by P. Dangelico
“We’ve been running perimeter checks every thirty minutes––” Justin said in his defense. He should’ve known better. The rest of his sentence was silenced by Sebastian’s withering glare.
“Vera was in the house,” Sebastian declared.
A sudden stillness fell upon the crowd of men. The low, gravelly murmur, the opaque, lifeless look in his eyes raised the menace to a whole other level. He didn’t look like the man I loved…I didn’t know this man.
“I know,” Bear murmured, guilt coloring his voice.
Justin interrupted with, “The men combed the property.” Sebastian’s glare slid over to him again. “Nothing yet––” Justin added, “and the birds were cold.”
But Sebastian had already stopped listening. He was half way down the hall, walking towards the back of the manor, taking longer steps than was wise and stressing the injured leg. Knowing where he was headed, I hurried after him––because in no way did I want him facing it alone.
Ten of us stood behind him without making a sound. He stared at the carnage for what seemed like forever. His broad back was stiff, his shoulders tight under the close cut of his handmade suit. He looked ready to shatter from all the tension. His fingers, poking through the chicken wire, closed around it so tightly I’m surprised the metal didn’t slice them open. A long tail feather was stuck on the fencing. I watched him pluck it off and twirl it between his thumb and index finger, wincing when I realized that the tip, soaked in blood, had stained his fingers.
I couldn’t see his expression. And yet I didn’t have to. His posture told me of the sorrow, the sense of loss, the pain––the common denominator of the human race. Ask people what love is and you’ll get a different answer every time. But pain…pain we can pretty much agree on.
I couldn’t stand idly by a second longer. Afraid to startle him, I walked up to him slowly, very gently encircled my arms around his waist, and placed my cheek on his back. “I’m so sorry,” I murmured, my voice cracking.
He lifted one arm high, giving me the chance to come around and burry my face and my anguish in his chest. Both his arms wrapped around me tightly, pulling me flush against him, offering me comfort when he needed it most. Sweet, selfless man. He kissed the top of my head, and in return I kissed the place over his heart.
“Don’t touch anything. We’ll send the knife to the lab.” It was Ben’s voice that abruptly ended the silence.
“You won’t find any prints,” Sebastian flatly stated.
“No…I don’t think so.”
Prying me off of him, Sebastian turned his attention on Bear and Justin. “I want every inch of this place locked tighter than a nun’s cunt. Get a hundred more men if you have to. I don’t want a fucking breeze to get in––am I making myself clear?”
A chastened look on both their faces, the two men answered with a brief nod.
“When are you leaving for Paris?” he asked Ben.
“Couple of days.”
“Is this about the man they arrested. That has information on your car accident?”
“Yes.” Sebastian’s expression was as cold as the tone of his reply.
“The bullet wound…they meant to miss, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
After that we all walked silently back to the house. I laced my fingers through his, holding onto his hand with a death grip while his attention wandered far away from me. Once we got back to the house, he disappeared while the rest of us loitered in the kitchen. I figured he went in search of a dark place to brood, and I didn’t want to push him if that’s what he needed––I certainly could relate.
“I can’t get the scent of blood out of my nose.” Charlotte brushed away the tears still quietly falling down her cheeks. She sat at the counter while I stood across from her near the stove, waiting for the kettle of water to boil.
“Cut the shit, Beckwith. Now’s not the time for your drama.” Ben’s voice was so caustic it could’ve stripped paint off a car. Slack-jawed, I turned to find his expression impassive. Leaning his shoulder against the window with arms crossed in front, his tattooed biceps, shockingly large, stretched the sleeves of the white t-shirt he wore to within an inch of its life.
Red faced, Charlotte’s chocolate brown eyes narrowed, the vein on her forehead ready to burst.
“Winters?” Ben turned and glanced at her, his eyes as cool as peppermint. “Anybody ever tell you what a FUCKING ARSEHOLE you are?” She stalked out of the kitchen after that.
“Ben?”
Those pale, green gray eyes met mine. “Why do you have to be like that with her?” Whatever was going on––this was out of character for him. If anything, Ben was always the one cracking jokes when things got tense.
“What can I say? She brings out the best in me.”
I was already running on fumes and dealing with whatever was going on between these two was not at the top of my list––the well being of one tall blonde was. Therefore, I turned my attention to the shrill of the boiling kettle, triple bagged my chamomile tea, and kept my mouth shut.
Night fell as abruptly as a heavy drape of inky velvet. By eight concern surpassed patience. I went in search of him, certain that he was industriously adding more bricks to the wall he had already built up around himself. I couldn’t just stand by and let it happen.
I found him in his office with the lights off, only a shaft of moonlight as respite from total darkness. Sitting behind his desk, the chair was tilted back and his gaze fixed on the ceiling. There was no mistaking the anguish etched into his profile––even in the dark.
“Do you want to be alone?”
His eyes found me leaning against the frame of the doorway, and ran up and down the length of my body as sensually as a mink glove caressing my skin.
“No,” he said in a quiet voice. “Come here.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. I ran into his open arms and curled up on his lap. Drawing me closer, he kissed me softly. Two dry brushes of his firm lips on my temple. Then he pulled a small, leather box out of a desk drawer and turned on the lights with a remote.
“I meant to give this to you sooner.”
I stared at the leather box with the word Cartier stamped on it. When I didn’t take it, he opened it and held it up for me. Inside, on a leather pillow, sat a small cross made entirely of diamonds. The stones caught the soft, overhead light and turned it into fire.
“I know it’s not the same thing––it’s not your mother’s. But I thought…you might like this.” His voice faded away as I continued to stare at it. “If you don’t like it, I’ll return it.”
At the disappointment in his voice my eyes snapped up to his. The light had revealed all his heavy thoughts, his burdens and sorrow. He wore them all on his face. “I love it,” I said emphatically. “I love it because it’s from you. If you gave me sticks and stones I would love them just as much.”
He managed to muster up a smile for me, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He removed the cross from the box and nimbly fastened the chain around my neck. Gingerly, I touched the stones, the platinum backing cool against my skin. Resting on my sternum, his gift lay over my heart, protecting what belonged to him––and always would.
Chapter Six
I woke up suddenly, gasping for air. Dazed and confused, I searched the dark bedroom for whatever it was that had roused me from deep sleep. Only when I glanced at the spot next to me did I realize what it was. The bed was empty, the sheets pristine where he should’ve been.
A cold hand slid up my spine and a profound sense of loneliness swept through me. He was deserting me a little at a time, shutting down, even though he had me trapped in this fortress with him. Instinctively, I knew that if I sat back and did nothing, he would disappear on me forever. And I’d be damned if I’d let him go without a fight.
I jumped out of bed and padded down the hallway to where a number of the guest bedrooms were located. One by one I found them empty––except for the last. I stood in the open doorway fid
geting nervously, a million dreadful scenarios suddenly running through my mind.
What if he turned me away? What if he didn’t want me anymore? What if he didn’t love me anymore?
The curtains were drawn open. He was on his back with his hands tucked behind his head, his chest bare and the sheet covering his lower body. Moonlight, spilling in, painted him in silver while everything else in the room receded into the darkness. It was as if the moon had eyes only for him. Not a man. An ethereal creature with the moon as a lover. Stoic. Resolute. Alone. Out of reach for the rest of us mere mortals.
“What is it?” His raspy voice jerked me out of my reverie.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
After a beat he said, “Me neither.”
“I’m so sorry about the hawks.” My voice trembled as the last words left my lips. I ached for him, the sweet boy who rescued injured animals and nursed them back to health, the one who loved deeply and completely. What had love ever taught him other than loss and pain? And I was guilty of perpetuating it.
I stood rooted to the spot, waiting for him to make a move, to give me some sign of what he was thinking. When he propped himself up on an elbow and lifted the counterpane, I didn’t waste a second jumping into bed with him. The urge to touch him, to close the literal and figurative distance between us was overwhelming. Pressing myself against his hard body, I burrowed as close as I could possibly get and soaked up his heat. I caressed his cheek and his eyelids became heavy, fluttering. When they blinked open again, what I saw staring back at me broke my heart.
So much sorrow.
“What are you doing in this bedroom?”
“I didn’t want to keep you up. I haven’t been sleeping lately.”
“Keep me up? I can’t sleep without you beside me anymore…we need to talk.”
Grabbing my hand off his cheek, he kissed the palm and held it between us. “Can we do this some other time?”
“No, I’m afraid we can’t. I’m afraid that if another second goes by and we don’t talk about this I may lose you forever.”
Rolling onto his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, he said, “You’ll never lose me.”
“I feel like I already have.” When he didn’t respond, the fear lodged itself in my throat. “I know you blame me for losing the baby,” My voice disappeared on me as I forced the last word out. “No, don’t––” I pleaded when he tried to interrupt. “You have no idea how sorry I am. I’m so damn sorry. But there was no other way. None that would keep you safe, keep the bank safe.” My voice broke, my panic spinning out of control.
He pushed me down onto my back and hovered, careful to keep his weight on his elbows. His eyes, liquid soft and full of empathy, searched my face. His fingers raked through the short crop of dark hair that was now long enough to fall over my forehead. Touching his lips to mine, he brushed his back and forth.
“I don’t blame you,” he said quietly.
“Then why are you pushing me away?”
Exhaling a sharp breath, he shook his head. “I…” He became agitated, inhaling and exhaling sharply.
“What is it, my love?” I asked, cradling his face between my cupped hands. Another interminable silence.
“I failed you…I failed, again.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He couldn’t bring himself to look at me.
Moving down my body, he placed a kiss between my breasts, over my heart. Then he wrapped his arms around my waist and held on as if he faced an eternity in purgatory and I was his only chance at salvation. I soothed him the only way I could, stroking his head and whispering words of love and encouragement.
“I’ll be damned if I let you take the blame––if it’s anyone’s faults it’s mine. Stop punishing yourself. You’ve done enough of that to last ten lifetimes.”
Words can be misconstrued, manipulated, measured. But a touch…a touch never lies. He began to stroke my body over the thin cotton of my nightgown. The love was there, his touch worshipful. His large hands cupped my breasts, his fingers drawing circles around my nipples. Tender, light touches that drove me crazy. He teased them until they stood at attention, begging for him. I felt the suction of his mouth and my body bowed off the bed.
A wave of lust so intense broke over me that I gripped the sheets tight enough to pull them off the mattress. I pushed him onto his back and straddled his lean hips. Underneath me he was rock hard, his erection peeking out over the top of his boxers. Instinct took over. I ground my pelvis against him, and he sucked in a harsh breath.
“I miss you,” I whispered, the words backed by the longing in my eyes and voice.
His attention on me was absolute. The importance of the moment not lost on either one of us. When he didn’t make a move, I impatiently ripped the nightgown over my head and flung it off––the drive to get closer, to be skin to skin was relentless. More than ever I wanted him inside of me. As if that sacred connection could cement that we were still us, that my actions hadn’t damaged us beyond repair.
Leaning forward, I planted my hands next to his head and he reached for me, his hands skating from my waist to my shoulder blades. He pulled me down closer and kissed me. And then I felt it, the slight tremble of the hands that held me in place.
“I need you,” I murmured, my voice quivering from the struggle to contain a surfeit of emotion. “Please.” Begging was not beneath me. I would’ve crawled over hot coals for him.
His hands slowed down, his muscles stilled, every slight nuance of his body language so clear to me, so dear to me. He was withdrawing in flesh and mind and a bolt of fear raced up my backbone. It conjured awful images of him with other women, of me without him. Frantic that he was going to deny me, I kissed him roughly.
“Hey,” he crooned as his thumbs caressed my cheeks. “Easy.” His lips gently brushed mine.
“Make love to me.” Admittedly, I sounded desperate and needy. Not my best moment, but I was too far gone to care.
“Not yet––don’t worry I’ll take care of you.”
“No,” I practically shouted. “I need you––you.” And then it hit me. “You’re not attracted to me anymore? Is that it?”
I slid off his body, onto my back, and covered my face with my hands, my fingers rubbing my brow as mortification turned my skin a deep shade of scarlet. One finger at a time he peeled my hand away from my face and placed it on his impossibly hard erection, pushing it up and down its swollen length. A guttural moan rattled in his chest and surged up his throat.
“I could drill through granite with this. Does that answer your question?”
His tone, sharp and angry, took me by surprise. A most juvenile, insecure part of me felt vindicated, smug, and yet the part that could still reason knew that men could get hard by simple, physical stimulation.
“Then why won’t you make love to me?”
“It’s too soon. I want to speak to the doctor first.”
“I’m fine––” I disputed, though I didn’t get to finish. My words were swallowed up by a deep kiss that yearned to be more. His skilled fingers slipped under my panties and skated over the sensitive point at the juncture of my thighs.
My train of thought, lost. My will to argue faded away. Fire shot over my skin, radiating from where he touched me to everywhere else. My knees fell open. My hips lifted off the bed when the pressure of his fingers eased off. I whined for him not to leave me. Gripping his wrist, I dug my short fingernails into his skin, only stopping when he resumed the sweet torture and soothed me into submission.
Around and around, his fingers teased me into a frenzy. He nipped my nipple, then licked and sucked. Three fingers caressed my clit. Down they traveled and slipped inside, over and over, giving me just enough to leave me wanting more.
Between the temptation of his hard body thrusting against my hip and the sensation he stoked between my thighs, I was pulled tighter than Artemis’s bow. His mouth fastened onto my nipple and tugged in rhythm with the push and stroke of his hand. And I was lost…and lost�
�and lost.
Slow to build, once the climax broke over me I was shaking from the force of it, a burst that spread as quick as wildfire. I cried out his name and clawed his back, his shoulder, any part of him I could reach. He eased me down gently––so much reverence in the way he touched me it brought tears to my eyes.
When semi-coherent thought returned, I turned my head on the pillow and watched him. Propped up on an elbow, his hand gently stroked up and down my body. He was still hard. I reached over to touch him over his boxers, but he grabbed my wrist and stopped me.
Being denied brought out every puerile insecurity I ever had. I felt vulnerable, unsure of my self. “Let me do something for you,” I murmured. But whatever was going on in his head, his eyes kept hidden.
“Not tonight. I just want to hold you and go to sleep.”
“But––”
Interrupting, he reiterated, “That’s all I need right now.” He brushed his thumb on the delicate skin inside my wrist, soothing me into compliance.
“All right.” Wounded, I turned away, but he wouldn’t let me get far. He pulled me back into him, his large body cupping mine. A heavy muscular arm wrapped snuggly around my waist. I exhaled the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
For hours I stayed awake listening to the comforting sound of his breathing. I knew exactly when he let go and fell asleep. After an epic orgasm that at the very least should’ve helped me relax, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. Regardless of what he said, he was quietly slipping away. And I had no idea how to stop it from happening.
Chapter Seven
The following morning I found my entourage in the kitchen. Bear and Justin were seated at the oak table, cleaning their handguns. Leaning back with their legs spread apart, their oversized bodies dwarfed the wooden chairs they occupied. The sight of all those weapons scattered on the table made my skin crawl. However, after what had happened with the red tailed hawks I didn’t need to be reminded that the threat on Sebastian’s life was very real.
