Depth Perception

by Linda Castillo

  She didn't turn to him. "Even after three years it still hurts," she whispered.

  "Healing from that kind of grief takes a long time."

  Slowly, she turned to him. She hadn't turned on the light, and even in the dim light from the living room he could see that her eyes were ravaged. She wasn't crying, but he saw the bottomless well of grief. And because he understood all too well what that kind of pain could do to a person, he crossed to her and pulled her to him.

  "I don't want to hurt anymore," she said.

  "I know, chere."

  "Make it stop."

  She laid her head on his shoulder. He tightened his arms round her and stroked the back of her head. "I don't think I'm the right man to heal you."

  She shouldn't have felt so good in his arms. Not when she was hurting and vulnerable and his own need for her was a sweet ache that grew with every beat of his heart. He was aware of every inch of her against him. The soft curve of her breasts against his chest. The solid press of her cleft against his pelvis. The sweet scent of her hair titillating his senses. The warm caress of her breath against his neck.

  He was already hard, but it was a response he could no more control than he could the beat of his heart. Because he knew she could feel his shaft against her, he tried to pull back, to put a few inches of space between them, but she tightened her arms around him.

  Nick closed his eyes and tried not to think about where this moment could lead or what it was doing to his resolve to stay away from her. She was everything that was decent and good in the world. A woman who'd been shattered by grief. Betrayed by a man she should have been able to trust and a town that should have stood by her. A woman who wanted to heal and was now reaching out to him ...

  Only Nick didn't have anything to offer. He was flat broke and hollowed out by injustices and betrayals he hadn't been able to fight. But his need for her was insane and pounded through his body like a sledgehammer driving a nail. He wanted badly to believe the sensations coursing through him were about sex. That all he needed was one good fuck and he would be able to walk away and not look back.

  But he knew his feelings for her went deeper than physical. He knew if he gave in to those feelings, they would cost him. He knew it was a price he didn't want to pay. Intellectually, he knew Nat was nothing like Tanya. But the grief would not let him forgive. The bitterness would not let him forget.

  "Being with me isn't going to make the pain go away," he said.

  "This doesn't have to be about pain.”

  Heart raging beneath his ribs, he grasped her arms and shoved her to arm's length. "I'm not what you need right now," he ground out. "I can't help you heal. I don't have anything to give you. I'm hollow inside, Nat."

  Her eyes were huge and fraught with all the things he didn't want to see. Pain. Need. The hope that one would assuage the other. She was standing so close he could feel the puffs of her breaths against his face. "If you were empty, you wouldn't hurt, Nick. I see you hurting as clearly as I feel my own heart beating.”

  Never taking her eyes from his, she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her mouth against his. Nick stiffened, ready to pull back. But the quick shock of pleasure was like a bolt of electricity that shot through his body and exploded in every nerve ending. His control shattered. Making a low sound in his throat, he put his hands on either side of her face and tilted her head to him.

  "It's been six goddamn years since I've been with a woman," he growled. "Don't expect me to stand here and tell you I don't want you."

  ''Then don't."

  He took her mouth with a violence that wrenched a gasp from her, but Nick didn't stop. He didn't think about consequences or right or wrong. It was as if a starving beast had been unleashed inside him. A beast that had been beaten and deprived, and then given a bounty so lush and rich he would never be able to consume all of it.

  He kissed her hard and long. When that was no longer enough, he used his tongue and kissed her some more. She made a sound in her throat at the intrusion, but he didn't give her the chance to change her mind. For the first time in a long time, Nick didn't think. He crossed the point of no return at the speed of light and didn't look back.

  He could only hope this moment didn't cost both of them something they couldn't afford to lose.

  Chapter 24

  The kiss was raw and primal and blatantly sexual. It took her breath away. It told her things about Nick Bastille that he didn't want her to know. Things that, until now, she'd only been able to guess.

  He wasn't a tentative kisser. He wouldn't be a tentative lover. He knew what he wanted and made no bones about taking it. Right now, he wanted his mouth on hers, his hands on her body. He was bold and sure of himself, and all Nat could do was kiss him back and hang on for the ride.

  His body was like carved granite against her. She could feel the hard shaft of his erection against her belly, her womb fluttering in response. That she was capable of feeling something as complex--as simple--as sexual arousal surprised her. For months, she'd been certain that that part of her was as cold and empty as the rest of her. But Nick had proved to her that she wasn't dead inside. That she was very much alive and every bit as capable of feeling joy as she was pain.

  She opened to him, let him inside her mouth, and her tongue warred with his. He groaned, a sound of pure male need, and a surge of feminine power engulfed her. His hands slipped beneath her sweatshirt. A gasp that was part shock, part pleasure escaped her when he cupped her breasts. Her back arched when he took her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and gently squeezed.

  The pleasure was maddening. Nat could feel the heat of desire between her legs now. Blood pounding like a drum in her womb. Her panties were wet, and she realized with some surprise that even though he hadn't touched her there, she was already on the verge of orgasm.

  When she'd initiated the kiss, she hadn't been sure where it would lead. In the back of her mind, she'd thought she would stop before things went too far. She hadn't expected his kisses to sweep her away. Or his hands to set her body on fire.

  He lifted her sweatshirt. His mouth left hers. She opened her eyes, and then his mouth was on her breast. She cried out when he began to suckle, first her left breast then her right. She could feel her body responding, softening, weeping for the release only he could give her.

  She closed her eyes against the burst of sensation. Her head lolled back. The ache in her breasts was almost painful in its intensity, building to a crest, taking her to a very sharp edge, but never over.

  He moved lower, pressing his hand flat against her stomach. His palms were warm and rough against her skin. Then he was unfastening the button of her jeans. Nat knew she should stop him before things went too far. She wasn't ready for this. Wasn't ready for the things she knew he would make her feel, both emotionally and physically. But the need was ripping through her, tearing down her resistance, her control. All the while he made love to her mouth with his, dazing her senses so that she couldn't think. Vaguely, she was aware of him lowering her zipper, her jeans being tugged downward.

  Turning her head slightly, she broke the kiss. "I-I don't think I can ... do this," she panted.

  His eyes glittered with intensity when he looked at her. "Your place is with the living, Nat, not with the dead."

  When she tried to look away, he put his hand beneath her chin and forced her gaze to his. He was breathing hard, as if he'd just run a mile. She could feel the tension humming through his body and into hers. A current that flowed like electricity between them.

  "Life doesn't have to be about pain," he said.

  The words brought tears to her eyes. More than anything, Nat wanted the pain to stop. She wanted to move forward with her life. She wanted a future. "Show me," she whispered.

  Leaning close, he kissed her like she'd never been kissed in her life. Nat let him explore her with his tongue. She jolted when she felt his hand against her pelvis. Never taking his mouth from hers, he tugged down her panties, and she ki
cked them off. She whimpered when his hand moved over her mound. She opened to him, and he slipped two fingers between her folds. Nat cried out, but he swallowed the sound.

  Pleasure zinged like a bullet inside her brain when he began to stroke. Waves building and threatening to crest. Nat hadn't wanted their first time to happen this way. She was traditional when it carne to lovemaking. She wanted to make love to him in the bedroom under cover of darkness. She wanted him on top of her, their completion to happen simultaneously. "Wait," she said between breaths. "Together."

  "Next time," he said.

  She caught a glimpse of his eyes, dark and shuttered. An instant later his fingertip found the small kernel. She tried to resist, but the high wire pleasure wrenched a cry from her.

  Vaguely, she was aware of her legs opening. Her body going liquid around his fingers. Those fingers taking her to a precipitous edge and a fall that would be fatal.

  "Let go," he whispered.

  She wanted to say something that would let him know she was in control of the situation. But Nat knew she was only fooling herself. She hadn't been in control of a damn thing since the moment he'd touched her.

  The pleasure burgeoned to a sweet ache that left her insides quivering. A knot drawn to an inexorable snap. She could feel her entire body shaking. Sweat heating her skin. His kisses were like an addictive narcotic, one she would never get enough of. All the while he stroked her with those magical fingers. She moved with him, curling her spine to take him more deeply.

  And then suddenly her body was no longer her own. It moved independently of her brain. She could feel herself coming apart, her hips moving quickly. A long, slow cry tearing from her throat as the pleasure burst and scattered inside her.

  "Nick! Oh, God!"

  Her body was still spasming when he gripped her hips and swung her around and onto the counter. He stepped between her knees. Her gaze snapped to his, and for the first time since she'd known him. his eyes were unshuttered. Within their depths she saw the breadth and width of his feelings for her. The deep well of vulnerability. The heat of a passion she'd never before known. The reflection of her own heart.

  "In the bedroom," she whispered.

  "Here," he said. "And the bedroom."

  Never taking his eyes from hers, he unfastened his jeans. Nat gasped at the sight of his jutting sex. Ward was the only man she'd ever been with. He'd been a gentle lover ....

  "Don't think about him," Nick ground out. "This is about us. Only us."

  He didn't ask for permission when he pulled her to the edge of the counter. She could feel the tension winding up inside her. The need building to a crescendo. Moving closer, he put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her deeply.

  Nat felt herself begin to free-fall. Vaguely, she was aware of his hands sliding down, over her shoulders to her waist, her hips.

  "Open to me," he whispered.

  But she was already opening to him, and in one smooth motion he slid into her and went deep. He was thickly built, and for an instant discomfort overrode pleasure. But she was well lubricated and within a few seconds her muscles relaxed enough so that she could accommodate him.

  "Ah, sweet Jesus." Nick went perfectly still, his body rigid, and he simply held her for the span of several heartbeats.

  ''Nick .. ."

  "Don't move."

  Understanding dawned, and it sent a small thrill through her to realize he was struggling to hold back, to prolong the pleasure of the moment. "It's okay," she whispered and put her arms around his shoulders where his muscles were coiled and tight. She could feel sweat coming through his shirt. Even though he wasn't yet moving within her, she could feel her muscles beginning to contract around him, the waves beginning to build.

  "This isn't going to wait," he said.

  "I think you're right." Tilting her pelvis, she took him more deeply inside her.

  "Nat ... " Closing his eyes, be put his hands on her hips in an effort to still her.

  But the waves were breaking. swamping her with sensation. As if realizing this was a battle he was destined to lose, he began to move, slowly at first and then at a frantic pace.

  She had never seen Nick Bastille unshielded. Since the day she'd met him, he'd kept his thoughts, his emotions locked down tight. But as she accepted him into the deepest reaches of her body, she saw the man behind the hard facade. The man who had been hurt and betrayed. A man who'd had six years of his life stolen. A man who'd lost his only son.

  A good man who'd been to hell and back and survived.

  Looking into the depths of his eyes, she knew this man who made love to her with such utter tenderness would never hurt another human being. That all the things she'd read about him in the newspaper, heard about him from the town gossipmongers, were not true. And the truth of that devastated her.

  His arms tightened around her. A powerful shudder racked his body as he poured his seed into her. And, whispering her name, he held her like there was no tomorrow.

  # # #

  Nick had known sex would be good after six years of celibacy. But he hadn't expected it to move him so profoundly he couldn't speak. Or to touch him so deeply he had to close his eyes and take a few moments to get a grip on his emotions.

  He'd missed sex desperately when he'd been in prison. For six unbearable years he'd harnessed his frustration, turned it into positive energy. He'd used that energy to beef up his body, running nearly ten miles a day and working out in the weight room when he had the freedom to do so.

  Tonight, everything he'd missed poured over him in a torrent that was as powerful and bittersweet as the promise of a first kiss. The realization that he was still human enough to want with such desperation made him more than a little uneasy. He knew firsthand that wanting was a dangerous thing for a man who couldn't have.

  After making love in the kitchen, he swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs. By the time they made it to the master bedroom he was hard again and aching with an intensity that bordered on pain. But if he'd thought the physical release of an orgasm would ease the sharp edge of need that had been driving him crazy for days now, he'd been wrong. Making love to Nat made him even more desperate to have her again.

  They made love a second time on the bed. It was slower, not as frantic. Somehow be managed to make it last long enough to bring her to peak. And as he'd listened to her cry out his name, he swore to himself this would have to be enough.

  But he knew it wouldn't.

  "Hey."

  Something went warm and soft inside him when Nat offered him a sleepy smile. She was incredibly lovely in the dim light slanting in from the window. And even though his thoughts were troubled, he found himself smiling back at her.

  "I didn't mean to wake you."

  "You didn't," she said. "I'm just ... not used to this."

  "Neither am I. But I think I like it."

  She laughed and Nick felt a hard squeeze of emotion. He liked the sound of her laughter. Loved the feel of her against him. He was lying on his back. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and she was snuggled against him with her leg thrown over his. He wondered what he'd done to deserve this little slice of heaven.

  She propped herself up on an elbow. "Do you always brood after sex?"

  "Only when it's over too quickly.” Embarrassed because that much was true. he smiled. "I'm a little rusty."

  Grinning back at him, she tsked. "Maybe we need to keep working and see if we can sharpen up your skills a little."

  Nick threw his head back and laughed. At the same time he felt the same weird squeeze of emotion in his chest. Tightening his arm around her, he pulled her back down and kissed her temple. “I'm a slow learner, chere. But with enough practice, I'm betting I'll eventually get the hang of it."

  She raised her gaze to his. "Nick, being with you like this ... I didn't think I'd ever feel like this again. I thought that part of me had died."

  “That part of you is alive and well, chere. It's been there all along
. But I'm glad I could help you find it."

  She traced her finger over the tattoo of a dragon on his shoulder. It was a large, intricate design. The work of an artisan with imagination and an eye for color and scale.

  “Where did you get the tattoos?" she asked.

  He glanced down at the dragon and gave her a half smile. "Guy by the name of Sanchez. He owned a tattoo parlor in New Orleans, made the mistake of thinking he could make more money dealing dope. Not a bad cell mate once I got to know him."

  She thought about that a moment. "Prison must have been incredibly difficult."

  Nick didn't want to talk about it. Invariably, it made him feel like a fool. But he saw the way she was looking at him. The questions in her eyes. After everything they'd just shared, he figured he at least owed her an explanation.

  "What happened?" she pressed.

  “I was stupid. Blind. Naive." He smiled, but it felt false on his face. There was nothing even remotely humorous about the hellish years he'd spent behind bars. "Just the kind of guy you want to get tangled up with, right?"

  ''Nobody knows better than I do that things aren't always as they appear." When he didn't continue, she reached out and touched his face. "What happened, Nick?"

  Over the years he'd trained himself not to think about the turn of events that had ultimately landed him in prison. During those first unbearable months, the injustice of it had nearly driven him over the edge. It had filled him with rage and bitterness. Turned him into a man he didn't want to be. Because he hadn't had a choice, he'd learned to live with it, but the story would never be an easy one to tell.

  “I had a lot of big ideas as a kid," he said after a moment. "Dreams, I guess."

  "Dreams are a good thing for a young person," she said.

  Drawing her against him, he pressed a kiss to her temple. "Sometimes dreams just breed discontent." Remembering, he sighed. "My mama died when I was sixteen. Pop was pretty broken up. We both were. But once she was gone, he got bitter. We fought a lot. I didn't want to be in Bellerose. I didn't want to end up like my old man. Don't get me wrong; I've got nothing against hard work and I'm sure as hell not afraid of it. But I didn't want to spend my life breaking my back and barely eking out a living only to have Fate snatch it away one piece at a time when I got old.