Part 11 (1/2)
Skye's inhibitions were down. When he saved her on the cliff, her emotions went from one extreme to the other. Despair to joy to relief to pa.s.sion. He didn't stop her. They made love, but it wasn't Skye. It was the drugs. Guilt and nausea swept over him. He knew something had been wrong, but he'd ignored his instincts. He accepted her offering like a dying man would water.
”Skye?”
”Just leave me alone.”
”You're still under the influence.”
”How do you know? Did you drug my coffee? You could have followed me home, drugged my coffee while I slept, then waited for me to hurt myself so you could ride to the rescue. So that I would trust you.” She spat out the word as if it were a curse.
”That's paranoia talking, Skye,” Anthony said calmly, taking a step toward her. ”That's the drug.”
”Bulls.h.i.+t. That's deductive reasoning.” She rubbed both temples with her fingers, a pained expression crossing her face.
”Come here.”
She stared at him, doubting. He stepped forward, took her wrists, lowered her hands, and led her to the couch.
Her living room was spa.r.s.e and functional, like the rest of the house. He sat on one end of the couch, pulled Skye down next to him.
”Close your eyes, Skye,” he said.
Skye felt so out of balance, but here, sitting with Anthony, she was regaining her footing. Her bottom lip trembled. Slowly, she closed her eyes.
His thumbs pressed her temples and his fingers grasped the back of her head. For a fleeting second she pictured Spock performing the mind meld, but as soon as Anthony started rubbing, his fingers moving in firm circles, all thought ceased and she relaxed for the first time since walking into the mission ma.s.sacre twenty-four hours ago.
The pain faded, from sharp and burning to dull and throbbing. She relaxed and sighed in relief.
”Turn around and put your head in my lap.”
His deep, European voice sounded far away, as smooth as b.u.t.ter, as exotic as a tropical rain forest.
She lay on her back, Anthony turning to a forty-five-degree angle on the couch to hold her head and shoulders comfortably. He continued to ma.s.sage her temples, moving down to her cheeks, behind her ears, and her body gave up all its tension from sleep deprivation and drugs.
”Do you really believe in everything out there?” Skye asked, keeping her eyes closed.
”You mean in demons?”
”Demons and Heaven and h.e.l.l and everything in between.”
”Yes.”
”Why?”
”I've seen the gates of h.e.l.l. I've felt the presence of evil. It's real. I can't conjure up a spirit to prove it to you, I can only tell you that you had a visitor, you smelled him, you sensed him, but you're only thinking with your head, not listening with your heart. You want a logical explanation, but there isn't one.”
He paused, and she opened her eyes. His eyes held hers, strong, deep, fathomless. She whispered, ”And?”
He leaned down, kissed her forehead. ”I'm asking you to trust me.”
Skye didn't know what to think anymore. Anthony was so ethereal and real at the same time. One minute she had everything sorted in her mind, knew exactly what she needed to do; the next, she wanted to place her entire faith in a man. In this man.
She'd never fully trusted anyone but herself. Even then, she doubted. Worried over her decisions. But always, she had her reasoning. It had gotten her this far in her life and career, how could she place her trust in someone else now? That would be like turning her back on herself, on the very thing that had kept her sane and whole during years of loneliness.
What would she have if she listened to Anthony? She'd be just like her mother, wanting to believe in fantasy because real life didn't satisfy her.
As if he could read her mind, he said, ”You can't live in the past. Your mother hurt you, and then she died and you couldn't tell her how much she hurt you. It's easier to be angry with her and G.o.d than it is to acknowledge you miss her, that she killed your trust.”
She closed her eyes, trying to trap the tears that came, but they slid out the corners. Anthony brushed them away with his thumbs.
”It's the drugs,” she said, not wanting to admit that after twenty years she still ached for her mother.
”It's your heart, and it's okay.”
His lips touched hers so lightly, so tenderly. Her heart skipped a beat. This quiet intimacy, the emotion, was difficult for Skye. She choked back a sob.
Anthony pulled her into his lap and held her, rubbing her back, his chin on her head. She could stay here in his arms forever.
”My mother abandoned me,” Anthony finally said. ”And while I knew it was for a higher purpose-that I had a calling-there were times, especially at night, especially when I was young, when I cursed G.o.d for giving me this life. For forcing my mother to sacrifice me. But in the end, it had been her choice.”
”You never had a real family,” Skye said, feeling a kins.h.i.+p with Anthony she didn't expect to have.
”We were a family, but I missed-we all missed-having a mother. Skye, I know how betrayed and hurt you feel. But you are strong, beautiful, smart. It's your mother who lost out on knowing what an incredible woman you have become.”
She tilted her face to Anthony and said, ”You're a miracle worker. My headache is gone.” She spontaneously kissed him, then turned away. Almost embarra.s.sed. But this felt-right.
”I need to talk to Rod about the fire, follow up with my detective about the housekeeper-”
”Let me drive you. Just until we know the drug is out of your system.”
She felt herself-more herself now than she had for a long time-but she nodded.
Her cell phone rang, and she jumped up, popped the phone from its charger, and said, ”Sheriff McPherson.”
”Skye, it's Rod Fielding.”
She glanced at her watch. ”I thought we weren't meeting for another hour.”
”After you called about the fire, I came back to the morgue. I've had a guard posted outside all night.”
”You think someone is going to come after the bodies?”
”Possibly. But now I have a larger concern.”