I'll Be Watching You

  "True. Which is why it seldom factored in, not after my experimentation stage. It didn't take me long

  to realize I couldn't seem to separate physical and emotional intimacy. So, for the most part, sex got shelved."

  He hadn't responded. He'd just stared straight ahead, clearly pondering her words.

  Not long after, they'd said their good-nights.

  Now Taylor wondered if that segment of the conversation had been a mistake. Reed was already taking things slow between them. Had he inferred from her comment that she was putting on the brakes? If so, he was dead wrong. In fact, she was starting to go crazy from the sexual tension that burned between them, and which they'd barely begun to explore. She wanted to take that next step, to let the inevitable happen—even though she had a pretty good idea what was at risk.

  Risk. It seemed like an absurd concept after a day like today.

  A close friend was dead. Life was short, and terrifyingly unpredictable. Self-protection might be safe,

  but it was also lonely. And, in some cases, the trade-off just wasn't worth it.

  Restlessly, Taylor rolled onto her side. She wondered if Reed was asleep and, if not, what he was thinking. Was he asking himself the same questions she was? Was he wrestling with whether the timing was wrong?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Flinging back the covers, Taylor got out of bed and marched out of the guest room. Reed's bedroom

  door was ajar, and a reading light burned inside. She headed straight for the door and, with one perfunctory knock, pushed it open and hovered on the threshold.

  Reed had been lying on his back in bed—not reading, as she'd surmised—but staring at the ceiling,

  arms folded beneath his head, in much the same fashion as she'd been a few minutes earlier. He started when she burst in, then rolled onto his side to face her, propping himself on one elbow. "Are you okay?"

  "No." Taylor walked over to the bed, stopping only when her legs bumped up against the mattress. Her heart was pounding, and she couldn't believe she was actually doing this. But she wasn't going to chicken out now. Not when she was a fraction away from where she wanted to be. Not even if she ended up an emotional basket case.

  It occurred to her that all she wearing was a thin cotton nightshirt— one that was practically transparent, thanks to the light thrown off by Reed's lamp. Instinctively, she reached up to cross her arms over her chest, then realized how counterproductive that was.

  She let her arms fall to her sides.

  Standing absolutely still, she gave Reed an unimpeded view and loads of time to look his fill.

  She wasn't disappointed with his reaction. His features tightened, and his gaze raked over every inch

  of her, lingering on all the right spots until Taylor's entire body grew warm.

  "No," she repeated in a low, heated whisper. "I'm not okay. Are you?"

  "No." He reached up, seizing her arm and toppling her onto the bed, on top of him, with only the down comforter separating them. He clasped the back of her neck, bringing her mouth down to his. "I'm definitely not okay. But I'm about to change that."

  "Good."

  They kissed, hot and hungry. Taylor could actually feel vibrations darting between them, comforter or

  no comforter. Her nightshirt had ridden up to her hips, and Reed's erection throbbed against her, hardening as she pressed closer, parting her thighs so she could cradle him.

  A harsh groan ripped from his chest and, with a herculean effort, he dragged his mouth away, his breath coming hard and fast as he stared up at her, flames burning in his eyes. "This isn't slow."

  That was the understatement of the century. "No," Taylor managed, barely able to speak. "It's not.

  And I don't want it to be." She moved sensuously against him.

  "Taylor." He sounded like he was drowning. His fingers tangled in her hair, trembling as they tried to

  hold her away rather than haul her against him. "I know you want this. God knows, I want this."

  A shaky laugh. "Hell, I think I'll explode if I don't get inside you."

  "So?"

  "So are you sure you want this now? Because the timing—"

  She pressed her fingers to his lips. "I'm sure. I want this so much I'll probably die if you lapse into the

  Sir Galahad routine." She sat up, tugged her nightshirt over her head, and tossed it aside. "You said

  you'd know, that there'd be no miscommunications. Well, know. This is exactly what I want. Here. Now."

  That was all he needed.

  He yanked at the comforter, and she helped him, wriggling from one knee to the other until he'd

  dragged the comforter out from between them. That done, he rolled her onto the sheets, on her back

  and under him.

  He was naked. She could feel every incredible inch of him, hot and hard and desperate to get inside her. He kissed her, his mouth as hot as the rest of him, his knees wedging between her thighs, nudging them apart. He reached between their bodies, his fingers opening her, finding her slick and wet and quivering

  at his touch.

  She heard herself cry out.

  "Dammit. I can't wait." Reed's body was shaking as he crushed her into the mattress, his penis probing the entrance to her body. "Taylor ... I'm sorry ... I..."

  "Don't stop." Taylor couldn't wait any more than he. She raised her hips, her knees gripping his sides

  to urge him inside her.

  In one hard thrust, he was all the way in, and the world seemed to stop for one exquisite, unbearable moment. Reed made a harsh, inarticulate sound, gritting his teeth against the excruciating physical pleasure, and Taylor caught her breath, wrapping her arms around his back, trying to keep him where

  he was. There. Right there.

  Impossibly, he made it better, pushing a fraction deeper, stretching and filling her beyond comprehension.

  Taylor's nails dug into his back, and she could feel her orgasm already building, tightening inside her.

  Reed felt it, too. He withdrew, then pushed back inside—but slowly, maddeningly, caressing her inside and out as he felt her body coiling tighter and tighter around his.

  She climaxed in a rush, the sensation so powerful she couldn't breathe, much less cry out. She convulsed, again and again, her spasms radiating out from her core, growing in intensity, milking every inch of Reed's already straining erection.

  His last semblance of control snapped.

  Gripping Taylor's hips, he pulled out, then plunged back in, coming even as he did. He matched her contractions with his own, jetting into her and grinding out her name from between clenched teeth.

  He collapsed on top of her, his face buried in her neck, and Taylor sank into the mattress, feeling as

  weak as if she'd run a marathon.

  Real time resumed, the ticking of a clock somewhere in the apartment mingling with the rumbles and honks of traffic from the street below. Still, neither of them moved, the harsh breaths shuddering

  through them requiring all the energy they had left.

  Reed made the first discernible sound. It was a long-drawn-out groan.

  Taylor responded with a wisp of laughter, and she lifted her foot a bit, rubbed her arch against his calf.

  "Are you all right?" he muttered.

  "Fantastic. Spectacular." A pause. "Although, if you were counting on 'slow,' I don't think you got it."

  His husky chuckle vibrated against her skin. "No, sweetheart, what I got was a lightning strike. I'm not quite sure I'm alive."

  "Oh, you're alive," she assured him.

  "Barely." He gave a slight shake of his head. "I've never lost control like that."

  "I inspire you."

  "You more than inspire me. You bring out things in me I never—" With a hard swallow, he broke off, obviously not ready to go down that particular path. "I'm too heavy. I don't want to crush you," he pronounced instead. Unsteadily, he managed to prop himself on his elbows, then made a ha
lfhearted attempt to hoist himself off of her.

  "Don't you dare." Taylor put a lid on that idea, wrapping her limbs around him. "I like you right where you are."

  One dark brow rose. "Now who's making decisions for whom?"

  "I am." She smiled, feeling more uninhibited than she ever had in her life. "I never said my rules were reciprocal. Besides, that lightning strike you described? It was incredible. Beyond incredible. Still, I'd

  like to try slow, too. Just for comparison's sake."

  "Would you now?" His grin was pure seduction, and he rolled them both over so she was on top, but

  he was still inside her. "Me, too. I'd like to try slow . . . and a whole lot more. As soon as I have the strength."

  "And when will that be?" she asked, letting her knees slide down on either side of him and shifting her hips ever so slightly.

  His breath emerged in a hiss, his penis hardening inside her. "How does now sound?"

  "Now sounds perfect."

  * * *

  They lay quietly together, Reed's fingers idly threading through strands of Taylor's hair.

  He was pensive. She could sense it.

  She glanced up, caught him studying her from beneath hooded lids. "Okay, what? You're thinking something. What is it?"

  "I'm wondering if you're really okay," he answered bluntly. "If this wasn't too soon for you, or maybe

  a reaction to what happened today."

  "I am, and it wasn't." Taylor propped her chin on his chest. "Yes, I've been pondering life and the

  curves it throws. Under the circumstances, that's to be expected. But that didn't affect my desire to

  make love with you. That's something I've wanted for days. And it was well worth the wait." She

  pushed herself up so she could meet his gaze. "Reed, we both knew where this relationship was

  headed. To put it off until we'd resolved all my emotional baggage would be unrealistic and a stupid

  waste of time."

  Reed's brows drew together. He didn't contradict her, but he didn't look anywhere near ready to let this go. "I still plan on getting you to trust me and to rely on me—not just in bed, but in fact."

  "I know. And I hope you succeed."

  "And Taylor. . ." There was an intensity about him that told her there was no room for discussion in whatever he was about to say. "Let's be clear about one thing. This is a relationship—not a moment."

  "I know," Taylor replied quietly. "And, if you're asking, yes, I'm scared to death. But it's a risk I want

  to take."

  Something tender flickered in his eyes. "Good." He drew her mouth back down to his. "Back to the subject at hand. We seem to have mastered the lightning strike. What do you say we try for something

  in between before we try tackling slow?"

  CHAPTER 17

  FEBRUARY 6

  1:15 A.M.

  WEST SEVENTY-SECOND STREET

  He made his way to Taylor's apartment building. He'd been here earlier, but she'd been out. He hoped she was okay. She must have taken the news hard. But he'd had no choice. It had to be done.

  He was glad he hadn't punished Taylor. He knew it wasn't her fault. Men kept pursuing her. But she turned them away. They never spent the night. They all tried to stay. But she made them leave. Now

  he'd taught one of them a lesson.

  He couldn't believe how easy it had been. Following the stupid drunk to the subway station, using a Metrocard he'd bought with cash at one of those big vending machines so there'd be no chance of being traced, and riding with him to Times Square. With his head swallowed up by his parka hood and his

  nose buried in a book, he'd evaded identification by the video surveillance system. He'd been just

  another late-night rider freezing his butt off in the New York subway. Then, once he'd transferred to

  the Flushing line, it had been a piece of cake.

  Now maybe they'd learn.

  He crossed the street. Taylor's apartment was just half a block away.

  He felt the usual thrill rush through him that he felt when he was near her. Only this time was better.

  He was back in control now, despite the earlier setback. He was on his way to realizing his dream.

  Soon she'd be his.

  He reached his destination, excitement thrumming through him.

  * * *

  An hour later, excitement had transformed to rage.

  Where the hell was she?

  At first, he'd thought she was asleep. But he knew she slept with a small light on. And the apartment

  was pitch-dark. Which meant she was still out.

  Out where? With whom?

  An ugly wave of suspicion began surging inside him, mingling with the fury that was already pumping through his veins.

  She could be in many places—with a friend or a family member.

  Or with Reed Weston.

  CHAPTER 18

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 6

  6:50 P.M.

  WVNY

  The mood at the radio station was somber.

  Everyone was going through the motions; going about their business in robotlike shock, talking quietly among themselves about the upcoming funeral service. Only the live-talk-show hosts—out of sheer necessity and strictly during their on-the-air time—managed to inject a modicum of enthusiasm in their tone. But the moment their two-hour stints were up, they became as solemn as the rest of the WVNY family.

  Jack had gathered them together immediately after he got word from Marilyn. He'd broken the news straightforwardly, although there was a glitter of tears in his eyes as he spoke. For those who weren't present, he sent out a simple, official memo, then issued a statement of sorrow and condolence to the trade media. As for Taylor's intentions to make a more personal statement at the outset of her show,

  he fully supported that.

  Well, that outset was just an hour away now, and the atmosphere in Taylor's studio was morose.

  Taylor stood at the counter beside Kevin's desk, rereading her commemorative notes about Rick, not absorbing a single word. Kevin was queuing up phone calls on autopilot, shaking his head as Sally

  asked him gently, for the third time, if he'd like her to handle his desk for one more night.

  "Just to give you another day to get it together," she suggested.

  "No." Kevin shook his head. "Believe me, more time to think is the last thing I need." He pivoted

  around in his chair so he could face her. "Thanks, Sal. It's not that I don't appreciate your offer, or that I'm skeptical about your ability to handle the show. You did a great job last night. I'm sure you'd do just as great a job with Taylor on live. But I'll go crazy if I don't get back to work." A weighted pause. "Besides, I need to feel like I'm part of the tribute Taylor's about to give Rick."

  "I understand."

  "That's assuming I get through that tribute without falling apart," Taylor murmured, abandoning her

  notes and shoving them in the pocket of her blazer.

  "You will," Sally assured her, squeezing Taylor's arm before gathering up her things to go. Her blond head was bowed, her usual bouncy personality tempered by sadness. "You'll find the strength—and

  the right words. You always do."

  "Thanks." Taylor gave Sally a faint smile as she headed for the door. She wished she shared Sally's optimism. But she was feeling raw and shaky. She'd have to overcome both, not just to say what she wanted to about Rick, but, afterward, to switch gears and conduct a normal show.

  Sally passed Dennis on her way out. He took one step into the room, then paused, rubbing his shaggy head and looking miserably uncomfortable. "I... Look, guys, I don't know what to say. Jack sent me

  in. But I don't feel like I should be here."

  Taylor felt a wave of sympathy. Rick had been training him, and Dennis looked up to him as a mentor. Right now, he looked like he wished the ground would swallow him up.

  "Dennis, please don't feel that way." Taylor ge
stured for him to come in. "This is exactly where you should be. It's where Rick would want you to be. Look, the circumstances may be devastating, but the

  fit is right. Rick believed you were a natural. The pain we feel at his loss has nothing to do with our

  faith in your abilities. We're grateful to have you." She extended her hand. "Welcome to our team."

  Self-consciously, Dennis shook her hand. "Thanks."

  "Yeah, ditto." Kevin stood, reaching across to offer his own handshake. "Good to have you on board."

  "That's nice of you." Dennis stared at the ground. "I'm not much with words. But I feel... I mean,

  I just can't believe ... I wish—"