by Jo Raven
Fucking Hawk. Fucking Rook. At least if they believed me…
Fuckers. If they weren’t my brothers in all but blood, if they hadn’t stuck with me through it all… Until I vanished. The tabloids wondered what happened, but my uncle’s well-oiled company machinery stepped in and an announcement was made that I was in Europe, for business.
That was the last news I read. I stocked the huge freezer in the basement of the beach house for food for a month, if not two, and hid. What for, I didn’t know.
I step out and grab a towel, rub my face dry. I guess my head was screwed on wrong, my every nerve end on edge. The first two weeks, I expected thugs to jump out of the bushes at any second and shoot me or knife me.
But nothing happened, and I began to relax. Jogging on the beach. Sitting outdoors. Swimming in the pool.
Until she arrived.
I stop in the process of rubbing a towel through my wet hair, leaving it standing on end. She arrived, and the world righted itself. With the need to protect her, I let go of my fear about my own life. And the sex is awesome.
It’s as if by burying myself in her body fixed my mind.
Yeah, I’m nuts. She’s right. Fucked up.
I throw the towel to the tiled floor and brace my hands on the granite sink, glaring at my foggy reflection in the full-length mirror. My scars don’t scare me anymore. Losing her scares me more. What that means… No idea, but it’s good enough for now. Good enough for me.
I reach for my shaving foam and cheap razor, bought at the Walmart where I bought everything I’d need to hole up in here.
A few million dollars. A triad.
Jesus.
I could pay off her debt. If I go back, I can do it.
That means going back to danger.
Unless it’s all in my mind.
Damn, what if she’s right? What if they’re all right? Coincidence. Probability. Maybe my mind is trying to find a pattern to explain it all, and there never was one to begin with.
What does it mean? Why am I even still alive? What for?
The door creaks as it opens, Raylin at the opening, dressed in her shorts and blouse, her face so sweet it leaves me speechless. Warmth spills inside my chest, and a smile tugs at my lips.
“Can I help you?” She gestures at the razor in my hand. “Help you shave.”
My hand trembles slightly as I pass her the razor and the shaving foam. “Be my guest.” I lean back against the granite counter and nod.
Three years I spent away from my uncle, from the company. Three years looking for myself and I couldn’t figure out what I needed. Now I come back, and here she is.
The one who takes away my fear of the future.
Chapter Eight
RAYLIN
My thoughts are a tangle. I followed Storm upstairs to the shower, trying to sort them, to decide what I believe, and now I’m standing, razor and a can of shaving foam in my hands, my mind unraveling.
Again. Like every single time I look at him.
Face heating.
Again.
He’s only wearing a towel around his trim hips, tiny droplets glittering on his skin. His hair is wet and standing on end, and his lips are curling into a familiar, wicked grin. How’s a girl supposed to react to this sense overload, huh? I think I’m perfectly justified in drooling just a little.
He leans his head back, watching me under lowered lashes. Baring his throat to the razor in my hand. For a guy who’s been shot at and who’s been through an explosion and a car crash—accidents or not—this show of trust is touching.
He keeps doing that. Hammering at walls that he’s already torn down. Plus, he’s a total hottie. Completely irrelevant, that.
Yeah…
Swallowing down nerves, I put the razor on the counter and pour some foam in my hand. I divide it between my hands and reach up, spread it on his cheeks.
God, this is fun. And so hot. Feeling his stubble under my palms, under my fingers, feeling the contours of his face, the strong bones of his jaw and cheekbones, my hand brushing over his soft mouth, the contrast making me shiver.
His broad chest expands and contracts, his breathing shallow. The knot in his throat moves when he swallows.
I grab the razor and stand tiptoe, steadying myself with one hand on his shoulder. “Stay still,” I whisper, and his eyes flick between me and a point in the distance.
The blade glides over his cheek, leaving smooth, sun-kissed skin underneath. I blow out air and lower myself to run it under the tap. When I turn back to him, he’s clenching the edge of the counter in a white-knuckled grip.
Fear, I think, but then I see the bulge under the towel and realize it’s not that. Looks like I’m not the only one affected by this game.
He had fear in his gaze earlier, when he told me about the accidents, coincidences, whatever they might be. Looks like I’ve sidetracked him. Good. Gives me time to think about his words.
What if he’s right? What if those were no accidents?
I shave his jaw, his chin, then start on his other cheek. He snags an arm around my waist to steady me, pressing our bodies together. The shaving foam smells of pines, and it mingles with the citrus of his soap and the spice of his skin. The razor rasps over his upper lip, and it’s done.
I put the razor down and trail my fingers over his smooth face, nuzzle his cheek. He chuckles and turns around to wash off the traces of foam. Water splashes, and suddenly I’m drenched and sputtering, backing away.
“You…” I wipe the water from my eyes, and he splashes me again.
“You look hot.”
“I’m not. It’s cool in here.”
“I mean, you look really hot, Ray.” He grabs me around the waist and carries me, kicking and cursing, to the shower stall. He pushes me up against the wall and cranks up the water. I squeal when it hits me, cold at first. He presses his naked body into mine, the towel having fallen somewhere on the way, and grips my jaw. “Smoking hot. Sexy as all hell. Damn fine.” He licks at my mouth, his other hand shoving my soaked blouse up. “I can’t get enough of you.”
He finds my breast and squeezes. It’s a bit rough, but it’s more pleasure than pain, especially when he rubs my nipple into a tight, throbbing point. I’m still worked up from going down on him before, and the combination of his rugged body pushing me into the wall, his rough kissing and his clever hand leaves me breathless.
When he thrusts a powerful thigh between my legs and switches to my other breast, I moan helplessly. He breaks the kiss and licks a path down my neck. I throw my head back, shivering.
Warm water trickles over us. My eyes roll up, finding the huge showerhead that’s spilling a gentle tropical rain over us. My eyes close as he unbuttons my shorts, while sucking on my collarbone, the thumb of his other hand still lost under my blouse, flicking on my nipple.
Overload. I don’t know what to do, how to keep still. I writhe as his hand pushes into my shorts and parts my folds, two fingers pushing into me.
Oh God. I’m so ready, so close to the edge. He pumps his fingers in and out of me, once, twice, and I thrash, coming hard, moaning his name. I grip his arms, the pleasure drowning me.
Next thing I know, he’s ripping my shorts down my legs and then my blouse over my head, and murmurs something as he runs his hands over my naked body. His hard cock bumps into my stomach. He grabs one of my legs and lifts is, spreading me wide. His fingers are back, stroking me, rubbing over my clit, then pushing in and out of me.
“Fuck, if you could see yourself…” he whispers, his eyes dark, the pupils dilated. “So sexy.”
Then he pushes into me, in one, deep, long thrust, and I choke on a cry. He pulls my leg around his thigh, and then the other one, opening me up, filling me up so completely there’s nowhere to run. Filling my world, swamping my senses. I have to surrender—to his cock, his hands under my ass, his body rocking into mine, grinding me into the wall.
It’s rough, and wild, and oh crap, I’m coming again, stronger
than before. Pleasure rips through me, and I convulse around his cock, clenching hard, barely managing to hold back a scream.
“Shit.” He hisses, his hips slamming me into the wall, his cock sliding in and out of me, hard and slick and hot. “I can’t… Oh fuck.”
He pulls out of me in one long drag that makes us both cry out, and then he comes all over my breasts and belly, shuddering. Jet after jet of cum hits me and runs down my body, down my hips and thighs, getting washed away in the gentle shower spray.
Braced with one hand against the wall, he’s still shaking with aftershocks, still pressed against me, his softening cock trapped between us.
“God, Ray.” His breath is coming in short gasps. “What am I going to do with you?”
I smirk up at him. “Make me breakfast?”
“I sure could do that.”
“And then take me to bed?”
He groans, the corners of his mouth lifting. “I’ll get rug burns on my dick if we keep doing this.”
“Rug burns?”
He presses his forehead to mine, his eyes closing. “My dick might fall off from overuse. But I’ll take the risk.”
“You’re taking an awful lot of risks lately.”
“You’re worth it,” he says, and wraps me up in his arms. “Told you, babe.”
I say nothing, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
***
“You really think someone is after you, huh?” My mouth is full of cheese-and-ham baguette, so it comes out garbled.
Yet he apparently understands, because he nods and puts down his own half-eaten baguette sandwich. “I know it sounds absurd.”
“More than my story? Please.” I swallow and take another bite. I’m starving. “Though I don’t get why anyone would be after you. Me, I have my dad’s debts on my back. But you?”
He leans back in his chair and taps a rhythm with his fingers on the tabletop. “Fuck, I don’t know. Can’t make heads or tails of it. I mean…” He wipes a hand over his mouth and glares at his plate. “Why? What happened a year ago to change everything?”
“If it’s true.”
“If it’s true,” he agrees. “Fuck. Ray, there’s—”
Thunder booms, rattling the windows, and I jump a mile, my chair crashing back to the floor. “Shit!”
“It’s just thunder.” He gets up and comes to me, drawing me into a bear hug. I cling to him.
“God, I hate thunder. But I love storms. Isn’t that weird?”
“You love other Storms apart from me?” He squeezes me until I yelp.
“You’re the perfect Storm,” I tell him, and he laughs. I love the sound. It makes me smile. I also love the fact he came over to hug me.
He’s easy to love.
“How come you don’t have a girlfriend?” I let him drag me back to the table as the rain starts pelting the kitchen windows and lightning flashes in the night. He straightens my chair, and I sit back down, a little sheepishly.
I mean, who else is scared shitless of thunder at the age of nineteen?
Only me.
“How about you?” he shoots back.
“Yeah, well. I know I’m irresistible,” I wink at him, “but with all the running about, I haven’t been able to keep even a girlfriend, let alone a boyfriend.”
“You’re the prettiest girl on earth,” he says, and I snort, picking up my baguette. God, if I’m not careful, I might even start believing him.
“You haven’t answered my question.” I brandish my baguette at him. “You’ve only been hiding here for, what, a month?”
“A bit longer.” He rubs the back of his neck, mouth twisting. “Haven’t had a steady girlfriend since high school. I went out with girls, messed around, but it didn’t stick. I just couldn’t trust them.”
“You trusted me easily enough.”
His eyes flash at me, a brilliant blue. “That’s because you saved me from the storm.”
“You mean, from yourself.”
He smiles. “That, too.”
We’re both silent for a while, listening to the rain, with his words hanging between us, bright like stars. I don’t know what I meant, but he obviously does, and something about it is twisting my heart.
“Storm…” Another crack of thunder, and I jolt in my seat. Jesus.
“Yeah, it’s just a storm.” His eyes glint.
“And you won’t always be there to hold me.” God, I need to get my wits together.
“Come here,” he says, beckoning, and I find myself rising and walking around the table to him. He pulls me on his lap and holds me there. “We’ll get through this, together. Didn’t I say so?”
“You did,” I whisper.
“Do you trust me?”
So many objections in my mind. So many protests. “I do.”
“Good girl. I promise I’ll find a way out of this. I have a plan.”
“A plan?” I lean my head on his shoulder. Feels safe. Feels good. “And what about your accidents? Or non-accidents?”
“Let me worry about that.”
Unfair. I worry about him. I don’t want him to die, if someone is gunning for him. “Did I tell you that you’re totally nuts?”
“Many times.” He smirks a little, looking pleased with himself. I’m drowsy with my belly full and his warm arms around me, the rain drumming softly on the windowpanes. “Rest. We can talk more later. I’ll tell you everything, I promise.”
A prick of unease in my drowsy mind, and I try to pinpoint it. Everything. Tell you everything.
He hasn’t told me everything yet.
But he will, I think, he promised, and I let myself sink into sleep, trusting him to keep me safe. Which goes to prove that I’m the one who’s crazy, after all.
STORM
She’s slumped on my shoulder, her slight weight sweet in my lap, her arms loosely looped around my neck. She’s letting me in, letting me hold her, soothe her.
It wakes up every protective instinct I own. I meant what I said: I’ll fix this. I’ll tell her everything, and then I’ll make myself go back and get the money to get the mafia off her back.
She’ll know who I am the minute I tell her my given name. These days, everyone knows. My family has been in the news time and again. Deaths, accidents, scandals.
The death of my parents. My uncle taking over until I turned twenty-one. Then me, taking off to live my life my own way, cruising from state to state on his motorcycle and taking odd jobs here and there. My uncle’s death. My so-called accidents.
What should I do? Go back, sure, okay. Talk to the guys, Hawk and Rook. And then what? Visit a shrink? Nobody believes my life might be in danger.
I sit there, Raylin in my arms, and ponder this. I told her I have a plan, but it only extends to paying off her debt. I need to be prepared for another attack on myself. On her, too. On both of us. Because the moment I return with her, her life might be in danger, too.
Fuck.
But what other way is there?
The guys come to mind again. They have connections, know people. Get things done. We’re distant cousins and have been best friends since we were toddlers.
If they believe me. Because right now they don’t.
I have just turned twenty-one, and I’ve come into my inheritance. Since my uncle’s death, the money was managed by his lawyers. Now I need to go and claim it. Who would benefit from my death?
My next of kin is Natasha, second cousin on my mother’s side. But she wants to be a professional hip-hop dancer, and has never shown any interest in being rich. Her parents are well-to-do and seem happy running their family beach wear business and surfing.
They wouldn’t. It’d be too obvious. Wouldn’t it?
Unless it’s not discovered. Unless it looks like an accident.
Dammit.
But why now? Why not years ago? Why wait? Christ. While I cruised the country, while I worked at joints and bars before my uncle’s passing, none of this mattered.
Tension co
ils in my shoulders, in the back of my neck, and Raylin shifts in her sleep, frowning and scrunching up her nose.
I relax my hold and let out a breath.
Damn, she looks so cute. I cradle her to my chest, a smile pulling at my lips. Having her here I feel… complete. Without her, I feel like a rusty sieve, full of holes, right down to my soul. Parts of me are missing, gone with the death of my parents, my uncle’s cold upbringing.
Fucking Uncle Tony. I know I was a handful after my parents died. He didn’t make anything easier for me, though. He didn’t care about how I felt. He was only interested in teaching me what he wanted me to learn, and taught me not to have friends. Not to rely on anyone. Not to want.
Now he’s dead, but the hurt and anger lingers, and I have trouble connecting with people. Getting close.
She’s changing me. I feel close to her. With her, I somehow feel whole.
Chapter Nine
RAYLIN
I’m floating on a warm cloud. A warm body that’s lifting me up into the sky, toward the sun. Somewhere below us, in the distance, there’s rain and wind and thunder, but we are far from it all. Safe. A promise hangs in the air between us, a smile and a touch of callused fingers that leave shivers in their wake. They drag over my face, over my lips.
I blink, and the light blue of the sky is replaced by a deeper blue. A pair of long-lashed cobalt eyes staring down at me.
Disoriented, I shift—on his lap, in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder. “What happened?”
“You fell asleep and I brought you upstairs.” I can feel his voice. It booms in his chest, like the roll of thunder, and I shiver. He frowns. “Are you cold?”
“No.” How can I be when I’m tucked under the covers, with his strong body wrapped around mine?
“Sleep.” He brushes a lock of hair from my face and leaning in, kisses my forehead. “You look tired.”
Maybe it’s because I’m relaxed, winding down after running for so long. Feeling safe for the first time since Mom died. I burrow into the bed and barely notice when I fall back into sleep.
When I next come awake, the room is dim, the sky beyond the French doors darkening, and I’m alone in the enormous bed. Rubbing at my eyes I go looking for the bathroom, relieve myself and wash my face. My body is still heavy with sleep, my head aching.
