by Meg Ripley
It wasn’t until he pulled up in front of the nearest motel that he realized his error, trading the close confines of a vehicle for the spacious confines of a motel room—with a bed…a shower…a sofa.
And yet, he found himself parking the car in the nearest available slot, and sliding out of the driver’s seat to come around and open her door. Three minutes later, they’d secured a room for the night.
“Why don’t you get settled in, Freya, and I’ll go grab some dinner?” He turned and strode away without waiting for an answer, knowing he needed to find some way to get himself under control.
31
Freya placed Cat down on the bed and wandered about the small motel room, wondering if she’d ever stayed in a motel before. Cat hopped down and wandered through the tiny kitchenette and then the bathroom before returning to the main room, as if she’d been scoping out the place, too.
She left Cat there nestling at the foot of the bed and crossed the small room to the bathroom, turning on the shower faucet and stripping off her clothes. She tried to make sense of it all as she stepped beneath the showerhead, but it was impossible.
Well, nearly impossible. There was one thing that had made sense to her: Grant. She’d been pacing, fretting in her living room when he’d appeared at her door, and though her thoughts had been no less tumultuous, something else began to invade her mind and push everything else to some place in the back of her head.
She’d welcomed it. It had been a respite, and she’d latched on, letting her desire for him overwhelm all of her senses, and the result had been cataclysmic. She couldn’t say with any certainty what sex had been like before she’d lost her memory, but she was sure it had never been like that.
Hot water cascaded over her body, gliding over sensitive flesh that was all the more sensitized after what had taken place between them. She wanted him again. Now. But since he’d left her there to go in search of food, she needed to think; to figure out what was going on.
She’d grown so accustomed to coming up empty-handed when she searched for answers over the past several months, that it almost didn’t surprise her that there seemed to be no answers to be found now. But this wasn’t the case of a few misplaced memories: men had attacked her—tried to kill her—and she’d turned into something that couldn’t possibly be human. Where did one go to find answers for that? Grant said he knew some place to go, but could she trust him? He knew things he wasn’t telling her; she was sure of it.
She shut off the shower and stepped out, toweling herself dry and slipping back into the only clothing she had with her. She walked out of the bathroom expecting to find him there, but the motel room was empty aside from Cat who still laid curled up on the bed—which didn’t seem like a terrible idea at the moment. She flopped back on the bed, enjoying the feel of the smooth mattress beneath her, one devoid of tears and broken springs, and she closed her eyes. Just for a few minutes.
When she opened her eyes next, some time must have passed. The room was dark aside from the pale moonlight that shone in through the window, and she saw him there, standing in front of the television where she’d placed her purse. His back was toward her, and she could hear him rummaging quietly—he was rummaging through her purse again!
But why? she wondered, lying perfectly still to avoid being noticed. His hand came up with the medallion she’d stashed in her purse and he placed the bag back down on the stand. Was that why he’d helped her? Had he somehow known she’d had the priceless relic?
Just then, a brief flash came back to her: a man dressed in black escaping out the balcony door of Sonya Johansen’s hotel suite.
It was him…but had he murdered the woman? She couldn’t imagine it, but then she remembered the way he’d dispatched the men who’d attacked her. He was certainly capable of great violence, but could he have used it for such a vile purpose?
In a flash, she vaulted off the bed and lunged for him, knocking him into the wall before they both crashed to the floor and the medallion went sliding toward the kitchenette. She was back on her feet before him and across the room. She grabbed for the medallion and took several steps away.
“Is this why you pretended to want me?” she asked, dangling the chain that held the medallion from her hand.
“Pretend? You think I would have stuck my neck out last night if I was pretending? Do you think I would have been able to ‘pretend’ I wanted you at your apartment? Or now?” There was a hint of humor in his tone, but desire clearly flared in his eyes.
Distracted, she didn’t escape quickly enough, and he had his arms around her, taking her with him to the floor before she could react. But she used the strength she’d only recently discovered to roll on top, pinning him beneath her and grabbing back the medallion he’d snagged from her in their fall.
He sat up despite her weight on him, rolling her back onto his thighs instead of his waist, and when she prepared to surge to her feet, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back down.
The men from last night flashed through her mind, the ringleader on top of her, hissing threats she knew were anything but idle. And like before, her calm fled as fear rose up in her chest, and Grant flipped her over easily, pinning her beneath him and yanking her arms up over her head. He just held her there, his eyes boring into hers, and slowly the fear began to ebb.
“Listen to me, Freya,” he whispered against her ear, sending a shiver of desire rushing down her spine despite her vulnerable position. “That medallion belongs to me,” he whispered, but her mind was distracted.
She felt the length of him growing hard against her abdomen, and suddenly, she didn’t want to think about medallions or evil men. She didn’t want to think at all, but she forced herself to concentrate, “Did you kill that woman, Grant?” she asked, meeting his eyes dead on.
“Her name was Sonya,” he said, loosening his grasp on her wrists slightly, but she didn’t try to pull away. “And no, I didn’t kill her. You saw me there afterward. I got there too late. I took her body with me, but the medallion she wore was missing.”
The way he’d spoken her name, it was clear in his tone that he cared for her deeply. Had she been his wife? Lover?
She’d taken the woman’s medallion—and then accused him of murdering her!
She opened her clenched fists as a sign of surrender and let her body relax beneath his. Instead of releasing her, he groaned just a split second before his lips descended on hers, as if he was ravenous, starved for her mouth. She met him there, her own lips moving against his, and she parted for him easily when his tongue pressed against the seam of her lips.
“God damn it, Freya,” he whispered raggedly when he pulled away and released her wrists, “We’re supposed to be finding answers…but every time I see you, every time I breathe you in…all I want is to have you.”
She nodded, finding no better words to express the same sentiment, and she grazed her hands down his arms, flexed taut as he held himself over her. But he shifted all his weight to one side and grabbed for her wrists. They were back over her head in a flash, secured in his strong grip, but she didn’t want to lie there passively. She wanted to touch him, she wanted to explore every inch of his body.
She tugged hard against his grasp, frustrated that she knew there was more power, more strength to tap into somewhere inside her; she just had no idea how to locate it. But it was enough, or else he relented without a fight. She reached for him at the same time she surged up for his mouth. Digging her heels into the floor, she pushed with all her might and flipped them over so that she was on top of him.
He growled low in his throat as she left his lips and started downward, yanking his shirt up to give her lips access to the hard planes of his chest and the rippling muscles of his abdomen. His hands were clenched in fists at his sides, so tight his knuckles had turned white, but the moment she reached his waist, his jeans hampering her descent further, he grabbed for her, digging hard into her arms to still her movements.
“You ca
n’t do that, Freya,” he whispered, “This is dangerous…” he continued as he yanked her up until she straddled his chest. He breathed in deep, like he couldn’t get enough of her scent, and a surge of female power shot through her. She pressed her advantage and slid forward until only two inches and the thin fabric of her thong was all that separated his mouth from her.
But she’d pressed her advantage too far; he grabbed her hips and flipped her over, and she landed with a thud on the carpeted floor. He winced, seeing her land hard, but he didn’t stop. In one smooth motion, he yanked off her skirt and thong. He spread her legs roughly and grabbed her ass in his hands to lift her to him as he leaned in and buried his head between her thighs.
His tongue lapped at her clit and she writhed against him as wave after wave of arousal crashed over her. All of a sudden, he sucked the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth, and the waves grew to tidal heights.
She reached down, needing to touch him, to feel some part of his flesh beneath her fingers. And when he tried to pull away from her grasp, she dug her fingers into his shoulders until he ceased his effort.
She thought he was punishing her when he released her clit, but his tongue delved into her well a second later, pushing deep, frantically, like he couldn’t get enough. She slid her hands lower, feeling the flex of the muscles in his back. She wanted to feel more of him, but at the same time, she didn’t want him to ever stop. It was an impossible decision.
She reached as far as she could down his back, grazing up to his shoulders when she could go no further. Over and over again, she covered every inch of his hard body she could reach as his tongue drove her higher, and when he sent her over the brink, her back arched off the ground and her fingers dug deep into his flesh as she screamed in ecstasy and her body splintered into a thousand rapturous pieces.
But she didn’t take her time coming back down to Earth. He’d lowered her legs and was sliding up her body; she heaved in one forceful movement, knocking him over and landing on top of him. She wasted no time, lunging for the fly of his jeans and tugging them off his legs. Before she could reach her objective, though, he was on his feet, taking her with him and dropping her down on the bed in front of him.
He pushed her back and she was about to lunge for him when she caught the look on his face, and it made her pause. Desire blazed scorching hot in his eyes, but his teeth were clenched tight, his jaw spasming with the pressure.
My god, she thought, if this is what he’s like while holding back, what would he be like if his restraint fell away? She desperately wanted to know, to see him lose control, but something in the back of her mind warned her to tread carefully. She tried to listen to it, to progress with caution, but when he hovered over top of her and grabbed her hips to pull her to the edge of the bed, she couldn’t help herself.
She wrapped her legs around him and drew him toward her at the same time he surged forward, plunging in to the hilt in one, forceful thrust. She stilled, knowing her body would adjust like it had the last time he’d filled her, but knowing, too, that it wasn’t instantaneous. He shook with his restraint, but he withdrew slowly and plunged in with less fervor than the first thrust, though it looked like it was almost painful for him to exhibit so much control.
“Fuck me, Grant,” she whispered and wrapped her legs more tightly around him.
Another low groan escaped his lips, and he surged forward, driving his cock deep inside her. He withdrew, and thrust in again without pausing this time, and she reached up to draw his mouth down to hers.
He held her hips tightly, and she clung to his shoulders; both of them would have a hard time trying to break the other’s grasp, but neither of them had any intention of it. She broke the kiss to lean back far enough to look at him, and it amazed her to see that his jaw was still clenched tight. He was fucking her hard, his pace growing more frantic by the moment, but she could tell he was still holding on tight, that the tension in his body bespoke not only his mounting pleasure, but a tenuous grip on whatever it was he was holding in check.
She watched him, fascinated and deeply curious what would happen if he let go of whatever reins he was holding onto. But seconds later, she abandoned the thought when he shifted his weight and slid a hand between them. He found her clit and rubbed frantically. Her hips bucked clear off the bed and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, quite certain she drew blood, but she couldn’t stop.
She cried out as he drove her higher than she’d ever been. Shockwaves of pleasure jolted through every inch of her body and she surged upward, sinking her teeth into the taut flesh of his shoulder to keep from screaming loud enough to bring the entire town’s police department crashing down the door.
He thrust once, twice, and then his body jerked forward, ramming himself so deep inside her, she wondered if they could ever be separated again. His fingers dug into her hips and it was a wonder they didn’t crush beneath the pressure as he found his own release.
A moment passed, and his hands released their hold on her, but as he withdrew from her, she felt empty, so much that she had to fight against the urge to wrap her legs around him tighter and draw him back in.
He stood there looking down at her, and she didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking this time. His expression was the same as it had been the last time, half-enraptured and half deeply regretful. His eyes grazed over her body, and no doubt she wore the proof of their feverish coupling in bruises on her skin, but she barely felt them, and knew this time that they would heal quickly.
“I think I’ve done far more damage than you did,” she said wryly, tracing her fingers over the bite mark that had drawn blood on his shoulder and the bruises and scratches on his back.
He nodded, but he didn’t move. He continued to stand there, his eyes intent on her injuries that were minor in comparison to the vast pleasure he’d just given her. She realized what he was doing—he was waiting; waiting to see the bruises on her body disappear, to see that she’d at least not suffered any long-lasting injuries from what they’d done.
She could feel the throbbing in her arms begin to ebb, and her hips no longer felt like they’d been held in a vice. They’d already begun to disappear, and two minutes later, he laid down next to her, drawing her into his embrace as he pulled the blanket over them. She listened to the beat of his heart beneath her cheek and held onto the blissful sensations still tremoring through her body.
Questions hovered at the back of her mind, and the chaos of the past several days threatened to insinuate its way into her serene state, but she pushed them back. Not yet. There would be plenty of time later for chaos and confusion.
She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of him against her, and as she drifted off, she couldn’t remember ever feeling more at home than she did right then in Grant’s arms.
32
She awoke to the click of a door handle and the sound of Grant’s footsteps. How she’d come to know his footsteps from anyone else’s, she wasn’t sure, but they were most definitely his.
She rolled over and found him striding toward her, a paper bag in one hand and a tray of cups in the other.
“You look like a tea-drinker,” he said, grinning down at her and holding out the tray of cups, but his eyes grazed over her as he spoke. Desire flared in his gaze as if he’d been able to see right through the blanket that covered her.
“And do tea-drinkers have a particular look to them?”
“Actually, I saw a tin of it in your kitchen, but no coffeemaker.”
She smiled. “I could drink the instant stuff,” she teased.
“I took a chance,” he said, balancing the tray on the bed while he leaned in to kiss her—which made her forget all about tea…breakfast…and anything else that didn’t involve getting him naked.
All of a sudden, he pulled away and stood up straight. His breathing had deepened and when he spoke, it came out as a strangled whisper, “You need to get dressed, Freya, or we’re never going to make it out of this room.”
He turned around then and took several steps away, and she realized when she’d sat up to kiss him back, the blanket had fallen away, leaving her bare to the waist. She loved that his attraction to her seemed so potent that he had to put distance between them to keep his hands off her—not that she wanted him to keep his hands to himself.
Nevertheless, he was right; she’d pushed her problems to the back of her mind long enough. If he knew someone who might be able to help make sense of what was going on, she needed to get her mind off what her body wanted and onto finding answers.
“Where are we going, Grant?” she asked as he slid into the driver’s seat of his car an hour later. He shifted the gear and drove out of the parking lot, but it wasn’t until they pulled out into traffic that he answered her.
“To see a woman who might have answers, Freya.”
“About me?”
“Yes,” he replied, but he didn’t elaborate.
The rest of the drive passed in near silence, each of them painfully aware of the other and both of them knowing they couldn’t afford to make another detour.
Trying to keep her mind off the virile man next to her and all the things he was capable of doing to her body, she tried to settle her attention somewhere else. “Was Sonya your wife?” she asked hesitantly.
“No,” he said quietly, but once again didn’t elaborate.
“But you cared for her?”
“Yes,” he replied succinctly.
Realizing she wasn’t getting very far, she tried for something else, “The medallion, its carvings are very old; prehistoric, it seems.”
He didn’t comment, and her mind turned back to the previous line of questioning. “Was she…like you?” she asked, not entirely sure what Grant was, but an ordinary human, he was not. Her mind should be protesting such a ridiculous thought—what did she think he was, an alien?—but it didn’t.
