by Toni Aleo
The sight of her acted like a balm to his edginess and took his breath away at the same time. Moonlight bathed her in a milky white glow, accentuating the stark black of her long hair and the vivid green of her eyes. She didn't say anything, just stood there, her hands jammed into the pockets of the heavy coat as she stared up at him.
A minute went by, then another. Enough for the chilly December air to seep into his bare chest and settle into his bones. And she still didn't say anything.
"You shouldn't be here." Shane finally broke the silence, his voice rough with scotch and stress and regret. Always regret.
"Are you going to make me stand out here and freeze, or are you going to let me in so we can talk?"
"You need to go home, Chloe."
If even a small part of him expected her to listen, he'd be disappointed. But he hadn't expected it, wasn't surprised when she simply pushed right past him and headed downstairs.
Shane hesitated before finally closing the door. He followed her downstairs, closing that door as well so they wouldn't disturb his aunt and uncle. Then he stood there, his gaze finding her in the darkness. She was standing near the sofa, her body nothing more than a silhouette in the unlit room.
A few seconds later, light from the end table lamp pierced the darkness. He blinked, squeezing his eyes closed against the brightness, and swore under his breath.
"Fuck, Chloe. Turn it off."
"Watch your language. And not until I see what kind of damage Wyatt did to your face."
He opened his eyes, immediately closed them again when Chloe walked toward him. He heard her swift intake of breath and started to take a step back, silently praying she wouldn't touch him—
Gentle fingers followed the line of his nose, the touch featherlight yet dangerous. So fucking dangerous.
Shane inhaled, the sound sharp in the quiet of the room, and moved away from her. It didn't matter because she moved with him, so close he could feel the heat of her breath against his neck. So close he could hear the heavy beating of her heart.
She touched him again, gently brushing the side of his jaw with the flat of her hand. "Does it hurt?"
God, yes. More than she could imagine. Feeling her touch against his skin when he'd craved nothing else for the last five years burned him like the rays of a thousand suns. But that wasn't what she meant.
He finally opened his eyes and stepped around her, moving back to the sofa. Where was his fucking shirt? He needed to find his shirt and put it back on. Button it up. Wear it like a shield against the temptation that was Chloe.
"I'll be fine. I've had worse in a game."
"That's not what I asked. I asked if it hurt."
Shane clenched his jaw, winced at the sharp pain that throbbed with the motion. "No."
"Liar." Chloe's smile was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it came. He ignored it, ignored his body's reaction to it.
"You need to go home, Chloe."
She shrugged out of the heavy coat and tossed it on the leather recliner, ignoring his huff of protest.
"Chloe, I mean it. You need to leave."
She ignored him, her steps strong and sure as she closed the distance between them. Her head tilted back and she stared up at him, her sculpted brows pulled low. Anger flashed in her eyes. Confusion. Bewilderment.
And stubbornness. How had he forgotten how stubborn she could be?
"Why?"
"Why?" He nearly choked on the word. "Because you do. You being here isn't—"
"No, not that. Why did you let Wyatt hit you? Why did you just stand there like that?"
"You really have to ask me that? After what I did to him?"
"Shane, you didn't do anything to him!"
Something exploded inside him. Rage. Regret. Shame. Every single emotion he'd kept bottled up for the last five years. The horror of every single nightmare that visited him in his sleep, forcing him to relive that night.
He stepped toward her, using his height to intimidate her. Using his size to push her back. "How can you say that, Chloe? How can you fucking say that? He lost his leg because of me. He lost his chance at turning pro because of me. Everything he ever wanted in life, every single fucking dream he had—I destroyed it. Me. So don't stand there and fucking asking me why I let him hit me! He should have done more. I deserve more."
Emotion clogged his throat, shredding the last words so they came out as nothing more than a desperate croak. He spun around, unable to face Chloe. Unwilling to let her see what he'd tried so hard to hide the last five years.
Unwilling to let her see the kind of man he really was.
He ran a shaking hand across his eyes, sucked in a ragged breath, and waited. She would leave now. She'd grab her coat and hurry up the stairs. Rush to open the door so she could escape. Slam it behind her, thinking of nothing else except that desperate urge to get away from him.
But there was only silence. No sound of feet hurrying across thick carpet. No sound of a door opening and closing.
Just...silence.
Arms wrapped around him from behind, their touch warm. Offering comfort. Offering strength. Shane shifted, tried to step out of her hold, but she wouldn't let him.
"Shane, it wasn't your fault."
"It was. I was driving. I—" The words died in his throat, ending in a hoarse choke when her fingers slowly traced the scar on his back. The line was thick and ragged, the flesh puckered and shiny even after all these years. The scar started in the middle of his left rib cage and ran down his back, stopping at the base of his spine.
Chloe's touch was gentle, almost soothing as she traced the scar. Back and forth. Soft. Slow. "It was an accident, Shane. An accident. It wasn't anyone's fault."
"I was driving—"
"Because Wyatt had been drinking. If he had been driving, all three of us would be dead. He wouldn't have been able to handle the spin on the ice the way you did. The car would have gone over the cliff. You have to know that."
Shane stiffened, finally stepped out of Chloe's hold. Then he turned and faced her, forcing himself to voice the admission he'd kept buried all these years.
"Maybe it would have been better that way. Because there are days I can't live with myself, knowing what I did to Wyatt."
Chapter Six
There are days I can't live with myself, knowing what I did to Wyatt.
The words sliced deep, hurting her more than she expected. Not so much the words but the way Shane had said them. Flat. Emotionless. It was that lack of emotion that scared her, because she had heard it before. Not from Shane, but from Wyatt. Three years ago, when all his progress had come to a halt. When he'd actually lost progress. When he'd given up. He'd said the same thing to her then—that it would have been better if he'd died in the accident. That death would have been preferable to losing his leg. His dreams.
Chloe stepped closer, placed the palm of her hand against the middle of Shane's chest, right over his heart. She could feel it beating, strong and steady, maybe just a little fast. But alive.
She couldn't imagine him any other way. Couldn't imagine what she would have done if he had died that night. It had been one thing to lose him personally. When they had drifted apart after the accident, when they'd finally succumbed to the stress of the aftermath, to the guilt and regret. Then later, when he'd been picked up by Baltimore and moved away.
Yes, she had lost him. But he was still here. Still alive. Agony sliced through her at the thought of it being any other way. She forced the pain away, forced the awful fear to the back of her mind, locking it in a deep, dark corner, never to be seen again.
"It wasn't you, Shane. Why can't you see that?" How many times had she told him that? How many times had her parents and his aunt and uncle told him that? Even the police, once the accident investigation had concluded. She'd been there, by Shane's side, when they told him he wasn't at fault. The roads had been icy and the car had simply spun out of control. Speed wasn't a factor. Alcohol wasn't a factor. And Shane's handling o
f the car had saved them. It could have been so much worse.
But he didn't see that. He either couldn't—or he wouldn't. Even now, he was shaking his head, brushing her words off, as if they meant nothing.
He closed his fingers around her wrist, eased her hand from his chest, and stepped back.
"You need to leave, Chloe."
God help her, she almost did. Almost turned to run from the house. From Shane. From everything they had ever shared. But she couldn't, not when he looked so lost. Pain etched into the tired muscles of his face, pale beneath the stubble covering his jaw. Sorrow gleamed in the depths of his eyes, ringed in red that even the thick dark lashes couldn't hide.
Not just sorrow—loneliness as well. She could feel it, washing over him in choking waves, leeching the life from his soul.
No, she couldn't leave. She wouldn't, no matter how much he demanded. And while what she was ready to do might not be the smartest thing, it was the only thing she could think of.
She stepped closer, leaned up and pressed her mouth against his. Hesitant, seeking, almost shy. He stiffened and for one awful second, she was afraid he'd push her away. Tell her once more to leave.
He didn't push her away but he did pull back, confusion sparking in the depths of his eyes as he frowned at her. "Chloe, what are you doing?"
"I—" She hesitated, nibbling on her lower lip as she tried to figure out what to say. Did she really need to explain that she was trying to kiss him? "I just—"
"I don't want your pity, Chloe. I don't need it."
She blinked, not sure she had heard him correctly. Pity? Is that what he thought this was? Did he really think she would kiss him out of pity?
Chloe wasn't sure what to do, hesitated for a brief second then simply followed her instincts. She stepped even closer, wrapped one arm around his waist, and kissed him again.
Still shy. Still hesitant.
Shane held himself still for the space of a few heartbeats. Then his mouth softened under hers, his head tilting to the side as he slowly kissed her back. His hand closed over her arm, his long fingers strong and warm as he caressed her.
Chloe pulled back just the tiniest bit, their breaths mingling as she gazed up at him. "I've never pitied you, Shane. Never. All I've ever done is want you. From the day I first met you until now."
"Why?" Genuine confusion laced his voice, tugging at emotions she could no longer deny. She reached up, ran her fingers through the silky softness of his thick hair, then placed a gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth.
"Because I love you, Shane. I always have. That hasn't changed."
His frown deepened as he shook his head. In denial of her declaration? In denial of what they once shared? Chloe didn't know and wasn't sure it mattered, not when Shane tried to step back and put distance between them. But he was already backed against the edge of the sofa, there was nowhere for him to go, not unless he pushed her out of the way.
His hands dropped to her waist and she thought he was going to do just that—push her away, physically and emotionally. But he didn't move, just kept watching her with those deep brown eyes filled with a mix of pain and surprise.
"I don't deserve your love, Chloe. Not now. Maybe not even back then—"
"That's not your decision to make. You don't get to decide who I love."
He was going to argue. Throw her words back at her or toss out some other excuse. Chloe was done talking, though. She didn't come here tonight to talk, had already wasted too much precious time.
She leaned up, caught his mouth with hers, and kissed him. There was nothing shy or hesitant about this one. Nothing sweet or uncertain. This was a kiss designed to bring back memories. A kiss intended to remind him of who they were.
A kiss meant to seduce.
Shane's hands tightened around her waist then slowly eased behind her. He pulled her to him, their bodies melding, separated only by her sweatshirt and the jeans they both wore.
The kiss exploded between them. Hot. Needy. And Chloe was no longer in control, no longer the seducer. She gave herself up to him, gave in to each thrust of his tongue as it swept the recesses of her mouth. Gave in to each heated caress of his strong hands against her.
He grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged. Slowly raised it. His knuckles grazed her sensitive skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he pulled the sweatshirt off and let it drop to the floor. Her bra followed, unhooked with a quick snap of his fingers before he dragged the satin down her arms and let it pool on the floor at their feet.
She raised her arms, wanting to drape them around his neck, needing to feel bare flesh against bare flesh. Shane stopped her with a quick shake of his head, his gaze dropping to her chest. He inhaled, the sharp sound filled with need, then reached up to trace one hardened nipple with the tip of his finger before cupping both breasts between his hands. Squeezing. Kneading. Relearning their feel, their weight. He bent his head, flicked the bead of one nipple ring with the tip of his tongue, then pulled the hard peak into his mouth. Licking. Sucking. Tasting.
Chloe dug her fingers into his hair, cupping the back of his head as he nibbled and nipped. Liquid heat pooled between her legs. Need exploded inside her as a long-ignored hunger reawakened. She reached between them, stroked the rigid length of Shane's thick erection through the faded denim. Up and down, hard, almost desperate as she reached for the snap of her own jeans with her other hand.
Shane nudged her hands away, took over for her as he unzipped her jeans and pushed them down to her thighs. Then he reached between her legs, cupping her. One finger slid along her wet clit, stroking.
Her legs nearly buckled. She dug her fingers into his broad shoulders, trying to support herself as he stroked her pussy, hard and fast. As his tongue and teeth played with each hardened nipple. He slid one long finger deep inside her then pulled a tight peak between his teeth, bit down—
And she exploded.
The climax erupted from a deep part of her, a part she never knew existed. Rising, cresting, washing over her with a force that left her shattered. For several long seconds, she couldn't see. Couldn't hear. Couldn't breathe. She could only feel.
Sensation slowly ebbed. Sounds slowly returned—the sharp pitch of her cry. The staccato rhythm of shattered breaths.
Shane's voice washing over her. Deep and warm. Filled with wonder as he said her name, over and over.
He grabbed her, holding her against him as he gently lowered her onto the sofa. Then he was on his knees in front of her, his hands shaking as he peeled her jeans and boots off. She reached for him, her fingers grazing the soft hair that hung over his neck. Wanting. Needing—
But he shook his head and leaned forward, his mouth closing over her wet pussy. Licking, sucking, teasing. He reached down, spread her lips apart, and flicked the tip of his tongue against her sensitive clit. Once. Twice—
Another climax crashed over her, this one stronger than before. Her head fell back, her hips rocking against his mouth as she struggled to draw in breath. As she struggled to call his name, to tell him what she needed.
"Shane." Just a faint whisper, her voice barely recognizable to her own ears. "Please. Now. I need you—now."
She mourned his sudden absence when he moved away, heard him shifting in front of her. Heard the soft whisper of a zipper being lowered, the rustle of denim being kicked away. Her lids fluttered open, her unfocused gaze feasting on the strong lines of his sculpted and scarred body as he tore open a foil packet. His hand closed around his hard shaft, stroking once. Twice. Shane moaned, the sound low and hoarse as he sheathed his cock with a condom.
Then he was in front of her once again, moving her until she slid back on the sofa. He moved over her, his body solid. Heavy. Hot and reassuring as he nudged her knees apart and settled between her legs.
"I love you, Chloe. God help me, I never stopped."
His mouth crashed over hers before she could reply, before she even had time to process the harsh confession that ripped fr
om his chest. Then it didn't matter because his hips thrust once and he was inside her. Stretching her. Filling her.
Completing her.
She wrapped her legs high around his waist, met each desperate thrust with her own.
Nails scoring. Breaths mingling. Flesh melding. Over and over.
Hot.
Hard.
Fast.
Until she exploded once more, pieces of her shattered soul falling around them, reforming to mix with Shane's.
As it used to be.
As it should be.
Chapter Seven
Chloe was gone.
Shane didn't have to open his eyes to know it, didn't have to reach across the rumpled sheets of his bed to figure it out. He just knew, from the quiet emptiness that surrounded him.
From the hollowness inside him.
He draped one arm over his eyes and swore softly under his breath. Last night had been a mistake. He should have never let things go that far with Chloe. There were too many unresolved issues, too many wounds that hadn't healed.
That would never heal.
But he'd never been able to say no to Chloe, not once she set her mind to something.
It didn't matter. He still should have said no, should have resisted, should have made her leave before that first kiss. Before she told him she still loved him. Before—
He sighed, finally admitting that he was doing nothing but lying to himself. Yes, he should have been stronger—but he didn't regret what happened. Didn't regret telling her. How could he, after what they had shared?
How could he, when he finally realized he had never stopped loving her? Even after all this time, after everything that had happened between them all those years ago. After all the women who had thrown themselves at him after he'd been drafted by the Banners.
Shame swept over him. Did Chloe know about the other women? She must. She knew what happened in the pros, had seen enough just in the years she followed him and Wyatt to the rinks. Chloe wasn't stupid or naive.
