just the two of us.”

  “And he was there for you when you were attacked.” There was anger in Eric's voice, and he tightened his hold on her, as if in doing so he could pr
otect her from the memories.

  “It wasn't as bad as he makes it sound. The man never touched me. Just threatened. But Jack lost his temper, and hit him. And we thought he was dead.”

  “So you ran again.”

  She nodded, lost in remembering. “It was a frightening time. But in a way it was good for me. It made me realize all that I'd had. Even at its worst, my life was never as hopeless as the people we met living on the streets. And Jack took good care of me. We had a room on the south side of Dallas. Not the Ritz, but it was safe. And it was only for a few weeks. Social Services tracked us down.”

  “And separated you.”

  “Yeah. But it was different after that. I wasn't so afraid of being alone. Jack gave me that. The strength to believe in myself. Eventually I went on to college, which is where I met Molly and ultimately Tom. I'd never met anyone like him.

  “He was funny. I remember that the most. He could make me laugh even when there wasn't anything to laugh about. He was one of those people who saw the good in everything, no matter the situation. And together we built a family. A real one. The first I'd had since my mother died.”

  “And then it got ripped away. Just like before.”

  She nodded, unable to continue, tears filling her eyes.

  He stroked them away. “Sometimes all you can do is go on, Sara. Build again. Brick by brick by brick. There are no guarantees in life. None at all. Everything can come tumbling down without the slightest provocation. But I think the risk is worth it. When you find the right person.” He searched her eyes, seeing something there she wasn't even certain she could see herself, but the idea gave her hope.

  “And are you the right person, Eric?” The question was whispered, as much to herself as to him.

  “I hope so, Sara. Because, God help me, I'm falling in love with you, and I'd hate to be doing it alone.” To underscore his words, he kissed her, the kind of kiss that went soul deep, cleansing and invigorating all at the same time.