Heather's Gift

by Lora Leigh

  And how was she supposed to live with that? The emotional pressure, as well as her own feelings, twisted and fought inside her until she felt the raking talons of her own lack of answers. She looked at both women, seeing anger, but also their compassion and understanding. They knew how she struggled, how she fought. She could see it in their eyes, in their acceptance of the men they loved.

  “How can you do it?” she whispered. “Walk into a room and know the man you love has just had sex with another woman?”

  “Not just another woman, Heather.” Marly leaned forward, her expression sincere, kind. “A sister. And I know it’s not just lust. He’s a part of Brock. His soul is merged so tightly with his brothers that he loves and needs Sarah, not as deeply, but just as true as Brock does. And it’s the same for Brock and for Sam, Heather.”

  “We’ve watched them, Heather,” Sarah spoke then. “The closer Sam gets to you, the more instinctive Brock and Cade’s attraction to you becomes. It’s instinct, because they know each other that well…are that much a part of each other. And nothing you or I or Marly can do will change that. And if you want the truth, that part I wouldn’t want to change. Because I love Sam and Cade, too. They are a part of me. Not as deeply as Brock is, but still, a part of me.”

  Heather looked to Marly. She nodded slowly, her expression showing her agreement, her acceptance of the men and the love she had for all of them.

  “I don’t think I can do it,” she whispered.

  “Heather, Sam will lead you through it. You’ll know when it’s right, and when it’s needed. And then, only then, can you really make the decision.”

  “And don’t say you aren’t attracted to them all, either,” Marly snorted then. “I saw your face when you walked into the kitchen on us. You’re attracted, Heather, and be damned thankful you are Sam’s life, because that’s the only way in hell I’d let you within a mile of Cade.”

  There was a smile on her face, but Heather knew she meant every word of it.

  “This family is insane.” She sat back on the couch heavily, leaning her head back, closing her eyes and shaking her head at the impossibility of the situation. “Every damned one of you is certifiable.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Heather gave Sam several hours to find her. Long after the meeting with Rick was over, and the other men had retreated to their rooms with the women, Sam still hadn’t shown up. The whispered cries of sexual release penetrated the thick walls of their bedrooms, drifting into her room. The men were separate, though. They weren’t sharing, weren’t turning to each other, and Heather felt a vague warning in that knowledge. An uncomfortable sense of an impending storm with the potential to destroy them all.

  The worry became so intense that she finally left her bedroom and went searching for Sam. She knew he hadn’t come to his own room. She would have heard him if he had.

  “Heather.” Rick stepped into the entryway as she descended the stairs.

  He was positioned at the front door, watching the night from the long, tinted windows at the side of the door.

  “Seen Sam, Rick?” Heather asked softly, hoping Tara wasn’t around. Her sister was becoming so overprotective it was beginning to grate on her nerves.

  “Game room. Sure you want to go searching for him?” Rick asked her gently. “He’s in a dangerous mood, Heather.”

  She pushed her fingers through her hair, licking her lips nervously.

  “He shouldn’t be alone.”

  “He has his family,” he argued softly. “He’ll go to them when he needs to.”

  She shook her head and smiled sadly. “Haven’t you noticed, Rick? He rarely does anymore. I bet the limo was only the second time he’s had sex since I came to stay here. He’s dangerous because he’s alone.”

  “Heather.” He grimaced tightly. “Tara’s worried about this. And so am I. I don’t think you’re ready to be what Sam needs.”

  “Maybe not.” She shook her head, remembering her earlier conversation with Sarah and Marly. Tears pricked her eyes because it was the one question she couldn’t answer. Could she handle it? “But I can’t leave him like this either, Rick. It’s breaking my heart.”

  He watched her, his brown eyes dark and intense before he nodded his head abruptly and gave her one of those small, self-conscious smiles that had endeared him to her years ago.

  “He’s a lucky man then.”

  “I wish he saw it that way, “ she said in resignation. “Thanks, Rick.”

  She moved away from him, drawing the edges of her long robe together as she made her way through the house to the basement entrance. And there she found Sam, alone, the air of shifting violence that surrounded him stronger than ever before.

  “You’re worrying your family, you know.” Heather stepped into the game room, a large room arrayed with damned near every amusement a man could want.

  A regulation-sized pool table dominated the center of the first quarter area of the room. Farther inside the wide area were arcade game machines, a wide screen television, a bar in the far corner, and a few scattered conversational areas made up of curved sectional couches and a chair or two. The furniture was wide and comfortable, the carpet under her feet was thick and luxurious, and in the dim light cast by the two single wall lamps, Sam stood, picking off pool balls with an air of bored contempt.

  He was hiding here, she thought. Bare-chested, dressed in a pair of dark blue sweat pants, his feet bare. Sexy as hell and as tempting as sin as he watched her with that narrowed, brooding look that set her blood temperature rising.

  He straightened, propping himself against the pool table as he watched her enter the room with narrowed eyes. His strong-boned face was lined with sorrow, his blue-gray eyes dark with exhaustion, and with a shadow of horror that broke her heart. The nightmares were growing worse for him, she knew. She heard him nightly as he came awake with a snarl, death echoing in the sound of his voice.

  Die, you mother fucker!

  She wondered if he knew what he cried out. Did he know the rage, the horror, the unbearable pain that echoed in his voice?

  “The family doesn’t have anything better to do than worry,” he finally shrugged. Muscle rippled beneath his broad shoulders as he turned from her, the tanned flesh glowing beneath the dim light, sleek and tough, tempting her to touch.

  “So they may as well worry about you, right?” she asked him softly as she stopped at the edge of the pool table, watching as he replaced the pool stick.

  He sighed deeply, still turned from her, staring at the pool sticks as though they held some fascination for him.

  “I’m okay,” he shrugged, turning back to her, his expression carefully composed, a reckless smile shaping his lips. “They’re just worried I’ll leave the house again.”

  “Will you?” She arched a brow questioningly. “Leave the house again?”

  A crooked smile tilted his lips, so male and tempting she nearly missed the fact that it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I promised I wouldn’t.” He laid his hand over his heart. “Didn’t you hear me?”

  Heather snorted. “Actually, you said, and I’ll quote, ‘Fuck it, Cade, I’ll just rot here if that’s what you want,’ unquote.”

  He grunted. She wondered if he meant to pass the sound off as a laugh.

  “Same thing.” He scratched at his chin. “Just different words.”

  Heather grinned, watching as he picked up a cue ball, then sent it spinning across the table into one of the slots.

  “Cade seemed less than appreciative of the words then,” she said as she walked past the pool table, heading for one of the wide couches that faced it from the other side.

  As she walked, she felt her long robe caressing her bare feet, and she knew Sam was watching her. She could feel his gaze on her, searing in its heat. She curled up on the couch before looking up at him with what she hoped was an innocent expression. It was spoiled by the flush blooming on her cheeks, though. There was no missing the tenting of those sweat p
ants. Sam was sporting a hard-on long enough to make her mouth water and her heart hammer in cunt-clenching arousal.

  Sam cleared his throat, turning from her. “Cade doesn’t appreciate a lot of things,” he growled as he pushed the pool balls from the table as though it were his life’s mission.

  He wasn’t nervous. She didn’t think she had ever seen Sam nervous, but he seemed hesitant around her now, as though in some way, she threatened him more than ever before.

  “Is there anything I need to know from that meeting?” she finally asked him.

  She watched his jaw bunch, the way his eyelids flickered as though he needed to shut out reality, to hide from the events around them.

  “Same ole shit,” he finally shrugged. “The bastard wants me because his half brother was a depraved son of a bitch, and because he’s not much better. Marly’s damned near destroyed because Cade refuses to tell her what’s going on. Cade’s not talking to any of us because Marly’s tears rip his soul apart, at least what’s left of it. And here I stand.” He held his arms out as though in invitation. “Once again the reason why my brothers are being destroyed.”

  She wanted to touch him, to hold him, but the look in his eye warned her that he would never allow it. The cold, hard core that worried them all was growing.

  “Do you want me to leave, Sam?” she asked him softly as he raised his head to look at her. “Leave the ranch, and you?”

  His hands were braced on the pool table, his shaggy hair falling over his forehead rakishly. His eyes were direct, his expression still and quiet.

  “I want you to stay,” he said softly. “Too much. I’m the wrong person for you to be around, Heather. You should know that by now. The scars that bastard left on you should be enough to convince you of that.”

  His eyes were a mixture of sadness and lust and brittle fury.

  She tilted her head, watching him curiously.

  “My pussy isn’t ugly anymore, Sam,” she told him in irritation. “You don’t have to act so strange with those little warnings.”

  She still remembered the look on his face when he had stalked into her bedroom over a month ago, jerking up her gown, his face paling at the sight of the raw flesh of her cunt. The cuts had still been raw, not requiring stitches, but slow to heal, and extremely tender.

  He frowned. “You act as though the sight of them is what bothered me,” he bit out, throwing the last ball across the table. “Dammit, Heather, he cut you. Cut you because of me. You should be terrified to be in the same house with me. Hell, all of them should be.”

  Anger filled the area, the air thickening with tension, with rage.

  “Why, Sam?” she asked him softly. “You weren’t the one that cut me.”

  “He did it because of me.” He placed his hands on the table, gripping the edge until she could see his fingers pale with the strength he exerted. “He did it, Heather, because he thinks you matter to me. Do you understand that?”

  Heather shrugged. The edge of violence that swirled in the air around him was begging to be deflected. Deflected or freed. She had a feeling if it was freed, then neither of them would come out of it unscathed.

  “I think you’re just turned off by the scars now.” She shrugged. “What’s wrong, Sam, afraid someone else is wounded more than you in some way?”

  It was a dangerous game she was playing, and Heather knew it. Sam’s sexuality was more intense, deeper, rougher than the other men, and the memories of that time always made it flare hotter. The memory of the one time Sam had allowed her close was brutally vivid. She still remembered his hands in her hair, pulling at the strands as he fucked her mouth with long, slow strokes of his thick cock.

  The heavily veined, rough flesh of his cock had nearly bruised her lips. The scars were thicker than her own, requiring a rough touch to give him the sensation needed to orgasm. Her teeth had scraped him as he cried out, panting.

  Oh yeah, Heather. Like that, baby. Just like that. God yes! He had nearly choked her as he sent his cock thrusting past her teeth and stroking her tongue as he exploded in her mouth. His semen had shot down her throat, salty, dark and male. Perhaps he would have returned the favor. Maybe he would have buried his still-hard flesh between her damp thighs if they hadn’t been so rudely interrupted then.

  “Stop, Heather,” he growled.

  “Stop what?” She frowned over at him, still lost in the memory of his touch, his taste.

  “Stop remembering my cock in your mouth,” he bit out furiously. “It’s bad enough that I can’t forget myself.”

  And evidently his cock wasn’t about to forget either, if the raised material of his sweats was any indication.

  “Maybe it would be easier to forget if you had gotten around to returning the favor, rather than worrying about my virginity,” she pointed out with mocking calm. “That was rather rude of you, Sam.”

  He gaped at her, his eyes widening, obviously surprised that she would upbraid him over something he was taking such pains to forget. Not that she would have let him forget.

  “Heather, you are aware you were attacked because of your friendship with me. Right?” he bit out, fury filling his voice. “Do you have a death wish I don’t know anything about?”

  His eyes darkened, his cheekbones flushing with his anger.

  Heather leaned back against the couch, her eyes narrowing on him.

  “I’m your weakness. Do you think that’s going to change, even if you don’t touch me, Sam?”

  She watched his breathing accelerate, rather from lust or from anger, she wasn’t certain.

  “I don’t have a weakness,” he bit out.

  “Oh really?” she asked him with a touch of mocking amusement. “I guess that’s why your cock is harder than dried oak less than six hours after a little limo sex with your brother and his lover. What happened, Sam, did Cade get greedy on you and not let you have any?”

  She was pushing him, and she knew it. But she was getting damned sick of the continual charade playing out between them. She was as much a prisoner to that damned stalker as he was, and she was getting sick of it.

  “Cade doesn’t get greedy where his brothers are concerned, Heather.” His voice dropped, but there was no disguising the sneer in his tone. “Be careful, or you just might find out how much we do like to share.”

  “Oh goody, a dare.” She grinned as though they weren’t talking about her in the middle of an August orgy. “Shall we see which of us is stronger, Sam? Can you make me want to share? Or will I make you greedy instead?”

  She watched as he straightened. He did nothing to hide the erection beneath his sweat pants now. It was blatantly obvious.

  “Oh baby, greedy will be the least of your problems,” he told her then, softly, dangerously.

  Her heart sped up in excitement, the blood pounding through her veins as he began to advance on her.

  “I’m a very greedy person, Sam. What about you?” She sat still, though the adrenaline racing through her body demanded action.

  “I could be.” But he didn’t sound so sure. He didn’t look so sure. “But can you handle what you’re inviting, Heather?”

  Could she? She sure as hell hoped so, because she knew she wanted it.

  “Sam, I can handle anything you want to dish out.” Tara had always warned her that the day would come when her mouth would get her into more trouble than she could handle. Heather had a feeling that day had just arrived.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She had no idea how desperately he wanted her, Sam thought as he watched the deliberate provocation in her eyes. She was daring him as though it were a game, as though there would be no casualties, no pain involved. But there was, and he knew it. He faced it daily with Marly and Sarah. The knowledge of what they were doing to those beautiful, loving women destroyed his soul.

  Yet, here she sat, daring him, as though the dare could be called back as easily as saying the words. She had been in the August household as a bodyguard long enough to catch the subtle
hints of what defiance and a sexual challenge did to them. Sarah and Marly teasingly defied them on a daily level, keeping them focused on the here and now, rather than the past. And the challenges always fired their sexuality, their need to dominate sexually, to reaffirm their sensual control.

  He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the end of the pool table and watched her. Her green eyes were dark with arousal, her nipples peaked beneath the silk of the long gown and flimsy robe. He could see them clearly defined, hard little points tempting his hunger.

  “Why are you still a virgin?” The question plagued him. He needed an answer, needed to know why she seemed so willing to give him what no other man had ever taken.

  She propped her arm on the back of the couch, resting her head on her hand as she watched him curiously.

  “I’ve never been with a man because I haven’t found one that could make me half as hot as a good erotica book and an even better toy.” It wasn’t the answer he expected.

  He closed his eyes briefly as though gathering his strength.

  “Toy?” he asked softly, his body tightening, his cock jerking beneath his sweatpants as though trying to slice through the fabric to get to her.

  “Toys, perhaps.” She shrugged, a grin tugging at her mouth. “Are you shocked, Sam? I told you I had a vibrator.”

  “What kind of toys?” His imagination was killing him now.

  She shrugged, her slender shoulders rising, lifting her breasts against the material that covered them as she watched him with more amusement than the fear he thought she should feel.

  “All kinds of toys, Sam,” she said softly. “I’m technically a virgin, not physically a virgin.”

  His brows snapped into a frown. “You didn’t tell me that before,” he growled.

  “Would it have made a difference?” she asked him, her voice husky. “What business of it yours, anyway? You made it pretty plain you had no intentions of going to bed with me.”

  Sam could feel his body nearly trembling with excitement. His imagination was going wild, imagining her spread out on his bed, her legs open to him as she used one of the more unique dildos he could buy for her. Moving it in and out of her bare pussy, stroking herself, moaning…