Sanctuary(62)

But the first orgasm had been a disappointment. So ... ordinary, he thought now. He hadn't even wanted to rape her again. It had been more of a chore than a pleasure, he remembered. Nothing more than an additional step to manipulate the final shot.

But when he'd taken the silk scarf out of his pocket, slipped it around her neck, tightened it, tightened it, watched her eyes go huge, her mouth work for air, for a scream ...

That had been considerably better. The orgasm then had been beautifully, brutally hard and long and satisfying.

And he thought, the last shot of her, that decisive moment, might be one of his finest.

He'd title it Death of a Tramp, for really, what else had she been?

Hardly one of the angels. she'd been cheap and ordinary, he decided. Nothing but a throwaway.

That was why it hadn't been even close to perfect. It hadn't been his fault, but hers. It brightened his mood considerably now that it had come clear. she had been flawed-the subject, not the artist.

Yet he had picked her. He'd chosen her, he'd taken her.

He had to remind himself again that she had simply been practice. The entire incldent had been no more than a run-through with a stand-in.

It would be perfect next time. With Jo.

With a little sigh, he patted the leather briefcase that held the photographs he'd developed in his rented rooms nearby. It was time to head back to Desire.

I Since Lexy was nowhere to be found, again, Brian headed out to the garden to attack more ecceds. Lexy had promised to do it, but he was more than certain she'd run off to hunt up Gaff and seduce him into a lunchtime roll. He'd seen the two of them the night before from his bedroom window. Soaking wet, sandy and giggling like children as they came up the path. It had been obvious even to his tired brain that they'd been doing more than taking a midnight swim. He'd been amused, even a little envious.

It seemed so easy for them just to take each other as they were, to live in the moment. Though he imagined that Gaff had in mind a great deal more than the moment and that Lexy would do a quick tap dance on his heart on her way.

Still, Gaff was a clever and a patient man, and he might have Lexy dancing to his tune before he was done. Brian thought it would be interesting to watch. From a safe distance.

That was really all he wanted, Brian mused. A safe distance.

He glanced down at the columbine, its lavender and yellow trumpets open and celebrational. It was pretty, it was cheerful, and it was up to him to keep it that way. He reached into the pocket of the short canvas apron he'd slung around his waist for the cultivator. And heard the whimper.

He looked over, saw the woman in the hammock. And his heart skipped. Her hair was darkly red in the green shade, her hand, falling limply over the side, slim and pale and elegant. Shock had him taking a step forward, then she turned her head, restless, and he backed off Not his mother, for Christ's sake. His sister. It was staggering how much she looked like Annabelle at times. At the right angle, with the night light. It made it difficult to let go of the memories, and the pain. His mother had loved to swing in the hammock for an hour on a summer afternoon. And if Brian came across her there, he would sometimes sit cross-legged on the ground beside her. she would lay a hand on his head, ruffle his hair and ask him what adventures he'd had that day.

And she would always listen. Or so he'd once thought. More likely she'd been daydreaming while he chattered. Dreaming of her lover, of her escape from husband and children. Of the freedom she must have wanted more than she wanted him.

But it was Jo who slept in the hammock now, and from the looks of her, she wasn't sleeping peacefully.

A part of him-a part he viewed with disdain and something close to hate-wanted to turn around, walk away, and leave her to her own demons. But he went to her, his brow furrowing in concern as she twitched and moaned in her sleep.

"Jo." He laid a hand on her shoulder and shook it. "Come on, honey, snap out of it."

In the dream, whatever it was pursuing her through the forest with its ghost trees and wild wind reached out and dug its sharp nails into her flesh.

"Don't!" she swung out, ripping herself away. "Don't touch me!"

"Easy." He'd felt the mind of her fist brush his face and wasn't sure whether to be concerned or impressed. "I could do without the broken nose."

Her breath ragged, she stared blindly at him. "Brian." The damn shudders won, so she flopped back down and closed her eyes. "Sorry. Bad dream."

"So I gathered." It was concern after all, and more than he'd expected. Kate was right, as usual. Something was very definitely wrong here. He took a chance and eased himself down on the edge of the hammock. "You want something? Water?"

"No." The surprise showed in her eyes when she opened them and looked down at the hand he'd laid over hers. she couldn't remember the last time he'd taken her hand. Or she his. "No, I'm fine. just a dream."