With a low groan, Zeke pressed her back upon the sofa, pinning her under the hard length of him, the strength of his desire evident even through the layers of their clothing. The force of his passion should have frightened her, but it didn’t.
The taste, the scent, the feel of him near drove her wild with longings she barely understood. Longings to touch and be touched by him, to sweep all barriers aside, to draw him as close as possible, then closer still, feel him bury himself inside of her.
His mouth hot upon hers, Zeke only drew breath to murmur her name. “Aurora. Aurora Rose.”
Never had she known anything could sound so sweet. All reason slipped away from her as she arched against him, baring the pulse at her throat to his questing lips. When his mouth found that sensitive hollow, she closed her eyes, emitting a long, sigh.
A thundering sounded in her ears. Lost in Zeke’s caress, it took her a moment to realize the hammering did not issue from her own racing heart. The sound echoed from the door of the flat. Someone was knocking. No, more like pounding, startling even Zeke into awareness.
“What the—” His head jerked up, his weight shifting so suddenly he tumbled off the sofa, dragging Rory with him. She fell squarely on top of him and felt the laughter rumble deep in his chest.
His eyes dark with desire, he tightened his arms about her, murmuring, “Let them go to hell. We’re not at home.”
As his mouth captured hers again, warm, teasing, slowly rebuilding the fire, Rory would happily have agreed with him. But the knocking sounded again. Even in the midst of her desire, she could not help wondering who could be so persistent.
Her friend Gia? Miss Flanagan or the Lord forbid— what if it was her parish priest? Father Grogan had said last Sunday that he would be calling upon parishioners to enlist aid for the upcoming charity bazaar.
It was the thought of the priest that did it, cooled Rory’s passion as effectively as being doused with holy water. When the rapping came again, this time rattling her door with the force of a sledgehammer, she wrenched herself out of Zeke’s arms.
“I think I’d better answer it.”
He cursed softly, but made no move to stop her. Rory struggled to her feet. Flushed and somewhat unsteady, she patted at her hair, attempting to set her gown to rights.
“Just a minute,” Rory called, fearing that in another moment the person on the other side of the door would put a fist through it.
Zeke collapsed back onto the sofa with a frustrated sigh. Fortifying herself with a deep breath, Rory crossed the room with all the primness she could muster.
Throwing back the bolt, she inched the door open a crack. Peering into the corridor beyond, she stifled a groan. A thousand times worse than Father Grogan! It was Tony. At this moment, the flush of passion barely fading from her cheeks, she thought it would have been easier to face the Pope himself rather than her friend’s suspicious and belligerent stare.
“About time,” Tony growled. “I saw the light coming up and knew you had to be in here. What took you so long to answer?”
“I was already getting undressed for bed. What do you want, Tony?”
A smile tightened his lips, not like Tony’s usual generous grin, but thin-lipped with a harsh kind of triumph. “Let me in, Rory. I have to talk to you.”
She kept herself firmly wedged in the doorway, shielding the flat’s interior and Zeke from Tony’s view. “I am too tired. Can’t it wait until morning?”
“No, I told you I wasn’t going to rest until I found out about that Morrison feller. I’ve done better than that. I brought someone to see you who can tell you everything about him.”
Rory cast a half-nervous glance over her shoulder, wondering if Zeke was hearing all this. “This is ridiculous, Tony. I told you I didn’t want you to?—”
But Tony beckoned to another figure, who emerged from the shadows of the corridor. Rory tensed, not certain who she’d expected to appear, some tough-looking hoodlum perhaps. Certainly not the prim middle-aged woman who joined Tony on the threshold. Garbed in a plain black gown, the woman had dark hair veiled beneath a shawl. Her sharp features could never have been described as pretty, but it was the bitterness lurking in her eyes that robbed her face of any charm she might have had.
Rory had to fight down an urge to slam her door and bolt it against this grim stranger. Instead she said, “I don’t know what this is all about, Tony. You’ve made some mistake. This lady doesn’t look in the least like anyone who would be acquainted with Mr. Morrison.”
“I am afraid you’re wrong, my dear.”
Zeke’s voice startled Rory. He had stolen up silently behind her, peering over her shoulder into the hall. Tony flushed and swore at the sight of Zeke, but the reaction of the strange woman was far more spectacular.
She blanched. Her eyes glittered with a hatred so strong it was as though a chilling wind swept through the hall, seeping into Rory’s flat.
Bewildered, Rory glanced up at Zeke. “Then you do know this lady?”
He nodded, his eyes dull with remembered pain, but no more so than his voice when he replied.
“Of course I do. She’s my sister.”
Nine
