Deadly Fall Page 17

  “So you both have art in your backgrounds.”

  Her tone was wry. “As well as family who strongly encouraged us to pursue different professions. That’s why I teach and Adam’s a lawyer. His family was disappointed he didn’t get an MBA from Wharton and join the family business, but they’re now holding out for a district judge and their Aunt Phyllis thinks ‘Senator Langan’ has a rather nice ring to it.”

  “You’re not too fond of the extended Langan family.”

  “Adam hates the law. The happiest I’ve ever seen him was when he had a sketch pad and a pencil in his hands. However, he had all those familial expectations to meet. It’s all nice and fine and expected for Langans to admire art and buy it, but to have someone in the family be an artist… That’s an entirely different story.”

  “And, obviously, you had your family and their own expectations.”

  “Her, singular. It was just my mother. She was obsessed with money and social standing, but she’d learned long ago I wouldn’t live my life to please her.” She paused. “Had she been alive, the day I married Drew would’ve been the happiest day of her life. A son-in-law with a last name dating back to the Civil War and a house in the Hamptons.” Suddenly, she pushed herself up a bit and rolled onto her back to lie on his right side. “I couldn’t breathe.”

  “So you met Adam Langan in Central Park, discovered you were fellow artists, and the rest is history.”

  “In a nutshell. Adam and I understand each other.”

  “But not so much anymore.”

  Augusta rolled onto her side, facing away from Nick.

  “Augusta?”

  He reached for her, fingers brushing her should, and she flinched. He drew back. “I’m okay.” She took one more shuddering breath.

  “When will Drew’s body be released?” she asked. “I need to start making funeral arrangements.”

  “I’ll contact the medical examiner and ask her tomorrow.” He paused and braced himself. “Tell me about Andrew Langan.”

  August considered not answering him. But she could only take so much cowardice in herself.

  “He was at Harvard when Adam and I first met. I didn’t meet Drew until two years later, when Adam talked me into attending his parents’ annual Christmas party in the Hamptons.” Her lips compressed into a bitter line as she recalled perfectly the poorly concealed relief on the elder Langans’ faces when Adam made the introductions, stressing the fact that they were only close friends.

  “Drew was home for the holidays.” Augusta had taken one look at the twenty-one-year-old who was too good-looking for his own good, with his tall frame and dark auburn hair. She had pegged him as a shallow playboy in the making and dismissed him. Had it not been for her eminently realistic—if not pessimistic—nature, her seventeen-year-old heart would’ve tripped in her chest when he had directed that amused, dark green gaze in her direction. And when he flashed that grin…well, she had been young, but not that impressionable.

  “Love at first sight?”

  Nick’s question brought her back to the present, then she laughed. “Far from it. He and Jana were still dating off and on at that point. And I had him stereotyped as the typical rich kid with too much money and too much time on his hands. Jana had nothing but my pity.”

  “What made you change your opinion of Langan?”

  During her second year at NYU, she had discovered another escape from reality. That her mother had hated the parties and the late nights—if Augusta had bothered to come home at all—was a bonus in Augusta’s book. And if Francesca Sutherland Kincaid objected to the daughter she had sacrificed so much for, as she made sure to bring up on a regular basis, was on the birth control pill, Augusta was more than happy to point out she was not about to repeat her mother’s mistake.

  “Adam and I were at some party on Long Island. We argued, and it was bad enough that he took off and left me stranded there.” He had disapproved of her allowing the latest star of the swim team to add her name to his list of conquests. Out on the terrace, no less. She, however, saw it as adding his name to her list of conquests. After that blithe comment came out of her mouth, Augusta had immediately wished she was one of those people who think before they speak. She had never seen Adam so angry before or ever since, until this night. But how could she have explained to Adam then that every time she let another guy use her body, it made the memory of her assault a little dimmer?

  “Lucky for me, Adam was in the mood to vent when he got home and Drew was there to listen, so he took Adam’s head off before rushing to my rescue. Now you can say the rest is history.”

  Of all the notches on her bedpost, Drew had been the first to counter her demand for darkness. He had been the first to demand that she keep her eyes open. He had been the first to demand that she say his name. Augusta fisted her hands in the sheets. She had loved him, but not enough and not the way he needed her to love him.

  Then the man beside her turned onto his side, beckoning her back to the present. Nick propped himself on his elbow and slid a heavily muscled, hairy leg over both her thighs. Augusta shifted onto her back, looked up, met glittering blue eyes, and all thoughts of any other man but the one looming over her dissipated.

  “Then he betrayed you.” The words were low and fierce, making some little devil in her heart thrill. “Remember that.” His leg shifted, his knee wedging between hers. “I’ll never do that to you.”

  Nick moved on top of her until he was pressing her heavily into the mattress, nestled between her thighs. He nudged her sex with his erection and her breath escaped in a hiss. She pushed ineffectually at his shoulders with the heels of her hands.

  “Nick, I really can’t.” The protest was so soft, had his head not been inches from hers, he wouldn’t have heard it. “I’m too sore.”

  He didn’t move away. Instead, he hooked a hand under her left knee and pulled it up until her thigh was almost flush against her side, leaving her wide open. “I’ll be gentle.” Despite her own protests, Augusta wrapped that leg high on his back. “I’ll go nice and slow, babe.”

  He nudged her opening, pushed the head of his cock inside her. Even though she was still damp from her previous orgasms, Augusta winced. Nick, however, kept true to his word. He pushed inside her nice and slow, allowing her passage to adjust as he went deeper and deeper inside her, the friction torturous. Augusta bit down on her lower lip and tried to relax to ease his way, but the occasional whimper still escaped her. He was so damned big. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. He even made pain feel good.

  Augusta lost all concept of time, not sure if it was seconds, minutes or hours later that he was finally inside her to the hilt.

  “Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

  She complied, not even aware that she had them closed—and immediately wished she hadn’t. His eyes were blazingly blue and bored into hers. His breathing harsh, he held himself rigid above her, muscles straining and skin gleaming with sweat. He began withdrawing from her, nice and slow, as he’d promised. And Augusta whimpered again, but it was from desperation this time. She desperately needed the feel of him moving in and out of her. She desperately needed him deeper, faster, harder. She desperately needed the release she hadn’t thought was possible.

  She lifted her hips, but he stopped her by flattening a hard hand on her navel. “Don’t move.” He captured her hands, lacing his fingers with hers, and pinned them above her head. “I said nice and slow.”

  Nice and slow. She was beginning to hate those words with an astounding passion. While Nick moved nice and slow between her thighs, she held herself as still as possible until she thought she would scream. She wanted to touch him and she couldn’t. She wanted him to move hard and fast and he wouldn’t. She wanted to hold him inside her and she couldn’t. She lifted her other leg and locked her ankles together, but he still kept up that nice and slow rhythm. She tightened her vaginal muscles each and every time he went inside her as deep as he could go. He groaned each and every time, but he wit
hdrew anyway. Slowly.

  And with his eyes boring into hers, it was painfully intimate, as if he could see deep down into her, past the carefully erected barriers.

  “I can’t…take…this.” She pushed against the hands pinning hers down, but her strength was no match for his.

  “Yes, you can.” He squeezed her hands hard.

  “Say my name.” The low, harsh words brushed the outer rim of her ear.

  Augusta bit down on her lip.

  “Say my name,” he demanded again hoarsely.

  His name came out as a groan.

  “Again.”

  “Nick…”

  “Again.”

  “Nick…Nick…Nick…” She panted him name over and over until her inner muscles spasmed and his name was almost a scream. She was mindless, barely aware of the male body that went stiff above her, then shuddered uncontrollably.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nick knew she was no longer in bed with him before he came fully conscious. Still, he reached over with one arm to search for her, hoping his instincts were wrong. They weren’t. Her side of the bed, however, was still warm and her pillow still retained a slight indentation of her head.

  He rolled onto his front, burying his face in her pillow. He inhaled. God, her scent was enough to harden his morning semi-erection into full-fledged arousal.

  If she knew the full extent of her effect on him, she’d probably run rings around him like she did Langan.

  “You moved,” came the slightly annoyed voice from the foot of the bed.

  Nick sat up and leaned back against the simple headboard, the sheets sliding down his chest to pool precariously above his hips. He could just make out the room in the pale, watery morning sun. Augusta, dressed in only his T-shirt and hair arranged in a messy knot, was seated cross-legged in her vanity chair, facing him. She was making quick strokes with a pencil on a thick pad of paper on her lap.

  “Good morning,” he said, his voice still raspy with sleep. “Come back to bed.”

  “I want to finish this sketch.”

  “Are you drawing me?”

  She nodded, not taking her eyes off her sketchpad. “I want to do some preliminary sketches for a painting. I think I’ll do you in oils.” She looked up, dark eyes studying him intently. “Watercolors won’t cut it for you.”

  “Do I have any say in this?”

  “Artistic license.” She hesitated a moment, pencil still. Then, “This will probably go to the back of all my paintings.”

  Perversely, Nick scowled. “Why?”

  “I don’t do people.” She dropped her gaze back to what she had drawn, pencil still motionless. “It’s hard to…capture them, get beneath the surface.”

  A corner of his mouth kicked up. “But you can see the real me?”

  “You were asleep.” The pencil started moving again. “And I couldn’t resist the urge.”

  “Is this going to be your life now? Painting?”

  “Yes. I don’t have much of a choice anymore. Teaching’s no longer an option, not with all the media attention I’m getting. And I’m practical enough to know that my notoriety will be free publicity for my work, if I can get a gallery to display them.”

  “I’ve seen your work. Any gallery with taste would’ve displayed them before all this.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps. I’m almost done here. Give me another couple of minutes, then you can get out of bed and start your day.”

  His voice husky, he said, “I was hoping you’d join me in bed after you were done and help me start the day right.”

  Her head snapped back up and she stared at him. Her kiss-swollen lips parted as her eyes darkened. The flush started from what he could see of her chest, traveled up her neck and spread up and across her cheeks. She was very healthy for his ego right now.

  “I didn’t know women blushed anymore,” he murmured.

  “I haven’t blushed since adolescence.”

  “You’re blushing now. After last night, how can you still blush like that?”

  Without even thinking, she retorted, “It’s because of last night that I’m blushing like this.” She turned her head slightly to one side and closed her eyes. Her blush deepened. “I did not just say that.”

  “Come here and I’ll give you more to blush about.”

  She stood up and put the sketchpad and pencil on her vanity table. “I’m taking a shower.”

  He whipped the sheet back. “I’ll join you. We’ll save water that way.”

  * * * * *

  They didn’t save any water. If anything, they used up even more for their shower took three times as long as Augusta usually spent in the shower. Then again, they did a lot more together than she usually did alone.

  She nearly hummed as she sat at her vanity in her terry cloth robe and swept the mascara wand through her lashes. For the first time since she’d moved into the brownstone, the rich, dark aroma of coffee wafted throughout the house. This morning she saw a side of Nick Markov she hadn’t seen since…well, since ever. No, there had been that day she’d spent at his condo. He’d been laid-back, making her forget about everything but him. That time, however, seemed like a lifetime ago. Augusta blinked at her reflection in her vanity mirror. Actually, that had only been two days ago. So much had happened since then that it only felt like a lifetime.

  And her smile died as all the events of the last two days, of the last week, flooded her mind.

  “Reality make a comeback?”

  She didn’t turn around; she simply looked up at the reflection in the mirror. He was showered, shaven, fully dressed and looking good enough that embarrassing flutters weakened her stomach muscles. “Yes. What’s going to happen?”

  “I’m going to see the ME today and ask when she can release Langan’s body to you.” He moved up behind her and settled his hands on her shoulders. “Are you sure you’re up to making the funeral arrangements?”

  “I have to. I’m his widow.” Nick’s fingers flexed, but Augusta pretended to take no notice. “And whatever else may have happened in our marriage, Drew and I were still close. However, I’m going to see Adam today and consult with him about the arrangements. There might be some Langan tradition I’m not aware of.”

  “Adam Langan might still be at the hospital.”

  “I’ll drop by there first then.”

  “I’m going to have a patrol car follow you.”

  “Nick—”

  “Don’t argue,” he interrupted fiercely. He stepped around to the side of the chair, turned her at the same time and bent down so they were face to face. “You know what happened to Jana Westenberg last night. I am not going to let that happen to you.”

  All her arguments died an instant death, her expression changing from stubborn to sober in an instant. “I wish I could forget.”

  Nick’s fingers dug into her shoulders for a moment. “Augusta.”

  She looked up at him blankly for a second before mentally shaking herself.

  “Promise me you won’t go anywhere by yourself and make sure the uniforms can see you at all times.” His eyes stared intently into hers, as if willing her to comply. “Promise me. Or I’m going to throw you into protective custody.”

  “I don’t think your superiors would be willing to put their best suspect into protective custody.”

  A low sound suspiciously like a growl came from his throat.

  She turned away from his gaze but nodded. “Yes, I promise.”

  “Do you have a cell phone?”

  “No. I can’t stand the contraptions. Disruptive as hell during a lecture.”

  “Well, get over it and think about getting one.”

  “I—” she started, then seemed to think better of her objection. “All right. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “Today.”

  She frowned at him.

  “Today,” he repeated.

  “Today,” she agreed reluctantly, her tone borderline petulant. She lifted the hand still holding the temporarily f
orgotten mascara wand. “May I finish putting on my makeup now?”

  He dropped his hands and stepped back. “Call me if you need me. If you can’t remember my number, have the uniforms contact me.”