Wanted

by J. Kenner

  That, however, wasn't something I was going to tell him. I might be feeling ripped and scared and sentimental and a million other emotions, but I knew better than to dump the heavy shit on a guy I wanted to stay. So, wisely, I stayed silent as he led me through the polished lobby to the sleek elevator bank.

  The car arrived and we got on. I started to dig in my purse for the card key that would access the penthouse, but Evan already had one. I'm not sure why I was surprised. He was as close to Jahn as I'd been. Maybe closer. For years, Evan had been around full-time, while I'd only been able to visit during the summers and then, later, when my college load permitted jaunts into town.

  Only silence greeted us as we entered the condo, a sharp contrast to the noisy hum of the guests that had filled these walls earlier in the evening. Not even Peterson was around. Though he was ostensibly Jahn's live-in help, he actually lived in a separate apartment one floor below the penthouse that could be accessed by a private set of security stairs.

  In other words, Evan and I were alone. And while I could still recall with vivid, delicious clarity the way that his body had felt against mine in the alley, right then it wasn't the press of skin against skin that I craved. It was simply the man, beside me, telling me that everything was going to be just fine.

  As if he could read my mind, he led me to the comfy leather couch, then pulled a soft afghan over me. "Shoes off," he said. "Then I need you to tell me the truth."

  I looked at him sharply, not sure I was ready to talk about the way I'd flipped out.

  "Hot chocolate, wine, or something one hell of a lot stronger?"

  I actually smiled, the expression feeling foreign. "Cocoa, please." I narrowed my eyes. "But only if it's good. I have my standards, after all."

  His smile was casual, but I could see the spark of relief in his eyes. If I was making quips, maybe I wasn't quite the wreck he'd feared. "Sweetheart, I'm always good."

  My smile widened and a genuine laugh escaped.

  "That's what I like to hear." He reached for my hand, then brushed his fingers over mine before he moved off toward the kitchen.

  The moment he was out of sight, the weight of the air in the room seemed to bear down on me. I'd done this before. Curled up beneath a blanket. Hot cocoa. Only Evan wasn't in the kitchen that time, my mother had been. And my father had been beside me, holding tight to my hand. I'd had my back pressed against the sofa, but as much as I'd hoped and wished, the cushions refused to open up and swallow me.

  The detectives and uniformed officers had been gentle, their questions respectful, their voices soft. But that hadn't stopped the walls from closing in or the tears from flowing.

  And it sure as hell hadn't brought my sister back.

  "Angie."

  Evan's voice was feather soft, but even so it ripped me violently from my memories. I jerked my head around to see him standing in the doorway, a steaming mug held tight in his hands.

  "I'm okay."

  He cocked his head as if considering my words, and I gave him bonus points for not calling me a damn liar. He crossed to me without another word, then held the mug out for me. I took it, my fingers brushing over his as I closed my hands around the warm ceramic. Our eyes met, and I felt the flash of a connection shoot through me. Real and solid and unmistakable.

  And nothing more now than a missed opportunity.

  The heat I'd seen in his eyes was banked now, replaced instead by affection and concern. But I didn't want affection. I wanted the fire back, and I wanted it hot enough to burn away my memories--of tonight, and of eight years ago.

  "Tell me," he said, settling down on the couch next to me.

  I was sitting cross-legged with a pillow in my lap and the afghan draped loosely over me. His thigh brushed against my knee, and that single point of contact was the only part of my entire body of which I was aware. It was hard to concentrate on his question, and I knew that I needed to. I had a feeling that despite my usual reticence, I would say things around Evan that I shouldn't, and just because I wanted to fuck him didn't mean that I wanted to trust him. Not with everything. Not with that.

  I took a sip of the cocoa, then looked up at him in delighted pleasure. "You added peppermint schnapps."

  "You once said you like it that way."

  I blinked, surprised. I'd spent one Christmas at Jahn's house with my parents. Evan and Cole and Tyler had come over one evening, along with the students who were in Jahn's seminar that year and a few of the neighbors. Jahn had served cocoa with peppermint schnapps. It was the first time I'd ever tasted it, and I'd thought that if heaven had specialty drinks, that would certainly be on the list. "You remember that?"

  His eyes never left my face. "I remember a lot of things."

  "Oh." I looked down, suddenly self-conscious, and took a long sip of the drink, relishing the way it eased down my throat, warming me from the inside out.

  "Angie," he said gently. "Who hurt you?"

  I looked back up sharply as I realized what he thought. That I'd been the victim. That I was having flashbacks of some horrible attack.

  I laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "I did."

  If I'd been trying to shock him, I'd failed. He didn't move or flinch. There was no surprise on his face. Only compassion.

  "Tell me," he ordered. "I can help."

  "I'm not asking for help."

  "No, you're not." He twisted a lock of my hair around his finger. I waited for him to say something else, but no words came. He just sat there with me until I couldn't take the weight of the silence any longer.

  "You never met Gracie," I said, the words sounding almost like an accusation.

  "No, but Jahn told me about her."

  "That she died?" I said, with more venom than I intended.

  "That she was a wonderful girl that he loved very much. That he missed her. That you all missed her."

  I nodded, fighting the knot of tears that was forming in my throat. "I miss her every day." I drew in a breath to steel myself. "Did he tell you how she died?"

  "No. And we never asked. Angie," he said. "I'm asking now. Was she attacked? Was it in an alley?"

  He reached over and carefully took the cup out of my hands. Only then did I realize it had been shaking, the cocoa sloshing over the sides to land on the silk of my dress, leaving it dotted with puckered wet spots.

  "It's okay," Evan said, and I knew he wasn't talking about the dress.

  "It wasn't an alley," I finally managed. "They attacked her under the pier. At least three of them and they had knives. They dragged her to a van. They raped her. They sliced her. And three days later they dumped her." A tear trickled down my cheek. "They didn't kill her. They left her to bleed out. She died all alone in a ditch near Miramar."

  "Goddamn bastards." His voice was deceptively calm, but I could hear the steel beneath it. "Who? Did they catch who did it?"

  I did. Me. It was me. I wanted to shout the answer, because that was the truth, wasn't it? If it weren't for me, Grace would still be alive, and nothing I could say or do or hope or beg could ever change that.

  I tried to imagine telling him the whole truth. Leaning my head against his chest and feeling his hands on my back as I told him the story that I'd only ever told one person. Not my father. Not my mother. Not even the police. Just my uncle Jahn, and now he was dead, too, and my secret was mine once more.

  I could imagine it, but I couldn't do it.

  "Was it political? Aimed against your father?"

  "I don't know who did it," I said, looking at my hands, now fisted in the blanket. "But the police called it gang-related. My dad was still in the California legislature back then, but there didn't seem to be anything political about it. There was no ransom note. No demand. They never arrested anyone. My dad even hired a PI, but he never got anywhere, either."

  "You were with her?"

  I shook my head, expecting him to look at me like I was a little bit crazy.

  "I should never have gone out tonight," I sa
id. If he thought the change in subject was strange, he didn't comment.

  "There's nothing wrong with needing to let go sometimes."

  I wiped my hand under my nose and sniffled, feeling small and young and terribly lost. "Even when people get hurt?"

  He slid off the couch and knelt right in front of me, then gently pressed his hands on my knees. "No one got hurt, Angie."

  I shrugged. "You almost did."

  His mouth twitched a little, making the dimple flash. "I'm not sure if I should be flattered you care, or insulted that you think so little of my skill."

  "Flattered," I said, managing a smile.

  He met my smile, and this time his own went all the way to his eyes. He leaned over and retrieved my cup from the floor, then handed it back to me. "Drink your cocoa."

  I actually grinned, and it felt nice.

  "What?"

  "It feels like you're babysitting me."

  His scarred brow lifted, making him look sexy and arrogant all at the same time. He shifted his weight forward, and before I knew what to expect, he'd caught me in a kiss, hard and deep. I moaned, my body softening with need and thrumming with desire. We touched only in two places--lips and knees--and yet every inch of skin on my body crackled with banked electricity, as if Evan were a storm and I'd been caught unawares.

  As swiftly as he'd moved in, he released me and settled back, leaving me gaping breathlessly at him. "You're not a child, Angie. I'm not sure you were ever a child. And I damn sure know that I wasn't."

  Since I didn't have a clue what to say to that, I remained silent, holding my mug and wondering if my mouth was tingling because of the schnapps or because of his kiss.

  After a moment, he rose, then held out his hand to me. I left the mug on the floor, put my hand in his, and stood.

  Without a word, he led me to my bedroom. He turned me around, then slowly unzipped my dress. Whatever chill had lingered from the evening and the onslaught of memory disappeared, vanquished by the heat of his proximity. I soaked in his warmth, letting it soothe my rough edges even as tiny sparks bounced and fizzed inside me. And yet this simple touch was enough. So much, in fact, that he'd filled me up completely.

  Gently, his hands stroked my shoulders. "Slip it off," he said. "Get under the covers."

  "I--"

  "Don't argue. Just do." He moved toward the connecting bathroom, and while he was gone, I complied, letting the dress slide off my body to pool around my ankles. I hesitated a moment, then unclasped my bra and let it fall, as well. I still wore the panties, silk and lace that were one of my many wardrobe indulgences.

  I drew in a breath, lifted the covers, and slid into bed.

  He returned momentarily with a glass of water. He handed it to me and I took it. I drank a long swallow, wondering if I should be sad that he'd manufactured this reason to leave the room while I undressed, or impressed that he was a gentleman at heart.

  I landed on the side of gentleman. "Thank you," I said.

  "It's just water," he answered, but he smiled in what I thought was understanding. He nodded toward the bed. "Sleep now."

  "I--" I stumbled on my words. "I don't want to be alone."

  He bent and gently stroked my forehead. "I'll be right here." I watched as he settled himself in the floral print armchair near the wall of windows, the dark expanse of the lake behind him with just a few scattered boat lights glittering like stars. "Sleep," he repeated, and I nodded, suddenly aware of how heavy my eyelids felt.

  I snuggled under the covers, then let myself drift off.

  I felt warm. I felt safe. I felt protected.

  At least until the shadows came.

  The scream cut through the air, so loud and sharp and painful that it wrenched me awake.

  Strong arms surrounded me, and I drew in a breath, terrified, and only then realizing that I'd been the one doing the screaming.

  "Deep breaths, baby. I've got you. Just take some deep breaths. You're safe. You're with me and you're safe." Evan's voice washed over me, warm and commanding, as if simply by saying that I was safe he could make it so. I was sitting upright, clutching tight to him. My arms were around him, my hands fisted in the back of his T-shirt.

  The sheet had tumbled away to gather at my waist, and my breasts were pressed against him. His hands, big and warm and strong, gently stroked my bare back as I gulped in air, trying to shake free of the tendrils of fear that still clung to me, cold and menacing.

  "You're safe," he repeated gently. "You're okay."

  I nodded, realizing as I did that I was starting to believe it. I was awake. I was safe. I was warm in the security of Evan's arms.

  I'm not sure how long he held me like that. All I know is that by the time I finally did pull away, he'd given me enough of his strength to make it the rest of the way on my own.

  "Better now?"

  I nodded, then sat upright on the bed, one leg tucked under me. I took the tissue he handed me and blew my nose.

  "Was it about Gracie?"

  I closed my eyes in silent acknowledgement. "It was like I was there. The men. They were attacking her. They had knives. They were coming at her. But I couldn't do anything. I couldn't move. I wasn't there--not really. But I had to watch. I had to watch, because it shouldn't have been her at all. It should have been me."

  Once again, the tears burst forth, and he gathered me into his arms. I thought that I should pull away or curl up into a ball or tell him to leave me be for just a little while until I managed to get my act together. But I didn't. I didn't have the strength, but more than that, I didn't have the desire.

  For so long, I'd been fighting the nightmares by myself. To have Evan beside me now, giving me both strength and comfort was like opening the biggest present on Christmas morning.

  He stroked my back slowly, but I could feel the tension in his touch. "I should have just walked away."

  I didn't have a clue what he was talking about, and I pulled away only long enough to look at him with curiosity.

  "In the alley," he explained. "I should have taken you back inside the club. I should have walked away from those assholes. Gone inside. Called a bouncer. Just gotten clear. Anything to get you away from there." He cupped my cheek with his palm. "I didn't think. I wanted you--goddammit, I wanted you so fucking much--and I just didn't think about what you'd see. What you'd think."

  My eyes were wide. "No, oh, god, Evan, no. You were brilliant. You were perfect."

  "I didn't feel perfect when I saw you cowering on the asphalt. Or now, when you wake screaming from a nightmare."

  I could see the emotion in his face, along with the frustration. This was a man prone to action--but how do you fight fear and nightmares? He would have, though. If there was a way, I was certain he would have gone into battle for me, just like any proper knight.

  The thought was almost enough to make me smile.

  I didn't, though. Instead, I said, "I have them every night. They cling to me. You didn't bring the nightmares, Evan. Not even close." I shifted position, pulled into motion by the need to make him understand. "But what you did in the alley--I wish someone like you had been at Gracie's side that night. Someone who could have protected her. Who could have--" My voice hitched in my throat, and I felt a single tear snake down my cheek.

  Evan brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. "I would end those bastards right now, if I could." His voice was so tight I thought it might break. "For what they did to your sister. For what they took from you. And for the fear they left behind."

  I swallowed, undone by the ferocity that he was barely holding in. A feral determination that was so raw, so primal, it took my breath away. Our eyes locked, and for a moment I thought I would fall inside of him, both of us tumbling away from reality into some world that was uniquely ours.

  Then he pulled me roughly against him, and I knew that we had to stay here. This world. This reality. But with Evan beside me, maybe I could stand it.

  "Angie," he said, then caught my mouth wi
th his. His kiss was rough, in sharp contrast to the tenderness of his touch. I matched him, my need frantic. Intense. I was desperate to get lost in him, to go to that place where reason and memory and fear and regret evaporated. To leave everything behind except the reality of Evan and Angie and heat and need.

  This was what I'd wanted. What I'd fantasized about. This man in my bed. His body hard against mine. His hands upon me, his tongue tasting me.

  We were wild. Frenzied. As if we'd both exploded into supernovas of passion. One of his hands clutched my head, holding me in place as we devoured each other with kisses. The other roamed my back, palm flat, each bit of skin that he caressed lighting up in the wake of his touch until I was sure that I glowed as bright as the sun.

  I was wide open to him in so many ways, and when I felt his hand cup my breast, I gasped from the sweet pleasure of the inevitable. "Yes," I murmured. "Oh, please, yes."

  His hands moved to my shoulders, then stroked down my arms even as his gaze roamed down my body, making my nipples tighten as his eyes dipped toward my chest. "God, Angie, do you have any idea--"

  I didn't know what idea I was supposed to have because his words were cut off when he thrust me backward onto the bed, then moved to straddle me. I was trapped beneath him with his groin right over mine. I was naked but for the panties, so wet now that I was certain they clung to my body like a second skin.

  I was completely exposed to him--completely open to him. He could do anything to me in that moment. Take me any way he wanted. I was completely and utterly his, and that knowledge made my pulse skitter and my skin tingle. I held my breath, not knowing what would come next, but only that I craved it. Craved him.

  His lips skimmed the curve of my ear, then down the soft skin of my neck, the feather soft contact designed to drive me wild. Slowly, he traced my collarbone with the tip of his tongue before moving lower still.

  I groaned with delighted abandon as he closed his mouth over my breast, his teeth teasing my nipple as he suckled me, sending threads of fire to shoot from my breasts all the way to my throbbing, needy sex.

  "Evan." I'm not sure I even spoke his name. It was a plea, a prayer. And as his hot mouth continued lower down my abdomen, his tongue teasing my navel before moving on to my panty line, I had to acknowledge that it was also a thank-you. I may have awakened in a nightmare, but I could barely remember it now. All I knew was Evan. All I understood was his touch. All I wanted was the man.