by Lori Drake
“Uh huh, right,” he said. His skepticism was clear, but a smile warmed his face. They swayed together, the tone of their dance shifting after a few quiet moments. His arms loosened from around her, hands finding her shoulders to slide down her arms. She stepped away, catching one of his hands as she struck a classic rhumba pose. He responded in kind, and soon they were moving together once more.
This dance was different. Slower. More dramatic. Sensual. Hips swung and swayed as they alternated between dancing in close proximity and side by side, limbs stretched in artful lines. They’d always had good chemistry, but this night was different. The air between them practically buzzed, and they weren’t smiling or laughing any longer. Instead, the glances they exchanged were intense, charged with sexual energy.
Joey knew that things were getting out of control even before he pulled her against him and held her there. Her senses were on fire. His scent filled her nostrils. She wanted to roll in it. Goosebumps broke out all over her body as his fingers delved into her hair. Lost in his cerulean eyes, she curled fingers behind his neck, and he groaned. She felt him stir against her stomach, hot through two thin layers of fabric.
That was the moment she should have stopped, should have gone back to her room and shut the door. Locked it. Barricaded it. Not to keep him out, but to keep herself in. To keep the keg of gunpowder that was their relationship tightly sealed. Instead, she pulled his head down to hers and lit the fuse.
Their lips met in a firestorm of unchecked desire that threatened to consume her. Joey reveled in the heat, pulling him closer even as she pressed herself against him. He responded with a sound that was part groan and part growl. It made her insides quiver. She’d thought kissing him through Dean was intense, but it paled in comparison.
His hands found her waist and he lifted her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around him, and he slid his hands downward, pulling her hips more firmly against his. Her hands caught his head and she moaned into the kiss, then broke it to gaze into his eyes. The unmasked desire she found there made her shiver even as she felt it mirrored in her. There was no going back, not this night.
“Take me to bed,” she said, sliding her fingers into his dark hair.
“Are you sure?”
Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging until his head tipped back, exposing his throat. She dipped her head and ran the tip of her nose along his neck, breathing in his scent.
“Yes,” she murmured, a hint of a growl in her voice. “I’m sure.”
He carried her to the bed and crawled onto it while she clung to him. His mouth found hers again as he settled over her, lips locking in arduous combat. It was intense, unfiltered. Raw. They tugged impatiently at each other’s clothes, lost in the heat of the moment. Something tore, but she couldn’t say what and was beyond caring anyhow.
Joey couldn’t remember wanting anything, anyone, so much. They made love with ferocity, rolling back and forth as their alpha natures vied for dominance. Submission had never been her strong point, but in the end, she found herself gazing up at him when the pleasure finally overwhelmed her. Her name spilled from his breathless lips as he joined her, nearly setting her off all over again. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard.
“God, you’re amazing,” he murmured afterward, arms trembling with the effort to hold himself up.
“I’m just getting warmed up,” she teased, but there was truth to it as well.
He laughed and rolled to one side, but drew her into his arms and kissed her warmly, if breathlessly. “Give me a minute and I’ll see what I can do.”
There was, as it turned out, quite a bit more that he could do.
Much later, they turned out the light and lay together like spoons in a drawer. Flush with languid warmth, Joey snuggled her back to Chris’s front, smiling as she felt him twitch in response. He groaned softly in her ear.
“Enough, woman.” His voice was as warm as the breath tickling her ear, and his lips pressed softly to her earlobe before he settled his head on the pillow beside hers.
Joey settled down and closed her eyes, letting sleep claim her at last. She awoke several hours later to the distant sounds of the household stirring to life. The inescapable reality of what had happened hit her moments later, when the fact that she was naked in Chris’s bed penetrated the sleepy fog addling her brain.
She turned over carefully, doing her best not to jostle the bed and wake him. He lay sprawled on his back, one bare leg peeking out from beneath the sheet. Flashes of memory assailed her, vivid enough to spike her heart rate and tighten her stomach. His hands, his mouth, the sheer intensity of their passion was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. But the way she felt about him went beyond physical pleasure.
She was in love with him.
When it had happened, she wasn’t sure. Did it matter? She wanted him—needed him—so intensely that it almost hurt. Joey thought she’d known love before, but this was different. Primal. Fierce. Overwhelming.
She was in love with him, and it terrified her.
It was that terror that drove her to creep from his bed, collect her pajamas, and steal from the room while he slumbered on.
Chris cracked his eyes open and immediately wished he hadn’t. Sunlight assailed them, brighter than it ought to be for morning. He turned his head and squinted at the clock. It was nearly noon, but then again, he’d been up pretty late.
Remembering why brought a smile to his lips, despite the fact that his bed was disappointingly devoid of Joey. Her scent lingered, mixed with his on the sheets, confirming that it hadn’t been a dream. He lay there for a few extra minutes before he stretched and rolled out of bed to face the day. Or, at least, what was left of it.
He’d slept like a rock once he’d fallen back asleep, the nightmares remaining at bay for the rest of the night. In the wake of a solid seven hours of sleep, he felt better than he had in days. Almost human, so to speak. He even scraped three days of stubble from his face after a hot shower and slapped on some lightly fragranced aftershave.
Downstairs, he raided the fridge for sandwich fixings and was in the process of making himself some lunch when Emma wandered in.
“Hey, Em, how’s it going?” he asked. “Want something to eat?”
“That’s my line.” She managed a small smile, but sadness lingered in her eyes. “Okay, I guess. You?”
Chris did his best to tamp down his sudden good cheer, for Emma’s sake if nothing else.
“Okay,” he said, and shrugged. “Still housebound as far as I know, but I haven’t seen anyone yet today to ask.”
“Oh?” Emma tilted her head, peering at him from behind her prescription lenses. “Late night?”
He tried not to grin. Really, he did. It didn’t work. “Yeah.”
Emma didn’t press. She opened the fridge instead and rummaged through the plastic containers of leftovers until she found what she was looking for.
“Sara’s sweet. She put green lids on all the vegan stuff,” she said, on her way to the microwave.
Chris smiled. “Yeah, she’s a keeper.”
Silence settled between them, during which Chris couldn’t help but think about the heap of trouble that had led to Emma becoming an extended guest of the family. On top of being hunted by the leader of her old coven in Nevada, she’d been arrested and charged with numerous crimes involving the car wreck, her false identity, and pretending to be Chris to empty the bank account he’d opened for her. She was out on bail, awaiting her day in court.
“Hey, I’ve been thinking. Once this whole ‘returned from the dead’ thing is sorted out, I can testify at your trial.”
Emma turned to look his way and leaned against the counter. “Um, well, you’ll have to talk to Jon about it. If he thinks it’ll help, I’m all for it. Thanks for offering.”
“That’s what friends are for.” Chris smiled at her and topped his giant ham sandwich with an almost comically small slice of bread, then moved it to a plate.
“
You’re in a good mood today,” Emma said.
“I guess I am.”
“Any particular reason why?”
Although he wasn’t inclined to kiss and tell, the need to confide in someone was high. Emma was one of his closest friends, but he still hesitated, not wanting to rub his happiness in her face when she was still grieving.
“I think Joey and I are going to be okay,” he said eventually, and walked around the island to settle on one of the barstools with his lunch.
“Oh? That’s good.” The microwave beeped, and she turned back to it to attend to her lunch.
“Speaking of which, have you seen her yet today?”
“Seen who?” Joey said from behind him. He jumped on his stool, then laughed and twisted to look over at her.
“You. Were your ears burning?” he asked, lifting a brow.
Joey smirked and shook her head, lingering a few steps from the door.
“Want something to eat?” Emma said, glancing over her shoulder. “There’s more than enough of this butternut squash and quinoa to share.”
“No thanks, I’m good,” Joey said, but walked over to the fridge and opened it, looking inside.
Chris watched her, appreciating the view while he bit into his sandwich. He didn’t even try to hide the admiring glance; those days were over. The whole household would know soon enough. It was hard to keep secrets in a house where everyone had super hearing and extremely sensitive noses.
“I’ve gotta get back to work,” Emma said, breaking Chris from his reverie. “You coming to dinner tonight, Joey? Sara and I have quite the menu planned.”
“Should be,” Joey said, closing the refrigerator door. “Six o’clock?”
“Six o’clock. See you both later,” Emma said, and let herself out through the swinging door with lunch in hand.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” Chris said once their friend had gone, lips quirking in a broad grin. “Whatever shall we do?”
Joey snorted softly, eyeing him over the island counter. “Lunch. That’s what we’re going to do.”
“I can think of a few things for after lunch, if you’re interested.” He waggled his brows.
“No time. Detective Harding is coming over.”
That certainly threw a wet blanket over his amorous thoughts. “Already? What am I even supposed to tell him?” He set his sandwich down and wiped his fingers on a paper towel.
Joey looked up from her sandwich preparation. “Mom didn’t talk to you?”
“No, but I haven’t been up for long. I was up kind of late.” He grinned again, but the expression wavered when she cleared her throat and looked away.
“Right. I, uh, hope you slept well.”
His brows drew together. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer right away, but her silence and the way she avoided meeting his eyes spoke volumes. His heart sank and his stomach twisted into knots.
“Joey? Talk to me. Please.”
She drew a deep breath and looked up. The resolve on her face only heightened his anxiety. “About last night… I think we can both agree that things got out of hand and leave it at that.”
Chris stared at her for a long moment, mouth agape. “Out of hand?”
“Yeah. I mean, it was late and we were both pretty out of it—“
“Are you kidding me?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Couldn’t believe what she was saying. Surely there had to be some mistake.
Joey’s eyes didn’t leave his, though she flinched. “No, I’m not. I’m serious. I—I’m sorry I let things escalate.”
“Let things…” Chris began, but trailed off and rubbed his face. “This is ridiculous.” He stood and walked around the island, closing the distance between them in a few long strides.
Joey remained facing the counter, but held her ground. Her jaw had a stubborn set to it.
“Look at me,” he said, pulling at her shoulder. She turned her head and lifted her chin, eyes meeting his once more. “You can’t expect me to believe that last night meant nothing to you. It sure as hell meant something to me, and you knew it would. You wouldn’t do that to me. Tell me what’s really going on.”
“It was a mistake.” Her eyes bored into his so intensely that he almost believed her. “That’s what’s really going on. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but we’ll get past it.”
“You don’t mean that. You can lie to yourself if you want, but you can’t lie to me. I was there. I saw the truth in your eyes when we made love…” He moved closer and lifted a hand to cup her cheek, but his fingers scarcely brushed her skin before she jerked her head away as if they’d scalded her.
“Stop it,” she said, moving away from him. “Don’t make me say something I can’t take back.”
He stared at her, jaw clenching and unclenching. “As if what you’ve already said isn’t bad enough?”
She looked away but nodded. “That’s fair. I’m going to make myself scarce for a while, but I’ve got my phone if you need me. Go talk to Mom. Harding’ll be here at two.” Her eyes met his once more, briefly, before she turned and walked away. There might have been an apology in them, or maybe it was pity. He didn’t know anymore.
What he did know was that anger boiled within him; he barely kept the lid on it until she was gone. With an outraged growl, he swept his arm across the counter, sending plates and food flying. Glass shattered noisily, but Joey didn’t return. He gripped the edges of the counter until his knuckles turned white. Gradually, the rage began to subside.
It couldn’t be true. He couldn’t fathom why she was so determined to push him away, much less why she’d risk everything they’d ever been to each other to do it. Did she think things would just go back to the way they’d been before?
He didn’t know what she was playing at, but he’d be damned if he’d be her pawn.
4
By the time Joey got to the Grants’ home gym, her short fingernails had dug stinging half-moon cuts into her palms. It’d taken every ounce of control she possessed to lie to Chris, and every scrap of acting ability she had to do it with a straight face. She wasn’t sure if his reaction made it harder or not.
You didn’t expect him to take it lying down, did you?
She knew he was angry. Even normal human ears would have heard his reaction after she left the room. It was almost enough to make her turn back. Almost. He probably hated her, for what she’d done. She’d earned it. For that matter, she hated herself. For her moment of weakness that had set them on this path, for giving in to her fear even though it felt like the only option. For hurting him. It wasn’t like her to back down from a challenge or run away from a problem, but that was exactly what she’d done.
The gym was blissfully empty when she stepped inside. The scent of old sweat, disinfectant, and canvas tickled her nostrils as she walked over to the supply cabinet and retrieved the hand wraps. Her mind replayed the conversation with Chris over and over, for all that she tried to focus on the task before her. It had been years since Sam taught her how to wrap her hands. Her fingers fumbled with the wraps until she gave up and flung the strips of white fabric on the floor. She didn’t really need the padding, did she? She’d heal. Besides, what was a little physical discomfort compared to the ache in her chest?
Joey approached the punching bag and brought her fists up. The smack of her knuckles against the bag was satisfying, but it barely moved. This was a special bag, reinforced to handle the heavy blows of supernaturally strong arms. She punched it again and again, even kicked it a few times, venting some of her overwhelming emotions. A few tears slid down her cheeks, unbidden and barely noticed. Her knuckles started to ache, but she pushed the pain aside. Each punch was both punishment and salvation.
“Wow, whoever’s face is on that bag is in a world of hurt.”
Joey whirled to find Ben standing nearby in workout attire, his toned arms folded across his chest. She hadn’t even heard him come in, wasn’t even sure how long she’d
been going at it.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she said, flexing her aching hands. Her knuckles were bruised, scraped, and bloody, but the skin was already tingling as it healed.
Her brother’s eyes lowered. He walked toward her for a closer look and whistled low. “Damn, girl. Anything you want to talk about?”
“No.” Joey’s answer was swift and firm. “Did you want some time with the bag?”
“Ha! No. I’m not getting in between you and… whatever this is. But if you want someone to hold the bag, I’m here.”
Joey considered it, then shrugged. “How about a few pointers?”
He smiled and nodded, but the concern didn’t leave his eyes. Of all her brothers, Ben was the most empathetic. Normally, he was also the easiest to talk to, but she didn’t want to talk to him about Chris. She didn’t want to talk to anyone about Chris. Just thinking about him made her chest tight.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and wrapped first,” Ben said.
Joey ducked into the bathroom to wash her hands, then let Ben wrap them for her before they approached the bag once more. Ben gave it a quick wipe down, then draped the bloodstained towel over one shoulder.
“Okay, slugger. Fists up, elbows down. Dominant hand in back. There you go, perfect. Your stance is great. Have you done this before?”
“Sam gave me a few lessons before I moved out,” Joey said. She remembered the body positioning better than anything else—she was a dancer, after all.
“That explains it.” He moved behind the bag and leaned one shoulder into it. “Okay, remember to start from a relaxed position. Exhale as you punch, and tighten your fist and body when it hits the bag.”
Joey did as instructed, wincing as her battered hand impacted with the weighted bag. The cushion of the wraps did help, at least. She tried a few more jabs, correcting her arms or feet movements according to Ben’s advice. The lesson proved a better distraction than her frustrated amateur poundings. It gave her something to focus her mind on as well as her body. She knew that the pain, the frustration, and self-loathing would return when she stopped, but by narrowing her focus, she was able to keep it at bay for a time. Minutes ticked by, and before she knew it, a whole hour had flown past.
