The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(62)

“Sorry,” she said. “Bad dream.” Embarrassed, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was wearing the ancient flannel pajamas that she kept in a drawer of the dresser, so she wasn’t concerned about modesty. She got to her feet and raked her hair back behind her ears. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Slater said.

Catalina went to the window and looked out into the gently glowing fog. The residents of Fogg Lake were not the only living things affected by the events of the night of the explosion. The local vegetation had also been changed in some ways. At night many of the plants emitted a pale, eerie light. Tonight the energy-infused mist seemed ominous.

“Harmony was right about the bad vibe in the atmosphere tonight,” she said.

Slater moved to stand behind her. “You don’t really believe in oracles and prophecies, do you?”

“No, but I do believe there is such a thing as evil and that it has power. Whoever took Olivia is responsible for the bad energy out there tonight.”

“I agree,” Slater said.

“Do you really think the kidnappers have Olivia hidden somewhere in the caves?”

“I can’t be certain but the logic works for me. This case has had a local angle from the beginning.”

“Maybe we should give up trying to identify the kidnappers and organize a search party in the morning. We should be looking for her, Slater.”

“That would be worse than useless at this point.” Slater put his arms around her. “You said those caves are a maze. We could search for years and never find her. We need a starting point. Give me a few more hours. We’re getting close. The pieces of the puzzle are starting to come together.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that? Because I’ve done too much crime scene work. I’m a little jaded when it comes to false hopes.”

Slater turned her in his arms and caught her head between his hands. In the shadows his eyes burned. So did his aura.

“I give you my word that I’m telling you the truth,” he said. “I can’t see the future. No one can. But I do know the vibe I get when an investigation starts to yield an answer. I swear to you, that’s the sensation I’ve got now.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself against him, taking comfort in his heat and strength, indulging in the sensual intimacy that quickened in the atmosphere around them.

Since their collision on the street she had been telling herself that the attraction between them was superficial, nothing more than the natural connection between two people who were sharing risks and dangers together in pursuit of the same goal. But the kiss that morning had confirmed that whatever the cause of the attraction, it was powerful and deep.

I am never going to forget this man.

“Catalina,” Slater whispered into her hair, “this isn’t the time or the place, and it’s probably too soon to ask, but I need to know if you think that, when this is over, we might have a future—”

She put her fingers against his mouth, stopping the question before he could finish it.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I would like to find out.”

His eyes darkened with the heat of masculine need and then his mouth closed over hers.

The kiss scorched her senses. Hot. All-consuming. It was laced with the fire of desperation and the thrill of the unknown. The shock waves of passion that had arced between them that morning had been little more than a prelude to what was happening now.

With an urgent groan, Slater deepened the kiss and moved his hands to the front of her pajamas. She could feel the faint tremor in his fingers when he started to undo the buttons. The realization that he was shivering with need sent a rush of delight through her. It told her that, like her, he was unfamiliar with this level of intensity.

He got the top open. When his palms closed gently over her breasts it was her turn to shudder. She was so exquisitely sensitive now that she didn’t think she could stand a more intimate touch. Along with that realization came the knowledge that she did not have to hold back tonight. There was no need for control, not with this man.

She eased her hands up under the edge of his T-shirt. His body was a furnace. She savored the feel of muscle beneath warm skin.

He drew the pads of his thumbs across her nipples and then he slid his fingers down her ribs to the curve of her hips. He peeled off the pajama bottoms and let the garment fall to her ankles.

The next thing she knew he was lifting her out of the puddle of flannel and carrying her across the room. She braced her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.

He lowered her onto the tumbled bed. She knelt there and watched as he yanked off the T-shirt and undid the front of his trousers.

His briefs disappeared next. She was fascinated by the thick, rigid length of his erection. She watched as he sheathed himself in a condom. When he was ready she reached out and encircled him with her fingers. A shudder went through him. His aura ignited with the energy of his desire.

Her senses rose to the challenge. She had never been free to let herself go with a lover. She had learned the hard way that abandoning herself to the moment was a surefire way to kill a perfectly good relationship. The three categories of bedroom disasters whispered in the atmosphere. I need discipline. You’re a real control freak, aren’t you? And last, but the most chilling of all: Maybe you should see a therapist about your inability to have an orgasm.