“Meg, it’s not that we don’t want to help, it’s that we’ve had almost thirty years of experience raising him, the last I don’t know how many years being taught how to deal with addictive behavior,” Lydia said, her imploring stare on Meg’s as she spoke.
“Then what do you suggest?” Scott asked, well and truly pissed off.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a suggestion, and I know that’s not what you want to hear.” Walter met Scott’s gaze. “If you need money to help keep the mother of my grandchild safe, just say the word—”
“Thanks but I’ve got this,” he said too harshly.
Meg squeezed his leg beneath the table. Scott took the hint, but he didn’t need it. He wanted to be offended by the offer … but he wasn’t. He also wanted to dislike these people because of who their son was … and couldn’t. He wouldn’t want to be judged by his father. He couldn’t do the same to this couple.
“Meg, I meant what I said when I came to see you at school. I’d like to be part of the baby’s life. But I’d like to get to know you too. We have time before the baby is born. You can get to know me … us,” Lydia said. “You can decide for yourself once you know us more.”
Scott felt Meg’s shock in the stiffness of her body. “I’d like that,” she said softly.
He understood. She had nobody in the way of family. Not like he did. These people were offering her and, by extension, her child a bond she was lacking. Scott wanted that for her. Just like he wanted her to think of his mother and siblings as her family too. But first he had to get her to accept him as a permanent part of her life.
With the difficult discussions behind them, they ate and talked about neutral subjects. They asked Meg about her childhood, where she’d gone to college, and learned more about her in general. He watched as she slowly opened up to them, something he knew from personal experience she didn’t do easily.
By the time the meal ended, Meg had relaxed, and Scott had a better handle on the Ashtons. He could honestly say he was comfortable with Meg spending time in their company, not that she needed his permission, he thought wryly.
They walked out the front entrance into the warm sunshine. Scott glanced around, seeing only two valets in green jackets and a taxicab idling not far from where the men would bring his truck.
“Thank you so much for coming. It was a pleasure getting to know you,” Lydia said to Meg, pulling her into an embrace.
Meg hugged the woman, patting her back awkwardly, but in her expression, Scott could see the hope of acceptance, of family. It was everything Scott wanted for her, and he, too, prayed the couple lived up to the promise.
Walter stepped closer, grasping Meg’s hand in his. “You’re a lovely young woman.”
She blushed, that pink flush Scott liked seeing on her cheeks. “Thank you.”
“Traitors!”
The shouted word startled everyone.
Scott spun as a man strode forward from the yellow taxi. Meg turned fast, her expression turning to one of horror. “Mike,” she whispered at the same moment Scott recognized him.
The man wore dirty clothes, his hair hadn’t been washed in too long, and his eyes were bloodshot from drugs or alcohol.
“Mike?” Lydia gasped, her face turning pale.
And Walter, who still held Meg’s hand, stared in shock at his son—who had a small revolver in his hand.
Scott reached for and raised his gun without thinking twice, training the weapon on Mike Ashton.
“How could you choose that bitch over me?” Mike asked, the hand holding the gun shaking uncontrollably.
“Calm down, son,” Walter said, dropping Meg’s hand and holding his up in the air. “You’re my child. Nothing changes that,” he said, speaking slowly and calmly.
“Except that baby.” Eyes wild, Mike swung the gun toward Meg and lunged forward, shooting as he moved.
On instinct, Scott fired at Mike, diving for Meg at the same time. Walter was closer and threw Meg to the ground, but his shocked scream told Scott he’d taken the bullet meant for Meg.
“Call 911,” Scott shouted to one of the valets who had ducked behind the small desk where he worked. “And keep everyone else away!”
Scott immediately spun toward Meg, calling her name.
“Fine,” she called out.
Scott began breathing again, everything around them happening at warp speed.
Crying, Lydia rolled her husband off of Meg while Scott kept his gun trained on Mike, who lay groaning on the ground. Blood spread through the man’s shirt, but it looked like the original injury was in the upper right shoulder, a result of Scott’s preoccupation with getting Meg out of harm’s way.
Mike flinched, moving his good arm, and Scott kicked the man’s gun farther away, in case the asshole thought he had a chance of getting to the weapon.
“Come on, honey. Talk to me,” Lydia said to her husband.
“I’m okay.” Walter spoke in a weak voice. “Just my damn arm.”
Scott let out a relieved breath that Walter’s injury wasn’t life threatening. From the corner of his eye, Scott saw Meg rise to her feet, while at the same time, the sound of sirens cut into the silence.
Without warning, Meg barreled into him, wrapping her arms around him tight. “Oh my God, I was so scared.”
Her voice sounded muffled in his shirt, her tears dampening the fabric, and his heart clenched inside his chest. The same heart he’d thought closed up for good only a short month ago.
“Join the club, baby. If this bastard had shot you and I was a few feet away and didn’t stop him…” He couldn’t finish the thought, nausea filling him at the notion. “How’s Walter?”
“Hurting, but I think he’s okay.”
Two police cars and an ambulance screeched to a halt. The men in blue surrounded Scott, and he placed both weapons on the ground, kicking them toward the police. Though it took awhile, with Scott no longer being in possession of a badge, the police eventually sorted out the facts.
Mike had been hit in the upper shoulder, and the paramedics quickly stabilized him, then loaded him into the ambulance for the trip to the hospital. With a police escort. He’d soon be read his rights and booked.
Another set of paramedics worked on Walter.
Lydia stepped back to give them room. She headed straight for Scott, her face streaked with tears.
Scott drew a breath before facing the woman whose son he had shot. “Mrs. Ashton…”
“Walter and I just had to say thank you.”
“What?” Scott asked, confused.
The older woman stepped forward and hugged Scott tight, taking him completely off guard. “You didn’t kill my son. Thank you.”
“Mrs. Ashton!” a paramedic called out. “We need to go.”
She eased back. “You two take care. I’ll be in touch.”
“Bye,” Meg whispered.
“Good luck,” Scott said to her retreating back before turning to Meg. Makeup smudged beneath her eyes, tears stained her cheeks, but her brown eyes sparkled with life, and that was all Scott cared about.
“She’s right. You didn’t kill him.”
“Don’t give me so much credit.” He hated to burst her bubble or perception of him, but it couldn’t be helped. “In the split second I had, I aimed dead center, but I was trying to get to you at the same time, and the shot went wide.”
She sucked in a surprised gasp. “Well, then things work out the way they’re supposed to. I’d hate for you to have Mike’s death on your conscience. And I wouldn’t want it on mine either.”
It wouldn’t have been either of their faults, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. He brushed her hair off her face and tipped her chin up. “I said I’d keep you safe, and that was too damned close for comfort.”
She nodded. “He can’t walk away from this, right? It’s attempted murder, right? He’s going to jail?”
“He sure as hell is.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “Thank God. It’
s over.”
It sure as hell was, Scott thought, pulling her close, breathing in the fragrant scent of her hair. Mike’s reign of terror was over. And so was Meg’s need to remain with Scott. In his house, in his arms, and in his life.
* * *
In a daze, Meg walked into Scott’s house. She headed straight for the master bathroom and began stripping off her clothes piece by piece, shedding the memories along with the shirt that was covered in Walter Ashton’s blood. He’d thrown himself over her, putting himself in front of a bullet to save Meg’s life from a shot Mike had fired.
Mike, who she’d cared for, if not loved. Mike who’d fathered her child. With shaking hands, she turned on the water, hoping the heat of the shower would warm the chill that spread through her from inside and out. She stuck her hand into the spray, testing the temperature before stepping inside.
“You didn’t waste a second,” Scott said, joining her in the bathroom.
She glanced at him through the see-through enclosure, watching his eyes heat as he took in her naked body.
“I had to get out of those clothes.” Her voice cracked, and she turned away, stepping under the hot spray to wash away her tears before he could see.
The sound of the shower door opening and closing drew her attention, and then Scott was there. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight as she cried, letting out all the pent-up emotion of the last few weeks and the hell Mike had caused. She hadn’t really let herself fall apart, and now that the adrenaline rush ebbed, she sobbed without holding back.
When she’d finally cried herself out, she became aware of Scott’s body, his hard muscles, hair-roughened skin, and the gentle yet protective way he held her close. One hand stroked her hair, the other wrapped around her waist as he waited for her to pull herself together.
Once she was ready, she drew a deep breath and glanced up at him. “Thank you. I needed that.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I hope that’s the last time you cry over that bastard ever again.”
She managed a nod. “Me too.” She tipped her head up and tried to clean up her face, knowing her makeup had to be dripping down her cheeks.
“Here. Let me.” Scott pulled a washcloth from a towel bar and wiped beneath her eyes, gently cleaning her up.
She didn’t have the strength to be embarrassed and let him do what he wanted.
“There. All set,” he said.
She gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” His low voice and tone had an entirely different meaning, and her body perked up, suddenly awake and aware of him as a man. A very sexy man she desired with every fiber of her being.
Without speaking, he reached over and picked up a bar of soap, then proceeded to lather up his hands before kneeling at her feet. He placed the bar of soap on the floor beside him and cupped her ankle in his big hands.
She glanced down at his dark hair, his sexy pose, and her nipples peaked with desire, her breasts suddenly heavy, her pussy throbbing with need.
“What are you doing?” she asked thickly.
He glanced up, his eyes as dark as she’d ever seen them. “Taking care of you,” he said, then bent to his task.
He soaped her skin, starting at her feet and moving upward, massaging her muscles with tender care. First he pressed his thumbs into her calves, slicked his hands up behind her knees—an erogenous zone she hadn’t known she possessed—before graduating to her thighs. His talented fingers reached higher quickly, and she sucked in a breath as he slid his thumbs along the crease between her thigh and her slick outer folds.
She grasped on to his shoulders and held on, fingers digging into his skin as he soaped around her sex, fingers easing over her nearly bare mound but never touching where she needed him most. She arched her hips forward. He chuckled, low and deep, pausing only to soap up his hands again and keep moving, up her belly, over her breasts, paying special attention there but not stopping in his quest to clean her completely.
It was as if he understood how fragile today had made her feel, how out of control and afraid, and he was here to help her rinse off all traces of the horrific experience.
He slicked his hands over her shoulders, down her arms, threading their fingers together almost symbolically, his heavy-lidded, aroused gaze meeting hers. That’s when it dawned on her.
Scott wasn’t speaking. There was no dirty talk. No sexy descriptions of what he was going to do to her. No teasing comments about how many times he planned to make her come. Instead, there was an intensity and seriousness to his touch and his expression she’d never seen before.
It was as if he were memorizing every second, every bit of her because now that the danger had passed, this was their last time together. And though she knew it to be true, the pain of that thought lanced through her heart.
There was so much unspoken in the steamy bathroom and between them, but she couldn’t bring herself to think beyond the here and now. All she wanted was to feel, and Scott was so capable of making her do that. He unhooked the handheld shower sprayer and rinsed her off, gliding his fingers over the soap, pushing the foam off her skin, helping the soft sprinkling of water do its job.
Once she was clean, he knelt before her once more. Her sex clenched in anticipation, but his next move was so much different than she expected. So much … more.
He braced his hands on her hips and leaned close, pressing his lips to her now slightly visible belly. Her throat swelled, her heart filled, and intense feelings of longing swept through her, rendering her unable to think, let alone speak. He glanced up long enough to meet her gaze, to hold on, to force her to look into his eyes, which were glittering with the same raw emotion pulsing through her.
He rose and slammed his hand against the faucet, shutting off the water, then opened the shower door and guided her to the floor mat. He wrapped her in a towel and gently patted her dry, keeping her wrapped and warm. He grabbed another towel and dried himself. He dropped his towel to the floor and tugged hers off, too, before sweeping her into his arms.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, nuzzling her cheek against his, breathing in the warm, clean scent of his skin. She never thought she’d have even this much with any man, and Scott Dare exceeded all her dreams and expectations.
Even now, as he carried her determinedly into the bedroom and placed her in the center of his large bed, he was her white knight. She withheld her smile at the thought, knowing he wouldn’t like it.
Coming over her, he bracketed her between his thighs, pinning her pelvis to the mattress with his naked body as he stared into her eyes.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said, needing to break the silence, to know what was going on in his head even if she didn’t want to hear.
“I’m not sure you want to know,” he said, his jaw tight.
She had a hard time looking past his bronzed, muscular chest that was just begging for her touch.
“Probably not,” she agreed. “But we’re going to have to deal with it sooner or later.” Not that she could concentrate at all with his hard, hot sex throbbing against hers.
“Yes, we are.” He lifted his hips and slid his cock over her damp sex.
She closed her eyes, and sparks flickered behind her lids at the erotic feel of him gliding against her. She whimpered and bent her knees, wanting him to take her hard and deep.
“No, Meg. Look at me.”
She forced herself to meet his determined gaze. “I know you don’t want to rely on me. That you need to stand on your own, and I respect that.” He leaned over and touched his forehead to hers before looking into her eyes once more. “I respect you.”
She swallowed hard, waiting for his next words.
“And know this,” he continued. “I’ll always give you what you need even if it’s not what I want.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
He shook his head, his lips lifting slightly. “I can’t believe you have to ask. I want you,
Meg. I love you.”
The words echoed inside her head, as if she were hearing them for the very first time ever. And in a way, she was. Nobody who’d said them to her in the past had meant them. Not the way Scott so clearly did. She’d never known her father, and she couldn’t remember ever hearing those three words from her mother. And come on, let me move in, Meg. You know I love you, wasn’t the same as this heartfelt declaration.
She’d never forget hearing Scott say it now, and her eyes filled with tears. “I love you too.”
“Thank God.” Scott felt the sheen of perspiration on his forehead and lower back. Sheer nerves. He’d never been so scared as when he’d taken that leap, waiting to hear if she felt the same way. He might not get to keep her now, but he wouldn’t lose her forever. He had to believe that or he’d lose what was left of his mind.
He had more to say. So much more, but now wasn’t the time. “I need to be inside you,” he told her instead.
She smiled, laughing through tears. “That’s my sweet-talking man.”
Yeah, he was hers. Even if she moved out and insisted on doing things on her own, he’d be there until she came around. But that was talk for after.
He braced his hands on either side of her shoulders, flexed his hips, and drove home. Home being the only word crashing through his mind as he sheathed himself completely inside her warm, wet heat. He groaned as she cushioned him in her silken walls.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “You feel so good.” Beneath him, Meg arched her back, pulling him deeper when he hadn’t thought it possible.
“I need to feel you everywhere,” she said, her fingernails scraping against his scalp.
He groaned and began to move, thrusting in and out, totally in tune to her every sigh, moan, and shift of her body. And though his orgasm was building fast, it was obvious so was hers, her breathing coming more rapidly, the tugs on his hair more urgent.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking him against her body, taking what she needed from him as they drove each other toward an explosive climax. Heat and fire sizzled up his spine, his balls drawing up tight, the need to come warring with the desire to wait for her to tip over first.
Dare to Hold Page 16
