by Rose Wulf
Angela swallowed, almost wishing it had been Eric or Jacob who’d found her instead, and nodded mutely.
Dean sucked in a breath, stopped just outside of arms’ reach, and turned his face toward the sky for a long second. But it wasn’t long enough, because his voice was still dangerously tight when he asked, “Where is your phone?”
“In the trunk,” Angela offered on a whisper. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Dean this angry with her.
Dean’s head turned toward the trunk, now slightly behind him, and then back to her. His frown was etched into his face so much like stone that she forgot for a second which element was his. Until he spoke. “You left your phone in the fucking trunk while you sat out in the middle of nowhere at night?”
“It’s not the middle of nowhere,” Angela argued reflexively. She realized too late that doing anything more than nodding was probably not her smartest decision, but it was too late to take the words back. So she embraced them and added, “I’m still in Darien. Don’t be so overdramatic.”
Okay. It’s possible that last part was unnecessary.
The air around them heated noticeably and Dean snapped, “Overdramatic? You mean like my sister, who’s so stuck on being upset at how unfair the world is that she runs away for a pity party without at least telling someone not to expect her for dinner? Is that what you mean?” He paused for only an instant, swept his arm forward, pointing past her, and added, “And this is barely Darien, dammit, so don’t go acting like you’re in the center of town!”
“No,” Angela returned, remembering now why she’d been angry in the first place. “I mean like my idiot brother, who thinks I’ll get myself killed if I yawn too deeply!” She crossed her arms, planted her feet, and demanded, “So forgive me if I needed a little room to breathe.”
“Room to breathe?” Dean repeated incredulously. “Are you fucking serious right now?” He didn’t pause long enough to give her time to respond before pointing now over to her Mercedes and snapping, “Get in the car, Angela.”
“Why? Because you said so? Or because I might get bit by a mosquito?” Yeah, this was exactly why she’d come out here in the first place. How did he not see he was behaving like a barbarian?
“You have to be kidding me,” Dean grumbled, arm falling to his side, before he returned his attention outward and added, “Angela Hawke, get your ass in that car, point it toward home, and drive or I swear to god I’ll drag you.”
Angela ground her teeth, wanting to keep yelling at him and refusing to do what he was telling her on the principle of his attitude. But she knew he had a marginal point—this time –so she huffed out a breath and said, “Fine. I’m going home.”
“You’re damned right you are,” Dean echoed firmly. “I’ll be tailing you until you walk through the front door. If you’re lucky I won’t follow you inside. Do you have any idea how worried Mom and Dad are right now?”
Guilt slammed into her and Angela looked away. She was mad at her family, but she didn’t want to worry anybody. Most especially not her parents. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Will you move so I can get into my car?”
“What, are you afraid I’ll bite if you get any closer to me?” Dean returned. He made no move to back up. It seemed he was going to force her to practically run into him in order to climb into her car.
“I’m more afraid you’ll burn me, idiot,” Angela grumbled as she obediently started forward anyway. Either Dean didn’t hear her or he actually opted not to respond. Whichever it was, she managed to duck into her car without another word and slammed her door shut.
****
Arianna wasn’t sure what to say while they dealt with Angela. She’d been shocked, and a little irritated on Dean’s behalf, when they found her soul-searching by the cliff side nearly forty minutes after Dean had gotten the call that she was missing. It hadn’t been her place to say anything while Dean and Angela had been practically yelling at each other, though she’d certainly been tempted. All she’d really been able to offer was a comforting hand on his thigh while he drove, fulfilling his promise and staying directly behind Angela the entire way back to the Hawke family home. Somewhere along the way Dean had conference-called his brothers to let them know to call off the search, and when they arrived at the house Arianna had to admit she was surprised when Dean chose not to get out of the car.
“You don’t want to go in?” she asked quietly as they watched Angela trudge up the stairs to the front door.
Dean’s hand released the steering wheel and covered the one Arianna still had on his thigh, wrapping around it and squeezing. “Not a good idea right now,” he stated plainly. For an instant she actually thought he was referring to her hand placement, but he made no move to release her or pull her hand away, and she realized he was responding to her question. She couldn’t say she didn’t understand.
They watched until the front door was closed again, then Dean threw the car into reverse. He didn’t speak, and he barely released her hand, so she took his cue and maintained the silence. She could only imagine how concerned he’d been and how upset he still was—still had every right to be.
He swung into his designated space a few minutes later, gave her hand a final squeeze, and let go in order to pull the keys from the ignition. Only once the engine had gone silent did he finally offer, “Thank you, Ari.”
Turning a smile over to him, Arianna replied, “You don’t need to thank me, Dean. I didn’t even do anything.”
He slid a humorless grin her way and countered, “You kept me from burning down my car.”
Understanding his mood, she let her smile broaden and said, “Well, since that would have been a shame, I suppose you’re welcome.”
Their gazes held for another second before they climbed from the car. As they made their way back up to his door, she found herself oddly self-conscious. Should she stay? Should she make a tactful exit? She wanted to linger, but she wasn’t so sure he was really in the mood for her kind of company—or any kind of company at all. And she certainly didn’t want to crowd him if he was feeling antisocial. Another time, then. It was late enough. Georgia might even have fallen asleep in her boredom. She could just quietly settle in for bed herself. Not that she was especially tired, she simply had nothing better to do. Hotel living was crap.
Dean’s key hit his lock and Arianna bit back her sigh. “I guess I’ll get going, then,” she began reluctantly, “I’m sure you don’t really want any more company tonight.”
He turned arched eyebrows to her. His eyes flicked to the parking lot behind them before returning to hers and he offered, “You can go if you want, but you don’t have to.”
“You don’t … want to be alone?” Arianna asked carefully, worried the hope might be shining through.
Dean grunted, caught her around the waist, and spun her into the door with a disturbing lack of effort. He had one hand splayed on the door beside her head and his lips were brushing teasingly over hers before he rumbled, “Not even a little.”
Shivers shot down her spine and pooled low in her belly as her fingers curled into his shirt. “Then you better open this door,” she breathed, fighting the urge to push to the balls of her feet and catch the kiss he was teasing her with. He switched which hand was over her hip, she heard the deadbolt slide, the door gave way, and then he hauled her completely off her feet.
Their lips met in a hungry kiss as her feet left the ground, and since he was already moving forward she did the only logical thing and wrapped her legs around his hips. The door slammed behind them as he buried one hand in her hair, his tongue plunged into her mouth, and Arianna let her purse slide from her shoulder to fall on the floor as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She swirled her tongue around his, stroking it deliberately as she threaded her fingers through his hair. She swore she could taste his hunger and the flavor was intoxicating.
Her back met with the wall at one point and they took the opportunity to rid themselves of their shirts—and her bra—before his
hands were burning along her newly-exposed skin. He gave all-new meaning to “blazing a trail” with his touch. Every point of contact between them was like gasoline on an open fire. She was practically an inferno by the time he tore from her lips to dance his tongue and teeth down the length of her throat. His palm closed around one of her breasts and she tightened her legs around his hips in response, aching straight to her core with her need for him. Her nails scraped the bare skin of his shoulder when he rolled his thumb over her nipple and he rumbled something she couldn’t comprehend.
It didn’t matter, though, because there was suddenly a mattress beneath her and Dean shifted, propping his weight on one forearm as his kisses finally trailed lower. She relaxed her legs enough to let him move, enjoying the slide of his chest along hers. His lips teased her collar, tongue tracing the bone, and then he’d wrapped those sinful lips around her previously neglected breast. She arched, gasping as he sucked and flicked the nipple with his tongue. The hand over her other breast pulled away, choosing instead to continue down her side, and she moaned as he stroked his fingers over her quivering abdomen. His teeth grazed her nipple and her nails dug into his skin, her back curving again.
He released her breast and trailed his kisses lower. Her blood burned through her veins, the heat inching higher as his lips and hands inched lower. He didn’t stop to get her permission or check to see if she’d changed her mind before popping the button on her jeans, easing her legs off his hips, and tearing the rest of her clothing off as if he had a personal vendetta against it. An act that shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was. Before she could miss him, he was touching her again, his hands running along the length of her calves and curving around her thighs just slowly enough to have her mewling and shifting restlessly.
“Dean,” she breathed thoughtlessly, one hand curling into the sheet beneath her in a search for purchase.
He flashed a sexy, devilish smirk up at her before leaning in and letting his tongue swirl around her navel at the same time as his thumb ventured lower and brushed, lightly, over her clit. She gasped, attempting to find her breath to tell him to stop teasing her, but he seemed to read her mind, because a moment later one of his fingers had plunged inside her. Her back came off the bed, breath rushing from her lungs, and he was pumping rhythmically by the time she collapsed again. He was still kissing her, trailing his lips around her hips as he worked.
A second finger joined the first, curled, and a loud moan slipped from her parted lips. But that sensation was nothing compared to the one that followed as he lowered his head and slipped his tongue into her center. He licked, nipped, sucked, pumped, and repeated before finally locking his lips around her bundle of nerves and sucking hard.
Pleasure exploded inside her and she cried out, digging the nails of one hand into his shoulders. He withdrew while she was floating in the air somewhere and shifted above her, but she wasn’t truly aware of his movement until he returned to her.
His chest pressed against hers and he caught her lips in a feverish kiss. In a matter of seconds, as his tongue swept around her mouth, she went from satisfied to famished all over again. One of her legs curled around his hip and she realized, belatedly, that when he’d pulled away from her he’d also taken the liberty of removing his pants. And as exciting as that prospect was, there was one old habit she’d developed that she really needed to hold onto.
“Condoms,” Arianna said on a gasp as she pulled from his maddeningly delicious kiss. “Please tell me—!”
“Taken care of,” he rumbled as he dipped his head and pressed his lips to the back of her jaw. She didn’t have time to wonder how long she’d been out of it, though, because the next thing he did with his tongue had her moaning and arching into him all over again.
Her hands curled over his spine and she breathed, “Then quit teasing me.”
His teeth grazed the side of her throat in response even as she felt him positioning himself above her. Then he snapped his hips forward, filling her completely in one hard, deep thrust.
Arianna gasped and arched, her vision blurring for an instant even as another wave of heat burst within her. She wasn’t sure if she said anything after that as her body took over, hips lifting to meet his halfway as he began surging into her. He growled something beside her ear before reclaiming her lips in another hot, wet kiss. The strokes of his tongue matched the pace of his hips. She tangled one hand in his hair, both legs curled around his hips now, desperate to take him deeper.
Every time he sank inside her she felt herself getting closer and closer to the edge of oblivion, and she needed to see what his oblivion felt like. She suspected she’d never seen anything like it.
Dean growled again, his chest vibrating with the sound, and he tore from her lips to suck in ragged breaths. Her hips lifted and her back curved as he picked up the pace. One of his hands clamped over her hip and she leaned up, sensing he was as close to the end as she was, in order to catch his earlobe with her teeth. He groaned above her, slumping slightly as his pace faltered. He plunged into her sharply, slamming into exactly the right spot, and Arianna heard her own voice fill the room as stars exploded behind her eyes. But hers wasn’t the only choked outcry to reach her ears, as Dean’s arm shoved itself between her back and the mattress, holding her tightly to him.
Their bodies shuddered together, rocking slowly, and Arianna did her best to catch her breath. She’d never experienced lovemaking quite so raw and simultaneously tender, but she couldn’t deny the subtle softness of the way he’d touched her.
As their breathing evened out, Dean’s grip loosened and his head landed on her shoulder. Their bodies slowly settled. He was still buried inside her and she found she sort of liked it. It wasn’t until she was absently massaging his scalp, her senses mostly stabilized again, that she realized he’d yet to answer her earlier question. She couldn’t bring herself to feel guilty, though. She knew what it felt like to be used for sex, and this wasn’t it. But she owed it to them both to mention it again.
“You do realize,” she began, her voice nearly hoarse and barely audible, “you owe me dinner, right?”
Dean choked on a laugh, pressed a heartwarming kiss to her shoulder, and lifted his head to grin at her. “Dinner, a movie, whatever the hell you want. But you’re staying the night.”
She smiled, leaned up to let a kiss linger over his lips, and murmured, “Deal.”
****
Dean groaned at the intrusive, somewhat distant, sound of the ringing phone that was trying to drag him back to consciousness. He was too damned exhausted to answer it, let alone go into work—as he was sure that was what it was—and he was fully prepared to ignore it when Arianna shifted beneath his arm. “Ignore it,” he rumbled, his face still wholly buried in her hair.
“But,” she began, her own voice cracked with sleep, “it’s mine. What if it’s important?”
“Yours?” Dean repeated, lifting his head to blink at her. The ringing had stopped now, but he realized belatedly he didn’t know that ringtone. He automatically glanced at the clock on his nightstand, telling him it was shortly after five-thirty in the morning. “Who the hell would be calling you now?”
Arianna drew a slow breath. Confusion was evident in her voice when she replied, “I don’t know.”
“Well,” Dean began, “I guess they’re not leaving a message. Might as well check it later.” He shifted as he spoke, hoping to recapture the lingering warmth of the spot he’d previously been occupying.
A sigh escaped her and Arianna relaxed back into the mattress, rolling slightly into him. “Maybe it was a wrong number.”
The words were barely past her lips before the phone went off again. “Dammit,” Dean groused, releasing her and sitting up. He had half a mind to get it himself, but Arianna had already rolled to her feet. His gaze shifted to her and lingered as he watched her snatch his shirt from the pile on the floor. He’d thought to gather their discarded clothes from the hall on his way back from belatedly rememberin
g to lock the door a handful of hours earlier, and now he was grateful. She looked damned good in his shirt.
He swung his feet to the floor, the sheet just barely covering his lap, but he didn’t want to seem like he was intruding, so he held his position on the edge of the bed. There was always the chance whatever it was had nothing to do with his problems. Or it could still be a wrong number. But something told him that was too much to wish for.
“Hello?” Arianna asked cautiously after extracting her phone from her purse—another item he’d retrieved on his way back from locking the door. He watched as she stood, shifted her weight, and her eyes widened.
Warning bells ringing in his head, Dean stood and rounded the bed until he’d found his discarded jeans.
“Wait,” Arianna said, her voice oddly rushed and choked, “what do you mean he—?” She cut herself off, most likely interrupted, and said nothing more.
Dean turned to watch her, studying her body language with a deepening frown. She’d curled her free arm around her stomach, clenching his shirt in her hand tightly over her opposite hip. She’d gone pale. He held his tongue, and his ground, as he counted the seconds until she pulled the phone from her ear and jabbed the screen with a shaking thumb.
The phone fell from her hand as a sob escaped her throat. Her knees gave out an instant later, and if he hadn’t been standing close enough she’d have crashed gracelessly onto the floor. Instead she collapsed into his arms, her body trembling and tears already pouring down her cheeks. He curled his arms around her as he lowered them both to the floor and she let him take her weight, her fingers digging into his sides.
“Ari,” he murmured, a torrent of confused emotions rushing through him. “What happened?”
