Night Fires

‘James,’ her voice was thin, ‘what’s wrong with you? Why are you acting this way?’

‘I’m even living in your house.’ His mouth twisted. ”What kind of damn fool thing was that to do, huh? Inviting a man home when you don’t even know him.’

Gabrielle drew a shallow breath. ‘Stop it,’ she whispered. ‘You’re scaring me! ’

‘It’s a little late to be scared, don’t you think? The time for that was before you asked a stranger into your home.’

The moon escaped its clouded prison. In the sudden pale light, she saw the terrible purpose in his face.

Don’t panic, she told herself, even though her heart was hammering, don’t panic. This is James, this is the man who kissed you and held you, the man who saved your life.

‘You aren’t a stranger,’ she said, her eyes meeting his. ‘Not anymore.’

Her words had been meant to calm him. Instead, they

seemed to enrage him. He cursed sharply, then pulled her tightly against him, holding her so that she felt the steel of his hard body.

‘Of course I’m a stranger,’ he snarled. ‘Dammit, woman, are you a fool?’

Tears rose in her eyes. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Why didn’t you ask me any questions the morning we met? Where I was from. Who I was. Why didn’t you ask?’

‘I don’t know. It didn’t seem important.’

‘All you asked was what I’d been doing in the alley and how I knew the name of your shop. I gave you some idiotic answers, and you bought them.’

The terror she’d fought to suppress burst free, beating dark wings within her breast.

‘Who are you?’ she whispered.

James imprisoned her head in his hands, his fingers tangling in her hair. His eyes swept over her face, lingering on her parted lips.

‘I tried,’ he said. ‘God, I tried. I thought we could play it your way. I told myself we could bury the past and pretend it never happened.’ He moved closer to her, until his face was all she could see. ‘Hell, I should have known it wouldn’t work.’

‘James, I swear, if you don’t let me go..

He laughed. ‘What will you do?’ His voice was cold. ‘Scream? Go on, give it your best. No one will hear you.’

Gabrielle stared into his eyes. The pale chips of icy blue chilled her soul. Suddenly she slammed her hands against his chest. He did nothing to stop her, and she beat at him until finally she slumped against him, sobbing and exhausted.

‘I hate you, James Forrester,’ she panted. ‘I hate you!

She cried out as he pulled her to him.

‘No, you don’t,’ he said through his teeth, ‘you damn well don’t.’

His mouth fell on hers, and he lifted her to her toes so that her body was pressed fully against his. His teeth nipped sharply into the soft flesh of her bottom lip. She gasped, and instantly he thrust his tongue into her mouth, filling her with the taste and heat of him.

He moaned her name against her mouth, then pressed his lips to the long curve of her throat.

‘Don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

She was trembling in his arms. A heat was rising within her, moving like wildfire through her blood, turning her limbs to jelly. James’s kisses were warm against her skin; her head fell back and her hands slid under his sweater and up his chest, her palms flattening against his skin, her pulse racing, racing…

‘Gabrielle.’

The urgency in his voice brought her back.Her lashes lifted slowly and she looked into his eyes. They were smoky, clouded with desire.

‘I know who you are,’ he said softly.

Her heart skittered wildly against her ribs. ‘What do you mean?’

He smiled, and she knew that the memory of the terrible sadness of that smile would last her the remainder of her life.

He watched her face, watched the passion leave her eyes, watched first dismay and then fear move over her features, and he made a sound that was half-laugh, halfgroan.

‘You’re Gabrielle Chiari.’

The world seemed to stop spinning. The moon hung still against a painted sky, and Gabrielle’s breath caught in her throat.

‘What do you want with me?’

James’s lips drew back from his teeth. ‘You fool,’ he whispered. ‘Nobody walks away from Tony Vitale.’

CHAPTER NINE

There were certain universal truths that had no basis in reality but were valid all the same.

Some were grounded in superstition: if you closed your eyes, whatever frightened you would disappear.

Others were more sophisticated: if you travelled to some new place, it took far less time to return home than it did to get there.

Gabrielle knew both beliefs were childish. Still, on this muggy night in the Louisiana Delta, they were both applicable.

No matter how tightly she closed her eyes, each time she opened them James was still seated beside her in the dark, leather-scented interior of the Corvette, his face set in stone. And the miles were ticking away with impossible rapidity. James had abandoned the country lanes for the highway, and they were hurtling through the night, passing slower-moving cars with an abandon that left her breathless.

Not that it mattered. If she had to die, better in a twisted mass of metal than… than…

Gabrielle choked back a sob. No. No matter what James had said, no matter how it had sounded, he hadn’t meant—he couldn’t have meant…

Nobody walks away from Tony Vitale.

The words were so melodramatic they were almost laughable. But James hadn’t laughed when he’d said them: his eyes had been the colour of winter ice, the lines of his mouth and jaw like granite.

What had she said to him? ‘Are you crazy?’ It had to have been something like that, because she could still remember his answer.

‘Yes,’ he’d whispered, ‘that’s exactly what I am.’ And then, before she could say anything else, he’d caught her by the arm and started forcing her into the car. She’d screamed then, her voice rising eerily into the muggy night. James had pulled her to him and put his mouth to her ear. *

‘Don’t.’ The ominously whispered word, coupled with the twisting pressure of his hand on her wrist, had silenced her. She’d stood, trembling in his embrace, and finally he’d drawn away just enough so he could look into her face. ‘If you do as I say, it will be easier.’

His eyes had swept over her and he’d smiled, and for that brief moment she’d seen the man she knew.

‘James.’ Her whisper had been thin as air. ‘James, please, please tell me…’

He’d smiled again, sadly this time, and gently stroked back the dark hair that had fallen over her cheek.

‘I will, I’ll tell you everything. But not here. Now, get into the car.’

And she had. There was nothing else she could do: the night was dark, the setting desolate, and, despite his injured knee, James was far stronger than she.

It made no sense. If James was supposed to kill her, he could have done it a dozen times over.

Unless…

She remembered how she’d trembled in his arms a little while ago, even after he’d said things that had terrified her, how her mouth had sought his despite the fear racing thr

ough her blood.

Were they both victims of some twisted passion that had nothing to do with love? Was that what had kept James from doing his job, was he taking her back to the carriage house so he could first take her body and then her life?

They reached the house and James pulled to the kerb. The car filled with silence as he switched off the engine. The street was surprisingly quiet for such a festive night, and it was ominously dark; with lengthened shadows from the distant street-light stretching ahead.

She felt a strange sense of displacement, as if she were here in mind but not in spirit, the same way she’d felt the night her father had died. The sound of music and laughter drifted to her faintly on the humid air, adding to the feeling that she had somehow become separated from the rest of the world.

James stirred beside her. ‘When I open your door, I want you to get out of the car quickly. Do you understand.’

Gabrielle swallowed. Her mouth was dry; her tongue felt thick and it seemed to take great effort to answer him.

‘James. James, whatever you’re going to do— whatever you think you must do…’

But he wasn’t listening. He stepped from the Corvette, the door closing softly after him. She watched as he stood still for a moment, looking first at the street and then at the night-draped courtyard, and she thought of a wild animal returning to its lair, checking it for intruders before entering. Her eyes followed his, trying to see the scene as he must, and suddenly the familiar street became frightening.

What was he watching for? The police? But they had no knowledge of Gabrielle Chiari and Tony Vitale. This was New Orleans, not New York.

Her door opened. James held his hand out to her.

‘Let’s go,’ he said softly.

Like a woman in a dream, Gabrielle put her hand in his and stepped from the car. James slipped his arm Ground her; she felt the firm pressure of his hand against her hip, the solid press of his body at hip and thigh.

‘Stay close to me,’ he murmured.

As if she had a choice, she thought. His arm was a band of steel curved around her, moulding her against him.

‘James.’ Her voice was low-pitched. ‘James, please, if only you’d listen.’