Shadow Woman Read online

  Time spun away from her, everything solid falling away. Dizzy, she put out the hand that gripped the knife and touched a support post, but she couldn’t grab it without dropping the knife and she wasn’t about to do that. Her chest heaving, she stared unblinking at him as past and present blended together in a swirl of color, of night and day, then and now.

  His face.

  She had watched him before, coming toward her just like that, as sure of himself as if he controlled everything in his world.

  The quick flash of feet and fists, the thudding sound of flesh hitting flesh, the grunts as blows landed. His training partner scored a hit to the testicles and he went down, cussing through tight-clenched teeth, while she and her own training partner howled with laughter because he almost never lost a bout.

  He didn’t lose this one, either. He bowed his spine and flipped upright before his training partner could take advantage, and two quick pop-pops, one with his right elbow and the other with his left knee, sent his partner down. The man lay sprawled on his back on the mat, breathing hard and groaning. He tapped one hand on the mat in surrender.

  X grabbed a towel and came to where she and her partner watched, his prowling stride as fluid and easy as before, his dark eyes narrowed on her face. Sweat dripped down his face, darkened his olive-drab tee shirt. “Why do women always laugh when a man gets kicked in the balls?” he growled as he swiped the towel over his face.

  “Because they’re so precioussssss,” Lizzy said in her best Gollum accent, still laughing because he was a little pissed. She so seldom got anything on him, she enjoyed it to the fullest whenever she did.

  “Damn right they are,” he returned.

  He was closer, his gaze still locked on her.

  X … No, not X … but close. X …

  Xavier.

  His name was Xavier.

  The name exploded through her brain, and suddenly it was there, memories cascading through the wall that had been breached. The days. The nights. She gripped the hoe handle with all her strength, using it to support her weight as she fought to stay upright.

  Xavier!

  He crawled over her, his naked body rubbing all over her, his powerful legs pushing between hers and spreading them wide, so that he settled into the cradle of her hips and loins. She loved that moment when he paused to guide the thick tip of his penis to her, loved the flex of his hips that nudged him inside her that first little bit. He was thick and hard and there was always that instant when her body was startled by the size of him, then she’d feel herself soften and relax and take more of him. He’d wait for that moment, hold himself back until he felt her accept him, and then he’d push deep, and she could never hold back a gasp at the hot slide of his flesh into hers.

  Xavier. Oh my God, it was Xavier.

  He stopped just inside the shadow of the shed, his head cocked a little to the side as he intently watched her. He didn’t dismiss the knife or the hoe, not in her hands, though she had no doubt at all that he could take her. She hadn’t trained in … however long it had been since they’d trained together. She was weak, out of practice, hadn’t had enough sleep, plus she was exhausted from riding that damn bicycle for hours in the summer heat, while he’d been cruising on his Hog.

  Fury blasted through her. Damn his eyes! He did have a tracker on her, somewhere. He could have caught her at any time, but instead he’d hung back, played games with her, let her damn near kill herself before he made his move. That probably had been him on the motorcycle earlier, leapfrogging ahead of her, enjoying the game. She was so furious, she’d have kicked him in his precious balls if she’d been able to. The day wasn’t over yet, though.

  “Lizzy,” he said, his deep voice calm and dark, a little cautious, as if he didn’t want to spook her. She realized he didn’t know what, if anything, she’d remembered. “I won’t hurt you. Do you remember me?”

  Yes. There were still big gaps in her memory, but she remembered him.

  She had loved him. Whether or not he’d loved her had been up in the air, still was, because she didn’t know what had happened. But one thing definitely hadn’t changed: she still did love him, she realized, otherwise her heart wouldn’t be feeling as if it were about to burst. He was here. The long time apart felt as if she hadn’t been living at all, as if her world had been gray and empty. Pain and joy and all kinds of anger unfurled in her, and she briefly closed her eyes. This was too much; she couldn’t get a grip on any of her emotions, couldn’t organize any of her tumultuous thoughts into any kind of order.

  “Yes,” she finally managed, all but whispering the word. She drove the knife point into the post, left it sticking there. She looked back at him, her lips trembling. “Precioussssss.”

  No sooner had the word left her lips than he lunged, was on her, the impact of his body knocking the hoe to the ground. It would have knocked her to the ground as well except for the grip he had on her, both arms around her, and he lifted her off her feet and kissed her. His mouth was hot and firm and hungry; she didn’t think she’d ever been kissed like that before, as if he were starving for the taste of her. He slanted his head and his tongue took possession of her mouth, and the impact on her senses was like being body-slammed.

  Yes. Yes, she had been kissed like this before—by him. The rightness of it, the sense of belonging, sliced through her as sharply as any blade.

  Her arms wound around his neck and she kissed him back the way she used to, the way she’d done in the dreams that had been trying to tell her something, had all but been pointing at him and screaming Him! Him! She kissed him as violently as he kissed her, not caring if her teeth cut his lip, not caring about anything other than his taste, the feel of him, the hot smell of his skin, the fact that he was here.

  He held her with one arm and with the other pulled the helmet from her head, dropped it to the ground. The helmet dispensed with, he began taking off her clothes.

  He was so fast it was almost like being under assault. Her senses spun violently as she tried to orient herself. He wasn’t going to—was he?—yes, he most definitely was. She instantaneously went from disbelief to acceptance, to need. It had always been like this with him, their attraction so fierce she felt as if her skin could barely contain her.

  Within a minute she was naked from the waist down, and she didn’t care that they were in a shed, and that the shed was open to the road that ran along the hay field. In the shadows, at that distance, probably no one could see anything anyway. And even if they could—she didn’t care.

  She cared about him. She’d found him again, or he’d found her. It didn’t matter. They were together.

  There was nothing to sit on, nothing to lie on except the ground, but he was strong enough that they didn’t need either. He unbuckled his belt, unsnapped his jeans, and shoved them down just enough. Holding her braced against the support pole, holding her up with both hands gripping her ass, he surged against her. She locked her legs around him, lifted herself, opened herself, and he pushed in hard.

  Time spun away again. The world spun away. Memory and reality collided; it was the way it had been before, the heat and stretching and almost-pain. There was no foreplay, no trying to arouse her, but he’d always had her number and could make her come even when she was trying her damnedest not to, just to spite him. She came easy for him, in both senses of the word. He kissed her, and she was turned on. He touched her, and she was ready for him.

  She had been without him too long.

  She felt the tension inside her building fast, rushing toward her like floodwaters. He thrust deep and fast, moving her up and down on him. She moaned, the sound raw. It was coming, that complete upheaval that was too intense to be mere pleasure, drawing all her muscles tight until she felt as if her entire body was trying to clamp around him.

  Then she came, bucking in his arms, her fingers clenching on his back, her face buried against his throat as she tried to stifle the guttural sounds she was making. He drove her harder against the pos