by Emma Roman
His brother was too concerned about rules and appearances and bullshit like that. He didn’t care about what Paul wanted, and they never should have had this conversation in the first place.
He stopped at the door to the stairs. “I’m gonna go for a run.”
“It’s ten o’clock at night,” Brady said. “And there’s gonna be a snow storm.”
Fuck. He needed to get out of the house. If he tried to go downstairs and work out his frustrations on the punching bag or the weight machine, his brother would follow him with more weirdly ominous warnings about the Gallaghers.
He was done talking about the Gallaghers.
“Fine, then. I’m going for a drive.”
“It’s ten o’clo—”
“I know what time it is.” Paul grabbed his keys and was out the door before Brady could tell him anything else he already knew.
***
Sylvie dried the water off her face and stared at herself in the mirror. Anyone who looked at her would see the marks of a night of crying. Puffy, reddened eyes, raw skin on her nose and cheeks. Everything looked swollen.
She hadn’t cried like that since she had to say goodbye to Paul, but with Uncle Caleb’s threat of sending her away, she still couldn’t calm down. Everything inside ached.
Say goodbye forever?
Even the maybe in her uncle’s sentence had felt like an ultimatum. Anyone else would’ve heard might or could in that, but Sylvie had seen Caleb be decisive in every decision. No waffling for him. Once he said it, it happened.
And as her alpha, he could tell her what to do. He could force her to leave. Her mother’s family had all bonded to Caleb Gallagher, at her grandfather’s request, when her aunt Gretchen had married into the family. A power play, but a permanent one.
Sylvie placed the wash cloth on the rack to dry and pulled the bathrobe tighter around her body. The long, hot bath hadn’t helped. The nightly routine hadn’t helped. She still ached inside. Everywhere.
The doorbell made her jump, and she pulled the top of her robe together until it was almost at her neck. It might be Uncle Caleb again, and she didn’t have time to get dressed before they would come charging into her house.
“Coming,” she called out, and ran through the house, snagging her slippers as she went. She took a long breath and forced a smile, then opened the door.
Luther stood on the stoop, his arms crossed, showing the mate tattoos around his wrists. Double cuffs, like all fully bonded mates. His head was tilted to one side, like some kind of brotherly protective instinct drove him to judge her.
“Caleb asked me to stop by and check on you, on my way home.”
“I’m sure he did.” She leaned against her door, keeping her body mostly behind it. “I appreciate it, but I’m fine.”
“I’m gonna have to come in,” he said, moving his head a tick more of a tilt, like he was trying to look behind her.
“Well, by all means.” Sylvie ushered him inside, backing up into the kitchen of her small apartment. “There are only three rooms to check, so have at it.”
“I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here,” Luther said, wiping his shoes on her entry rug and stepping over the threshold. “I was hoping to surprise Maggie tonight with a—”
“Paul isn’t here,” Sylvie said, a somber dip to her head.
Luther stopped in the middle of her kitchen, but didn’t turn to face her. He at least attempted to keep a level of respect between them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, there’s no one here but me.” She pointed back toward her bedroom and the bathroom. “Although the bath is still draining.”
“I believe you,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t know anything about the situation, so I won’t offer any advice, but I know Caleb was pretty worked up after you left. And Maggie’s brothers were on the war path when they found out Paul was there.”
Sylvie crossed her arms and leaned back against her refrigerator. “I’m sure they were. I don’t know why. But they really don’t like Paul.”
“Well, whatever the reason, at least I can tell Caleb there’s nothing here for him to worry about.” Luther turned on his heel and walked back to the still-open front door.
“Yes.” She stayed by the refrigerator, her body almost shaking with frustration. She couldn’t even make her own choices about who to have in her house. The benefits to being part of a pack were undeniable, but there were so many days, when it came to Paul, that she wished she could have been born a human. Then she could have told her uncle to shove his concern. And his orders.
“I’m sorry, Sylvie.” Luther’s voice had such a sad tenor, it made tears start to collect in the corners of her eyes again.
“Me, too,” she said, but the door was already closed and he was gone. She turned around and leaned on the counter, looking out the little window over her sink, and watching Luther climb into his Jeep and drive off. The promised snow had started to fall, and it made little, dark shadows in the retreating headlights.
The tears were going to fall in earnest again if she wasn’t careful. Not only could she not date whoever she wanted, but she couldn’t even have him in her house.
Maybe Uncle Caleb was right. Maybe she should leave Springfield. When her cousin had returned from Mexico the previous summer, Maggie had told her about all these places where there were other packs. Vegas, Texas, Miami, Seattle, Los Angeles… She could still surround herself with the familiar, but have a chance to finally leave Paul behind her.
But maybe he’ll follow me…
A shred of hope rose in her chest. Every girl probably wanted to know that a man would follow her to the ends of the earth, and Sylvie could imagine her new life… a condo on the beach, with palm trees outside her window instead of snow… doing her dishes one day, and seeing Paul standing on the sidewalk with roses in his hand like something out of a Hallmark movie.
But would he really do it?
She’d hoped so many times that he would disregard her requests to stay away, and come find her. But he never had. He’d respected her wishes.
No. This was completely unproductive.
Even if he had come after her, the rules would still have been the same. And while Paul wasn’t much of a rule-follower, Sylvie had to be. Her Uncle Caleb was now using his enforcers to check under her bed. There was nowhere to hide Paul, even if he did come after her.
She shuffled back toward her bedroom, managing to keep the tears at bay. But there would be no way to stop them, once she was in the comfort of her warm bed. The pressure building inside her was a dead giveaway. She wasn’t done crying for the night.
The clomp of footsteps on her porch made the skin on her neck go prickly. The doorbell rang out again.
“If Uncle Caleb sends one more enforcer over here to check on me…” she whispered to herself and slid across the kitchen floor to the door. Not in the mood for any more interruptions.
She pulled the door open, ready to give Sean or Kier a piece of her mind, but it wasn’t either one of her cousins. Paul Banfield stood on her porch, his dark hair dusted with snow, his shoulders heaving with big breaths, and his jaw set in frustration.
Sylvie swallowed the tears that threatened her and felt her whole body go weak from the magick. A thrumming started, deep in her core, and radiated out through her limbs, and she thought she might miss a step if she tried to move.
Neither of them spoke for a long minute, and Paul’s eyes traveled up and down. So hungry.
She knew the feeling.
Every cell in her body wanted to throw her robe open and let him see her again. To feel his hands on her flesh, to feel him inside her. She gasped at the pang of desire that pulsed between her legs, and she saw Paul’s eyes register that sound.
She moved behind the door, hiding herself as much as she could, and didn’t bother forcing a smile this time. There had to be a way to make him leave.
4
“What do you want?” Sylvie�
�s voice was rock hard and Paul felt all his defenses rise. Had he been wrong about her at the restaurant? Hadn’t she been sending conflicting signals?
“Uh… uh…” He tried to recover some words that he’d been planning on the way over to her apartment, but it all failed him. “I’m… uh… yeah…”
Nothing.
“It’s almost eleven o’clock, Paul.” She gave a little shake of her head.
“I know that. I just… I wanted to…” He fumbled with his fingers, staring at them to try to regain his composure.
But every time he saw her, all he wanted to do was throw her up against the wall and get out of their clothes as quickly as possible. He still wanted that.
“Please, Paul.” She walked the door a step closer to him, still hiding behind it. But he’d seen her. The plush blue bathrobe she’d always had. He knew just how fast he could get her naked, wearing that thing. But she clearly didn’t want him to see her.
Maybe these were the signals.
“I promise, I only want to talk.” He dropped his hands and found her gaze boring into his already. “I don’t even need to come in.”
There we go, bud. Those are the words. The words he’d been practicing in the car. The reason everything still felt unfinished.
He needed to know why.
“You’re going to stand there, in the snow, and talk to me?” Her smirk was at least a little comforting. It was a hint of the old Sylvie.
“I will if you want me to.” He crossed his arms. “I… I just want to ask you for an explanation.”
Her head snapped back like he’d recoiled to hit her. “An explanation?”
“You wouldn’t give me one, when you broke up with me, and I think I’ve been pretty good at doing what you told me—”
“What I told you?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “You said to stay away. That you didn’t want to talk to me ever again. So I stayed away. I didn’t go any of the places you said not to go, and I never came here. Not once.”
The little space above her nose wrinkled, like it did before she started crying, and Paul uncrossed his arms. He wanted to touch her, and keeping his hands busy helped, but if she was going to cry, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself again.
“I don’t think it’s a secret that I didn’t want to break up,” he said, tumbling over the words before she could say anything. “And I can tell you, it hasn’t been easy to stay away.”
She pulled her lips together and her nostrils flared. Paul pressed his palms into his thighs to keep from touching her.
“But when I saw you at the restaurant tonight, it seemed like it was just as hard for you as it was for me.”
“Paul…” Her eyes flipped toward the ceiling and he could see the tears gathering.
“I want you to tell me why you broke up with me.” He fisted his hands and dug them into his thighs. Every single inch of him wanted to jump into her apartment and take her back to her bedroom.
“Why do you need to know?” she asked, her voice quivering on the words.
“Dammit, Sylvie. I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s been two years, and I have tried everything, and I still… I still want you, so much.”
A tear slid down her cheek, and another followed it. She bit her quivering lip, but still didn’t meet his eyes.
Look at me. He tried reaching his hand a little closer, but she backed up, which made the door slide open along with her.
She wore only a thin, pale blue robe, and under that, her familiar white nightgown, which he knew to be just as thin. There was less than a centimeter of fabric separating her skin from the night air, and all he could think about was getting that clothing off her body, and covering her with himself.
“Tell me you don’t want me,” he ground out, his tone thick and dark, like his desire. “I will leave right now.”
Her mouth opened, like she would speak the words, but it flapped closed and her gaze drifted away. Heat pulsed between them and Paul could feel himself beginning to harden. The blood seemed to draw him forward, toward her, but he didn’t dare move.
“Oh, Paul…” Her whisper was so tiny, and so fragile, it was almost like the wind. She released the door and extended her hand toward him. He reached for her and as soon as their skin touched, it was like all that heat exploded inside him.
He rushed across the threshold and slid his arms around her and slanted his head down onto hers in such a blinding flash, he couldn’t control it. A part of him kept waiting for her to say no, even as he devoured her mouth, but she clung to him and kissed him back and sighed against him like she was as relieved as he was to finally be touching again.
Energy thrummed through him and he backed her into her kitchen island, trying to get closer, get deeper. His head banged against one of the pots on the bronze rack hanging above her island and Sylvie’s giggle was like a red cloth at a bullfight. Paul turned her body, walking her back to the counter, which had more leverage. He needed to be inside her. Now.
She put her hands on either side of his face and drew back to look him in the eyes. Hers were big and brown and still so full of tears.
“Why…” He cleared his throat, trying to gain some composure. “Why are you crying? Sylvie… Dammit. What is wrong?”
Her fingers stroked down his cheek and she just blinked at him. The desire was so hot in his blood, he could feel the painful pressure of his erection pulsing against his jeans. But if she didn’t want this…
“Syl. Please. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
She shook her head and feathered a kiss on his lips, like that was some sort of answer. But the urgency raced so fast between them, he couldn’t keep himself from devouring her for much longer.
“If you don’t want this—don’t want me—I need you to say no right now, Sylvie. But you know I want you…so…much…I can’t…”
Her lips pressed against his and she slipped her hands around to his back, pulling him into her, closer. She slipped up onto the counter and rolled her hips to guide him toward her.
She fumbled with the button on his pants, then the zipper, and within seconds, his dick was free. He crushed against her body and she guided him inside her.
They sighed in tandem, like they had been waiting so long for this moment, it was a relief. He held her tight against him and kissed down the side of her neck.
“God, Sylvie, I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured against her skin.
Wordlessly, she moved her hips to give him better access, and he began to thrust into her with blinding fervor. The tender moment would come later. Now, he was inside Sylvie again. His woman. And he wanted to be so far inside her, so deep into her, that she would somehow be marked as his, and he’d never have to let her go again.
He levered himself against the cupboards, and pounded into her, and she clung to him, kissing his neck and wrapping her legs around him. The orgasm built low in his belly and he roared as he came, drawing his arms around her body and pulling her so tight against him, it was like pouring himself into her.
They stayed like that, locked together, for so long, Paul didn’t know what to say. The sex had been such a blur, and it had felt almost compulsory, like once they’d touched, the only thing they could do was have sex.
His arms shook, still holding her against him. She pushed at his chest and he backed up a step, sliding out of her with a clear pang of regret washing through him. He didn’t want to be separated from her.
Sylvie’s cheeks still glistened with tears, and the smile she offered wasn’t exactly a smile. It was strained, lined with something other than happiness. She wrapped her arms around her body and pulled her legs closed.
In a flash, Paul went over the last several minutes in his memory. Everything he’d said, everything he’d done. But Sylvie… She hadn’t spoken. Not even once.
“What’s going on with you, Syl?” He tucked his recovering erection into his pants.
“Nothing.” She sniffed, wiping at her cheeks. “It’s been a�
�rough night.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I promise, there’s nothing you can do.”
But that wasn’t a good enough answer. Paul buttoned his pants and zipped them, and looked around the kitchen he’d just messed up. Two chairs had been pulled out of the breakfast nook, and he pointed at them.
“Now. Can we sit down and talk?”
“We don’t need to talk.” She sniffed again and climbed off the counter, wrapping her robe closed again. Something rebelled inside him. This wasn’t the… it wasn’t right. Not the way it should be. The sex had been so fast, it was like they’d taken a pause in their fight, and picked right back up where they left off.
No.
“We just had sex, Sylvie. You don’t think this changes things?”
A fat tear rolled down her cheek and she bit her lip. She shook her head slowly, back and forth. “It doesn’t change anything.”
His mouth dropped open. He didn’t know what to say. Paul had been dreaming about Sylvie for two years. Dreaming about this moment, when they would be back together again.
Together.
The operative word.
“Why doesn’t it change things?”
“This is just…us. The chemistry.” She gestured between them. “It’s like… This is why we divided up the town, and why we couldn’t see each other anymore. Because I get within five feet of you, and I want you again.”
Paul shook his head, pushing at the anger that bubbled up inside him. “No. You can’t… You can’t mean that you still want us to be broken up. Not after this.”
“Especially after this.” She backed against the refrigerator, like she needed to get away from him.
“No.” He slammed his fists into the island, helplessly, and bent over it, trying to breathe through the anger. “This was… We have to…” He looked up at her, tears burning up his nostrils. “I need you, Sylvie.”
Another tear slid down her cheek and her brows rounded, a flash of concern, but she pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I need you to leave.”
He rested his forehead against his forearms, and the emotion slid up his throat. He felt like he might throw up. This can’t be happening.
