Mercy

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

As soon as Monk was back in his motel room, he called New Orleans.

Waking from a deep sleep, Dallas answered the phone, "What?"

"The surprises just keep on coming," Monk said.

"What are you talking about?"

"There's an FBI agent here with Buchanan."

"Oh my God. Give me the name."

"I don't have it yet. I heard some guys talking about him when they came out of the bar."

"So do you know what he's doing there?"

"Not yet, but it looks like they were talking about fishing."

Apprehensive, Dallas said, "Just hang tight, and I'll get back to you."

"Oh, by the way," Monk said, "I have some other information that may come in handy."

"It better be good," Dallas answered.

Monk gave an account of the Carson brothers and the two bone breakers who had gone into the bar.

"I heard one of the men tell the policeman that he wasn't going to kill Buchanan. He just wanted to hurt him. With a little

planning, we might be able to use the Carsons as a scapegoat if necessary."

"Yes. Thanks."

"My pleasure," he answered sarcastically.

Monk hung up the phone, set his alarm clock, and then closed his eyes. He fell asleep thinking about the money.

For the first time in her life, Michelle couldn't sleep, and it was all Theo Buchanan's fault. Everything, including the national

debt, was his fault when it was the middle of the night and she was sleep-deprived because she couldn't stop thinking about him.

She tossed and turned, beat her pillows, then tossed and turned some more. Her bed looked as though a cyclone had hit. To

take her mind off her lustful thoughts, she changed the sheets, then took a long, hot shower. Neither chore made her sleepy.

She went downstairs then and drank warm milk-she could barely get the vile stuff down and wondered how anyone could

drink milk warm when it tasted so much better cold.

Theo hadn't made a sound since he'd closed his bedroom door. He was probably sound asleep and dreaming the dreams of

the innocent. The big jerk.

Michelle crept back upstairs so she wouldn't disturb him, brushed her teeth again, then opened one of her

bedroom windows so she could hear the sounds of the approaching thunderstorm.

She put on a pink silk nightgown-the green cotton one felt scratchy against her shoulders-then slipped between the sheets

and vowed she wasn't going to get up again. Her nightgown was bunched up around her hips. She smoothed it down, adjusted

the spaghetti straps so they wouldn't droop down over her arms. There, everything was perfect. Folding her hands together

over her stomach, she closed her eyes and took deep, calming breaths. She stopped when she got dizzy.

She felt a wrinkle in the bottom sheet under her ankle. Don't think about it, she told herself. It's time to sleep. Relax, damn it.

Another fifteen minutes passed and she was still wide awake. Her skin was hot, the sheets felt damp from the humidity, and she was so tired she wanted to cry.

Desperate, she started counting sheep but stopped that game as soon as she realized she was racing to get them all accounted for. Counting sheep was like chewing gum. She never chewed gum because, in a subconscious attempt to get finished, she would chew faster and faster, which of course defeated the whole notion of chewing gum in the first place.

Lord, the things a person will think about when that person is losing her ever-loving mind. She should have specialized in psychiatry, she decided. Then maybe she could figure out why she was turning looney tunes.

Television. That was it. She'd watch television. There was never anything good on TV in the middle of the night. Surely someone was selling something on one of the channels. An infomercial was just what she needed. It was better than a sleeping pill.

She threw the sheet off, grabbed the afghan from the bottom of her bed, and dragged it across the room. The door squeaked

when she opened it. Why hadn't she noticed that noise before? she wondered. Tossing the afghan onto the chair, she went out

into the hallway, got down on her knees, and slowly pulled the door closed. She thought the bottom hinge was making the

groaning sound and leaned close to listen as she moved the door back and forth.

That was the one, all right. She decided then to check the top hinge. She stood, grabbed the doorknob again, and moved the

door back and forth while leaning in on tiptoes to listen. Sure enough, it was making a little squeaking sound too. Now where

had she put that can of WD-40? She could fix this problem right this minute if she could just remember where she'd last seen

that can. Wait a minute… the garage. That's where it was. She'd put it up on the shelf in the garage. "Having trouble sleeping?"

He nearly scared her to death. She jumped, inadvertently pulled the door, and hit her head against it. "Ouch," she whispered as

she let go of the handle and reached up to feel if her scalp was bleeding.

Then she turned around. She couldn't have gotten another word out if her life had depended on it. Theo stood in his doorway, casually leaning against the frame with his arms folded across his bare chest and one bare foot crossed over the other. His hair was tousled, his face needed a shave, and he looked as though he'd just been awakened from a deep sleep. He had pulled on a pair of Levi's, but hadn't bothered to zip them.

He was simply irresistible.

She stared at the narrow opening between the zipper, then realized she was staring and forced herself to look away. She

settled on his chest, realized that was a mistake, and ended up staring at his feet. He had great feet.

Oh, boy, did she need help. Now his feet were turning her on. She needed therapy, intense therapy, to help her figure out how

any man could make her so nuts.

He wasn't just any man, though. All along she'd known how dangerous the attraction was. It was the damned fence, she

decided. If he hadn't bought the damned fence for little John Patrick, she might have been able to continue to resist him. Too late now. She let out a little groan. Theo was still a big jerk, but she'd fallen for him anyway.

She swallowed hard. He looked good enough to… don't go there. Then she looked into his eyes. She wanted him to scoop her

up into his muscular arms, kiss her senseless, and carry her to bed. She wanted him to take her nightgown off and caress every inch of her body. Maybe she would toss him on the bed, take his Levi's off, and caress every inch of his body. She wanted to-

"Michelle, what are you doing? It's two-thirty in the morning."

Her fantasy came to a screeching halt. "Your door doesn't squeak."

"What?" he asked.

She shrugged, then pushed a strand of hair away from her face. "I didn't hear you because your door didn't make any noise

when you opened it. How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to watch you play with your door."

"It squeaks."

"Yes, I know, the door squeaks."

"I'm sorry, Theo. I didn't mean to disturb you, but since you're awake…"

"Yes?"

"You want to play cards?"

He blinked. Then that slow, easy smile appeared, and she started feeling light-headed.

"No, I don't want to play cards. Do you?"

"Not really."

"Then why did you ask?"

The way he was staring at her with that penetrating gaze of his made her extremely nervous, but it was the good kind of

nervous she'd felt just before he'd kissed her the night before, which meant that it was bad, because she'd never wanted the

kiss to end, and what kind of convoluted sense did that make? She was losing her mind, all right. She wondered if she could schedule her patient appointments from the psychiatric ward.

"Please stop looking at me like that." Her toes curled into the carpet, and she felt her stomach doing back flips.

"Like what?"

"I don't know," she muttered. "I can't sleep. So do you want to do something until I get sleepy?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Besides cards?" she asked nervously.

"Uh-huh."

"I could fix you a sandwich."

"No thanks."

"Pancakes," she said then. "I could fix you pancakes."

On a scale of one to ten, her anxiety was climbing past nine. Did he have any idea how much she wanted him? Just don't

think about it. Keep busy. "I make great pancakes."

"I'm not hungry."

"What do you mean, you're not hungry? You're always hungry."

"Not tonight."

I'm drowning here, babe. Work with me. She caught her lower lip between her teeth while she frantically tried to come up

with another idea.

"Television," she suddenly blurted, acting as though she'd just correctly answered the million-dollar question and Regis was

handing her the check. "What?"

"Would you like to watch television?" "No." She felt as if he'd just snatched the lifeline out of her hands.

She sighed. "Then you think of something."

"Something we could do together? Until you get sleepy."

"Yes."

"I want to go to bed."

She didn't try to mask her disappointment. She guessed she was going to go back to counting those damn smelly sheep.

"Okay. Good night, then."

He didn't go back into his bedroom, though. Pulling away from the doorway with the agility of a big, lazy, well-fed cat, he

closed the distance between them in two long strides. His toes touched hers as he reached behind her and opened her bedroom door. He smelled faintly of aftershave, Dial soap, and man, and she found the combination extremely arousing. Who was she kidding? At this point, a sneeze would turn her on.

He took hold of her hand, but his grip was light. She could have easily pulled away if she'd wanted to, but she didn't. In fact,

she held tight.

Then he tugged her into her bedroom. He shut the door, backed her against it, and pinned her there with his arms on either side

of her face and his pelvis pressed snugly against her thighs.

The wood was cool against her back, bis skin hot against her belly.

Burying his face in her hair, he whispered, "God, you smell good."

"I thought you wanted to sleep."

He kissed the base of her neck. "I never said that."

"Yes… yes, you did."

"No," he corrected. He was kissing that wonderfully sensitive spot below her ear now, driving her to distraction. Her breath

caught in her throat when his teeth gently closed on her earlobe. "No?" she whispered.

"I said I wanted to go to bed. And you said…" His hands moved to cup the sides of her face. He looked into her eyes for

several long seconds, and then said, "… okay."

She was a goner and she knew it. His mouth covered hers in a long, hot, passionate kiss that let her know how much he wanted her. Her lips parted, and she felt a jolt of pleasure all the way down to her toes when "his tongue went in search of hers. Her

arms went around his waist, and then her hands began to stroke and caress him. She could feel the hard muscles under her fingertips, and when her hips began to move restlessly against him, she felt him tremble.

The kiss went on and on until she was gripping his shoulders and shaking with desire. It was decadent the way he made her

feel, and frightening too, because she had never experienced such passion before, never felt this kind of desperation to hold

tight and never let go. Oh, how she loved him.

They were both panting when he lifted his head. He saw the tears glistening in her eyes and went completely still.

"Michelle. Do you want me to stop?"

She frantically shook her head. "I'll die if you do."

"We can't have that," he said gruffly.

She tugged on his jeans, trying unsuccessfully to get them past his hips.

"Slow down, sweetheart. We've got all night."

And that was the problem. She wanted more than one night. She wanted forever, but she knew that wasn't possible, and so

she decided to take what he offered and cherish the moments they did have. She would love him in a way no other woman

could, with her heart, her body, and her soul. And when he left her, he would never be able to forget.

They shared another long, hot, open-mouth, tongue-thrusting kiss that only made them want more. He pulled away, stepped

back, and stripped out of his jeans. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. He was beautiful. And fully aroused. The sight

of him overwhelmed her because he was so perfectly sculpted.

In the moonlight, his skin seemed to glisten like gold. She reached for the straps of her gown, but he stilled her hands. "Let me."

He slowly pulled her nightgown up over her head and tossed it on the floor.

"I've had such fantasies about you," he whispered. "Your body is much better than I imagined. The way you feel pressed against me… that's much better too."

"Tell me what we were doing in your fantasy, and I'll tell you mine."

"No," he whispered. "I'd rather show than tell."

His chest hair was tickling her breasts. She liked it so much, she moved against him. She could feel his arousal against her and shifted so that her hips cuddled him. It felt so good, so right to be held like this.

"In one of my fantasies, I do this."

He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. He followed her down on the sheets, nudged her thighs apart, and

settled between them. Then he kissed her again, lingering over the task, until she was moving restlessly against him again.

Then he rolled onto his side and touched her stomach. "And I do this." His fingers circled her belly button, then moved lower.

She sucked in her breath. "Don't," she whispered.

"You don't like it?"

His fingers were magical. "Yes… yes, but if you don't stop, I'll…"

She couldn't go on. He was driving her crazy, teasing, probing, preparing her for him. His head dipped and he began to kiss the fragrant valley between her breasts.

"In my favorite fantasy, you really love this."

He kissed each breast, his tongue stroking each nipple until she was arched half off the bed. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and she kept trying to get him to move so that she could drive him out of his mind with her mouth and her tongue, but Theo wouldn't budge.

In this fantasy, he explained, she came before he did. He kissed away any resistance she might have had, and then he slowly moved down her body, kissing every inch of her stomach, teasing her belly button by gently tickling her with the tip of his tongue, and then he moved lower still between her silky thighs.

The sensations were consuming. The climax was powerful. She cried out as she clung to him and let his passion devour her.

Theo was such an amazing lover, so giving, so gentle. Then he began to torment her. He brought her to a fevered pitch a second time, but just when she was reaching the explosive brink, he stopped.

"Hold on, sweetheart. I'll be right back."

"Don't stop. Don't…"

He kissed her. "I've got to protect you."

And then he left. She closed her eyes. Her body felt as though it was on fire, yet she was chilled because his heat was gone.

She began to tremble, and just as she was reaching for the covers, Theo came back to the bed and covered her body with his. It seemed he'd been gone for an eternity.

"Now, where was I?"

His restraint and control amazed her. Then she noticed the beads of perspiration on his brow. His eyes were hazy with passion, and his jaw was clenched tight, and she saw then the lengths he had gone to for her.

His hands began to stroke the passion within her once again. She fought him this time, trying to hold out until he lost his control,

but he was stronger. He wasn't gentle now. She didn't want him to be. Consumed with the waves of pleasure still coursing

through her body, she held him tight as he roughly parted her thighs, then lifted her hips and sank deep inside her warmth.

His head dropped down onto her shoulder. He closed his eyes in sweet surrender, and let out a loud, thoroughly arrogant groan.

Gripping her, he forced her to stay still. "I can make this last… if you… cooperate."

She smiled up at him. Lord, he was adorable. Then she moved.

"Don't… Oh, God, honey, slow down just a little…"

She moved again, more forcefully this time, arching up against him to take him deeper inside her. He couldn't hold back any longer. The need became too great. He pulled back, then thrust deep once again, then again and again and again.

Theo wanted to tell her how perfect she was, how beautiful, but he couldn't get the words out. The intensity of the feelings rocketing through his body was too overpowering. She wouldn't let him slow down. He loved her for that. He buried himself

inside her, and with one final thrust and one hell of a shout, he climaxed while she held him close.

He felt as though he'd just died and been reborn. The orgasm was the most amazing thing he'd ever experienced. He'd never

let himself go like this. He'd always held a part of himself back, but with Michelle, that hadn't been possible. It took long minutes for both of them to recover. He knew he had to be crushing her, but he couldn't find the strength to move away.

Michelle couldn't stop caressing him. She loved the feel of his smooth skin under her fingertips. He was all muscle and strength and yet so very gentle with her. Her fingers trailed down his spine, then slowly moved back up.

Her heart beat against her chest as though it were pounding to get out. She laughed over the absurdity of the idea.

The sound of her lusty laugh made him smile. Bracing his weight with his arms on either side of her, he lifted his head from the crook of her neck so he could look into her eyes. "What's so funny?"

"Loving you is going to be the death of me. I can see the headlines now: 'Sex kills surgeon.'"

He frowned. "That's not funny.''

She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned up and kissed him. "Yes, it is."

"You've got to stay strong because we've got nine hundred ninety-nine more to go, and I can't let you fall apart before we're finished."

"Finished doing what?"

That sparkle came into his eyes again, and she began to smile in anticipation.

"Acting out my fantasies."

She did laugh then. "A thousand?"

"Oh, yeah. At least a thousand."

"You've got quite an active imagination, Mr. Buchanan. There are places you can go to get help. They're called sex therapy clinics."

He grinned. "You were all the therapy I needed."

"I was happy I could help."

"What about you, Michelle? Didn't you ever have fantasies?"

"Yes," she admitted. "But mine weren't as creative. I kept having the same one over and over again."

He nuzzled the crook of her neck. "Tell me about it."

"It's sort of a variation on what just happened," she said softly. "But in my fantasy…"

He lifted his head again. "What?"

"I scoop you up and toss you on the bed."

Then he laughed. "I outweigh you by about two hundred pounds," he exaggerated.

"We surgeons develop incredible upper-body strength from cracking ribs and cutting through bones," she teased.

"Okay, I'm willing. If you want to pick me up…"

He stopped when she shook her head. "I'd blow a disc," she explained. "I only told you about the fantasy so you'd know…"

"What?"

"You aren't always going to be calling the shots."

"Meaning?"

"It's my turn to drive you wild."

"We'll see about that." He kissed her again, hard and fast, then got out of bed and lifted her into his arms. "I'm hot,"

he announced.

"Already?"

Her fingers threaded through his tousled hair, trying to restore order to the soft strands.

"Not that kind of hot, but if you keep that up…"

"Where are we going?"

"I'm sweaty hot. Let's take a shower."

She was so content and sleepy now, she would have agreed to do anything he suggested. "I'll scrub your back and you may

scrub mine."

"No, I want to scrub your front, and you can-"

She put her hand over his mouth. "I get the picture."

Ten minutes later they were both squeaky clean. The water had turned cold, but that didn't squelch their passion. Feeling

devilish, she leaned up on tiptoes and whispered her fantasy into his ear. She went into detail, and when she was finished,

Theo was amazed he could still stand.

She pushed him back against the tile, then began to drive him out of his mind with hot, wet kisses as she slowly worked her

way down his slick body.

He didn't have the strength to carry her back to bed. They haphazardly dried each other between ardent kisses. Exhausted

from their lovemaking, they fell into bed. Theo rolled onto his back. She propped herself up on one elbow and traced the outline

of the tiny scar from his appendectomy.

Then she leaned down and gently kissed it. His eyes were closed, but he was smiling. "Do you do that to all your patients?"

"Kiss their scars?"

"Uh-huh."

"Absolutely. I have to."

He yawned. "How come?"

"It's part of the oath I took. Kiss it and make it better."

She pulled the sheet up as she rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. She was falling into a deep sleep when Theo nudged her.

"Michelle?"

"Hmm?"

"I found your best feature."

"What is it?" she asked in a sleepy whisper.

He tugged the sheet down and put his hand on her breast. If she hadn't been so tired, she would have asked him to explain why men had such an obsession with breasts, but then she suddenly realized just where his hand was pressed and tears sprang into her eyes. How could she not love this man?

He had placed his hand over her heart.