My apprehension must have been displayed on my face, because the eyebrow under the scar danced up and he finally stopped touching me, stopped dropping sucking little kisses along my collarbone, and stopped running featherlight fingertips over the flowers decorating my side. He stared down at me and I was fascinated by a drop of sweat that started at his temple and crested over his cheek, wound its way down his neck, and tracked over a pec muscle that looked like it belonged on a marble statue. I wasn’t familiar with this kind of restraint, this kind of will, so I just traced the track that little drop of moisture had trailed and stopped at his nipple.
“That’s never going to fit.”
The words were strangled, like I hadn’t had anything to drink in a hundred years or more. We were so close, this was so raw and open I didn’t know what to do with him, or with me. My words were meant to be funny, to slow things down, but I sounded scared, even to my own ears, and I knew it wasn’t just because he was far more than any man I had ever been with, or maybe it was.
That single dark eyebrow danced even higher and that little half grin that undid me the other day flashed across his face. I guess he decided that my words were a challenge and not a warning because the next thing I knew, all his attention switched to that already damp and needy place between my legs. He pressed my legs open with one of his thighs, pulled my hips up, and delved his fingers into folds that were achy and electrified by his touch. He was about to find another surprise that guys only got to see, got to touch, when I took my clothes off, and I felt it the instant his questing fingers made contact with the small little hoop hidden down there.
Once he touched it, he stilled, just a fraction. I had had the hood piercing for as long as I could remember. Initially I got it because I thought it was edgy and cool; now that I was older I kept it because I had had enough sex with enough guys that needed a damn bull’s-eye to get to the good stuff. Rome wasn’t one of those, he also wasn’t scared or put off by it. He gave the ring a little tug that had my eyes rolling back into my head and made me pant out his name. Seeing the results, he played with the slippery metal while playing with the rest of me, creating a tidal wave of sensation that was going to make me break at any second. He touched, me, stroked me, rubbed his thumb steadily and unrelenting over the hoop and the tight little bud underneath it. He worked me over like it had never been done before, and just as I was grinding into him, pressing my heels into the mattress of the bed, splitting in half and seeing stars, he removed those skilled fingers, shifted me under him, and pushed all that turgid, straining flesh inside of me. I wasn’t ready for it, but he slid in up to the hilt and filled me up to the point I thought I was going to suffocate on all I was feeling, all I could see was blazing out of his bright eyes.
He stayed still for a second, waiting to see if I was going to push him away, tell him it was too much. At any other time I would have appreciated his restraint; right now I wanted to choke him. I felt impaled, pinned, stuck, and I hated that I loved it. This was an aspect to sex I had never experienced before, it added an element that took things to a different level.
“Okay?”
It was the only word he had spoken since this all began and really it was more just a breath of sound. I knew if I told him no, that it hurt, that it was too much, he would stop, let me out from under him, and walk away without question, so it was that instinctual understanding that had me giving him the barest of nods and sliding my hands up around his neck. I wanted to see him finish, wanted to know what happened to those spectacular eyes when he went over the edge. I was all in anyway, there was no point in reining it in now.
He moved slowly at first, I think there was a legitimate fear there that he could indeed do some serious damage with that weapon of his, but he had done an excellent job of priming me, of getting me ready for him, so soon I was writhing restlessly under him and urging him to move faster, go harder, to just let go. He was good at reading the cues, he watched my face, eyes locked on mine, and before I knew it both legs were up high on his waist and he was driving into me like he was trying to put me through the other side of the mattress. It was awesome.
The muscles on the side of his neck corded, a fine sheen of sweat pebbled up on those massive pecs, his biceps bulged just enough to offer a very nice show, and those eyes, man oh man, those eyes lit up like the fireworks display he had missed on the Fourth. Silver sparks exploded from the center, chasing midnight-blue lightning as he grunted his release and dropped his forehead to the crook of my neck. He was careful not to collapse his whole weight on me, careful to set my legs back down, careful to pull out nice and slow, which made both of us gasp.
He flopped back on his back and we both stared at the ceiling while breathing hard and still not talking. I wasn’t sure what there was to say. In all my visions of what I was doing, of who I was waiting for, there had never once been a glimpse of anyone like Rome Archer. I sort of marveled that he seemed to be blocking out not only the sun, but whatever else was standing on that horizon waiting for me. He was a problem that literally was going to be too damn big to ignore, not that I wasn’t going to try and do exactly that until I figured out what in the hell I had just done and what exactly it meant to all my carefully constructed plans.
CHAPTER 6
Rome
I thought I was dreaming. Somewhere between the haze of blood and death, and the swirly nauseating feeling of being almost blackout drunk, I had a dream that a pixie came in and saved me from everything. It was all a blur after the fifth or sixth drink. All I knew was that the mind-numbing effects of alcohol, and Brite’s gentle, kind reminders that the shitty things in life could not be directly tied to me, were the only things that kept me from going completely off the rails.
When I pried my eyes open because the sun was bitch-slapping me across the face, I had no idea where I was. Hell, I barely knew who I was: my head was throbbing, I felt a little like I was going to hurl, and all I knew was that I was surrounded by wall-to-wall pink. I also had all kinds of soft feminine curves trapped under me and she smelled like cotton candy and flowers. It had to be a dream because at no point in my reality did I ever get to wake up after a crap day to end all crap days and have those amazing two-toned eyes looking up at me with trepidation, but also with a healthy dose of admiration. Therefore it had to be a dream, and since I was dreaming, I was going to do what I had been dying to do since she called me Captain No-Fun and smirked at me like she already knew all my dark and dirty secrets. I was going to kiss that sassy mouth until neither one of us could breathe, until my head stopped hurting, until I forgot what had put me in such a vulnerable, sorry state in the first place.
Only I had no idea a simple kiss with this tiny, bossy, mouthy girl was going to turn my head around. I wanted to kiss her because she was cute, and soft, and I really did think she had the prettiest eyes I had ever seen, but mostly I wanted to kiss her because I knew she would tell me to stop, that she would no doubt push me away and get worked up into a tizzy of righteous indignation. I was already feeling about as low as I could, so there was no harm in taking it one step further.
Cora apparently didn’t play by any normal set of rules, though. She did the opposite of what I expected, and before too long I was too scared to talk, too freaked out to even breathe, because I was worried that one slight movement in the wrong direction and she would call a halt to the only thing that had made me feel good in a really long time. It still felt like a dream, but she was so hot, so damn unexpected, it now felt like a dream come true.
When it was all over, as I lay there panting and trying to think of an appropriate response, because “thank you” just wouldn’t cut it, she rolled off the other side of the big bed and looked down at me with eyes that were both bright and shiny and dark and swirling. That dual-color thing really was kind of a trip.
“I’m going to take a shower and then you need to take me to get my car from that hole in the wall you were at yesterday.”
She turned around to rumm
age through a tiny closet on the other side of the very pink room and I took a moment to admire the view. She was lithe, all smooth lines and colorfully decorated skin. She had some kind of Asian-inspired water-and-fire image tattooed around the top of one thigh that danced almost to her knee, those flowers on her ribs with the shower of jewels implanted in her skin on her side, and that arm that had every flower known to man inked on it. She was petite but man, did she pack a punch. Who knew metal in places I never imagined a chick would want to put it would be so hot, be such an unbelievable turn-on. Everything about this girl was a surprise.
“Uhh … not that I’m not grateful for it, but how exactly did I end up here?” The in bed with you I left unspoken.
She put on a short robe that had tiny silver stars all over it and looked silky and shiny. She glanced at me over her shoulder and ran her hands over her short hair. I reached over the side of the bed and started to pull my jeans back on, but I had to take a second because my head started to throb in time to my heartbeat.
“The bartender called the shop looking for Rule but he was gone already. He was dealing with the crisis of being a new homeowner and Nash wasn’t at the apartment. You weren’t in any condition to be left alone, so I brought you here.”
Not only was she smoking hot but underneath all that sass there was a really big heart. I was a lot to handle on a good day, and knowing where I had been at yesterday before the booze flooded my system, she was pretty brave to try and tackle all that on her own. Most people wouldn’t do that for a virtual stranger. I rubbed hard hands over my supershort buzz cut; this hadn’t been totally awkward thus far, but now it felt more personal.
She didn’t say anything else, just disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the shower go on. I found my shirt wadded up in a pile with my boots and finished getting dressed. I smelled like sex and day-old booze. I smelled just like Rule used to smell all the time. The wayward thought of my brother had me absently searching for my phone and my keys. I should have given Brite better instructions before getting tanked yesterday. Not that Cora seemed in any hurry to try and rake me over the coals, but this had all the hallmarks of a situation that could go slanted in a heartbeat and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something I was forgetting.
Not sure what to do with myself in the outrageously girly room, I decided to brave the wild and go in search of a glass of water and maybe some painkillers for my head. The house was tiny and cute. Cora’s eclectic style was on display throughout. The couch was purple, the rugs were polka dot, and I assumed the massive flat screen and game systems had to belong to Jet because they were the only things in the living room not splashed with color. I found the kitchen in the back of the house and cringed inwardly when I saw it wasn’t empty.
Asa was at the little table drinking a cup of coffee and seemingly ignoring his sister, who was grilling him about something. Both sets of amber eyes got wide when I walked into the room. Asa lifted an eyebrow and Ayden blinked like she had no idea who I was. I felt an embarrassed flush start to crawl up my neck and cleared my throat. I wished to God I could remember what, if anything, I had done last night.
“Uh, hey.”
I gratefully accepted the mug of coffee Asa handed to me and propped a hip up on the counter while they continued to stare at me.
“Is that your truck outside?” I liked Ayden’s voice. It was tinted with just a hint of the South and all soft and smooth. I liked those long legs of hers in her running pants, too, but Jet was like a brother to me, so there was no way I would ever admit that aloud.
“Yeah. I needed a DD and Cora decided to be it.”
“You spent the night?”
I didn’t like the third degree, I was used to being on the other side of it.
“Yeah, well, I blacked out in her bed, so there really wasn’t a choice.”
I could see Asa doing the math in his head that Cora hadn’t been on the couch or anywhere else this morning.
“Interesting.” Asa just chuckled and didn’t say anything, for which I was eternally grateful. There was just something about the way he looked at you, something about the way he sized you up, that was unnerving and unsettling.
“What’s interesting?” Cora came in the room smelling clean and fresh. I tried not to notice I had left whisker burn all along her jaw and throat.
Ayden made a face and handed her a banana. “That you had to take care of the supposedly responsible Archer last night.”
Cora frowned and moved past me back toward the living room. She had on black shorts with a wide waist and a black-and-white-striped top that was missing most of the back. The only thing holding it up seemed to be a giant bow in the back; her rib tattoo with all its winking jewels was totally visible.
“We all have bad days. I need to get my car, are you ready?”
I nodded and handed Asa back the coffee mug. We exchanged a little nod, like he understood the potential for this to be the most awkward thing in the world, and I gave Ayden a small little grin. She lifted her eyebrows back at me and took my spot against the counter. I knew as soon as we left they would be picking apart what my stay-over meant.
I noticed Cora seemed to be moving a little more slowly than her usual hyperkinetic way. I wanted to ask her if I had hurt her, she was so much smaller than the girls I normally went to bed with, but we seemed to be on the same page about leaving the deed in no-man’s-land and I didn’t want to rock the boat. She fished my keys out of her bag and threw them at me.
“I left your wallet and phone in the glove box.”
“Did I do, or say, anything out of hand last night?”
I needed to know if I owed her an apology for anything … well, for anything besides devouring her like she was my last meal.
“No. You were just sad, really sad.”
I didn’t know if that meant I was feeling sad, or that I was sad as in she felt sorry for me. There was no way I could look her in the eye ever again if that had been a pity fuck. It was too good, too intense, and if she just felt sorry for me, I would never be able to look myself in the mirror as a man again.
“I got a phone call from the desert yesterday. It was bad.”
I pulled into the traffic and headed toward Broadway. I needed to find out if I had made an ass out of myself to Brite and the gang at the bar as well.
“So you said. You also mentioned that you being home makes you somehow responsible for what happened, which I hope you know is nuts. People whose job it is to fight a war have a high risk that they may end up injured or killed, you should know that. You being here or there makes no difference in the matter.”
I sighed and tightened my hands on the steering wheel. “It doesn’t matter. When I was deployed my brother died, when I’m here men in my unit die. I just can’t get away from it and yet somehow every single time I manage to scrape by just past death’s door.”
She looked at me out of those odd eyes, compassion in the blue one, censure and warning in the coffee-colored one.
“That’s too much for one person to try and carry around all the time, Rome. You can’t be responsible for everyone or feel guilty all the time for being one of lucky ones.”
“Like you?” I cut a sideways look at her. “You run around rescuing those guys, Shaw and Ayden, and now me. You want to save everyone just as much as I do.” I wasn’t going to touch the guilty part of that statement.
“Yeah, I do, only the difference is that when they suffer from their own choices, I don’t take the responsibility for it. When Rule was acting like an idiot and walked away from Shaw, that wasn’t my fault. When Ayden was pretending like she could live without Jet, that had nothing to do with me. I’m just there to love them through it and pick up the pieces after. You think that you directly impact the bad things and that’s just stupid.”
She kind of had a point, so I didn’t answer her and as such we spent the rest of the ride in silence. I turned on the radio and let old Pink Floyd fill the cab. When we got to the bar I
pulled around back and she pointed to a ridiculous Mini Cooper that was painted a bright neon green. Of course that’s what she drove. I wouldn’t even fit in the thing. I pulled up next to it and killed the engine. I leaned across the seat and dug my stuff out of the glove box. I didn’t miss the way her breath caught when my arm brushed across her chest.
We stared at each other in mute silence for a full minute before she reached for the door handle. I couldn’t just let her leave without saying something about this morning, not that I had a clue what that should be.
“About this morning …” She held up a hand before I could start.
“Just don’t.” She shook her head. “It was what it was and let’s leave it at that. You’re ridiculously hot, but I don’t want to be alone forever and the kind of guy I’m looking for doesn’t come with all the questions and inner turmoil that seems to be eating you alive. I want someone steady, someone ready to settle down for the long haul, and ready to be all in with me. You aren’t even close to being in a place where you’re all in for yourself, let alone someone else. I get that you’ve been through a really hard time, have seen more than your fair share of awful things, but I need a guy living his life like tomorrow matters, not like it’s a curse. I’m sorry, Rome. My perfect guy has got to come already together and be good enough, no assembly required by me. I learned that lesson the hard way.”
I barked out a laugh and leaned back in the seat. She looked at me in confusion and I nodded at her.
“You’re right. I’m broken. Half the time I don’t know if the stuff going on in my head is real or the memory of a memory. I just didn’t think it was so obvious.” I wasn’t even going to touch on the “ridiculously hot” comment. She was right, I was in a million and one scattered pieces and there was probably more than one screw missing.
Rome Page 9
