into the land
of wild imaginings. Scrubbing the arm
crimson that Sullivan touched with a strong demanding grip did nothing to
eradicate the heat tattooed there. Worse
yet, without warning, in Technicolor, bigger than life, he stood in front of
her, naked, crowding her in the three by three quarters. Even with eyelids closed, she felt his
penetrating brilliant blue eyes; her keen sense of smell identified her soaps'
fragrance as the same brand he used.
In just a short
time, like a fever, Sullivan had entered and drained her, creating shivers of
alarm that forced her mind to careen from one glorious terrain of his
magnificent body to another. She never
allowed a man to catapult her on such an erotic journey, one so realistic, she
dewed with want merely from remembering every microscopic inch of a complete
stranger. A blatant lie, a photograph
carried the virus. Shawn Patrick
Sullivan came from the same mold as her father and brothers, his bone
structure, muscle tone, and demeanor. Handsome, he had more than his rightful share.
Lord Almighty,
why Sullivan? Great timing, Cassidy
sputtered inwardly. The next thing she
knew, he'd be in her bed. God help her,
she'd been brain washed by Satan himself.
Quickly plucking
and tugging a towel around her, she hoped the thick terry cloth would absorb
the chilling effect of the asinine imaginings ice-skating over her skin. Facing the mist-filmed mirror briskly
brushing her hair, she cursed each lick of the bristles for doing nothing to
erase memories of Sullivan.
Wallowing in
anger, a sudden draft reaching her core stopped her cold. Gazing into the mirror, her eyelids batting
wildly struggled to penetrate the fog preventing identification of a
suffocating presence. There was an
unmistakable breath floating across her shoulders, bringing with it tremendous
warmth threatening to melt the ice burg within into liquid desire. Someone was behind her.
Bravery subdued
fear beginning to rise to the occasion. The quaking taking place, far beyond fear, had no definition for it
sprang from the fragrance engulfing her senses burning to ashes the questions
struggling to the surface. How did he
find her? How did he get in? What did he want?
Though Ben's
presence down the hall screeched across Cassidy’s mind, she knew, reaching the
pager was futile, and screaming useless. By now, Ben’s metamorphoses would have consumed him. Right this minute
with odds of survival monumentally stacked against her there was only one
person she could depend upon, herself.
Even when a patch
cleared unveiling the predatory gaze, features made more magnificent by steely
determination, panic did not surface. Unbelievably all she noticed was that his hat was missing and she became
lost in the depths of her subconscious wondering how running her fingers
through the thick waves might feel.
A disturbing
breath awakening the nerve endings of her ear lobe shuffled the brief
reflection aside. Though but a whisper
the voice piercing the silence, riding it, finding its way beneath her feet
levitated them off the floor if only for a second.
“Amazing, quite amazing, you don't
frighten easily, do you?”
On the wave of
each word, a trace of awe Cassidy found exhilarating. Aware murderers thrived on the game of cat
and mouse using fear as the primary rule, she imagined how Sullivan would gloat
if allowed success. Now she wondered,
did he rape then kill or vice versa? If
she was his prey, and he killed first, surely the scarf would already be around
her neck. Well, Sullivan knew nothing
about a Brady. It would be a cold day in
hell that she’d go down without a fight,
Beginning at the
nap of her neck, the tips of Sullivan’s index fingers traced her spine up and
down under and around shoulder blades before his hands gently began kneading
tension knotted
of wild imaginings. Scrubbing the arm
crimson that Sullivan touched with a strong demanding grip did nothing to
eradicate the heat tattooed there. Worse
yet, without warning, in Technicolor, bigger than life, he stood in front of
her, naked, crowding her in the three by three quarters. Even with eyelids closed, she felt his
penetrating brilliant blue eyes; her keen sense of smell identified her soaps'
fragrance as the same brand he used.
In just a short
time, like a fever, Sullivan had entered and drained her, creating shivers of
alarm that forced her mind to careen from one glorious terrain of his
magnificent body to another. She never
allowed a man to catapult her on such an erotic journey, one so realistic, she
dewed with want merely from remembering every microscopic inch of a complete
stranger. A blatant lie, a photograph
carried the virus. Shawn Patrick
Sullivan came from the same mold as her father and brothers, his bone
structure, muscle tone, and demeanor. Handsome, he had more than his rightful share.
Lord Almighty,
why Sullivan? Great timing, Cassidy
sputtered inwardly. The next thing she
knew, he'd be in her bed. God help her,
she'd been brain washed by Satan himself.
Quickly plucking
and tugging a towel around her, she hoped the thick terry cloth would absorb
the chilling effect of the asinine imaginings ice-skating over her skin. Facing the mist-filmed mirror briskly
brushing her hair, she cursed each lick of the bristles for doing nothing to
erase memories of Sullivan.
Wallowing in
anger, a sudden draft reaching her core stopped her cold. Gazing into the mirror, her eyelids batting
wildly struggled to penetrate the fog preventing identification of a
suffocating presence. There was an
unmistakable breath floating across her shoulders, bringing with it tremendous
warmth threatening to melt the ice burg within into liquid desire. Someone was behind her.
Bravery subdued
fear beginning to rise to the occasion. The quaking taking place, far beyond fear, had no definition for it
sprang from the fragrance engulfing her senses burning to ashes the questions
struggling to the surface. How did he
find her? How did he get in? What did he want?
Though Ben's
presence down the hall screeched across Cassidy’s mind, she knew, reaching the
pager was futile, and screaming useless. By now, Ben’s metamorphoses would have consumed him. Right this minute
with odds of survival monumentally stacked against her there was only one
person she could depend upon, herself.
Even when a patch
cleared unveiling the predatory gaze, features made more magnificent by steely
determination, panic did not surface. Unbelievably all she noticed was that his hat was missing and she became
lost in the depths of her subconscious wondering how running her fingers
through the thick waves might feel.
A disturbing
breath awakening the nerve endings of her ear lobe shuffled the brief
reflection aside. Though but a whisper
the voice piercing the silence, riding it, finding its way beneath her feet
levitated them off the floor if only for a second.
“Amazing, quite amazing, you don't
frighten easily, do you?”
On the wave of
each word, a trace of awe Cassidy found exhilarating. Aware murderers thrived on the game of cat
and mouse using fear as the primary rule, she imagined how Sullivan would gloat
if allowed success. Now she wondered,
did he rape then kill or vice versa? If
she was his prey, and he killed first, surely the scarf would already be around
her neck. Well, Sullivan knew nothing
about a Brady. It would be a cold day in
hell that she’d go down without a fight,
Beginning at the
nap of her neck, the tips of Sullivan’s index fingers traced her spine up and
down under and around shoulder blades before his hands gently began kneading
tension knotted
Similar Books
