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Kathryn's eyes widened. "You killed him?"
"I destroyed him, aye. He went down hard, turned transparent as glass, and disappeared."
She gave a long, shuddering sigh and went back into his arms.
"We're free of him, then," she whispered.
Were they? Matthew wasn't so sure. It didn't seem reasonable that you could kill a man twice, especially if he wasn't a man at all but a specter when you killed him the second time.
But he wasn't about to say any of that to Kathryn. Why frighten her when there was no need? He was certain—as certain as he could be, at any rate—that even if Waring were going to return, it would take time for him to gather enough strength to make it happen. By then, Kathryn would be safely back in New York. She would be gone from Charon's Crossing, gone from being a part of this twisted unholy world of his.
He thought of everything that had happened, not just now but in the past, the mistakes he would pay for through the eternity that stretched ahead of him, that Kathryn w
ould pay for, as well, despite her innocence in this nightmare. Pain, despair, anguish... a hundred different emotions closed around his heart and he knew that there was only one thing that could drive them all away.
"Kathryn," he said in a rasping whisper.
She fell back against the wall under his weight, her hands already tearing at his trousers as his tore at her clothing. He knew he was being rough, that he might be hurting her, but he couldn't have stopped what he was doing if the sun had taken that moment to fall from the sky.
And she wouldn't have let him. She was as wild as he, sobbing his name, fisting her hands in his hair, sinking her sharp white teeth into the soft flesh of his lip.
"Now," she said, "now..."
He lifted her and drove into her hard and fast, impaling her on his swollen sex. She was hot and wet and she cried out and convulsed around him almost immediately.
"Kathryn," he said brokenly, "Kathryn, my love..."
She kissed him, her black hair hanging like a silken curtain about both their faces, her legs wrapped tight around his hips, and Matthew clenched his teeth, threw back his head and exploded like white-hot lightning into the sweet, satin warmth of the woman he loved.
Chapter 18
Kathryn sat cross-legged in the center of the four-poster bed, watching Matthew as he tried on the clothing she'd bought him.
She'd guessed right about the sizes. The shorts and jeans fit him perfectly, as did the T-shirts. Right now, he was wearing only a pair of sandals and the Levi's, and doing things for them she was certain no other man could. They rode low on his hips, showing off his flat, hard-muscled belly, hinting at the power of his sex that lay cupped within the soft denim.
"The jeans look great," she said happily. "Here. Try on this last shirt."
She snatched up the shirt she'd been saving and tossed it to him. He caught it, held it out, and looked at her as if she'd gone crazy.
"Good God," he breathed, "what were you thinking?"
She looked at the shirt, then at him. "Don't you like it?"
"Like it?" he said. "Like it? Kathryn, love, a gift's a lovely thing, but this must have cost you a fortune!"
Kathryn gave a little laugh, uncrossed her legs and scooted to the edge of the bed. "Actually, it was the least expensive of the lot. Come on, let me see you in it."
Matthew held the shirt at arm's length. "You expect me to wear a work of art?"
Was he joking? She looked at the shirt. She'd bought it on impulse at the open market where she'd stopped to buy fruit and vegetables on her way out of town. The shirt had been hanging in one of the stalls and she'd thought of Matthew the instant she saw it because of the sailing ship splashed across the chest.
Now, she looked at it through his eyes. She had no idea if the ship was drawn accurately but it certainly looked pretty good, all silver and black and heeled over hard on a sea of bright blue waves, white sails flying in what she supposed was a stiff breeze.
To her, it was a mass-produced, silk-screened Fruit of the Loom T-shirt. To him, it was priceless. How could she not have realized that something so commonplace would seem a miracle to him?
"I cannot possibly accept this, Kathryn."
"Believe me, you can."
