Dream a Little Dream (Chicago Stars, #4)(157)

Although his faith in God was deep and unshakable, he was a man of limited intellect with no interest in the finer points of theology. He knew his Bible, but he refused to acknowledge its contradictions or wrestle with its complexities. Instead, he pulled verses out of context and twisted them to justify his actions.

He believed he was inherently wicked, but also that he was put on earth to save souls, and he never questioned the morality of his methods. His dubious fund-raising practices, his extravagant lifestyle, and his bogus faith healings were sanctioned by God.

His fame skyrocketed, and no one but Rachel understood that his public facade concealed a deeply held conviction that he was personally damned. He could save everyone but himself. That was to be her job, and in the end, he couldn’t forgive her for not accomplishing it.

The beam of her flashlight settled on the door to the master bedroom. She had spent very little time in this room. Her eager sexuality had been a betrayal in Dwayne’s eyes. He’d married her for her innocence. He wanted her, but he didn’t want her to want him back. There were other women he could use to slake that thirst. Not many—he could sometimes hold Satan at bay for months at a time—but enough to damn him forever. She pushed away the unhappy memories and turned the knob.

With Cal Bonner and his wife living in Chapel Hill, the house was supposed to be empty, but the moment she stepped in the room she knew that wasn’t true. She heard the creak of the bed, a rustle . . . With a hiss of alarm, she swung the flashlight around.

The beam of light caught the pale-silver eyes of Gabriel Bonner.

He was naked. The navy sheet rode low, revealing a taut abdomen and the blade of one muscular hip. His dark, too-long hair was rumpled, and stubble roughened his lean cheeks. He supported his weight on his forearm and stared directly into the beam of light.

“What do you want?” His voice was gruff from sleep, but his gaze was unflinching.

Why hadn’t she realized he might be staying here? Ethan had told her Annie’s cottage held too many memories for him. This house would have no memories at all, but she hadn’t stopped to think that he might have moved in. Her reasoning powers had weakened along with her undernourished body.


She tried to come up with a lie that would explain why she had broken into the house. His eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to peer more deeply into the beam of light, and she realized the flashlight had blinded him. He couldn’t see who his intruder was.

To her surprise, he turned toward the bedside clock and looked at its glowing face. “Damn it. I’ve only slept an hour.”

She couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. She took a step backward, but kept the light shining in his eyes as he swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. “You got a gun?”

She said nothing. He was definitely naked, she realized, although the beam of light was focused too high for her to make out any details.

“Go ahead and shoot me.” He stared directly at her. She saw no fear in his eyes, nothing but emptiness, and she shivered. He didn’t seem to care whether she was armed or not, whether she shot him or left him alone. What sort of man had no fear of death?

“Come on! Do it. Either do it, or get the hell out of here.”

The ferocity in his voice chilled her so that all she wanted to do was run. She snapped out the light, whirled around, and rushed into the hallway. Darkness enveloped her. She groped for the balcony rail and stumbled along it toward the stairs.

He caught her on the first step. “You son of a bitch.” Grabbing her by the arm, he threw her against the wall.

Her side hit hard and then her head. Pain shot through her arm and hip, but the blow to her head dazed her just enough to dull its intensity. Her legs gave out, and sparks shot behind her eyelids as she slumped to the floor.

He fell on her. She felt bare skin and hard tendon, and then his hand tangled in her long hair as it curled on the carpet.

For a moment he froze, then he spat out a nasty curse and lurched to his feet. An instant later, light flooded the hallway from the eight-foot chandelier that hung above the foyer. Dazed, she looked up at him as he loomed over her and saw that she hadn’t been mistaken. He was definitely naked. Even through those dizzying whirligigs that were scrambling her brain waves, she found her eyes drawn to the most naked part of him, and just when all her resources should have been focused on survival, she got distracted.

He was beautiful. Larger than Dwayne. Thicker. In her grogginess—it had to be grogginess—she wanted to touch.

Dwayne had never let her satisfy her sexual curiosity. Lusty pleasures were reserved for him, not for her. She was heaven’s gatekeeper, designed for piety, not passion, and she’d never been permitted to caress him or do any of those things she fantasized about. She was suppose to lie quietly, praying for his salvation, while he rutted inside her.

Bonner knelt next to her, bending his near leg and spoiling the view. “How many?”

“One,” she managed.

“Try to focus, Rachel. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Fingers? He was talking about fingers? She groaned. “Go away.”

He left her side only to return a moment later with her flashlight. Once again, he knelt down, then flicked on the light, peeled open her lids, and shone the beam in her eyes. She tried to turn away.

“Hold still.”

“Leave me alone.”

He turned off the light. “Your pupils contracted. You don’t seem to have a head injury.”