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"Because I love you."
Tears glistened in her eyes again, shimmering like dew on wild violets. "I love you, Zeke. It seems impossible, incredible that I could feel like this. But I do. It's as if I'd been waiting for you." Her arms slipped around his waist, her mouth tilted toward his. "As if I could get through anything, survive anything, because I had to wait for you."
His mouth moved softly over hers, to soothe and to promise. When she laid her head against his heart, he drew her closer and simply held her.
"I'll get your bag." He brushed his lips over her hair. "And we'll go away from here."
"Yes." She looked up at him, smiled. "Yes, we'll go away from here. Hurry, Zeke."
"Get your coat. It's cold."
He walked out, up the steps. Now his heart began to pound. She was going with him. She loved him. And it was a miracle. He found the suitcase on the bed, saw the envelope addressed to her husband propped on the pillow.
That had taken courage, he thought. One day she'd understand how much courage she had inside her.
He was halfway down the steps again when he heard her scream.
• • •
Propped in a corner of the elevator, mostly naked, Peabody struggled for air. McNab had his face buried against her throat with his breath whistling like her mother's old teakettle.
They'd pulled, tugged, and torn at each other's clothes, bit, groped, and bruised each other's flesh. Then had finished the job exactly where they stood.
It had been, Peabody admitted as her brain began to engage again, the most incredible experience of her life.
"Jesus." His lips formed the word against her throat and had her pulse picking up speed again. "Jesus, Peabody."
He didn't think he could move if she'd stuck a stunner in his ear. Her body—oh my God—her body was amazing: ripe and lush, the kind a man could just sink into. If he could manage to get them both horizontal, he wanted to do just that. Maybe drown there.
She had her arms locked around him. Couldn't quite make herself let go. Just as she couldn't quite remember what they'd done or how they'd managed it. The last ten minutes were a whirling blur, a sexual haze. A quick walk through insanity.
"We've got to get out of here."
"Yeah." But he nuzzled at her neck another moment in a gesture she found scary and sweet. Then he stepped back, blinked, and stared at her. His gaze skimmed down, up, then made the trip again. "God, you look great."
She knew it was ridiculous. Her bra was hanging off one shoulder by one strap. She still had one uniform sock and shoe on, with her trousers caught on the ankle. She wasn't sure where her panties were, but thought they'd probably been torn to pieces.
And the two dozen ab crunches she suffered through every day still hadn't flattened her belly.
Despite it, she felt the sly feminine thrill slide up her spine at the approval in his voice and the heat in his eyes. "You look okay, too."
He was thin, she could nearly count his ribs, and his stomach was flat as a board. Normally, that would have annoyed her. But just now, looking at him, seeing his long blond hair tousled, and the goosebumps starting to pop out on his skin from the chill in the elevator, she found herself grinning.
He grinned back. "I'm not done yet."
"Good. Neither am I."
• • •
Zeke raced down the stairs with Clarissa's suitcase tumbling after him. He burst into the parlor to see her sprawled on the floor, one hand holding her cheek. Through her splayed fingers an ugly red mark stood out against her skin.
B, Donald Branson stood over her, swaying, eyes glazed and furious.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" He snatched her coat from the floor, swung at her with it. "I didn't tell you to leave the house. You think you can sneak out while I'm away, you bitch?"
"Stay away from her." Though fury was bubbling in his gut, Zeke's voice was calm.
"Well, well." Branson turned, stumbled a little, and Zeke caught the stink of whiskey. "Isn't this cozy. The whore and the handyman." He shoved Zeke in the chest. "Get the hell out of my house."
