“It doesn’t make me crazy to want you,” Chris rumbled, apparently having read Rich’s fears in his expression. “It doesn’t make me a rapist or…or someone who wants to hurt you. And that scar does not make you hideous like you seem to think it does. If anything, it makes you hotter. Rich,” Chris whispered, and all the anger flitted away, leaving a soft look full of compassion and desire on Chris’ face. “I don’t want to hurt you, I want to help you, and I just, oh gods, I just want you.”
Rich’s trampled confidence warred with the flicker of hope warming his belly. Instincts he’d used as a detective kicked in. Chris sounded sincere, his body was tense, yes, but he wasn’t forcing himself on Rich, only holding him down to keep him from striking out again. Or keeping him from escaping. Rich’s instincts had done shit all to keep him safe from McAlister, another detective with whom Rich had worked in the same department for years and never suspected of being a sociopath.
“Rich, I didn’t mean to scare you. What can I do to make you believe me?” Chris drilled Rich with a look so intense Rich found himself wanting to believe him. “I know what might help.”
Rich tried to wiggle and get Chris off of him to no avail. “Yeah, getting the fuck off me and letting me out would help a lot.”
Chris sighed as he slid off Rich’s lap. “I’m off, and I’ll let go of your wrists if you give me your word you won’t deck me again. You pack a punch, let me tell you. But I want you to listen to me for a minute, that’s all I’m asking. Will you do that?”
“Is that a condition for my release?” Rich sneered, regretting the impulsive words the second they were out. Why didn’t he just agree then do whatever he had to in order to escape?
Chris’ sigh this time sounded as if it was the release of whatever hope he’d carried inside. “No, of course not.” He stepped back, letting go of Rich’s wrists once he was out of swinging distance. “I’ve screwed this all up.”
To Rich’s surprise, he didn’t shove up from the seat and bolt for the door like he was sure he was going to. Apparently his body had other plans, and his brain was in on it. Instead he watched as Chris rubbed his hands over his bare scalp. A dull flush crept from his thick neck, turning his cheeks ruddy and the tips of his ears pink. Those huge shoulders Rich longed to lick sagged and Chris scooted over and grabbed the door handle. With a twist of his wrist and a soft grunt, he flung the door open and stepped out of the cab. Rich watched the shift and bunching of muscles in the man’s back, then dropped his gaze to the plump round ass he wanted to bury his dick in. Chris stood with his back to Rich and stared off in the direction of the Miata.
“Go on,” Chris said so softly Rich could barely hear him. “I understand you wouldn’t want a big tattooed, pierced guy like me when you can have any pretty boy you flicked a finger toward.” His bitter laugh shocked Rich. It sounded wrong coming from a man who seemed more likely to laugh uninhibitedly. It definitely caused Rich’s heart to twist when he compared it to the heated, lusty look that had lit the man’s eyes minutes earlier.
Rich took a shaky breath then got up, not bothering to slide his shoes back on. He stood in the doorway of the cab and willed Chris to look at him. Chris didn’t get the message though and Rich finally cleared his throat in an overloud manner. Chris’ shoulders tightened then he slowly turned to face Rich, his movements small, as if he were afraid he’d send Rich running if he dared speed up.
When Chris raised his eyes to Rich’s, Rich didn’t know why he’d ever thought the man was a threat. McAlister had had those dead eyes, the ones that never showed any expression, that smiles never reached and tears never filled. Chris’ eyes showed too much, and the pain and regret in their depths made Rich feel like the biggest asshole in the world.
“What was it you wanted to tell me?” Rich asked.
Chris sucked part of his bottom lip between his teeth and shook his head as he darted another glance toward Rich’s car. He pulled his cell phone off his belt clip and looked at the screen, letting his lip pop free of his teeth. A swipe of pink tongue and the glint of metal sent Rich’s libido into overdrive. He clutched at the doorframe until his knuckles ached—it was the only way he could keep from reaching for the other man.
“I… You aren’t…” Rich stopped and tried to organize his jumbled thoughts. This was harder than he’d imagined, but what did he really have to lose? Another day spent alone with the demons that haunted him? And, possibly, the attentions of a man unlike any he’d met before. Did he really think Chris was a threat? Not physically, no, but… “I don’t want a ‘pretty boy’,” Rich blurted out, heat scorching his cheeks. Chris looked up at him with a not-quite-hopeful expression, but his shoulders relaxed slightly and he quit fidgeting with his phone.
“I had plenty of them before—just before,” Rich confessed, not as proud of it as he’d once been. “There’s been no one since this.” He reached up and forced himself to touch the scar though it made his stomach quiver. “And there’s…there’s more, a lot more. It’s— I’m grotesque.” Rich hated the word, but it always sprung to mind when he thought of his damaged face and body. When he’d been perfect, unscarred and handsome, he would have turned away from someone who looked like he did now. Why would anyone treat him any different? Wasn’t it a karmic rule or something?
Chris muttered something Rich couldn’t hear then took a small step forward. He slid his gaze over Rich from head to toe, lingering for long seconds on Rich’s rapidly swelling cock. When he licked his lips and caught the ball of his tongue piercing between his teeth, Rich thought he was going to shoot in his jeans. What would that ball feel like flicking over my cock, sliding into my slit? Rich moaned and cupped his erection, aching for just a touch from Chris.
“Call your friend, the sheriff, give him my name, license number, plates, truck description.” Chris turned his head to watch a passing car. “Or is he your boyfriend? He didn’t—he wasn’t the one who hurt you, was he?” Chris faced him again, and the look he gave Rich told him Chris intended to kick the ass of whoever had hurt him.
“He’s dead,” Rich said bluntly. “The sheriff, Laine, is my friend. So is his partner, Severo. Laine and I were detectives in Houston years ago, and the fucker who nearly killed me was after Laine. I was just a way to hurt him.”
Chris’s tan had faded away as Rich talked, leaving his complexion unnaturally pale. “Jeez, Rich, I—”
Rich didn’t know what else to say as he watched Chris’ hands curl into fists. He heard a pop of plastic and Chris cursed, looking down at the hand clutching his cell phone. Frowning so hard his brow wrinkled with it, Chris put the phone back in the clip. “At least this time I didn’t break it.” He took another tentative step forward then another, stopping several feet away. Too far away, Rich thought.
“You probably don’t believe me, but I’m usually a pacifist.”
“Okay.” Rich looked at those bulging muscles and did find it hard to believe, but who was he to judge someone by their appearance?
Chris’ lips twisted as he fisted his hands again. Rich watched the way his forearms and biceps tightened, the way his full lips thinned and pulled down at the edges.
“It’s a good thing he’s dead and gone.”
“Yeah,” Rich murmured, “it’s a good thing he’s dead.” He was very much afraid the gone part was too much to hope for.
Chapter Five
Chris couldn’t remember ever being so angry before. He turned his back to Rich in order to keep his eyes averted, not wanting to scare Rich with what Chris feared might show in them. His mother had said the eyes really were the windows to the soul, and whoever had come up with that discovery was the most intuitive person ever born. He wasn’t sure about that, but he did know he had expressive eyes, and while he didn’t know the extent of what Rich had been through—the CliffsNotes version had been pretty damn awful—he’d bet it wouldn’t endear him any to Rich if the man saw the fury burning in Chris’ soul right now. No doubt his aura was now a murky gray tinged wit
h icky yellow as well.
“Chris.”
The sound of Rich’s trembling voice sent a shiver down Chris’ spine. The feel of Rich’s hand tracing the shiver’s path filled Chris with a desire so strong he could hardly breathe.
“I don’t see what you could possibly find attractive about me. You haven’t seen all of the scars, and I’m—”
“You’re beautiful,” Chris said as he slowly turned to Rich. The inclination to spin around and grab the man and show him just how beautiful Chris thought he was, was only held in check by the fear Rich would think Chris meant to harm him.
Rich shook his head, dropping his lids down so Chris couldn’t see his dark eyes. The thick fan of lashes against honey brown skin made Chris’ heart flutter in his chest. He couldn’t resist touching, and slowly brought his hand up to brush a finger just under the soft black fringe. Rich gasped quietly and looked up at him. Chris didn’t pull away, instead letting his finger trace a path to Rich’s full lower lip. Rich’s lips parted on a sigh that Chris wished he could swallow.
“You are,” Chris asserted, daring to dip his fingertip between the lush lips he wanted to taste. “And strong, so strong, honey—”
Rich’s eyes widened at the endearment, but Chris wasn’t going to make an excuse for it this time.
“You have no idea how strong you are, do you? But I see it, I do.” And Rich would probably call him ten kinds of fool if Chris told him about seeing auras, but maybe someday, if Chris’ mom was right, he’d be able to tell Rich.
“I’m not, not any of that.”
“You are,” Chris repeated then let his hand drop back to his side before he gave in to the need to kiss Rich’s protests away. He pulled out his wallet and took his license from its slot. “Call your friend, give him all that information along with my license plates, number and description of the truck. It’s a 2011 LoneStar sleeper cab.”
Rich sputtered for a moment then tried to hand Chris his license back.
“Nope,” Chris said backing away. “Besides, if this guy is your friend, he will probably shit sheep when he sees you getting out of this thing.” Chris gave his rig a loving look then made shooing motions with his hands until Rich got back in the cab. Chris shut the door then jogged around to his side and got in. Rich was holding the phone in front of him—and his hands were shaking.
Chris stopped in mid sit and edged over to the smaller man. “Rich? Are you going to call him?”
“I can’t,” Rich mumbled as the shaking spread up his arms. “I haven’t talked to Laine since I left McKinton. That’s where I almost—I wouldn’t answer or return his calls, and now…” He clutched the phone tightly as his voice trailed off.
“Now what?” Why was Rich going back to the place where he’d been so brutally attacked? Why would he want to go stay with someone he obviously didn’t want to talk to? Although, unless his friend, this Laine, had done something to hurt Rich, maybe talking to the man would help him.
“Now it’s either him or my father, and I hate pigs, hogs, whatever. They freak me out with those beady eyes and—” Rich took several deep breaths, but instead of relaxing him, his body seemed to coil tighter. He looked at Chris through those thick lashes and wetted his lips with his tongue. As far as distraction went, it almost had Chris begging the man to fuck him. “I have some problems. Too much Jack, too many pills, too much isolation, and the nights are…unbearable, sometimes.”
Chris couldn’t stand it. He cautiously smoothed his hands up Rich’s arms, then, when Rich didn’t protest, he dipped his hands behind the smaller man and slowly leaned in to hug him, careful to keep it loose though he wanted nothing more than to press Rich tightly to him. Rich must not have been afraid of Chris after all, because Chris quickly found himself toppling onto his ass as Rich flung himself into the hug. The man’s arms were thin, but strong. He knelt, straddling Chris’ thighs. From pelvis to shoulders, they were fitted against one another.
Chris worried about making Rich uncomfortable for all of a second before he locked his arms around him. Rich groaned and pushed against him. Chris could feel the hard ridges of the man’s collar bone and ribs. His hands traced the path of Rich’s knobby spine. Had no one held him, comforted him at all in the past year? How could they not realize Rich needed to be touched, needed the reassurance that he wasn’t—Chris cringed at Rich’s description of himself—grotesque? Why did his family and friends let him shove them away? Were they all idiots, or had Rich always been so independent that the people who loved him believed what they wanted to? Was it simply easier for them to think he’d been adjusting to his traumatic experience and that his refusal to speak to or see them meant he was doing fine? If so, that brought them right back to being idiots, in Chris’ opinion.
“Why didn’t anyone fight for you?” Chris murmured, his eyes stinging at the thought of Rich suffering alone.
Rich didn’t answer, only vibrated against Chris as he clung tighter to him. Chris held Rich and whispered soothing chants for protection and peace his mother had drilled into him. The words themselves sounded soft, like a nursery rhyme used to soothe a frightened child. When Rich’s breathing slowed, his heartbeat following suit, Chris leaned back and tugged the leather necklace off over his head. Rich looked dazed, as if shaken by the need he’d given in to. He didn’t resist when Chris slid the leather over his head, or when Chris tucked the protective crystals dangling from it under Rich’s collar.
Rich frowned then hissed as he plucked at his shirt.
“What? Did I scratch you when I put the crystals under there?” Chris was already reaching for the leather.
“It burns.”
Those softly spoken words sent a chill straight to Chris’ gut. He needed to talk to his mom as soon as possible. And Rich needed the protection, or else something wouldn’t be fighting the power channeled into the crystals.
Chris plucked the crystals out and placed them on the outside of Rich’s shirt. “Better?”
Rich nodded and started to touch the necklace then lowered his hand back to his side. Chris could see the question forming, and since he wouldn’t have an answer until he spoke to his mother about why the crystals would burn someone, he decided to deflect.
“Why don’t you let me call your friend—Laine, right?” Like Chris would forget. Laine was one of the people who’d left Rich to deal with this shit on his own. “I’ll fill him in, and you can talk to me or something so he hears you and knows I’m telling him the truth.”
“Okay, thanks.” Rich looked like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, although his hand shook a little as he pressed a button on his phone and handed it to Chris. Chris just hoped he could pretend to not want to kick Laine’s ass while he was talking to him. He wasn’t sure he could pull it off when a gruff, deep voice came on the line, but one look at Rich, his shoulders hunched and his face turned away, and Chris figured he could do whatever he had to in order to make Rich feel safe.
* * * *
An internal war woke Rich up. He bolted upright in the seat, at a loss for where he was, the surroundings unfamiliar and his head muddled with sleep and the presence, or attempted presence, of the invader and the other, the one that came to him, through him, as ice in his bones. Both were muted, but he could feel them, the evil trying to reach him, the cold trying to push it back, and both unable to get a hold on him.
“Hey, you okay?”
Rich twisted around and blinked as his sluggish brain tossed up the events that had led to him sitting in the cab of the big rig. Chris. Christian. Neeland. Seeing the man was almost enough to make Rich forget the weird crap happening in his head. He realized Chris was trying to drive and watch him at the same time—not a good combination. Rich swallowed to moisten his dry throat, but his voice still came out sounding like a gritty croak.
“Yeah, just—” Rich searched for an explanation that didn’t involve being haunted or possibly possessed. “Just didn’t know where I was for a minute.” Which was true. “Thanks for
calling Laine earlier. Sorry if he was a dick—he means well.”
Chris frowned and tapped the steering wheel with one of his tatted fingers. “He wasn’t a dick, just worried about you. I told him we’d be in before dark, thought maybe we’d stop a few miles up ahead and eat.”
“Before dark?” Rich hadn’t even noticed it was still bright and sunny out. The invader always came at night, so he’d assumed—what did it mean for this to happen now? He reached for the crystals without thinking then jerked his hand back at the uncomfortable warmth that shot through his palm on contact with the colored stones. The jolt speared clear up to his head and Rich bit back a gasp as his head pounded once. The pain vanished and with it, the dueling presences that had scared him into waking. What the hell? Maybe they realized they were breaking the rules, showing up during the day.
“Is that okay?”
Rich tried to figure out what Chris was talking about, but couldn’t seem to focus past his confusion.
“Rich, do you want to stop and grab a bite? Or would you rather head straight to McKinton?”
He doubted he’d be able to eat, but Chris must be hungry. “It’s fine if we stop. I could use some coffee.”
Chris gave him a long look that had Rich pointing at the road. “Look at that, not me!”
“Peripheral vision,” Chris said, though he did as Rich had ordered. “And you need to eat. Not that I don’t think you’re hot as hell, but I could hear your stomach growling for the last hour. That’s probably what woke you up.”
Rich tried to hide his embarrassment, but Chris’ twitching lips told him he failed. “I skipped breakfast.” And dinner the night before, and lunch before that—
“So you’re gonna eat,” Chris informed him. He began downshifting, a complex series of moves that looked entirely too complicated for Rich. He’d stick with an automatic engine any day. They pulled into a truckstop and Chris parked the rig in a space Rich wouldn’t have believed it’d fit.
Wait Until Dawn Page 5
