Bree tensed.
The hand holding the door open went white in the knuckles but she didn’t slam it shut and turn and rail at him to get the hell out of her house. Instead, she eased it closed and then turned around. She tucked her hands into her back pockets, the grass-green T-shirt she wore drawing tight across her breasts.
“What do you want?”
He shrugged restlessly. “A lot of things. Turning back the clock a week sounds like a good way to start. But that isn’t going to happen. So first up, I guess I should tell you I’m sorry.”
Her lashes lowered, shielding her eyes. “I figured that out after the first five messages you left on my machine. Okay. You’re sorry.”
“I wouldn’t want to hurt you for my life.”
She turned away, moving to stare out the window over the sink. The pool was visible from the window and staring at it sent a fresh lance of pain driving through him. It hadn’t even been a month since he’d made love to her for the first time, right by the pool.
“I know that. And you didn’t.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, just stared outside.
With a derisive snort, he said, “Then apparently you weren’t paying attention. That’s exactly what I almost did.”
“But you didn’t. It’s over. It’s done. You’ve apologized. Now would you please leave?”
“That’s not the only reason I’m here.”
Now she finally looked at him, shooting him a narrow glance over her shoulder that managed to convey more than a thousand-page thesis. “I don’t really care what other reasons you have for being here, Colby. You want to think I’m just sleeping –correction, I’m no longer sleeping with you, so you want to think I was sleeping with you because Alyssa wanted me to. Great opinion you have of me.”
She stalked past him without another look. Making it pretty clear that she was done with the conversation. Too damn bad, Colby thought. Hell, he’d already fucked things up. He couldn’t make it any worse, right?
So as she headed toward her room, he followed her and when she would have slammed the door in his face, he wedged his foot against it and bodily forced his way into the room.
Bree glared at him, her arms crossed over her breasts, foot tapping against the floor in an erratic rhythm. “You know, the Neanderthal bit just doesn’t work for you.”
“Do you love me?”
Her eyes widened. He could see the pulse slamming away under the fragile skin in her throat. “Wuh…what?”
“Do you love me?” he repeated, closing the distance between them.
She retreated from him but ended up backing herself against the wall. Colby kept his distance as he waited for her to answer him. Even though all he wanted was to reach for her and pull her close, hold her tight, never let go.
“Is that why the hell you barged your way into my room?” she asked, her voice caustic.
“Yes. You haven’t answered me. Do you love me?”
Bree sneered at him. “Sex doesn’t equal love, Colby. I realize that you hooking up with your high school sweetheart doesn’t exactly make you an expert on the subject but you’re not naïve. You know life doesn’t work like that.”
“I also know that you’re not the type to fall into bed with any guy you meet.” She wouldn’t look at him, not directly. Over the past few weeks, up until he’d fucked up so badly, she’d lost some of the evasive caution she always showed around him. But now it was back. Back in full force and she wouldn’t meet his eyes for anything.
He figured there could be a few reasons for that. The first one left him almost sick as he considered it, so he had to ask. “Are you afraid of me?”
Dark gray eyes narrowed and she shoved off the wall, advancing on him until the toes of her work books bumped his tennis shoes. “Afraid of you? Please.” Her derisive sneer made it clear she found the idea pretty much laughable.
Okay, so if she wasn’t afraid of him…well, there was only one other option that made sense. Still, he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to put any faith in that idea just yet. Slowly, he reached up, cupped her face. Dragging his thumb across her lower lip, he stared into her eyes, watched as her pupils spiked, flared until just a thin sliver of gray showed. “If you’re not afraid of me, then why do you have such a hard time looking at me?”
“I’m looking at you right now,” she pointed out.
“Then look at me and answer my question.”
She batted at his hand and slipped away from him. “You’re asking me a question you really don’t have any right to ask.”
That, in itself, was almost answer enough for him. Bree wasn’t a coward. By nature, she wasn’t the evasive type, unless it involved him. If she didn’t love him, she’d flat out tell him. He took another step toward her and this time when she backed away, he didn’t let it deter him. “I think I do have the right. But maybe I should tell you something first.”
“The only thing you should do is just leave me alone.”
As she tried to brush past him, he caught her arm, whirled her around until she crashed into his chest. Sliding his arms around her waist, he held her close. “Oh, you might be right on the money there. I should leave you alone and I’ve got no right to expect much of anything from you after the other night. But I need to know the answer.” His hand slid up over her side, along her shoulder, curved along her neck. Using his thumb, he angled her chin up.
Her eyes were dark and stormy gray, her body rigid against his. He lowered his head, pressed his mouth to hers, but she remained unyielding.
“Why?” she demanded, averting her head. “What difference does it make?”
“All the difference in the world,” he whispered against her cheek. He rubbed his mouth along the smooth, silken skin, then lifted his head to watch her face as he told her. “I love you, Bree. I love you, so your answer makes all the difference in the world.”
Her mouth fell open. Tears gleamed in her eyes. A harsh breath rasped out of her and her body went slack in his arms. “You…what…what did you say?”
He’d been terrified to tell her, he realized. Absolutely terrified. But now, he wasn’t entirely sure why. Cupping her chin in his hand, he lowered his mouth to hers and this time when he kissed her, she didn’t pull away. “I love you,” he said against her lips.
Her hands clutched at the front of his shirt, grasping handfuls of the worn cotton.
Lifting his head, he stared down at her, watched as a couple of tears broke free and slid down her cheeks. He licked them away.
The feel of his mouth on hers had Bree shuddering. She wanted to grab onto him. Hold him close. Demand he say it again…and again…and again.
But what if he didn’t mean it? Or what if he was wrong?
What if—
From the depths of her subconscious, another voice started to whisper. Alyssa’s voice, or rather the memory of it. Something she’d said only a few short weeks ago. Yet in a way, it felt like another lifetime.
What if it means everything?
What ifs. What did they add up to? Too often heartbreak, headache, misery, confusion—regret.
Swallowing, she worked her fingers free from his shirt and pushed against his chest. He let go but she could tell he didn’t want to. She had to think, though. And she couldn’t think with him touching her. It just wasn’t possible. Taking a few steps away, she turned her back on him and rubbed her hands over her face.
A minute to think. She needed just a minute—no. Maybe a little more time. A few days. Think it through, try to…oh, the hell with that.
Turning back to him, she asked, “Do you mean that?”
“If I didn’t mean it, why the hell would I say it?”
Okay…good answer. Her head was spinning, her chest aching. It dawned on her that she really wasn’t breathing a whole hell of a lot. Breathing. Needed to breathe. Sucking in a deep gulp of air, she waited for the room to quit spinning around on her. It didn’t happen though and Bree realized it had nothing to do with her breathing or lack of.
She stumbled, a little off balance and ended up bracing her hands on the back of the nearest chair. “You really mean it?”
His lips curved. That sexy, yummy mouth… Her heart skipped a beat as he took one step, then another toward her, staring at her with eyes that held heat and promises. “I mean it. I love you.”
He cornered her up against the chair but this time, even if the thought occurred to her to move away, she doubted she could. Her legs weren’t working much better than her lungs. “Really?” she whispered again. “As in…for real?”
Colby dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.
She sagged in his arms as he murmured, “Really. As in very for real.”
Bree wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to dance. And she wanted to find someplace quiet so she could sort all this out. But she couldn’t move.
Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. She could move…some. She had no trouble sliding her arms around his neck and burying her face against him. “Really?”
A large hand slid around and cradled the back of her head, the other slipping around her waist and cuddling her close. “Very really.”
Blindly, she turned her mouth to his and he met her kiss with a desperation that rivaled her own. Fisting her hands in his shirt, she jerked it upward, baring his chest but snarling in frustration when it got stuck under his arms. He leaned back and tore it off and then he did the same to hers. Her bra was next, torn away and left to fall to the ground.
Reaching for him, she groaned when he evaded her hands, focusing instead on the belt to her shorts. He stripped them away, knelt down to fight with her work boots while she braced her hands on his shoulders and tried to remain upright. The rest of his clothes, he didn’t bother messing with, other than to tear open the fly of his jeans and shove both the denim and his boxers down.
When he pressed back against her, nothing separated them. He wrapped her in his arms and turned them, pressing her back to the wall. Bree lifted one leg, hooking it over his hip while he palmed her ass and pushed against her. She caught her lip between her teeth and whimpered as he entered her. Hard and thick, his cock stretched her, cleaving through her pussy with unrelenting force until he had buried himself inside her.
Colby reached down, hooked his arms under her knees, lifted her, opened her. She cried out, her lashes drifting down as waves of sensation threatened to swamp her. “No…don’t close your eyes,” he whispered, pressing his brow to hers. “I want to see you. I need to see you.”
Dragging her lashes up, she stared into his eyes. He rolled his hips against hers, his movements slow and minute, as though he couldn’t bear to pull too far away. She clenched down around him, her hands clutching at him, desperate to keep him close. Inside her pussy, he was rigid, blistering hot, scalding her—marking her.
He shifted his angle and when he rocked forward again, he brushed against her clit. Bree slammed her head back into the wall and cried out.
Against her neck, he muttered, “I love you.”
“Colby,” she pleaded, sliding her fingers into his hair. “Please…”
His cock throbbed, swelled, jerked. Sobbing, she rocked against him. He swore, his body tensing. The hands gripping her thighs tightened and for one second, he stilled within her. He shuddered and like a dam breaking, he exploded. His mouth covered hers, his tongue delving deep. He surged within her, falling into a hard, driving rhythm that had her screaming against his lips.
For the second time in his life, he knew he had totally lost control, but this time he didn’t care. The need inside him no longer felt like some guilty secret he had to hide. What she felt for him was something real, not something born out of loyalty and promises—real. When she keened out his name, when her hands fisted in his hair and her body arched into his, it was real.
And even though she hadn’t said it yet, he knew it. She did love him. He could taste it on her lips, feel in the way she moved against him, see in the dazed, stunned way she gazed at him as he told her. “I love you,” he muttered again, lifting his head just long enough to tell her and see that stunned, shocked amazement dance across her face.
She came apart in his arms, her pussy clamping down on his cock and milking him, pulling him along with her. Burying his face against her neck, he climaxed with a groan. She shuddered against him, turned her mouth to meet his. Then she said it.
“I love you.”
Alyssa couldn’t see them very clearly now.
And she couldn’t draw close, either.
It was like looking at them through a cloud and with every passing moment, it became harder and harder to see them.
It was for the best though.
A weight felt like it had dropped off her shoulders and she felt free.
She was done.
Done.
Behind her, something stroked her back, something warm, inviting. Slowly, she turned away from Bree and Colby and found herself staring at rays of light that chased away every last shadow.
It’s time.
The words weren’t spoken, but she felt them nonetheless.
A smile curled her lips and she nodded. It’s time.
And without another look back, she moved toward the light.
LOOK FOR SHILOH’S LATEST…
Headed For Trouble
He was more than six feet of sexy, bearded Scottish trouble.
Not the trouble she was looking for…
yet he proved to be everything she needed.
Sign up to receive her newsletter
Read on for an excerpt from Headed For Trouble
Ian Campbell had left Scotland for a couple of small reasons, and one rather big one. The small reasons were varied—he liked to try new things, he’d always wanted to run his own pub, and he’d never been one to turn down a chance at an adventure. Living in America for a time could definitely be that.
The rather big reason was simple.
Money.
He’d been offered a fat sum to come across the pond and run this pub, and if all went well, then he could even buy it. It had been a hard choice to make, he wouldn’t lie.
More than once—once a week even—he wondered if he’d done the right thing, and considered going home. He could. He’d have to start over, but he wasn’t afraid of hard work and he wasn’t afraid to start over, either. He’d had to do that more than once in his life, that was certain.
But then he’d crawl out of bed, get himself a cup of coffee—or better yet, three. Ian Campbell wasn’t a pleasant man without his first cup of coffee in the morning. Once he was awake, he’d go to his balcony and stare out over the river.
This place was thousands of miles from Braemar, the small village in Scotland where he’d lived for the first thirteen years of his life and just as different from the house where he’d lived after his mother died and he moved to Aviemore to live with his grandparents. He’d lived there from the time he was thirteen until he was eighteen, in a house where raised voices and flying fists had him desperate to leave, and even more desperate never to return.
Nobody here looked at him and whispered as he walked past.
True, it had been a long time since people had done that back home.
But he didn’t see the looks in their eyes, and if he lifted a pint at the end of the day, he didn’t have to wonder what they might think.
A clean slate, that was what he had here, and he couldn’t help but appreciate it.
Perhaps he didn’t like the heat that hit you like a sweaty fist for too much of the year, but any circumstance would have its drawbacks now, wouldn’t it?
And … there were the benefits.
He found himself studying one now and felt a stir of interest he hadn’t felt in more time than he cared to think about.
She stood in the doorway, oddly apart from everybody else even as she studied them, eyes moving to linger on a group here, then there. After a couple of moments, she moved away, and he found himself tracking her progress.
Don’t be h
ere to meet somebody, he thought, and immediately, he wanted to kick himself. What did it matter if she was?
He told himself it didn’t and glanced up as Gary Harnett settled down and ordered his usual. Ian started to build the Guinness as they chatted, but the entire time he watched her from the corner of his eye.
She moved like a dancer, with effortless grace and easy elegance. He could imagine those legs, long and slim, wrapped around his waist, could picture that torso, just as long and slim, bent back as he leaned over to press his mouth to pale, soft skin.
Gary said, “They say it’s going to break a hundred again tomorrow.”
“Imagine it will,” Ian murmured, the easy chatter second nature, while in his mind, he continued to mentally undress the redhead.
She slid onto a vacant stool tucked up against the wall just as he finished Gary’s Guinness, and Ian took a moment to appreciate the fact that he had a heavy, solid bar between the two of them, because, thanks to his wandering mind, his bloody cock was hard as iron and pulsing.
She looked at him then, her mouth unsmiling, but wide and soft and lush.
Fuck me.
He rested his hands on the bar and smiled. You’ve a job to do, so do it.
He opened his mouth.
You’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve seen in ages—maybe forever. He could feel those words hovering on the tip of his tongue.
Biting them back, he fell back on the job he’d been doing for ages.
“Well, ’allo. What can I get you?”
A faint smile flirted around her lips, and a hot ball of lust twisted inside, settling down low in his balls. Mad. He’d gone mad—that’s all there was to it.
She nodded toward the Guinness he’d just finished and said, “I’ll have one of those.”
He nodded. Self-preservation told him to move his arse and get to work.
He told self-preservation to get fucked as he got to work on her Guinness. As he did, four more orders came in, and he filled three of them before her Guinness was ready. By the time he had another minute to breathe, she had folded her hands around her glass and was studying everything around her, almost mesmerized.
Guilty Needs Page 14
