Chasing Rainbow, Page 25

But she seemed to like the caress, for she arched upward as if reaching for more, and a soft sigh escaped her.

  Exquisite, he thought. She was exquisite.

  He dared again, stroking her almost as if she were a cat, watching her curl in response, taking her sighs to his very heart. When he bent and kissed her lips, she welcomed him eagerly, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close as if she never wanted to let go.

  He had never tasted anything sweeter than her mouth, and he might have drunk there forever, except that he was being called by other delights. Lifting his head, he smiled down at her in the gloom, and received an answering smile from her swollen lips. Then, as if he had all the time in the world, he began to trail kisses downward, over her chin, along the delicate line of her collar bone, and lower yet, until he reached her puckered rosy nipple.

  The instant his mouth touched her there, she arched as if a shock had run through her and clutched at his head, holding him closer still. Triumph filled him, quickly drowned in the rising waves of his own need. He had passed the point of simply wanting to please her and reached the place where her needs were his.

  His tongue flicked at her nipple, teasing it to hardness, and as she responded he hardened, too. When he filled his mouth with her, it was almost as if all of him was filled with all of her. Her sighs seemed to be his, her moans might have come from him.

  And never, ever, not once in his life, had he felt so completely close to another person.

  He teased her mercilessly, lapping at both nipples, sucking strongly until soft moans escaped her on every breath. Her legs parted, spread wide, and her hips arched upward, begging for him, but still he continued to tease her and taunt her, loving the ecstasy he was building in them both.

  But his hands had desires of their own. One of them wandered downward, across the smooth hollow of her stomach, and found its way into the tight curly hair at the top of her thighs.

  She froze, and for a horrifying instant he wondered if he had shocked her or hurt her, but then her hips arched upward, pressing hungrily against his hand, demanding stronger, deeper caresses.

  He was only too glad to oblige. Panting like a runner at the end of a long stretch, he slipped his hand further down, parting her dewy folds and finding the nub of her desire. A soft cry escaped her, and she writhed against him, beckoning, begging, demanding more.

  He stroked her, guiding her gently on her journey to completion, promising himself that later there would be more, that later he could explore every soft curve of her with his eyes, hands and mouth, that later he could memorize her every contour, and take his time over each hill and hollow.

  But he was aching now, aching with a need as intense as any he had ever felt. His whole body was throbbing, driving him to find his own pleasure in her.

  But wait, he told himself in a ragged moment of clarity. But wait. Make sure she’s satisfied first. He didn’t think he could bear it if she didn’t wring every ounce of pleasure out of these stolen moments. His own pleasure was not in doubt; he would find it. But hers … hers he needed to be sure of before he could take his own.

  His touches deepened, and her moans grew wilder. She cried his name over and over, as if calling him to come with her. In a moment, he thought, in a moment. He clung to the promise as he refused her pleas, determined she crest before him.

  His finger slipped inside her warm, silky depths, and the sensation was like an explosion in his head, nearly carrying him past all thought. Just when he felt he couldn’t take it anymore, she climaxed with a low, keening moan.

  Before her moan had died, he slipped over her, entering her fully. Her body welcomed him, making a special place for him, and her hazy eyes opened momentarily as a smile of sheer pleasure curved her lips.

  Then he forgot everything as he drove himself to the summit, rising higher and higher, and to his own amazement, carrying her with him.

  She cried out again, digging her nails into his shoulders, and in astonishment he felt the ripples of another climax all around him, and then, in an instant, he exploded in the ultimate moment of pleasure.

  Moments later, still joined among the tangled sheets, they drifted off to sleep.

  He was going to kill someone. Some loud, noxious buzzer kept ringing, dragging him up from the depths of a beautiful dream in which he and Rainbow played on a sunny deserted beach.

  It sounded again, insistently, and he rolled over, losing his last connection with her. He wanted to groan from the sense of loss, from the return to the real world where two were not one, but only two after all.

  The dryer, he realized groggily, as the buzzer sounded again. Her clothes. They were dry, and the machine was telling him to get them before they wrinkled. The way he felt right now, he could have let them stay, but the buzzer would wake Rainbow, and anyway, she’d look awfully funny going home in wrinkled clothes.

  He turned his head and looked at her. A small frown knit her brow, as if she resented the buzzer, too. He didn’t want to leave her, but he wanted to let her sleep. He had a feeling she’d been up all night, too, and right now, the fatigue seemed to have melted from her face.

  Sighing, moving carefully so as not to disturb her, he climbed from the bed and padded through the apartment to the utility room. There he pulled her clothes out of the dryer and carried them to the living room to fold them.

  Such tiny panties, he thought, as he held up a small pair of turquoise bikinis. Such a tiny bra, just a scrap of turquoise lace to hold breasts he had found to be perfect.

  He tucked them under the folded T-shirt so she wouldn’t be embarrassed, then went into the kitchen to make coffee. He was up; he might as well do something useful and wake himself up all the way.

  Someone started hammering on his door. He dashed to it, trying to* answer it before the noise woke Rainbow. The hammering stopped when he was halfway across the living room, then started again while he struggled with the locks, which for some reason were sticky.

  Remembering at the last instant that he was naked, he stopped himself from flinging open the door, and instead peered around the edge of it. He found Trixie Martin’s husband standing there.

  “That asshole is banging on the walls again,” Martin said. “Damn it, Carpenter, this has got to stop. Bad enough he keeps us up all night, but now we can’t even take a nap to make up for it.”

  “Uh … yeah. I was … um … napping myself. Let me get dressed and I’ll come on up.”

  “Well, hurry,” Martin said. “It’d be just like him to stop before you get there, and unless somebody else hears it, he’s going to be able to keep on doing it until he drives me over the edge.”

  Jake had to bite back a sharp retort, reminding himself that Martin wasn’t trying to be a pain in the ass, that he had a valid problem that needed attention. “I’ll be right there,” he said again, and closed the door, locking it. This time, for some strange reason, the lock didn’t stick.

  He hurried to the bedroom, figuring if he didn’t get dressed and out of here quickly, Martin was apt to hammer on the door again and disturb Rainbow.

  But it was already too late, he realized, as he stepped through the bedroom door. Rainbow was sitting up on the edge of the bed, looking adorably tousled and drowsy, her face still soft with sleep.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Harvey Little is apparently banging on the Martins’ wall right now, so I’ve got to run up and read him the riot act.”

  “Oh.”

  Life wasn’t fair, Jake thought with an internal groan. What he wanted to do was crawl right back into bed with Rainbow and love her senseless. She looked so sweet and tempting right now, and she wasn’t awake enough yet to have marshaled all her defenses. She would be warm and languid and oh so receptive right now. He ached with yearning and felt an uncharacteristic impulse toward murder. Right now he could have cheerfully killed Harvey Little.

  “I’ll come with you,” she said, as she watched him pull on his jeans.

  “No,” h
e said hastily. “Just go back to sleep.” Please go back to sleep, he thought desperately. Be here for me when I get back.

  “No, really, I need to get up.” She rose, depriving him of breath with the unencumbered sight of all her feminine glory. “My clothes?”

  He gave up, and railed silently against the unfairness of the universe. “They’re folded on the couch.”

  He watched her go, and realized that for the very first time in his life, he was actually regretting the sight of a woman leaving his bed. Uh-oh.

  He found his sweatshirt, a wrinkled heap on the floor, and his Top Siders, and shoved his bare feet into them as he yanked the shirt over his head.

  When he stepped out into the living room, Rainbow had already put on her panties and was struggling to fasten the catch on her bra.

  “Let me,” he said, glad of any excuse to touch her. He stood behind her and fasted the two little hooks, then watched with disappointment as she pulled on her T-shirt and shorts. She slipped her feet into her sneakers without even untying them, then smiled at him.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  He didn’t bother to tell her that her hair was a wild, tousled mess. She looked as if she’d been caught in the storm, and that was okay. Besides, it was sexy as hell.

  Thinking of the storm, he glanced out the window as they were leaving. The sky was still dark, but the rain had stopped. Maybe it was almost over?

  He hoped not. The storm was as good an excuse as any to keep Rainbow with him.

  She yawned as they rode the elevator to the Martin’s unit. “Thanks for letting me sleep,” she said.

  “You’re more than welcome. I just wish you could have slept longer.”

  She smiled. “Me, too. But that’s okay. I’d really like to know what’s going on with this banging.”

  He hoped it was Harvey Little doing it. It would give him an excuse to vent some of the frustration he was feeling right now. But how could you vent on a ghost?

  When they stepped off the elevator, they could hear the thumping the Martinses were complaining about. It wasn’t very loud in the hallway, but it was definitely audible.

  “I’m going to knock on Little’s door,” Jake said. “Do me a favor, please, and stand back, in case he’s in a rotten mood, okay?”

  She shook her head. “Sure. But I think you’re being overprotective. If that guy tried to hit anyone, he’d probably wind up in cardiac intensive care.”

  He gave her a half-smile. “Maybe. But if I need help, I want you to be able to get it for me.”

  Her pride salved, she didn’t seem to mind being asked to stay out of the way. He was learning, he thought. He was finally learning how not to say the wrong thing to this woman.

  He banged on Harvey Little’s door loud enough to ensure that his knock would be heard over whatever was going on inside. There was no immediate answer, so he hammered again.

  The door flew open, and Harvey Little glared up at him. “What the hell do you want?”

  “You’re banging on the wall again.”

  “I am not. I’m sick of those friggin’ people! They’re throwing stuff against the wall and claiming I’m doing it just so they can get me thrown out! What the hell did I ever do to them?”

  “Do you mind if I come inside to check it out?”

  “Check what out? You go look at their wall! It’s

  got to be dinged up all to hell. Half the time it sounds like he’s throwing her against it.” “May I take a look at your wall, please?”

  Harvey stepped back, flinging the door wide. “Be my goddamn guest,” he said sarcastically.

  Rainbow started to follow, despite Jake’s warning to stay out of the way, but Little barred her bodily. I don’t want no freaking witch in my unit.”

  Jake felt his simmering temper rise to the boiling point. He had a strong urge to flatten the man’s face, but quelled it. “She’s not a witch, Little. She’s a psychic.”

  “What’s the goddamn difference?”

  “I’d also appreciate it, if you’d watch your mouth in the presence of a lady.”

  “Lady?” Harvey sniffed. “She’s a witch.”

  But Jake noticed he didn’t curse again.

  “I don’t want her in here,” the obnoxious man said again.

  Jake looked apologetically at Rainbow. Little was within his rights.

  “I just wanted to sense the psychic atmosphere, Mr. Little,” Rainbow said pleasantly, with a friendly smile. “There are some ghosts in the building, and they might be causing—”

  “I ain’t got no goddamn ghosts!” Little shouted, “and I don’t want no witch in my place comin’ up with stories about how I got ‘em and how they must be after me for somethin’ I done. Now, get lost!” He slammed the door in Rainbow’s face.

  “Now look,” Jake said sternly, “that rudeness wasn’t called for!”

  “It’s my home and I say who comes in here. Now, get your ass in there and look at the damn wall, then get the hell out!”

  Jake had to exercise great restraint not to tell this jerk exactly what he thought of him. With hands clenched, he marched into the bedroom to check the wall.

  That was when he realized that the pounding had stopped. Well, he thought, that was probably evidence in itself. When had it stopped? Right about the time he’d knocked on the door?

  There were no marks on any of the walls. Repeated hammering on drywall would at least have left some dents, especially if it was as loud on the other side as the Martinses claimed. There was, after all, a concrete firewall between all of the units.

  Little followed him, practically breathing down his neck.

  “You see?” Little demanded. “They’re the ones making the noise.”

  “I doubt it,” Jake said. “I seriously doubt it.”

  “You are gonna check their walls, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. But I think it would be wise of you to let Ms. Moonglow come in here and see what she can find out. If you have a poltergeist—”

  “I ain’t got no chicken guests!” Little shouted. “And no ghosts, neither!”

  Jake had had enough. “Listen, Little,” he said, “what you’ve got is bats in your belfry! If you don’t want to get to the root of this problem, then you can damn well live with the banging until the ghosts drive you insane! See if I give a damn!”

  “Ghosts! It’s a bunch of crap, I tell you! I thought you was a reasonable man, Carpenter. Guess the little coos got to you, huh?”

  Jake gave serious thought to decking the disgusting little man, then decided he wasn’t worth it. Without another word he stalked out and listened to Little slam the door behind him. Almost at once the banging resumed.

  Rainbow looked at him. “What happened?”

  “Harvey Little came within an inch of becoming a ghost himself. Other than that, nothing. There are no marks on the walls. If he’s making that ruckus, I can’t imagine how.”

  He knocked on the Martins’ door, and it was opened by Trixie. Her face looked haggard, and there were dark circles under her eyes. “He’s going to drive me insane,” she said, letting them in. “Do you hear it?”

  He heard it. Without waiting for an invitation, he marched into the bedroom on that side of the apartment. The walls here were just as unmarked as Harvey Little’s. And the banging was going on right now, sounding as if the man on the other side of the firewall was beating on it with a sledgehammer.

  “Harvey Little isn’t making that noise,” he told the Martinses. “I’m really sorry, but he couldn’t make that kind of racket without damaging the walls.”

  The couple exchanged unhappy looks. “Then what do we do?” asked Martin. “We have to sleep sometime.”

  Jake looked at Rainbow, throwing thirty years of scientific framing out the window. “What do you suggest?”

  “Could I have just a few minutes alone in here? Would you mind?”

  The Martinses were agreeable, so Jake joined them in the living room while Rainbow remained
in the bedroom. The banging continued unabated.

  Trixie, wearing a skin-tight fluorescent green tank top that revealed a significant amount of cleavage, brought out a plate of fresh-baked cookies and offered Jake some coffee.

  He was glad to accept; his much longed-for wake-up cup was still sitting in the coffeemaker in his unit, probably growing more bitter by the rninute.

  “That Harvey Little is such an unpleasant man,” Trixie said, as they all sat gathered around the coffee table. “He’s always so rude when I speak to him.”

  “In fairness,” said Jake, who really didn’t want to be fair to Little at all, “he probably isn’t getting any more sleep than you are.”

  “Do you really think it’s the ghost?” Trixie asked, her eyes wide. Her husband shifted uncomfortably; clearly he was one of the people who didn’t like the ghost idea at all.

  “I’m beginning to think so,” Jake admitted, “and it isn’t easy for me to say that. Everything I’ve believed up to this point in my life argues against it. But then, I’ve got that furniture on my ceiling.”

  “I heard about that,” said Martin. “I’d like to see it, if you wouldn’t mind. Although, to be honest, I’d rather have furniture on my ceiling than someone or something banging on my wall every time I try to go to sleep.”

  Jake nodded. “I can see your point.”

  “Do you think Rainbow will really find out what’s going on?” Trixie asked.

  “If anyone can, she will.” He spoke with more confidence than he felt, partly because he still wasn’t fully comfortable with the idea, and partly because he had the distinct impression that Rainbow was floundering right now as much as any of them. He’d been expecting glib dictums from her in her capacity as psychic, and instead had discovered she had as many questions and doubts as any of them.

  And that had somehow endeared her to him even more.

  They were eating cookies and drinking coffee and talking about plans for a condo association yard sale when Rainbow at last emerged from the bedroom. Jake noticed at once that she looked disturbed, but she managed a smile.

  “What did you find out?” Trixie demanded immediately. “That awful man killed someone and they’re haunting him now?”