“But he’s a fool if he thinks a house of God will stop me.”
“Sir,” Richie spoke up from the driver’s seat, “your tracking device hasn’t beeped since I made the left.”
Grafton glanced at the gadget. Richie was right. “Go another half mile. If we haven’t any action on this thing, we’ll turn ’round and try the other road.”
Five minutes later, they were on the other road, winding their way up a small hill with trees crowding around the sedan. It was obvious the old boulevard was deserted and unused. The moonlight shone on the myriad cracks and potholes in its surface. Fallen limbs required Richie to do some creative driving. And the night insects seemed louder here, as if they’d traveled into another world where everything was dirtier, darker, wilder.
Grafton might have fallen victim to the creepiness of it all, but the steadily increasing beep, beep, beep of the receiver had his heart pounding with anticipation. This was it! They were closing in!
“Kill the headlights,” he told Richie as the trees looked to give way to a clearing up ahead. “I don’t want to alert that bastard to our presence.”
Richie switched off the high beams a second before they broke through the canopy of trees. He slowed the sedan to a crawl as the three of them took in the huge courtyard and car park. At the back of it all was a circular structure that sat like a huge gray crown in the moonlight.
“Stop.” The receiver’s steady beep-beep-beep told Grafton everything he needed to know. “They’re here. We’ve found them.”
Chapter 27
Sonya dreamed of Mark…
Not about anything that had actually happened. That’s not how her dreams of him worked. When she lay her head on the pillow at night, it seemed her subconscious liked to play out what their lives might have been like, what they might have done.
Had he lived.
In this dream she and Mark were married, living and working in Paris. It was a Sunday morning. Too early for the kids to be awake—yes, they had kids. Two, in fact. Two little girls who had his curly dark hair and big, brown eyes. Mark was behind her in their soft, comfy bed. He was warm and naked and aroused, prodding against her bottom and whispering dirty words in her ear as morning’s first tender light peeked through the filmy curtains, bathing them both in soft shades of pale pink and warm gold.
Even after all their years together, through the ups and the downs, the good and the bad, he could still light her fire with barely a touch.
“We have to hurry,” she whispered, then moaned when he plumped her breast, his callused thumb twanging her nipple into rigid attention. “The kids will be up soon, and they’ll be wanting your world-famous French toast and—”
She lost her train of thought when he pinched her nipple.
“That can wait until I give their mother my world-famous cock,” he rumbled naughtily, making her laugh.
“Careful, Husband. Your arrogance is showing again.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”
“Mmm,” she hummed when he slipped his hand down her belly to cup her. “I love it.” She wiggled against him, lifting her leg to give him better access, silently begging for more.
He gave it to her by touching the spot guaranteed to have her panting. When he found her wet, he chuckled. “Always so greedy.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t love it.” She gave his words back to him.
“I love it.” He parroted her, because apparently that was the game. Then he added, “I love you.”
“Always have to one-up me, don’t you?”
“And here I thought you liked two up you.” Before she could respond, he plunged two fingers deep into her body, hitting that patch of tender flesh inside her.
He was lazy in his morning need, content to arouse them both slowly, playing with her gently and deliberately. She reached back to fist him and grinned when he moaned in her ear, grinned wider when he pumped his hips in earnest while at the same time increasing the rhythm and pressure of his fingers.
Sonya came awake to the feel of her body on the precipice. Angel, behind her, had no idea she’d been dreaming, caught in the twilight between fantasy and reality. After all, she’d been fully participating.
Guilt tried to overwhelm her. She was a horrible person for being with him while dreaming of another. And yet, it was impossible to feel anything besides the pleasure he pressed on, into, her.
“I’m going to come if you keep that up,” she gasped, her body tightening and aching, loving the retreat of his fingers, but loving their advance even more.
