Allison Brennan - Carnal Sin

Did Rico fully comprehend what Moira had suffered? Or was she simply another tool in the battle against evil? Expendable, replaceable.

Not to Rafe. He could not let her be a martyr in this cause. In any cause. There had to be another way. He would find it.

He heard the shower running, and he rose from the bed and knocked on the door.

“Moira?”

She opened the door, still naked. “You knocked?”

“It would save time and water if we showered together,” Rafe said.

Moira wanted to turn Rafe away. Not because she didn’t want to be with him; on the contrary, she didn’t want to leave their bed. She’d wanted to stay at his side, on top of his body, under his body, anywhere near him to absorb his warmth, his strength, make love to him all day. The idea that she couldn’t get enough of Rafe Cooper overwhelmed her. This was wrong on so many levels. Neither of them would live a long life, for one. Rafe distracted her, and any distraction could be fatal. Not to mention, the only other man she’d loved, she’d killed.

She shivered, unable to think about Peter.

“Rafe, maybe-”

He kissed her, covering her mouth with his, and preventing her from saying whatever she’d been about to say. Since Peter, she’d avoided getting close to anyone, knowing it would end badly. In death. His or hers. Or both of theirs. Their lives were neither stable nor safe.

So perhaps because of that precariousness, shouldn’t they enjoy this moment in time? What if this was it, and today was all there was? What if she’d never again feel his urgent hands on her body, his passionate mouth exploring her lips, his arms embracing her so completely that she didn’t know where she ended and he began?

She gasped when he lifted her off the ground and carried her to the shower. She wrapped her legs around his waist as hot water coursed over them.

Last night was sensual and sweet; this morning was sexy and fast, up-against-the-wall passion. Rafe supported her with the weight of his body and his hands cradling her ass. She gasped as he entered her in one deep movement, then stood there. Their bodies were tense and hard, every nerve ending raw and excitable. Moira’s breath came in shallow moans as Rafe moved in and out, his mouth on hers, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his confident thrusts. Every sensation was heightened, the sound of water pounding over them, on the tile, swirling down the drain. The steam-filled bathroom sizzled with the electricity of their lovemaking. She felt weak and strong at the same time; she longed to peak yet she never wanted this rare, powerful feeling of being more than alive to ever end.

“Moira,” Rafe whispered. “Dear God, but I love you.”

Waves of his passionate emotions flooded her. She couldn’t respond, couldn’t think. They clung to the other as if drowning, and maybe they were, the steam suffocating them like an obsession, Moira’s burning need to give everything she had and take everything Rafe could give. It was so much more than she’d ever desired to share with another, and she had no choice but to give in as she tumbled over the edge of ecstasy. She could no more turn her back on Rafe than she could forget who and what she was.

If it was wrong, she would deal with the fallout. She’d always faced head-on the consequences of her actions. Today would be no different. And if there was a tomorrow …

Slowly, they came down off their sexual high. One minute or one hundred minutes could have passed and neither would have surprised Moira. Silently, Rafe set her on her feet, unwrapped the hotel soap, and washed her body. Tenderly, methodically. Her nerve endings raw from their near-violent union against the wall, the seductive massage relaxed her, comforted her, warmed her heart as the hot water soothed her skin.

Rafe kissed her almost reverently as he washed and rinsed her. He sat her on the edge of the tub and kneeled. She leaned against the edge of the wall and he brought her foot up and washed it, a symbol of what she meant to him. She almost panicked, not wanting anyone to love her, for it would surely end in disaster.

But looking into his blue eyes, her fears washed away, at least for this one perfect moment in time. She believed they would survive, that she could love again, that Rafe was the one for whom she was willing to risk her heart, her sanity, her life.

For the first time in seven years, she didn’t want to die.

“Moira-” Rafe began as he turned off the water.

“Shh.” She put her finger to his lips, then her lips to his mouth. “I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life.”

She stepped from the tub, and dried off.

“Who whipped you?” Rafe asked quietly.

She often forgot about the scars on her back, mostly because she couldn’t see them. But they had been hideous for years. Though fading with time, they’d never be completely gone.

“The first time I ran away my mother found me. I was sixteen, scared and stupid. She-” She cut herself off, shook her head. She left the bathroom and grabbed her only clean clothes from her backpack. She’d have to shop, find a laundry, or go home tonight.

“Moira,” Rafe said, then remained silent until she turned around.

He had on his jeans and nothing else, and he was the sexiest man on the planet. His dark hair was wet, curling at his neck, water dripping down his body. He hadn’t shaved, and looked dark and almost unapproachable.

She knew what he wanted and shook her head. “It was a long time ago.”

He met her eyes, wouldn’t let go.

Just thinking of it, she felt foolish and very afraid, even though Fiona hadn’t been able to find her for seven years, not until Moira walked into her territory. Moira didn’t want to remember the past, even as she lived with it every day.

“Your fear is going to get you killed.”

Rico had forced her to face her fears so she could survive whatever came her way. But the dungeon … she had never really overcome it. She’d pretended, for Rico. But deep down, she knew her survival was a miracle. It certainly had nothing to do with her.

“My mother locked me in a dungeon for a week. In Ireland, a castle. It was cold and moldy, and she sent in monsters to-” She stopped herself again.

Rafe stepped forward. “I will never let anyone hurt you like that. I would die first.”

She whispered, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He tilted her chin up. “I wish I could tell you don’t be afraid. I wish I could take your fears away. But I’m here for you, for us , and I’m not going away.”

Moira tried to push aside the hope that filled her, knowing that something was surely going to ruin this-some thing or some one . But she felt lighter, as if she might have a chance to survive this supernatural war.

Rafe took her into his arms and held her tight. Several minutes later, he said, “We should go to the police station before Detective Nelson busts down the door.”

“First-” Moira bit her lip. How did she ask this? After what they’d shared this morning? She blurted out, “Rafe, I need to know about your vision.”

“Vision?”

“At Wendy’s house. When we were downstairs. You had a vision-I know you did. You were out of it for a good minute. You have to trust me, Rafe. And I have to trust you. I want to. Just tell me the truth.”

He stepped back and stared at her. She prayed he wasn’t trying to come up with a lie. Then he said, “It wasn’t a vision.”

“Then what was it?”

“A memory. And not mine.” He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Remember when I told you about the memories I had about Father Tucci and Father Salazar? Anthony thought they had something to do with what Dr. Bertram was doing to me in the hospital while he kept me in the coma.”