Kira Sinclair - Whispers in the Dark

Chris’s words surprised her, and sent a thrill of hope down Karyn’s spine.

“Please,” he continued. “Just one more night to make sure my job is complete.” His blue eyes smiled down into hers. “I’m not ready for our weekend to end just yet.”

Neither was Karyn. But wouldn’t spending another night with him just put off the moment she’d have to watch him walk away? After all, they had an agreement. Was she being greedy? Tempting fate? Pleasure blended with misery as the feel of his hand stroking her back made her heart ache and her body hum.

As if sensing her internal debate, Chris leaned across the space between them, persuading her with a deep, sensual kiss. The need for his touch won out over her will, the promise of this moment overruling her fear of the future. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

He rewarded her with a look that guaranteed her a night she’d never forget.

And that was exactly what she was afraid of….

Dear Reader,

Whispers in the Dark has been a labor of love for me for a very long time. I’m so excited to finally share Chris and Karyn’s story with you!

This book began as a question that popped into my head while listening to a lecture on post-traumatic stress disorder. How do you return to a normal life after something tragic happens? For each and every person, just like for Karyn, the answer to that question is different. But the more I wrote, the more I realized determination plays a key part—the same determination we all need in order to tackle the obstacles that block our goals, hopes and dreams. I like to think that Chris and Karyn shared their determination with me. I hope they do the same for you.

I’d love to hear what you think about Chris and Karyn’s story. You can contact me at kira@kirasinclair.com or visit me at www.KiraSinclair.com.

Best wishes,

Kira Sinclair

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

When not working as an office manager or juggling plotlines, Kira spends her time on a small farm in north Alabama with her wonderful husband, two amazing daughters and a menagerie of animals. While writing in one form or another has always been a part of her life, she’s excited to see her first book published with the Harlequin Blaze line. She’d love to hear what you think of her debut, at www.KiraSinclair.com.

There are several people I need to thank,

because this book would never have happened

without them:

The Playfriends—Andrea, Danniele,

Kimberly and Marilyn—for brainstorming,

Rumors, teeter-totters, late-night calls and

panicked e-mail sessions.

The Mavens—Beverly, LJ and Linda—

for setting such a wonderful example.

Rhonda Nelson for that last puzzle piece.

Lori Borrill and Leeanne Kenedy for reading…

and reading…and reading again.

Shelley Visconte for the invaluable information.

My own personal hero and our little girls for your

love, patience and unflagging support.

And finally, my editor, Brenda, for not giving up

on me, Chris or Karyn.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

“YOU KNOW, as much as I enjoy this ritual, I’m really starting to resent you hogging my Friday nights.”

Karyn Mitchell looked up from her half-painted toes and rolled her eyes at her best friend, Anne. “Funny, I don’t remember inviting you, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, I know what you’d be doing if I wasn’t here…”

“Enjoying a nice, long bath?” Karyn raised a pointed eyebrow.

“Booorrrring.” As she flopped down onto the sofa beside Karyn, ice cubes rattled in Anne’s fresh drink. “You’ve been here almost two years—don’t you think it’s time to see something besides your gray cubicle and the inside of this apartment?”

“I like my apartment.” There was nothing wrong with it. Or the fact that she preferred to spend her time safe inside it.

Capping her bottle of Ravished Red, Karyn tried not to let the familiar irritation surface. Anne didn’t mean to push. She just couldn’t seem to help it.

“And grease-stained pizza boxes and demolished cartons of triple-chocolate meltdown, apparently. But neither of those will help you find a man.”

A joking smile crinkled her friend’s bright green eyes. It didn’t help. This was territory they’d been over before, and Karyn was getting tired of covering the same ground. The only thing that kept her from exploding was the fact that while Anne might appear thick-skinned to the rest of the world, she was really a softie at heart.

“I don’t need a man.”

Anne snorted, a sound that clashed with her blond, model-quality exterior, but completely suited the rebel she hid inside. “Every woman needs a man, someone to help you feel pretty, feminine…sexy.”

“I wouldn’t know sexy if it bit me in the ass.”

“That’s my point.” A bright, mischievous smile flashed across Anne’s face, lightening Karyn’s mood. Anne had that effect on her…on everyone. Sometimes it was sickening. But, God, she’d needed that so much when she’d first moved to Birmingham.

Laughter. Something she’d only faked for years. Her family had smothered her. Cocooned her in bubble wrap and walked on egg shells around her. Even surrounded by people, you could be alone. She just hadn’t realized how alone she’d been until she’d met Anne.

It hadn’t always been that way. A mischievous child, she’d grown up the center of attention and relished every last moment. And as a teenager, she’d loved being the outgoing, friendly one. Not the most popular girl. But the one everyone turned to for advice and a shoulder to cry on.

Being happy had been easy. Then.

She missed that girl. Wanted her back. It had taken five years, but she was finally starting to find that place inside again. If she could just break through that last barrier to being whole…

“A good man would teach you ‘sexy.’” Anne’s mouth twisted into an up-to-no-good grin as her eyes flashed fun. “Now turn the radio on. The show’s about to start.”

Karyn groaned. She had a love/hate relationship with Dr. Desire and his radio show. There was something about that man’s voice that made her insides tingle and turn to goo. Listening to him talk about relationships and sex for hours every night drove her crazy. Of course, she supposed it was self-torture, considering she’d given up all hope of ever having sex again.

“You’re on the air with Dr. Desire. Let’s put some spark back in your love life.”

His familiar voice filled the room around her. Calm and pleasant, deep and dark, Dr. Desire had the uncanny ability to put her at ease and hype her up, all with that one catch phrase.

Comfort and confusion, that’s what he offered. How could she want everything he talked about—a healthy, satisfying relationship plus sweaty, hedonistic, no-holds-barred sex—and yet still be unable to take that first step in finding it?

Listening to his show had become a nightly ritual, one she shared every Friday with Anne. It had started out as a sort of self-prescribed therapy. She’d hoped that hearing men and women talk about sexual relationships every night would take the edge of fear away, would get her juices flowing again. And it had, it did, but each and every time she’d attempted to put that energy to good use, the anxiety would resurface.

Holy hell, she was frustrated.

She wanted sex. She wanted a life. And she wanted someone to share them both with.

“How can he fulfill your needs if you don’t tell him what you want? Listen, ladies, we aren’t mind readers. You want a little adventure with your sex? Then spell it out for him. Trust me, he’s probably willing to try anything once.”

Karyn sighed and leaned back against her sofa. She rattled the ice cubes in her buttery nipple, wishing, not for the first time, that the warm buzz wouldn’t go to waste. But she never drank hard liquor in public, not when there were men around to take advantage.

“Call him.”

Rolling her head sideways, Karyn shot Anne a glare. “No.”

“He’ll have the answer.”

She stared disbelievingly as Anne hopped up and hobbled across the floor toward the phone.

“Ah, no—he won’t.”

“Look, how can it hurt? You’ve seen how many therapists over the last few years?”

“Four in five years.”

“And has anything they’ve told you to do helped?”

“No.”

“Precisely.” Anne duck-walked back to protect her wet polish. With a raised eyebrow and cocked hip, she thrust out the handset. “What do you have to lose?”

Staring at the thing like it was a mud-covered spider, Karyn said, “Uh, my dignity, self-respect, sanity? Any of those will work. There is no way I’m going on the most popular radio show in the city to spill my guts. Everyone I know listens to this show. You’re the only person here who knows what happened. I plan to keep it that way.”

“So lie, use a different name. No one will know.”

“I’ll know.”

“You’re assuming he can’t help—”

“He can’t. You listen to the show just as much as I do. He might know a heck of a lot about the male/female thing, but somehow I think my problems run a bit deeper than the normal issues he handles. I do not need a sex expert.”

“That man is an expert on more than just sex. He knows how to handle a woman, make her feel special. Although, if you ask me, a sexpert is precisely what you need.”

Anne frowned and Karyn thought, Oh, shit. Her best friend bright and animated…that was normal. Her best friend with a mission…that was just scary.

“That man could charm the panties off anyone—including you. He’d have you naked and panting before fears and your overactive brain could sabotage you.”

Standing up, Karyn paced past her friend toward the stereo. She should just turn the damn thing off. Instead she turned back and asked, “What do you think he’s going to say?”

Anne lifted one challenging brow. “It’s more what I expect he could do.”

“Do? What, you think he’ll pimp for me? Find a man willing to take on the challenge?”

Anne twirled the phone in her hand. “Nope. I expect he’d help you himself if you asked.”

Her knees went weak, almost like someone had reached in and pulled the bones straight through the bottom of her feet. “Asked. You expect me to ask Dr. Desire for sex?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Hell, no.”

“He’s precisely what you need. He definitely knows his way around a woman’s body. Any man who can talk about women and pleasure the way he does…” Her friend trailed off into a wistful sigh. “At least call him.”

Karyn shook her head, not sure what to say. There was no way she could ask Dr. Desire for sex. On air no less!

Narrowing her eyes, Anne jabbed the phone toward her. “If you don’t, I will.”