Waking the Dead. Heather Graham

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter Four

      FINALLY, THEIR GUESTS were gone for the night, each one in a pensive and expectant mood, dreading what the future would hold.

      Danni went up to her room first. Quinn—being Quinn—had taken Wolf and gone through the house, assuring himself that the place was securely locked. Since Royal Street was just a block from Bourbon, the faint sounds of music and laughter continued.

      The murders had been on the news all day. But visitors to the city—revelers on the streets—probably believed they were a strictly local phenomenon. Still, most people would be more careful that night; when they met in the city’s bars or clubs they’d talk about what had happened not far from the French Quarter.

      But while they’d react with horror and sympathy, they would tell themselves that it didn’t affect them.

      Danni usually turned on the television in the evenings. That night, she didn’t. She already knew what she’d see on the news.

      Quinn came upstairs, quietly opening the door, and just as quietly closing it behind him.

      “You asleep?” he asked her.

      “Seriously?” she replied.

      “I’d rather hoped not,” he said.

      “Wolf’s been relegated to the hall?”

      “He doesn’t seem to mind. He lets me be the alpha dog.”

      “And I thought I was the alpha dog,” Danni said.

      He stood in the doorway. “I was thinking—” he began.

      “No thinking tonight!” It had been too long. She rose naked from the bed and walked over to him, met his hungry, urgent kiss with her own as she tugged at his shirt.

      He kissed her while removing his jacket, shoulder holster and gun, allowing her to play with the buttons on his shirt.

      Then he grew impatient and unfastened them himself.

      Danni wondered how she’d ever had the strength to let him go. In his arms she immediately felt the inferno between them. His clothing was strewn about the floor and since she hadn’t bothered with any...

      They fell together on her bed. He laughed, rising above her, and then his lips found hers again and they kissed, tongues delving, lips locking and breaking apart so they could gasp for breath, then joining again. She grasped his shoulders, the muscles moving sleekly beneath her touch. He was back; he was with her. It was real, the sheets beneath her were real, the moonlight filtering through the drapes was real. And the force of his body against hers was both solid and dreamlike. For long seconds she was content to feel his flesh, to stroke his shoulders and down his back. But she felt his kiss moving against her, felt his lips on her throat, teasing her collarbones. His hands curved around and caressed her breasts and then his tongue and lips bathed her where his hands had been. She thought she might crawl out of her skin, she was so desperate to be part of him.

      He was a tender lover, a careful lover, always wanting to arouse as he was aroused. But she felt the hardness of his erection so swiftly that night, felt him slide into her, and she wanted him so badly, she shared his impatience, entwining her limbs around his, moving with him, arching closer. She felt the frantic rhythm of her heart and his. The music from Bourbon Street seemed to fade away, and even the moon seemed to pale. All that remained was the feel of each other, their desperate, urgent need to be together again.

      She СКАЧАТЬ