Nightfire by Lisa Marie Rice Page A

belly to know that. It was imprinted in every line of his face. The cords of his neck protruded, a red flush stood out under his tanned skin, his jaw muscles were clenched. His eyes were narrowed, chips of blue fire between the lids.
    He stared at her, unblinking, then lowered his head.
    Oh, fabulous. More of that was on the way. You don’t miss something if you don’t know it. But now that Chloe had experienced that incredible blast of energy that somehow left her lax and warm, she wanted more of it.
    Sex made the world go around. She’d known that intellectually, because sex was everywhere recognized as one of the most potent forces in human affairs. It moved mountains, apparently. Lifted up teen idols, brought down presidents, inspired great works of art, moved hearts to murder.
    Chloe had always thought of herself as immune to all that, just one more sign that she was destined to spend her life on the outside, looking in.
    But Mike had yanked her forward. Zapped her out of her safe space. Now she’d felt even a little of its power, once wasn’t going to be enough. Not by a long shot.
    Today she’d crossed some kind of invisible line. Found a brother, maybe found a lover, and joined the human race.
    His lips touched hers, just barely, and already she was quivering with eagerness, nearly breathless with expectation.
    A loud ring made them both jump. Mike lifted his head, frowned, bewildered.
    “Your cell phone,” Chloe said gently.
    “Christ,” he muttered as he pulled a very fancy cell phone out of his jacket pocket and glanced at the display. “Yeah. Yeah, Harry. Coming down right now.”
    He looked down at her, a corner of his mouth turned up. “Later.”
    “Later,” she agreed happily.
    T he entire clan lived in a gorgeous high-rise that anchored the end of a stunning white sand beach. Chloe was astounded at the sheer beauty of the place.
    Nicole and Sam’s apartment was on the top floor, Harry had an apartment on the fifth, and Mike had a smaller one on the fourth floor.
    When they walked into Harry’s apartment, a smiling Latina—the niece of Nicole and Sam’s housekeeper, Manuela, she was told—came out of the bedroom carrying a small bundle in a soft pink and cream blanket.
    The baby was fussing, crying and wriggling.
    Ellen rushed over, took the baby from the young woman and cradled her, murmuring softly. The wails grew heartbreaking.
    Harry put his hand on Ellen’s shoulder and looked down at his daughter.
    Chloe couldn’t help it. She stepped closer, touching the soft blanket, then cradling the child’s head in the palm of her hand. The wailing quieted, the tiny feet stopped kicking.
    You’d need a wrench to tear her gaze away from the baby to focus on Ellen’s face. “May I?” She meant— May I touch her?
    And Ellen, without a second thought, transferred the tiny bundle to Chloe’s arms, not realizing that Chloe had never held a baby before.
    The baby fit into her arms perfectly. A small, warm, living bundle, the tiniest human Chloe had ever seen.
    She cradled the baby in her left arm and pulled away the blanket from the baby’s face. When she looked down, she felt her stomach swoop, her lungs constrict, her heart plunge instantly into love. The whole world just melted away, the only real thing the warm little creature in her arms.
    From a huge distance she heard Ellen’s voice, a little choked. “Chloe, meet your niece Grace Christine. We call her Gracie. Gracie, meet your aunt Chloe.”
    Chloe stared down at the tiny, perfect face staring right back at her. It was astounding to see the little face so very like her own, the color of her eyes exactly like hers—a light brown that looked almost golden in the sun streaming in through the huge picture windows.
    All the doctors had told Chloe that she could never have children. Her injuries had been too severe, bone fragments had severed her Fallopian tubes. She had been told this from childhood on and it was as much a part of her as