Stolen Heat by Elisabeth Naughton Read Free Book Online Page B

he’d never cop to, no matter what—he’d always been able to see her, to feel her, even to taste her to some degree. But never, not once in all the times he’d had this recurring dream, had he ever been able to smell her.
    Now he could.
    She was also on fire. Like liquid heat against his skin where she burrowed closer to him.
    You couldn’t smell dreams, and they sure as hell weren’t warm.
    Confused, caught between a dream state and reality, he gripped her arms, pushed her back and squinted to look up into a face he’d never expected to see again in this lifetime.
    “Kat?” He croaked out the word, didn’t dare move as those wide, molten chocolate eyes ran over his features.
    “Yeah,” she whispered. “It’s me.”
    No way.
    He bolted, not sure what was happening. All he knew for certain was his kinky sex fantasies had never taken this detour into insanity before. He scrambled from the floor and was nearly knocked over by a wave of nausea that made him grip the door handle again to keep from falling to his knees.
    She was up and next to him before he could catch his bearings. “I know how this looks, but if you just give me a minute, I can explain.” She sounded frantic. A little scared. And completely wigged out.
    Holy fuck. That made two of them. “What the…” The pounding hit his skull again with the force of a jackhammer, and he pressed his fingers against his temples. “This isn’t real,” he muttered to himself as he gave his head a strong shake. “Can’t be real. I’m hung over. Really hung over. That or I’ve got a brain tumor.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “MRI. That’s it. I need a goddamn MRI.”
    She reached out for him. “Let me—”
    He flinched and jerked away from her hand. If she touched him again he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to think straight. And right now he really needed to clear his damn head so he could figure out just what the hell was going on.
    She dropped her arm like he’d burned her, reached up with one hand to wrap her fingers around a pendant of some kind hanging from her neck. “The least you can do is listen to what I have to say, Pete. Believe me, I wouldn’t have dragged you into this if there was any other way.”
    He barely heard her words but registered the bite. Though at that moment the only thing he could focus on was the charm hidden in her fist.
    He pushed her hand away and fingered the silver medal between her breasts.
    St. Jude. Patron saint of lost causes. Kat had always worn it. Never took it off. And the sudden memory of that medal falling against his chest as they made love was as vivid and real as the warm and solid weight now in the palm of his hand.
    His eyes shot to her face.
    She was real. This was happening, and, holy hell, she was alive.
    The world fell away. He let his instincts rule his body. In a move so fast she gasped, he grabbed her hard, pulled her tight against his chest and kissed her with everything he had in him.
    “Kit-Kat,” he mumbled against her lips.
    But as quickly as the joy and elation erupted inside him, it fizzled and died.
    She was alive. Had been all this time and hadn’t tried to contact him. Not once in six years. Not when he’d blamed himself for what had happened or bawled like a baby over her death or wished like hell he could trade places with her. No, instead of finding him like he would have done if thesituation had been reversed, she’d been living somewhere else, healthy and happy and obviously…whole.
    He broke the kiss, pushed her to arm’s length and stared down at her. “You’re alive? After all this time? You’re…alive?”
    Her muscles went rigid beneath his hands. “I know this is hard for you to grasp, but I have reasons for everything I’ve done. I didn’t plan any of this tonight. I didn’t plan for you…”
    She looked down at his shirt and closed her mouth.
    Plan this. Tonight.
    Her words ricocheted around in his head as his memory came back in a rush. And with it,