Hidden Scars

by Amanda K. Byrne

  He tumbled them onto the bed and she lifted her hips as he slid her pants down, doing away with her panties at the same time. Bared to him, she watched as he rid himself of his pants and boxers, smiling as he took the time to remove his socks.

  They lay nose to nose, their limbs tangled together. His face was blurred with the darkness, the light spilling in from the hallway not quite reaching the head of the bed. She traced the lines of it, and it gave her an idea.

  She scooted down and placed her hands on his chest. His scars were a part of his story, and it was a part she wanted to know. Trailing kisses along his neck, she slid her hands over him, the puckers and ridges harsh on the pads of her fingertips. “What’s this one for?” she asked, following a faint scar riding high on his left pectoral.

  “Got into a fight over a girl.” His hand curled into her hair, fingers anchored in the soft waves.

  “And this one?” A thicker, longer scar, beneath his collar bone.

  “Caught listening in on a conversation I should have stayed away from.”

  “This one?” The jagged scar running down his sternum.

  “Last job I did for Tony.”

  She kissed each and every one of them. “He’s taken so much of you already,” she whispered. He wasn’t going to leave anything for her. She pressed her mouth to the skin over his heart. Lower, lower, suckling a flat nipple, scraping her nails over his abdomen. She wanted to commit every inch of him to memory. How his breath would hitch as she ran her tongue over the muscle low over his hip. His hiss of pleasure as she stroked him, the feel of his cock hard and smooth.

  His hips jerked as she ran her tongue over his length, sucking him in. Swirling her tongue around the head, she took him deep, hollowing her cheeks, her tongue applying a steady, delicious pressure. His answering groan was the only confirmation she needed to know she was driving him insane.

  And all too soon he pulled her off. “I wasn’t done yet,” she murmured, reaching down and closing a hand around him. His hips bucked and he pumped into her embrace.

  “You were done. My turn.” Easing her onto her back, his mouth moved like a slow burning fire over her skin. He tormented her, using teasing nibbles and licks on the fragile skin of her throat, shaping and molding her breasts. Thumbing her nipples, he dropped his head to her shoulder as her hips rolled against him. “Calm down, gorgeous.”

  Screw calm. She could do calm when she wasn’t in need of release. God help her, she was close to whining. “Taylor—”

  He kissed away her protests, his lips rubbing over hers in such a way she went boneless. He kept it up, the slow, sensual glide of his tongue along hers drawing whimpers from the back of her throat.

  His hands got busy, feathering over her hip and up her stomach as his mouth moved down to meet them. Kisses over her lower abdomen, more along her inner thighs. His tongue flicked out, once, twice, before he set about breaking her down.

  Long, dragging licks, short, tense flicks, then he added his fingers and her hips undulated, rocking constantly, the pressure building to a scream. She fisted her hands in the duvet, jerking against him.

  Her breath sobbed out as she came, wave after wave of sensation wracking her. More kisses on sensitized flesh, and he moved up, taking her mouth once more as he rolled to the side and slipped on a condom.

  He didn’t give her a chance to recover as he moved to his back, shifting her to straddle him. Groaning, he pushed into her. “You. Are. Perfect. Fucking perfect.”

  Desperate to feel more, feel everything, she sat up, rolling her hips back and forth, back arching as he surged inside her. He was perfect. He fit beautifully.

  But he didn’t stay down. Rearing up, he wrapped his arms around her and rocked into her, fisting a hand in her hair so she had to keep eye contact. His glinted in the ambient light seeping into the room, emotions she couldn’t begin to name tumbling in their depths.

  It was the very definition of close sex. She couldn’t tell where she left off and he began, skin sliding against one another as he dared her to drop her gaze. It hurt. It was a physical, deep pain inside, baring herself like this. He wouldn’t let her go. They remained locked together as they climbed. Tension coiled tight, breathing going ragged, her heart thudded so hard against her rib cage she thought she’d break bones.

  And then she fell apart in his arms, felt him grow harder inside her and her head dropped back as pleasure broke her into a thousand pieces.

  “Sara.” Her name was a murmur of sound, tangling with their labored breathing as he continued to hold her close. Her head came up, and all the uncertainty and giddiness she felt was mirrored on his face.

  It shook her to her core.

  Heart racing, she followed him down to the bed, kissing him for all she was worth.

  * * *

  Cuddled to Taylor’s side, Sara listened to the steady thud of his heart under her ear, her fingers dancing over his chest. She snuggled closer as he adjusted the blankets over her shoulders. “Jamie still lives in Boston, right?”

  “Yes. Matt moved to Wisconsin, but Jamie’s in South Boston. He likes being close to Ma and Pop.”

  She tickled his ribs, more to get a slap out of him than anything else. “I don’t get it,” she said softly. “How did you manage to fall in with a gang and have them leave your brothers alone?”

  He was quiet for a while. “I never understood it myself. Tony’s always been weird. He’ll take on guys who have skills he can use. Maybe he thought my brothers didn’t have anything to offer.

  “He styles it like the mafia you’d see in the movies. Don’t do anything to get on his bad side, and he’ll leave you alone. The working families, he wouldn’t extort protection funds from them. Wasn’t any real need to; he’s pretty much the only game in the neighborhood. If some of the legit businesses wanted to set up something for a little extra cash on the side, he’d set ‘em up, for a cut of the profits.”

  She shifted and propped herself up on her elbow. He’d gotten up after they’d made love and unearthed a couple of candles. The stupidly cliché and romantic gesture had her swallowing tears. Now she could see him, the candlelight flickering over his face, shadows dancing across it. “You said you weren’t an official member?” He nodded. “What did you do for him, exactly?”

  “Gathered information, mostly.” He wound a lock of hair around a finger, tugged. “I’ve always been good at staying quiet and getting into places I had no business being in.”

  “You and your mad ninja skills.” She leaned down and kissed him, lips parting when his hand clamped on the back of her neck to hold her there. On a sigh, she settled down at his side, the heat of him soothing her. “Do you miss it? Boston?” He’d told her once he’d never been back.

  “Sometimes. It’s not so much the place as the people you miss. Most of my friends from when I was growing up are either out of the neighborhood, locked up, or dead. My parents come out to see me when they can scrape up enough money for tickets. Jamie’s been out a couple of times. Matt’s stayed in Milwaukee.”

  “And he won’t see you? Talk to you?” she asked.

  The line of his jaw hardened slightly, and he shook his head. “I can’t blame him for the distance.” He began stroking a hand over the curve of her hip. “What about you?”

  She recognized the move for what it was — a deflection. She remembered the old pain on his face as he told her about how he’d managed to leave Boston, and she didn’t want to bring it up now. Not tonight. She thought over his question. She hadn’t seen or heard from any of her college friends in seven years. Childhood friends, with the exception of Krista, in even longer. Sam had taken it all from her. “I could have tried to get back in touch, I guess, after Sam was convicted. Those first couple of years, it was hard enough getting up and going to work every day. The entire time I felt supremely stupid, you know? He was in prison. I knew that. I made sure that if he was released the protection order would remain in place. And I still didn’t feel safe.

  �
��My mother doesn’t like you.” Her teeth clicked together as her mouth snapped shut. She pressed her face into his chest. “There’s just no way for that to come out right, is there?” She caught the wariness in his eyes when she lifted her head. Taylor moved onto his side, and she scooted up, stopping when they were eye to eye. “She thinks you’re bad for me. According to her, I’m changing myself for you. I used to be so bright and fucking happy and outgoing.” Bitterness left a sour taste in her mouth. “She’s stuck on some previous version of me that I haven’t been in what, ten years? Longer?”

  Her fingers traced the line of his mouth, thumb rubbing over the fuller part of his lower lip. “I wish she could see it,” she whispered, gaze trained on her thumb and his mouth. “My dad does. Megan does.” Her fingers moved away from his mouth, over his cheek to slide into the silky warmth of his hair. “I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

  The change was minute, but she felt it, the slight stiffening. “Oh, am I getting too mushy for you?” Her smile may have been a little on the evil side. “Too bad, bud. You make me happy. Deal with it.”

  She squeaked as he tipped her onto her back, pinning her to the bed. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working.” She tilted her head when his mouth came down on her neck. “Although if you’re trying to distract me from a serious conversation, you’re doing an excellent job.”

  “Not excellent enough,” he said, voice muffled as he nibbled his way up to her ear. “Not if you’re talking.” His hips rolled forward. “Can’t get enough of you.”

  He groaned when she wrapped her legs around his waist. “So am I staying?”

  “You’re not getting out of this bed tonight.” He paused, hesitation shining in his eyes.

  Dammit, she was falling way too hard for this man. Way, waaaay too hard. At least if he crushed her heart he wouldn’t be crushing her self-confidence in the process. She took a chance and stripped aside her barriers, letting everything leech out onto her face. “I want you to do it again,” she murmured. “Make love to me like you did before.”

  This time, when he slid into her, she laid herself open to the devastation she felt coming, sucking in everything she could, the freedom, the fear, the promise of more as she splintered around him.

  And when he went rigid above her, she held on tight.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Maybe if she sprinkled her resume with glitter and stars and holy water she’d have better luck getting a call back. Sara scanned her cover letter one last time and clicked send, hoping it didn’t get lost in the ether along with all the others she’d sent out over the past few weeks. She shut off her laptop and glanced at her phone for the time.

  Crap. She was going to be late for work.

  She darted around her house, hunting down the heels she’d kicked off in the living room the other day, locating her book and tossing it in her bag. Her security system beeped, a long, low pulse signifying someone had tripped one of the motion sensors. It would send an alert to her phone, and she had a short window to respond or the police would be notified. She shut off the alert, puzzling over who could be at her house this early in the day. The mail wasn’t delivered until the afternoon, and she had packages delivered to work.

  Her first thought was Sam. He could have decided it was worth violating the terms of his release to go after her. Creeping to the window, she gripped her phone tight and nudged the sheer curtain aside to scan the front yard. She’d had a lot of problems in the beginning with squirrels and the occasional neighborhood cat tripping the sensors, so the security company had moved them up higher, far enough off the ground that only a truly intrepid creature could set off the sensor.

  The loud crack of a tree branch being stepped on had her ducking out of sight, heart in her mouth. She needed to get away. Why had she shut off the alert? Why?

  She strained her ears for the tiniest noise, jerking and pressing herself to the wall as she heard footsteps thunking on the driveway. They were getting farther away, not closer, and she slid down the wall, phone forgotten in her hand.

  Not a safe place. She needed to get to a safe place.

  Willing her heart rate to settle, she sat on the floor and counted, first to a hundred, then a thousand. When she didn’t hear anymore footsteps, she scrambled to her feet, set her alarm, and ran out of the house, making a beeline for her car.

  She didn’t remember the drive into downtown, or the hunt for a parking spot. It took all her concentration just to keep the car steady, the slap-slap of her windshield wipers lulling her. Uncaring that she was getting wet, she stared at the front of the precinct. A safe place. Sam couldn’t get her in there.

  Tracking down the same detective who’d helped file the protection order took some time. The tiny waiting area wasn’t exactly welcoming, and her heels clicked over the worn linoleum as she paced. The longer she waited, the more the fear spread, until she was shaking with it.

  What if it wasn’t Sam? What if it was one of Tony’s men, like Taylor feared?

  A dull buzzing filled her ears, grey edging her vision. She needed to sit down. Her knees gave way and her butt hit the floor, the contents of her purse spilling out. Her phone chimed twice. She probably ought to answer it.

  “Miss? Are you all right?”

  Does it look like I’m all right? Hysterical laughter bubbled up, and she choked. The blue uniformed officer was bent over and studying her with a professional frown. Her hands flopped uselessly to her sides. The floor was incredibly uncomfortable. She didn’t have the strength to stand up.

  Five minutes later she was in an equally uncomfortable chair and her hands were wrapped around a paper cup of coffee. It smelled horrible. Her hands soaked in the warmth and she huddled farther into her coat.

  “Miss Andrews?”

  The detective she’d spoken with the last time, Fallon? Farron? He sat across from her, placing his elbows on his knees. “Are you sure you’re okay? Is there anyone we can call for you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. All I want is someone to make sure Sam’s in Sacramento where he belongs, or wherever the hell he’s supposed to be.”

  He took out a notepad from his inside jacket pocket. It was a nice jacket, deep grey without being charcoal. Taylor would look good in it. She should ask him where he got his suit.

  “At the risk of repeating myself, are you sure you’re okay?”

  Her gaze snapped back to the detective’s. “Yes,” she whispered. Reluctantly pulling one of her hands away from the cup, she found her phone in her bag and handed it to him. “I received a couple of hang up calls from a blocked number. I received the first one the same night I learned Sam had been paroled, the second a few days later.”

  Fallon gestured for the phone, and she handed it to him. “I’ve left a message for Detective Milan. We should know the whereabouts of Mr. Thibodaux by the end of the day.” The phone buzzed in the detective’s hand, and after a nod from Sara, he opened the incoming text. “Who’s Taylor Smith?”

  “A friend. Coworker. Why?”

  “He wants to know where you are.” The detective’s thumbs moved over the keyboard, and he handed the phone back before she could snatch it away. “Miss Andrews, our first concern is your well-being. You’re in shock.”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted.

  “That may be the case, but I’d feel better if someone came and got you. Hopefully Taylor will show up soon.”

  It was all wrong. She didn’t want to drag Taylor into this, not when he had his own problems to deal with. When she tried to get her brain to send a signal to her legs to stand up, it refused to cooperate. They were numb. All of her was numb. She needed better coffee.

  She answered the detective’s questions on autopilot, and if someone asked her later what was said, she’d have to fake it, because she couldn’t remember. At one point, she handed over her phone again.

  She was the first to see Taylor. He walked through the maze of desks, the fluorescent lighting du
lling the reddish hints in his hair. If people saw him, their gazes slid right past him. The time it took him to cross the room passed by achingly slow, and then his hand was on her shoulder and she tried to stand and found she still couldn’t.

  The detective glanced up. “Are you Taylor Smith?” He nodded. “Detective Fallon.” Fallon held out a hand to Taylor. “Thank you for coming. Miss Andrews had a bit of a scare this morning, and I didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone.”

  “Would you give us a moment?” Taylor asked. Fallon stood and walked away, taking his notepad with him. Taylor took the seat he’d vacated and rolled it forward, placing his hands on her knees. “Talk to me.”

  “Someone was at the house this morning.”

  “Someone was at the house. And you drove here instead of calling the police.” He rolled closer, his hands sliding up the outsides of her legs to her hips. “You could have gotten hurt.”

  She could have gotten hurt if she’d stayed in the house. She was safe here. Sam wouldn’t be stupid enough to walk into a police precinct.

  Her senses returned in a rush, and she was very aware of Taylor’s hands at her hips, the drone of the squad room around them, the scent of over boiled coffee. She reached down and grasped his hands in hers. “I’m not going home. I am not going to cower or hide behind my alarms and locked doors.” Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against his. “I do that,” she said softly, “and I’ll never stop being scared of him. He’s screwed up my life long enough.”

  His gaze searched hers, and she swallowed the last of her fear. Apparently satisfied, he eased his chair back and stood, tugging her to her feet. Fallon strolled over. “I’d like to keep your phone for a little while, see if we can’t trace the calls.”

  “And someone’s checking on Sam?” she asked. Taylor’s grip on her hand tightened, and she squeezed it with a reassurance she didn’t feel.