Ignited Page 24

  But Cole's eyes met mine, and the passion I saw there gave me strength. I tried again, this time feeling the impact--and knew that I'd done it right from Cole's moan of deep, pure pleasure.

  It took me a few more strokes to find a rhythm, and my strokes were nowhere as accurate as Cole's, but I managed it anyway. And as I did--as I watched the flails sting his skin--I felt a raw power build inside me, one that seemed to match the intensity of his moans and the rising of his own passion.

  "Kat," he said after a while, his voice pulling me from the sensual trance I'd slipped into. I looked into the mirror, and his eyes met mine. And the demand I saw there stripped me raw, stealing the power and putting Cole back in charge, and that despite the fact that he was still strapped spread-eagled to the cross.

  "Get me down," he said, and I hurried to comply. As soon as he was free, he pulled me to him, then picked me up and carried me to the bed.

  "Do you have any idea how amazing that was?" he asked, his voice full of wonder.

  I nodded, unable to speak. Certain that tears would fall if I tried. Because it was amazing, and so was this--this closeness that I felt with him now. This new intimacy that couldn't be supplanted even by the way he held me, the way he spread me, the way he sank deep inside me.

  And then, when we shattered together and he gathered me close again in his arms, I let the tears fall freely, too overwhelmed to stop them.

  "Oh, baby," he said, stroking my hair and kissing my temple. "No, no, it's okay. You did beautifully. That was exceptional. It's okay," he added, then repeated it again and again as I tried to get the tears to stop long enough for me to speak.

  "No, no," I finally said. "I'm not upset. Truly. For someone who sees me so well, how can you not know that?" I drew in a ragged breath. "I'm the opposite of upset. I'm--I'm in awe. I'm overwhelmed. I'm still reeling from how close I feel to you right now."

  "Catalina." That was all he said before he kissed me, hard and possessive, drawing me in and holding me close. When he pulled away, there was a sharp intensity in his face that I didn't think I'd ever seen before and hoped that I would never forget.

  It warmed me and lifted me up--but it was his words that knocked the world out from under me.

  "I love you."

  I clung to him, my heart fluttering. "Cole." It was the only word I could manage.

  He stroked my hair and searched my face, then pressed kisses to my forehead. "Oh, baby," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

  "Sorry?" I heard the squeak of a question in my voice. "For saying you love me?"

  "For not saying it before. I thought you knew."

  "I did. I do." I closed my eyes and felt warm tears spill down my cheeks. "I just wasn't sure you'd ever say it."

  "I've said it every time I touched you," he said. "Every time I looked at you."

  "You did," I agreed. And then, happily, I added, "I love you, too. More than I can say. More even than I can imagine."

  He kissed me, slowly and gently. "Do you remember when I told you that sex can mess us up?" he asked, thoughtfully.

  I nodded.

  "It's true," he said, "but I should have qualified it. Random sex. Wrong sex. Unattached sex. All of that can get in your head and screw with you. But what we have--sex mixed with love--sweetheart, I think that's what makes us whole."

  twenty-three

  The orange glow of the late afternoon sun gave the space under the McGinley Pavilion in the Chicago Botanic Garden a sensual, magical quality, as if all of us gathered for Angie and Evan's wedding had been transported to a fairyland.

  The soft strains of the orchestra had filled the area for the last hour, but now the music had begun in earnest, a traditional march that propelled me and Sloane down the aisle to our designated spots opposite Tyler and Cole.

  I'd barely had time to glance sideways at Cole when the music changed yet again, this time into the wedding march. Immediately, guests stood and turned, looking back to where Angie had appeared in her stunning, hand-beaded wedding gown with the eight-foot train.

  She seemed to glide down the aisle on her father's arm, and there was no sound except for the processional. Even the insects in the gardens seemed to have hushed in deference to this woman who looked so radiant that she seemed lit from within.

  I watched, blinking back tears as her father gave her away to Evan, who looked ridiculously happy. As the minister began to perform the ceremony, I stood next to Sloane, my bouquet tight in my hand, and looked out over the sea of faces. Some were friends, but most were strangers, and I was reminded that even though Angie had fast become a focal point of my life, we both had years behind us that the other knew nothing about. Weirdly, the thought comforted me. There was so much still to learn about my friends. About Cole. Hell, even about myself.

  I glanced sideways to where Cole stood next to Tyler and Evan and found that he was looking at me, too. I was already weepy just from the fact that this was a wedding, but I saw so much tenderness in his face that I had to look away, afraid that the open emotion I saw in him would cause my tears to spill in earnest.

  I concentrated instead on Evan--on the expression on his face that managed to encompass love and joy and passion and every other uplifting emotion.

  I wanted that, too, I realized. I wanted to be in Angie's shoes, walking down the aisle to the man I loved.

  I wanted to see Cole looking at me that way.

  Weddings. I stifled a sigh and forced my thoughts back to the bride. On keeping my smile in place. On trying to remember what Angie's mom had asked me to do after the ceremony to help the staff set up for the reception.

  I filled my head with so many thoughts that the actual wedding went by in a hazy, romantic blur that didn't come into focus until I heard the familiar "you may kiss the bride" and saw Evan pull Angie greedily toward him.

  After that, it was a flurry of music, another march down the aisle, then congratulations and pictures and hugging and kissing.

  At one point Tyler grabbed a microphone and--after the squeal of feedback--he asked for everyone's attention. He started off congratulating Angie and Evan, talking about how they were always meant to be together, and generally delighting the crowd.

  "But enough about them," he said. "I have an announcement to make, and it seems to me that a wedding is the perfect venue." Beside him, Sloane was turning a little bit pink, which I found both baffling and amusing since she very rarely blushes.

  "Earlier today, I asked Sloane to be my wife and she did me the honor of saying yes. Thank you," he added in response to the burst of applause. "But I have to add that Evan is no longer the luckiest man here today. He has to share that title with me."

  "Why not?" someone called from the crowd. "You guys share everything. For that matter, where's Cole?" At which point all eyes turned to find me--not Cole--and I felt my cheeks turning even more red than Sloane's.

  Fortunately that's when the staff called everyone back into the pavilion, which now overflowed with food and wine and wonderful music from a band playing softly in the far corner.

  I hung back a bit, trying to find Cole, who'd gotten sucked away into the crowd when we'd all been herded outside. I couldn't find him, so I re-entered the pavilion, hoping to see him there. I didn't--not at first--but I did see Sloane. She was on the dance floor in Tyler's arms, and her face was alight, as if candles warmed her from within. She caught my eye, and her smile grew even broader. She lifted her hand, pointed toward the ring, and mouthed diamond district, then laughed like a child as her newly minted fiance twirled her into his arms and kissed her hard in the middle of the dance floor.

  And then the other dancers parted, and there he was. Cole. He was watching them as well, his expression both wistful and happy. He must have felt the weight of my gaze, because after a moment, he turned and his eyes immediately found mine. For a moment, there was no one else in the world but us. Then he smiled, and the spell was broken, but that was okay. I could handle the rest of the world just fine, becaus
e I had this man.

  He ignored the dancers and cut across the dance floor, taking the shortest route to my side. "Someday," he said. He took my hand and gazed at me with such longing it made me tremble. "Someday you will make a beautiful bride."

  My heart skipped a beat or two, but before I could think about his words--before I could process them, or even allow myself to wonder if he truly meant what I hoped he meant--he'd swept me onto the dance floor as well, and we were lost in the music and the crowd and the gaiety of the moment.

  Happy. Such a simple word, but it packed so much punch. That was how I felt with Cole.

  There were so many other emotions as well, of course. Desire, lust, need, discovery, hunger, tenderness. And on and on.

  But at the core, he made me happy, and the thought was so huge, so powerful, that it propelled me through the rest of the evening.

  I was still grinning foolishly hours later, after the cake had been eaten and the stretch limo had whisked Evan and Angie away to begin their fantasy honeymoon. I was standing there, hugging myself near the champagne fountain when Damien and Nikki came up to say goodbye.

  "I wish we could stay longer," Nikki said. "We'd love to spend more time with you and Cole, and I've barely seen any of Chicago. But maybe some other time."

  "We'd love it," I said sincerely.

  Damien gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I noticed the looks of awe and jealousy from some of the other female guests who'd been surreptitiously taking photos with their phones all evening. "You better be careful," I said wryly, "or that's going to end up on Facebook."

  "If there's gossip, it must be Tuesday," Nikki said, then tilted her head to indicate Damien. "He got used to it long ago. I'm finally getting to the point where it doesn't feel like I live in a fishbowl. Or, more accurately, I'm starting to feel like a fish who can ignore everything outside the bowl."

  I laughed, but I couldn't help but think that I had it lucky with Cole. Yes, he made the Chicago papers frequently, and yes, I'd undoubtedly be included in those pictures from now on, but his celebrity was limited to Chicago. Nikki and Damien were recognized all over the world, and god forbid they were caught up in any sort of scandal because then there was nowhere to hide.

  Frankly, I liked my side of the coin better.

  "Have you seen Cole?" Damien asked.

  "All evening, and usually right beside me," I said. "He pulled Tyler aside a few minutes ago. I think I saw them go down toward the water."

  As they left to finish their goodbyes, I searched out Mrs. Raine to get my post-wedding marching orders. A few minutes later, I caught a glimpse of Cole and Damien talking near the edge of the pavilion. Apparently Damien had more to say than goodbye, because Cole didn't look particularly happy.

  I was about to go ask what was going on--and if I needed to be concerned about my dad--when Mrs. Raine pulled me in to deal with the caterers and the florist. I hesitated, but I also knew that Cole wouldn't do anything to put my dad in danger--or to let him stay there if danger had found him.

  By the time I finished my post-wedding maid of honor duties, the crowd had thinned considerably, and I was ready to go, too. I still wanted to know what Damien and Cole had been talking about, but I could wait until we were in the car to ask.

  The only problem was that I couldn't find Cole.

  This wasn't a crisis at first--he's a grown man and there were still enough people lingering at the reception that he could easily have gotten pulled aside to talk with a friend. But after more than a half hour passed I started to get truly fidgety.

  "Not for at least an hour," Tyler said when I asked if he'd seen Cole.

  "He was talking with Damien, and neither one looked happy. Do you know if something happened?"

  "Not that I know of," Tyler said. "I know there was trouble in the gallery in LA a few days ago--some kids in Malibu throwing rocks through windows. Could be that."

  I frowned. Could be, but it didn't feel right. "At any rate, I've lost him. If you see him, tell him to track me down."

  "You've texted him?"

  I nodded. "But he probably forgot to turn his phone off silent."

  "Maybe he went to the catering office," Sloane suggested as Tyler left to go talk with someone he recognized. "Someone actually delivered documents to a wedding, so they were probably important."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You didn't see the messenger? About twenty minutes ago, I think. Maybe he needed to sign something and fax it back."

  I frowned, then went to find the woman on staff who was our assigned coordinator. She called back to the office, but was told that Cole wasn't there, and hadn't been there all day.

  "Well, he has to be around somewhere," Sloane said, but I was getting a bad feeling.

  "I'm going to go see if the Range Rover is here," I said.

  Sloane lifted a brow. "Don't be absurd. He wouldn't leave you without a ride."

  "I have a ride. You're here, aren't you?"

  She frowned, but didn't argue. She also didn't say anything else until we got to the parking lot and found the space where he'd parked the Range Rover empty.

  "Well," Sloane said. "That's fucked up."

  twenty-four

  The benefit of Sloane being a former cop and now working for the knights' investigative company was that she had access to the tracking system on Cole's Range Rover. Not only that, but the system was accessible through a web-based app, and Sloane kept her laptop, camera, and other tools of the trade in the trunk of her Lexus.

  "Force of habit," she said with a shrug as she fired up the computer and logged in. We were sitting in the car, and I was watching the screen, tapping my foot because it wasn't booting up quickly enough to soothe my nerves.

  When the program was finally up and running, I was just as frustrated. It was gibberish to me, at least until Sloane made a few adjustments and shifted the specs into map mode. She tapped her finger on a purple dot blinking on the screen. "South Side." She caught my eye. "Pretty deep in, too. And the vehicle's not moving."

  "Deep in," I repeated, looking at the lines that represented streets in neighborhoods I'd never seen, and wasn't sure I wanted to. "You mean gang areas?"

  "That's what I mean."

  I told myself not to freak, but I can't say that I was doing a very good job listening to myself. "Well, okay, then. That's where I'm going."

  "That's where we're going," Sloane said, and started the car.

  "Tyler?" I asked, and in response she tapped the button on her steering wheel to connect the speakerphone.

  His voicemail answered, and she glanced at me with a shrug. "He's mingling," she said. "And, no, he's not going to be happy about us going into gang territory without him. But I have years of homicide under my belt and a Glock in the glove box. Your call, though. If you want to wait, we wait."

  I shook my head. "As far as I'm concerned, we've already waited too long." I couldn't shake my growing fear that something had gone horribly wrong. I just couldn't understand what.

  "Then I'll deal with Tyler later." She shot me a grin as she floored it out of the parking lot. "If he's pissed, that just means I have great make-up sex to look forward to."

  "Since you put it that way," I said, then grabbed for my seat belt, figuring that would up my odds of surviving our quest to find Cole.

  Even with Sloane behind the wheel it took more than forty-five minutes to reach the Fuller Park intersection where we found Cole's Range Rover smashed into a newspaper machine that may or may not have already been battered in a crumpled metallic heap.

  "Shit." Sloane reached into the glove box for her gun, then tucked it into her small beaded bag. It didn't fit, and the grip extended from the flap of the bag.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  She shrugged in reply. "In this neighborhood, I'm not worried about having it concealed. Come on. Let's go take a look at the car. Maybe we'll get lucky and he's sleeping off a bender in the backseat."

  I didn't believe it, but it wa
s something to hope for, so I followed her out. Across the street, two heroin-thin guys called out from where they sat on the curb in front of a battered brick building that I think was a bar, though I wouldn't swear to it. Their words were slurred and they seemed less than interested in approaching us. Frankly, I considered that a good thing.

  There was a bench a few feet down from where the Rover had plowed into the newspaper machine, and I realized this was a bus stop. A burly guy in a filthy wifebeater with an arm covered in gang tats sat there, taking long sips from something concealed by a brown paper bag. He was turned toward us, but I couldn't see where he was looking because the black shades hid his eyes. Even so, I was certain that we were the object of his attention, and I kept a cautious eye on him while Sloane peered into Cole's vehicle.

  His head never moved, his position never shifted. But he smiled slowly, revealing a row of gold-capped teeth that glinted in the fading light of the setting sun.

  Honestly, I was glad for the gun.

  "Anything?" I asked, hoping Sloane heard my silent plea to hurry it up.

  "Not a thing," she said. She tried the door and found it unlocked. She tugged it open, peered in, and looked at me. "Whatever the messenger brought him, he either has it on him or he left it at the wedding."

  Our gold-toothed friend got up and sauntered toward us. "You need help, Goldilocks? What's the matter? One of the three bears stand you up for prom?"

  I made a face, scowling down at the formal dress I still wore. "Something like that," I admitted.

  "Kat." Sloane's voice held a note of warning, and I knew that she was reminding me that this guy might just as soon kill me as look at me.

  I straightened my shoulders and cocked my head, forcing myself to appear confident as I looked at him. "You offering to give us a hand?"

  "Depends. I'll tell you this much on the house--if you white bitches be looking for the motherfucker who trashed that nice set of wheels, you be looking in the wrong place."

  "You know where he is?" I asked.

  "I know where he ain't. He ain't around here no more, that's for damn sure. But the mo-fo did some serious damage to my block here before he kicked it into gear."