His words brought her back to the present. To their current situation.
“My Ellie.”
Warmth swirled through her at him calling her that.
His.
“You were always mine. Not his...” He reached up and, using his thumb, pulled her bottom lip from between her teeth. The metallic taste of blood hit the tip of her tongue.
Still gripping her wrist and holding her in place, he shifted forward in his chair, brushing his fingertips lightly over her cheek, down her jawline. Over the pounding pulse along her throat. “And when you gave yourself to him... That was a goddamn betrayal. You willingly gave him what was mine, what I had claimed.”
She pushed words past the lump in her throat. “You were mine, too, Trace, and you gave yourself to the government. You gave them what was mine, what I had claimed.”
He dropped his gaze to her lips, his thumb still sweeping back and forth. It stilled when she pressed the tip of her tongue to it.
He abruptly dropped his hand, released her captured wrist, and reached for his crutches, using them to pull himself to a stand. “We don’t need to complicate things. And we don’t know each other anymore.”
No, they didn’t. So many things had happened since the last time they spoke. A lifetime of things. Things that changed them both.
But deep down inside—though, she wouldn’t tell him—she knew him. Even now. Whatever connection they had long ago still remained. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but it was hard to ignore. The second she heard his voice on the phone, the second he’d walked into that room at the warehouse, she knew.
The piece of her which had been missing was found.
However, she wasn’t sure if it would ever fit neatly back into place again. The edges were now damaged. Maybe permanently so.
And the tension between them was still tight.
He was right. Nothing had been settled.
She’d only been in his house a few hours and it was already wearing on her. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like after days of this.
She might lose her mind.
“Trace, you need to stop this. I can’t do this. We need to move past this.”
“How are we supposed to do that, Ellie?”
She took her time whispering each word to underscore how important they were, “You just... let... it... go.”
Right. He just needed to let it go. Move past this.
His whole life had changed the moment he spotted her across the gymnasium during a pep rally. And then it changed again after she gave him the boot.
And now... Now, she was back, changing it one more time.
Unless he stopped it.
He had set rules so that wouldn’t happen. Remain roommates while she was there. She was out the second the job was completed.
Simple.
Just as simple as “letting it go.”
Which meant it wasn’t and he wouldn’t. And basically, he was fucked.
You used to call me sweetheart.
Why did she even bring that up? To drive home the fact something still existed between them?
He could deny it all he wanted, but it was there. It had always been there.
She was deeply rooted inside him.
Which was why he could never find another woman to take her place. There wasn’t one. That woman did not exist.
And now, the only woman he ever felt a connection with stood on the deck of his house inches from him.
She belonged to no one.
She could be his again.
Did he even want her?
For fuck’s sake, there was nothing, no one, he wanted more.
He needed to reclaim her. Fill that deep, gaping hole.
“You’re right. We need to move on,” he finally murmured, doing his best to convince himself that was what needed to be done.
Relief filled her face and she nodded, then turned to go inside.
He stopped her with only her name. “Ellie.”
She paused in the open doorway and glanced back at him over her shoulder.
And, fuck, if that sight didn’t steal his breath and get his heart pumping furiously.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
She hesitated, nodded and went inside. He followed her, closing the door behind them.
“I’m exhausted... with the flight and... everything. I’m going to turn in.” She kept moving, heading down the hallway.
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he grabbed another beer from the fridge and moved into the living room, which was situated off the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights.
It was too early for him to sleep. And he wasn’t sure he could, even if he tried. Maybe some mindless television would drown out the thoughts and urges he had. Especially since his jerk-off in the shower earlier hadn’t tempered any of them. It only made things worse.
He settled into the recliner and leaned his crutches against the table next to it. After taking another guzzle of beer, he put it aside and grabbed the remote, trying to find the most boring thing on television. With all the reality TV out there, it wasn’t hard to find.
He used the lever to kick the recliner back and his legs up as he settled in.
“Trace.”
The voice calling him sounded familiar.
“Trace.”
He should know who it was, he just couldn’t see her.
“Help me.”
Then he did. He stood in a room and saw her bound to a chair, surrounded by men who didn’t care whether she lived or died. They only wanted one thing.
Their money.
Cash was a commodity worth more than life to them.
Her eyes, the color of that money, were turned to him and what they held froze him from the inside out.
Fear.
And that debilitating fear seeped into his own bones.
Three men stood around her. He couldn’t make out their faces since they were blurred, but what he could see clearly were the weapons in their hands.
One held a bloody hatchet. The second one, a knife. The third, a handgun down at his side.
His gaze ran over her to see where the blood on the knife and hatchet had come from. His own voice screamed in his head as he saw her hands had been hacked off. Her throat slit.
But somehow, she once again called out to him. “Trace. Help me.”
“Do you have the money?” One of the men asked him.
Fuck. “No.”
“Then you’re too late.” The man holding the pistol raised it, put it to the back of Ellie’s head and pulled the trigger.
Walker’s head jerked back as his face was splattered in warm spray of blood and brain matter.
As she slumped forward in the chair, he collapsed to his knees, not even realizing in his nightmare, he had both of his legs.
Walker gasped for breath, his eyes popping open. He’d been clutching the recliner’s arms so hard, his fingers had locked.
He slammed the recliner upright, his heart racing, his breathing ragged, sweat beading on his brow.
Darkness surrounded him, except for the eerie glow of the TV.
He turned his head and glanced at the nearby couch. Empty.
The room was empty.
He shut the TV down, grabbed his crutches and stood. His weight-bearing knee almost gave way and, for once, he was glad for the support of his crutches.
He headed past the kitchen and down the hallway, stopping in front of the spare bedroom door. Leaning on one crutch, he opened the door a crack.
He was surprised to find the light on, even though Ellie was under the covers, her back turned toward the door.
He closed his eyes and couldn’t wipe that picture of her from his nightmare out of his mind.
She wasn’t dead. She was alive. In that bed. Sleeping.
He’d seen her, he’d assured himself of that fact, now he needed to climb into his own bed and get some solid sleep. Otherwise, he’d be useless in the morning to help Hunter. He needed his
mind sharp to make sure what happened in his nightmare didn’t materialize in real life.
Adjusting his crutches, he pushed the door open wider and moved farther into the room to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.
As he reached to switch it off, her hand snaked out from under the sheet and grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”
Stupid but true, he was glad to see her hands still attached, the skin on her throat still smooth and her green eyes looking up at him in surprise.
He cleared the rough from his throat to ask, “You can sleep with the light on?”
“I can’t sleep with the light on or off right now. At least keeping the light on...” She took a deep, audible inhale. “The truth? I’m spooked.”
After that fucking nightmare, she wasn’t the only one.
“I don’t know who these men are. I don’t know what they’re capable of.” She sat up and shook her head. “I’m wrong, I do. They’re capable of killing. But the death would be the easy part. It’s what comes before that final breath that would be unbearable.”
He was sure she couldn’t get the pictures of her husband, the man she married and supposedly loved, tortured and killed out of her mind. Especially when she still had them on her phone.
He should transfer them off hers to his, in case they needed them in the morning.
Her cell phone was within reach, so he handed it to her. “Unlock your phone and then give it back to me. I’ll forward those pictures to mine so you can delete them.”
As soon as it was unlocked, she handed it back to him. He saw that as a sign of trust. He’d never hand anyone his cell. A burner, yes. His personal phone? No.
She only had two strings of text. His and from the man or men who had killed McMaster.
He quickly forwarded all those texts, along with screenshots of each picture’s metadata, to his phone and then locked hers again, placing it on the nightstand. “I won’t let them do that to you.”
“I know you won’t.”
He dropped his crutches to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. He twisted his head to face her. “Do you trust me?”
“Absolutely.”
That one whispered word hit him hard. “Why?”
“Because you’re you, Trace. I wouldn’t have come to you if I didn’t.”
He followed her hand as it rose from the bed to his face. Her fingers lightly touched his cheek and a small, sad smile played along her lips. “You can grow a beard.”
He closed his eyes, cupped a hand over hers and rubbed his stubbled cheek into her soft palm. “Yeah.”
He tried to grow a beard his senior year in high school. It ended up looking like a moth-eaten shag carpet. Ellie hated it, so he shaved it back off.
Over the years it had thickened and filled in, but he usually kept it shaved now. But even so, by the end of the day the growth was back.
“Back then I thought you were a man. Even at eighteen. But I know better now. You have grown into a man, Trace. And I’m sorry I missed that journey.”
Fuck.
He pulled her hand off his cheek and pressed her fingers to his lips. Then dropped his head and pulled their hands into his lap. “Gotta be honest with you, maybe you shouldn’t be trusting me to be in your room right now.”
Her fingers twitched within his. “Earlier you asked me if I missed you back then and I told you yes. I wasn’t lying. You also asked me if I had loved you. I have to be honest with you, too. I still do. I never stopped.”
He opened his eyes and met her green ones brimming with regret again. And, again, he was sure his mirrored hers.
They had lost so much time.
“We’re different people now, Ellie. Life changes us.”
She nodded slightly and he could see her throat bob when she swallowed. She probably had just as big of a lump in her throat as he did his.
He continued when she stayed quiet, “You love who I used to be. I’m not him anymore. I haven’t been him for a long time.”
She lifted their hands from his lap and placed them against his chest over his heart. “I’m sure you are.”
“Fuck, El,” he groaned, twisting the hand she had a hold of, grabbing hers and yanking her to him.
He cupped both sides of her face and crushed his mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp along with her groan as their lips meshed, their tongues clashed. Her hand fisted in his shirt and twisted, pulling him closer.
He tilted his head, pressed their mouths together harder and took control of the kiss, blocking her tongue from his mouth so he could explore hers instead.
With one hand still gripping his shirt, she wrapped the other around the back of his head and pulled him off balance until he landed on an angle over her. With his chest pressing against hers, he wasn’t sure if it was his heartbeat thundering or hers.
Her hand slid down the back of his head to nab the collar of his T-shirt and she began to yank it up.
This needed to end. He couldn’t do this. They couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let himself fall again only to end up falling apart.
He ended the kiss and raised his head. “We can’t do this.” Every one of those words had to be painfully pulled from him like a jagged splinter.
“The hell we can’t.” She lifted her hips so the thigh he was leaning over brushed against his hard-on.
For fuck’s sake, that wasn’t helping. “I’ll rephrase. We shouldn’t do this.”
He wasn’t sure he’d survive doing this. He had survived the first time. Barely. He wasn’t sure he could survive a second.
She shifted her thigh against his erection again just enough to make him bite back a groan. “Are you worried about things getting complicated?”
Fuck yes. “Aren’t you?”
In a throaty voice, she said with all seriousness, “I feel it’s worth the risk.”
Fuck yes.
He stared into her hooded green eyes, dropped a quick kiss on her lips and then murmured against them, “My bed is bigger.” He sat up, leaned over, snagged his crutches from the floor and rose. “I’d throw you over my shoulder and carry you to my bed like a fucking caveman, but those days are over.”
Her lips, swollen from their kiss, curled just slightly at the ends. “I’ll manage to find my way there.”
He backed up and waited for her to get up. She wore a cream-colored pair of panties and as she climbed out of bed, an unmistakable dark line caught his eye.
His cock began to throb. “You wet?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“I’ll race you to the end of the hallway.”
“That’s not funny,” she scolded him with a frown.
“I’m not being funny. Even with these,” he tipped his chin to his crutches, “for that?” He tipped it again toward her wet panties. “I’m gonna win that fucking race.”
Her wrinkled brow smoothed out. “If you leave me in the dust, what’s your reward?”
“Watching you walk into my fucking room wearing a camisole and those damp panties, knowing you’ll soon be riding my cock.”
A flush rose up her chest into her cheeks.
“Not used to anyone talking to you like that?”
“No.”
“It bother you?”
Her lips parted, a short breath escaped, and she whispered, “No.”
He didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Good. I used to talk dirty to you and you liked it. I was hoping that was one thing that hadn’t changed.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Pity for you. Not so much for me.” He was glad it was one thing he’d given her no one else had.
All those late nights on the phone, with Ellie in her bed, he in his, he had perfected the art of dirty talk. He’d taken them both to climax many, many times during those two years they waited impatiently.
Was it wrong? Maybe. But it was one way to be intimate with her and keep both her virginity safe and him out of trouble.
He adjusted his crutches more securely under his arms and h
auled ass down the hallway. When he got to his bed, he dropped his crutches to the floor, ripped his shirt over his head, and twisted as he toppled so he landed on his ass onto the mattress. He ripped his shorts down his thighs and let them fall to the floor as well.
His cock was so fucking hard it ached. His balls were tight, his heart racing and his mind was on who was slowly coming down the hallway.
Coming to him.
After all this time.
She was coming back to him.
He only hoped this wasn’t some sick dream he would wake up from and find Ellie Cooke wasn’t walking from his bedroom door toward his bed looking a million times better than his memories.
She was goddamn beautiful. So fucking beautiful it hurt to look at her.
“Stop,” he yelled.
Her step stuttered in surprise and she stopped just feet from him.
“You trust me, right?”
“Yes,” she breathed. Her chest rising and falling, her tits swelling above the tight stretchy fabric of her top.
“Then you’ll do what I say?”
She didn’t answer verbally, her lips parting and her ragged breathing was answer enough.
“Take your top off.” He had one hand planted in the bed behind him and one wrapped around his leaking cock. He swirled a drop of precum around the tip and stroked the length slowly as she began to tug the camisole up over her belly. It got caught on her tits, but she freed them and pulled the black fabric over her head and dropped it to the floor.
Fuck yes. Things had changed. Her breasts had been perfect before but now...
They hung a little heavier, the pink flesh puckered around the tightly beaded tips. He couldn’t wait to taste them, sink his teeth into them, suck them until she cried out.
“Trace...”
“Circle the tips with your thumbs. Just the tips. Nothing else.”
The movement was slight, but he caught it. She had pressed her thighs together. That meant where she was wet before would soon be soaked.
And he couldn’t wait to run his nose along that slick line and inhale her scent, savor her taste.
Reclaim her inside and out.
“Twist one nipple and touch your clit.”
“Trace,” she said more firmly, her brow scrunching up.
“Trust me.”
A few seconds later she did what he demanded, sliding her hand into her panties and touching herself. Her eyelids got heavy, her breathing even more uneven.
Guts & Glory: Walker (In the Shadows Security Book 4) Page 7
