In the Dark Read online

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alexandria, Virginia

  28 September ~ 18:26 EST

  Hannah had given up her bedroom so Luther could rest. That was several hours ago, when she’d escorted a pale-faced Luther up the stairs of her town house, ordering him to sleep.

  A strange feeling came over her as she checked on him at suppertime, bearing his dinner on a tray. She found him fast asleep, sprawled diagonally across her bed, so he wouldn’t jam his toes against her footboard. The old wood flooring in her Alexandria town home creaked beneath her feet as she rounded the bed to look down at him.

  He’d slept from early afternoon until twilight. The evening sun cast a burnished glow on the window shade, gilding the violet comforter. In contrast to the pale purple sheets, Luther struck her as starkly masculine, making her heart beat erratically. She wasn’t used to seeing a man in her bed.

  She was glad to note that the lines of pain were gone from the corners of his mouth. He hadn’t looked too good when she helped him get settled, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling his T-shirt over his head. But now, with several hours of sleep behind him and hundreds of milligrams of Tylenol in his system, he appeared to be pain-free.

  The sun glow highlighted the strength of his cheekbones. She stood there, spellbound by his latent male beauty, cognizant of a fullness of feeling in her chest. If her hands weren’t occupied holding the tray, she’d be tempted to stroke the soft sable strands of his hair.

  Luther was incredible, in so many ways, taking a bullet for righteousness’ sake, uncomplaining to the point of collapse. She respected and admired him. But that wasn’t the reason she felt pleased to have him sprawled half naked in her bed. It didn’t account for her possessive urge to keep him there.

  It was time to face facts: she was drawn to Luther, emotionally and physically, whether she wanted to be or not. She hadn’t planned on having feelings for a man until her career was under way and she could choose her assignments. Long-distance relationships were doomed. But pretending she didn’t feel anything was an act of cowardice. She was going to face these feelings head-on, the way she faced everything. There had to be a way to handle them.

  But was Luther as drawn to her as she was to him? She wasn’t sure. He’d just ditched his last girlfriend—fiancée. How could he even know what he was feeling?

  Turning away to place the tray upon her bureau, she caught sight of her shadowed reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t beautiful—not in the way that the sultry brunette, Veronica, was beautiful. She had flaming red hair and freckles. She was tall and strong. But at least she was wearing her own clothes again.

  She tugged the tight-fitting, coral top over the edge of her hip-hugging jeans. She’d always prided herself on her flair for fashion. It came as a relief to look trendy again.

  “Wow, you look different.”

  Luther’s sleepy observation had her turning with a start, nearly upsetting the glass of ice water perched on the corner of the tray. “Oh, you’re awake.”

  He was very awake. In his purple surroundings, his alert gaze looked more indigo than blue as he took leisurely stock of her. “Is this the real you?” he inquired with a half smile.

  Hannah’s stomach tightened with apprehension. “What do you think?” She held her hands out to her sides.

  “You look young,” he admitted, which caused her heart to drop. “And sexy,” he added, causing it to leap up again.

  “I, uh, brought you some dinner,” she said, turning toward the tray. “I hope you like it. It’s just SpaghettiOs with canned vegetables. I’m not much of a cook. Besides, all the food in my refrigerator went bad. Do you want to eat now? How’s your back?”

  She realized she was talking faster than he could answer, and she shut her mouth with a snap.

  “I’ll eat now,” he said, struggling to sit up. “My back feels better.”

  She longed to help, but that entailed touching him, which she didn’t trust herself to do. It was hard enough not to stare. Her gaze slid helplessly to the elastic band of his boxers as her sensory memory reminded her of how incredibly he’d filled her hand.

  She passed him the tray, ice rattling in the glass, betraying her unsteady nerves.

  Their fingers brushed as Luther took it from her. “Thanks,” he said.

  “No problem. Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, this is great.” He picked up his fork and stirred the noodles.

  “I’ll come back when you’re done, then,” she said, finding it awkward to just stand there, watching him.

  “You mind if I help myself to your bathroom?” he inquired. “I’d like to take a shower.”

  “Sure, no problem. But what about the bandage?” He wore a big gauze bandage on his back.

  He forked down a bite. “It’s coming off.”

  “Are you sure that’s smart?”

  “I’ve been shot before,” he told her, reaching for the water. “The wound heals faster when it’s dry.”

  He’d been shot before? Suddenly his job seemed unnecessarily dangerous. “Just don’t reinjure yourself. There are extra towels over the toilet.” Would you like some help?

  “I’ll need you to put ointment on my back afterward.”

  She hadn’t made that offer out loud, had she?

  “Okay.” She gripped the doorknob to keep a hold on reality. Luther was looking at her differently. There was heat in his gaze that hadn’t been there earlier, except once before when she’d . . . “I’ll be back in half an hour or so.”

  “Bye.” He watched her leave, looking lonely on her queen-sized bed.

  With anticipation winging through her, Hannah closed the door. She paused at the top of the landing. If Luther was actually flirting with her—which she was fairly certain he was—was she going to take their friendship to the next level?

  She’d be crazy not to. He was every woman’s fantasy, and she was no exception. Turning down the chance to be with him, even if it led to nothing, was wasteful. Life was short. You had to take pleasures as they came.

  With her mind made up, she descended the steps on knees that jittered.

  Westy glanced up from the newspaper he was scowling over. If Luther had looked out of place in Hannah’s bed, Westy looked downright incongruous on her floral love seat, surrounded by tea tables with lace doilies, a collection of Depression glass, and ceramic figurines.

  Seeing her flushed face, a knowing little smile kicked up the corner of his mouth. “How’s Sleeping Beauty?” he drawled.

  “He looks better,” she said matter-of-factly, crossing the room to get a dust rag from the kitchen.

  Her town home had been searched by the FBI, who’d made minimal effort to set things back to rights. They couldn’t have found anything to aid their investigation, but they’d certainly left a trail of destruction behind them.

  Three weeks of absence hadn’t helped any, either. A fine layer of dust coated her antique furniture and family heirlooms. Her potted herbs in the kitchen had wilted and died. And as she’d told Luther, half the goods in her refrigerator needed to be discarded.

  Westy spoke from behind the newspaper. “Westmoreland denies the FBI’s allegations,” he related. “He’s got a slew of people coming forward to defend him—senators, ambassadors, CEOs.”

  Hannah carried the damp rag to the dining-room buffet. “Well, of course he’s going to deny that he’s the Individual,” she said, wiping the dusty surface. “What does the FBI expect, a confession?”

  Westy grunted. “He wants to take a polygraph.”

  Hannah hesitated, then resumed her work. “I hope they don’t let him go if he passes it. I’ve heard of guilty people passing lie detector tests.”

  Westy said nothing to that.

  Hannah suffered a moment’s misgiving. Surely Valentino had been thorough before making his arrest, but what if he’d arrested the wrong man? Then the Individual was still at large and Hannah’s well-being was as much threatened now as it had been before.

/>   The unpleasant thought prompted her to cross to the bay window to peer outside. The Winnebago parked across the street was a reassuring sign. Not only did she have two SEALs safeguarding her, but her own bodyguards, Galworth and Stone, two stalwart men whom Westy referred to collectively as “the gallstones,” were keeping watch on her front door.

  Luther wiped a circle of steam off the bathroom mirror and took a good hard look at himself. Did he know what he was doing? Or was he caving in to his sexual appetite and abandoning his common sense?

  It felt right. Once he’d gotten over his unsettling attraction to her, he’d felt amazingly comfortable with Hannah, like he’d known her all his life. So long as she was willing, what was the crime? he asked his reflection.

  And she was willing. She might have fallen asleep on him a couple of times and treated him as a comrade at arms, but her eyes had betrayed sexual awareness for some time now, as did the pink stain in her cheeks, particularly evident now without the heavy makeup of her disguise.

  And despite the fact that she looked a lot younger in her own clothes, she was a grown woman—twenty-six years old. A woman that age was capable of enjoying sex without investing it with emotional overtones.

  That was more his tendency, he admitted with a grimace.

  But not if he refused to engage his emotions. Wanting Hannah in any way beyond the physical realm was impractical. She was going back to the CIA when this was over, and not to a safe little desk job either. Her work as a case officer would put her in the company of dangerous and unpredictable people, requiring her to use her tremendous charm to win their trust in order to glean information. He knew she was up to it, but he didn’t want to think about what might happen if she, for once, let her guard down.

  He couldn’t ask her to change her plans for him. On the other hand, he wasn’t above enjoying her while he had the chance. So long as he kept things physical.

  Sleeping in her bed had cinched it. He’d lain there, surrounded by Hannah’s scent, seduced by the intimate atmosphere of her tastefully decorated bedroom: the ornate headboard, the collection of white and purple candles, half melted on a silver tray beside her bed; amethyst crystals dangling in her window to catch the sun. He’d studied the pictures of Hannah with her family, each lovingly placed in an artful frame, and he’d felt close to her.

  Then he’d pictured her in bed with him, limbs entwined, and he’d known that the experience would be worth the loss that came later. He needed to be with her that way. He’d regret it if he didn’t.

  He dried his hair with the towel and fished several condoms from the pocket of his shaving kit. Grabbing the tube of antibiotic Nurse Rex had foisted on him when he left Pax River, he returned to the bedroom, naked. Imagining Hannah’s expression when she found him in his birthday suit made him smile.

  Ignoring Westy’s knowing look, Hannah excused herself to fetch Luther’s tray. She arrived at her door with butterflies in her stomach and her palms sweating.

  “Come in,” Luther called at her light knock.

  She found him lounging against a pile of pillows, with the sheet up just over his hips. One arm was crooked over his head in a posture of supreme male confidence. The pose was tempered by the expectant, half-worried look on his face. The bedside lamp illumined the room with a soft golden glow that made his naked chest look airbrushed.

  Hannah swallowed hard. “Did you, uh, did you take your bandage off?” she asked, heart thumping wildly.

  He flexed his shoulder. “Yes. My back’s still tight, but it’s not hurting the way it was this morning. I have the ointment that the nurse gave me.” He showed her the tube in his hand.

  She shut the door, locking it surreptitiously. As she approached the bed, she realized he was naked under the sheet. She could see the taut, smooth skin of his hip, and the vision made her head spin. This is really happening, she thought with an urge to pinch herself.

  He handed her the tube. “You want to sit?” he asked, patting the space beside him.

  “Sure.” She eased onto the small space, her thigh brushing his. He’d helped himself to her magnolia-scented body wash, she realized. Somehow it came off smelling manly on him.

  She admired the breadth of his powerful back, all sinew and muscle. Her gaze settled on the puckered wound near his shoulder blade, and she drew a quick breath. “Oh, God!”

  “Is it that bad?”

  It wasn’t, not even with so many stitches bristling out of the pink gash. “It’s just . . . I didn’t realize how close to your heart it was. You could have been killed, Luther!” The realization shook her.

  “I’m not that easy to kill,” he said with a smile in his voice. He put a hand on her thigh, presumably to keep her from slipping off the mattress. His palm felt hot, even through the fabric of her jeans.

  With unsteady fingers, Hannah squeezed ointment onto her index finger. She applied it to the inflamed area, careful not to irritate the stitches. “Am I hurting you?” she asked, aware of a certain tenderness creeping over her.

  He could have been killed, despite his reassurance to the contrary. Life was like that. It could end in a moment, without warning. What if he’d died that night in Sabena? She’d have lost faith in righteousness—faith that was already at an all-time low.

  Without intending to, Hannah found her arms around him.

  He accepted her sudden embrace, locking her arms in place with his. “You okay?” he asked. “Hannah?”

  “Yes,” she said, struggling to get a grip on herself. “I didn’t realize what a close call you had, that’s all.”

  He pulled her closer with his good arm. Hannah was highly aware that the only thing between her and his naked body was the thin cotton sheet. “I’m right here,” he said solemnly. “We’ve both chosen careers that are dangerous. That’s just part of making a difference.”

  Hannah nodded. The fullness in her chest made it too hard to speak. They were one and the same, she and Luther. She felt close to him already. His gaze dropped to her mouth. And with that scant warning, he kissed her.

  She knew his lips were soft and warm, but she couldn’t have predicted that they were also skillful, mobile, persuasive, and utterly single-minded.

  She acquiesced to his unspoken demand and parted her lips with a whimper.

  Hannah forgot to breathe. They kissed, on and on, each foray an experience unto itself. She found her fingers in his hair, gliding over his impossibly broad shoulders, the muscles of his upper arms. She felt her senses overloading. There was simply too much of him to take in at once.

  “Need to get these clothes off,” he muttered. His fingers grasped the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her breasts. He hesitated, blinking down at her plain cotton bra. “What happened?” he asked.

  She knew immediately what he meant. “Those bras itched like crazy. Honestly, I prefer cotton.”

  Her admission made him burst out laughing. “Now that I believe,” he said, reaching for the latch in front.

  “Are you disappointed?”

  “Are you kidding?” He peeled the cups back one at a time to feast his eyes on her. Lowering his head, he cupped each breast and brought it to his mouth.

  Hannah gasped at the lash of his tongue, the hot suction of his lips.

  She struggled to unbutton her jeans. Luther aided in the endeavor, tugging them down her legs. As she kicked them off, leaving her in her pink cotton briefs, wishing she’d suffered with the lace panties just one more day.

  “You look sexy,” he reassured her.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Honestly,” he said, using her earlier word. As if to prove it, he ran a finger along the waistband, tickling the sensitive skin between her pelvic bones. Pleasure mingled with anticipation as he outlined a leg hole all the way to the inside of her leg. Hannah tried not to laugh. “That tickles!” she gasped.

  He flung back the sheet, and she reached for him with two hands, thrilled to be reunited with this part of him, pleased to have proof that he desired h
er.

  “We have a problem,” he admitted gruffly.

  She froze at the admission. “What?”

  “I can’t use my right arm. That makes it harder for me to be on top.”

  She gave him a slow smile. “Oh, that’s not a problem,” she reassured him. She pushed him gently on his back, coming up on her knees to bend over him.

  His hands slid through the waves of her hair as he swore softly, enduring her reverence with a groan.

  “Hannah.” He pulled her up, ignoring her throaty protest. “You’re going to embarrass me,” he confessed. “Seriously. It’s been a while.”

  She was glad to hear it, almost as glad as she was to feel his hands sweeping over her, his callused palms skimming over her breasts, her waist, her hips. She swung a leg over and straddled him.

  His eyes glowed with desire. “I’ve dreamed about this.”

  “Really.” She was glad not to be the only one.

  Luther pulled her down for a searing kiss. His touch grew more intent, more urgent. Behind her sinking eyelids, Hannah’s world tipped off its axis.

  She’d never felt anything more blissful, more dreamy than Luther touching her. She grew heated to the point of sweating. He eased a finger inside her, and then another. Hannah bit her lower lip to keep Westy from hearing her cries.

  The sound of foil tearing brought her back to reality. She opened her eyes to see that Luther had thought this through. He covered himself quickly, casting her an apologetic glance.

  He cupped her jaw with one hand, drawing her down for another kiss. At the same time, he guided himself with excruciating deliberation.

  He entered, withdrew, pushed deeper.

  Hannah felt herself unraveling. How long had it been? Years now. But Luther’s unhurried possession gave her unaccustomed body time to relax, to accept him, until she was finally taking all of him. “Oh, my God,” she breathed.