by Nancy Gideon
“Get. Off. Her.”
Michael’s wild, pupil-engulfed eyes cut to Cale, and his lips drew back from fearsome teeth. “Go back inside, Cale. This is none of your business.” The other three assumed threatening poses on either side of their friend.
“The hell it isn’t, brother. You think I’m just going to walk away?”
Michael laughed. “You had your chance, and now it’s mine.”
Though that was true, Cale argued, “She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want you.” Moving closer as he spoke.
Again, the harsh laugh of disregard as Michael’s knees clenched to keep her from squirming. “If I can take her, she’s mine. That’s how we’ve always done things. Once I’ve marked her, who’s going to give a damn if it was what she wanted?”
“I will. She’s mine. You’re not going to do this, Mikey.” He took another step, and the trio positioned themselves in his way.
“Watch if you like, but I’m claiming her and the crown that goes with her.” Michael nodded to his friends as he pulled Kendra up onto her hands and knees with a cruelty uncharacteristic of this younger brother he’d mentored.
She looked Cale’s way then, and he got a glimpse of terror-bruised eyes as Michael’s claws ripped through her cotton panties. The muted sound she made was his call to action after the many times he hadn’t dared come to her aid.
Cale plowed over the three who would slow him, chewing them up and spitting them out in his wake. He caught Michael about the neck. They rolled together across the blacktop and came up crouched and ready. A wicked blade appeared in Michael’s hand as the anticipation of blood and the scent of female fueled his primal fire. They circled warily.
Michael lunged, stabbing for Cale’s neck and chest until Cale grabbed the non-knife-wielding arm to twist it up behind him with a quick, hard jerk, popping joints, snapping bone.
“Stop,” he ground out, trying to defuse the situation. “What the hell is wrong with you? Cool down, Mikey. We don’t want to do this. Let it go before it goes too far.”
But things had already passed that point of no return.
Michael’s head lashed back, cracking into Cale’s cheekbone with a burst of pain and stars. Taking advantage of the disoriented second, the younger Terriot buried his blade in Cale’s thigh and went after his forearm with teeth snapping.
Leg buckling, Cale started to go down. He knew that once he did, he’d never get up alive. They’d tear him to pieces and then turn back to Kendra. He couldn’t let that happen. He whipped his free arm around Michael’s neck, palmed the side of his face, and twisted. As hard as he could.
The sudden slackness of his brother’s body dropped Cale to his knees. Through the haze of pain, he saw the other three fade into the darkness to slink away from any consequences as he eased Michael to the ground. He laid his head upon the still chest, breathing hard and shaking from the trickle-down of adrenaline. His teeth clenched against the anguished wail struggling to escape.
Knowing he couldn’t let grief or weakness paralyze him before he got Kendra to safety, Cale swayed to his feet and shuffled to the stairs. He went down to his good knee with a groan and touched a hand to the back of her head. She lunged forward with a blurt of alarm, all elbows and kicking feet as she fought him. He didn’t have the time or strength for gentleness as he seized her by the shoulder. “Look at me. Stop fighting. Dammit, open your eyes.”
Her damp lashes fluttered and flew up. For a moment, there was no comprehension as her hands came up to slap at his sore face, getting in some fairly decent blows before he gave her a whiplashing shake. “Kendra! Focus, or we could die here!”
His curt words had the desired effect. Her frantic breaths slowed, and her eyes cleared.“Cale?” She said his name, and everything inside him steadied.
“You can’t fall apart. We’ve got to get out of here. Fast.”
His deadly calm reached her, and she nodded, her huge eyes fixed on his.
As he shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it about her ruined dress, her gaze dropped away in shame, then riveted to his injured leg. Her pallor returned, and he was afraid she was going to lose it. But she took a deep breath and acted, fumbling around on the steps to come up with the panty hose that had been stripped off her. He watched, bemused, as she used them to tourniquet his thigh above the pumping wound, his breath hissing when she pulled tight. As her hand trembled just shy of the blade, he covered it with his own for just the briefest squeeze. “It’s okay. I got it.”
Cale jerked the knife free, and the next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back on the steps, head swimming as he returned to consciousness, while Kendra neatly tied off the strips of her pink panties that bound a padding made from part of her torn dress.
A raspy chuckle rattled up from his chest. “That’s not exactly how I planned to get into your pants tonight.”
She gave him a wan smile. “Can you stand?”
“I’ll have to. We’re walking out the front door. Okay?”
She nodded with more confidence than he felt.
“You’re gonna hold it together, right?”
“Right,” she answered faintly.
“Help me get up.”
Easier said than done, but finally, she tucked under his arm, and he took a test hop. Not too bad.
Bad was when she got her first look at Michael. She made a soft choking noise and wobbled. Cale squeezed her hard and snarled, “Goddammit, if I can stand it, so can you. Walk!”
She stiffened, put her arm about his waist, and walked.
Cale moved as fast as he could through the club’s crowded interior. His senses swam. Sweat beaded on his face. Wesley gave them a startled and then speculative look as Cale paused to say, “Michael’s out back,” before choking unexpectedly. “You and Jamie take care of him, and don’t say anything to anyone until we have a chance to talk later. Do that for me?”
Wes put aside questions to say simply, “It’s done.”
“Thanks, man. I—” His voice broke and failed. Kendra nudged him into motion. As they stood in the shadows of the front entrance, waiting for his Jeep to be brought around, she noted his weakened leg and said quietly, “I’ll drive.”
He crawled up into the passenger seat, clicked in, and left the driving to her while his focus waxed and waned. Heat came boiling out of the vents in response to his shivering. Or, more likely, to hers.
Her chin quivered. She kept blinking and swiping at her eyes. He knew he should say something to comfort her before she put them into a tree on the lake’s dark, twisty road, but no words came to mind. What could he say? He’d left her alone.
Her soft, snagging breaths tore at his conscience. He should reach out, make some gesture. Silas Man-of-Her-Fucking-Dreams MacCreedy would have known exactly how to deal with the situation, but he couldn’t seem to move.
Cale rested his temple against the cool window glass and closed his eyes. He’d killed his brother for her. That would have to be gesture enough for now.
“Cale. We’re here.”
He blinked his eyes open and straightened in the seat.
Stopped outside the men’s dorm, Kendra took a big breath and got out, coming around to the passenger side as Cale was opening the door. She gripped his arm and managed to get under it. When he tried to pull back, she told him, “It’s all right. If anyone sees us, they’ll just think you were too drunk to walk. Which way?”
“Inside, to the right. I’m on the second floor. You can leave me at the stairs. I can manage from there.”
And they’d go their separate ways.
Her shivering started up again, along with that cold sweaty fear, as she guided him up the walk. He was moving better, probably already beginning to heal. He’d be fine on his own.
She wished she could say the same.
There was no one in the lobby. She took him as far as the stairs; as he reached for the railing, her arm tightened about him. He glanced down, his eyes darkly circled with strain. “I can make i
t.”
Still, she clung. Thinking of that walk in the dark, of being in her room all alone, jumping at whispers, dreading her dreams. She swallowed hard.
“Maybe you should come up. It might be safer if you stayed with me.” When he saw that she couldn’t meet his eyes, obviously afraid that he’d see her cowardice, he added, “Only until morning. It’ll be fine. And I’d . . . I’d rather not have to worry about you being alone.”
She didn’t answer for a long moment, then simply nodded.
Kendra wasn’t sure what to expect from the bachelor quarters. Cale’s room was small and self-contained: a double bed; a dresser housing a flat-screen, headphones, laptop, iPod, and a stack of dog-eared Isaac Asimov and Tom Clancy novels; a small table with two chairs in the kitchenette corner. No girlie or macho posters, no stray socks, no take-out containers or empties. Just utilitarian tidiness. And the familiarity of his scent.
Cale shut and locked the door behind them, filling the space with his presence. She couldn’t have been more relieved. He hobbled to his dresser and pulled out a T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts.
“Takes a while for the shower to get warm, but it’s got pretty good pressure.” He handed her the clothes. “You go ahead. Should have everything you need, towels, toothbrush . . .”
“Thanks.” One word. So terribly inadequate.
The shower was indescribable. She stood in the steamy downpour for the longest time before reaching for the shampoo that smelled like him, for the soap that smelled like him. As she brushed her teeth and towel-dried her hair, she kept waiting for the jittery panic to return, for the smothering sense of fear. But all she could feel as she slipped on the bulky borrowed clothing was the surrounding comfort of Cale’s essence and the numbing heaviness of her own fatigue.
The inviting aroma of seared meat coaxed her out of the bathroom. There were two places set at the table. One plate held a nice pan-fried steak and the other a barely browned slab of beef swimming in raw juices.
“I didn’t know if you’d be hungry or not.”
“Looks good. Thank you.”
He looked good, in a clean sleeveless sweatshirt that showed off his amazing arms and sweatpants that made room for the fresh binding about his thigh. His feet were bare. He seemed as awkward as the sight of those bare feet made her feel.
She sat down and picked up the cloth napkin wrapped about her silverware, bemused. Cale paused, knife and fork at the ready. “What?”
“All this. It’s . . . very civilized.”
He scowled at her. “What did you expect? Two spoons and an open can? Eat,” he concluded gruffly, slicing off a slab of steak tartar and chewing fiercely to speed his healing.
They ate in an oddly comfortable silence. By the time they finished, Cale was staring somberly into the pooling liquids on his plate, his features pinched and eyes shadowed. His gaze flew up when she stood, as if unsure what to do with her.
“Which side?” she asked. His brow furrowed, forcing her to explain. “Of the bed. Which side do you want?”
“Oh. Closest to the door. That way I won’t wake you when I . . .” He didn’t finish.
Come to bed.
The relaxed playing-house mood abruptly threaded with tension. He began to noisily gather the dishes without looking up, allowing her to slip out of sight under covers that smelled like him. And within three or four heartbeats, she was out.
A strange sound woke her to a darkened room. Her nervous gasp brought the surety of Cale’s scent to calm her. She was alone. The shock of the evening’s events seemed far removed, including the fact that she was in Cale Terriot’s bed.
A sliver of light underlined the bathroom door. She could hear the shower running. And again that low, raw sound that made her chest instinctively tighten as she approached. The door was partially ajar, the sign of a man used to living alone.
“Cale?” she called worriedly, then pushed in far enough to see him standing under the hard spray of the shower, leaning against the tiles, his eyes closed. She realized two things. His naked body was beyond breathtaking, and his spirit was crushed. His powerful shoulders jerked with the force of a soul-deep sorrow muffled by the thunder of running water.
Kendra took a step forward, intending to go to him, but stopped. She was responsible for his private pain, for the weight of his brother’s death at his own hands. What comfort could she possibly give that he’d want to receive from her?
She returned to the bed, huddling teary-eyed in the darkness, until she heard him open the door and switch off the light. She lay still, barely breathing as he gingerly lay down beside her. He drew a deep shaky breath and expelled it softly, then lay unmoving, so alone in his grief that her tender emotions couldn’t stand it. She could picture those tormented eyes staring blindly at the ceiling.
Kendra rolled toward him, her palm moving cautiously across his sweatshirt, coming to rest over his broken heart. He tensed for a long, wary moment, then his arm carefully opened to invite her against his side. She curled in to him so they could comfort each other, gratefully soaking up the heat and sense of security he offered to keep her fears at bay.
His muscles relaxed by gradual increments, and as she felt his fingertips graze her cheek, she heard him whisper, “G’night, baby,” before adding something that sounded like “I’m such a fucking idiot.”
six
She slept without dreams.
It was early when Kendra awoke. The room was dim and the space beside her cool and empty. The sound of Cale speaking low and earnestly on his phone gave her permission to drift a while longer, pushing reality away. She didn’t separate out the strands of his words but nestled into the comforting fabric of his voice. Finally, he fell silent, and she was forced to deal with the new day. And the dangerous vulnerability of her position, alone in his room. She’d have time to berate herself for getting into it later. Gathering the covers about her, she sat up with a quiet “Morning. How’s your leg?”
“Fine.” He was leaning against the windowsill with the sun over his shoulder. The glare made it difficult to see his face when he said, “We need to talk about some things.”
He didn’t need to say “unpleasant things.” That was implied.
“Wes and James brought Michael home. His funeral’s this morning, and then I’ll be meeting with my father.” He spoke without any particular inflection, so it was impossible to sense his mood. “There are some options, and you’re not going to like any of them.”
“Okay.” She tensed her gut and wished the bright light weren’t making her head pound.
“Because of what happened with Michael, your future will probably be decided today. Bram won’t want to risk something like this happening again.”
Her pulse leaped in panic. “And I don’t have any choice in that.” It wasn’t a question.
“Maybe. If you decide right now. If you accept my protection. Consider it the evil you know.” A very faint smile, then he was all serious business again. “You have my word that no one will harm you. I can keep you safe. If you don’t accept me, I can’t help you. I can’t interfere once my father gives you to another. Choose now or have that choice made for you. I can’t—”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Yes, I’ll accept your protection.”
“And everything that comes with it,” he added forcefully, to make sure she understood the fine print.
“Yes.” What choice did she have?
“Okay.” He nodded to himself. “Okay. Go to your room and wait. If I’m still alive, I’ll come for you and—”
“What do you mean, ‘still alive’?”
“I’ve killed my brother,” he emphasized. “What do you think it means?”
She hadn’t thought. Not when she’d had that extra drink. Not when she’d tempted that spark of unwise attraction. Not when she’d allowed circumstances to spin out of control, forcing him into the role of rescuer.
“Anyway,” he continued in that same unsettli
ng offhand manner, as if discussing his life or death were of no more importance than picking between a blue or gray T-shirt, “if I die today, I want you to go to my father. Tell him we had sex and you might be carrying my child. I’m sure that’s what everyone will think anyway. Beg, crawl, whatever you need to do, so that he’ll keep the rest of them away from you.”
Kendra shivered. He didn’t need to draw a clearer picture. “You’re his favorite. That’s something, isn’t it?”
“I killed my brother. There will be consequences.”
“I could go to him. This is my fault. I could tell him what happened. I could beg to take those consequences for you.”
“You will not! I’d rather be dead than live with that. It’s hard enough— ” He broke off and took a calming breath. “If you’re not safe, all this was for nothing. Understand?”
“Yes.” She understood perfectly. “I should go now.”
He nodded. “Lock your door and stay put. I’ll come for you as soon as I can . . . if I can.”
The enormity of it hit hard. Her future, her very life, was in the hands of this man she barely knew, who had no reasons beyond the obvious for taking the risks he was about to.
He was after the crown.
Why else would he have come back for her after she’d so unforgivably insulted him? If feelings for her were the cause for his sudden heroism, would he let her walk away, perhaps for the last time, without a quiet word or a tender touch? But this was Cale Terriot. Quiet and tender weren’t his go-to responses.
She hesitated, wishing she could see him clearly through the dazzle of daybreak. Maybe that last look would reveal the answer to the mystery he’d become. More likely not.
She turned without speaking only to have him put himself in front of her before she reached the door. He whisked his jacket about her shoulders and extended her shoes. Then his strong hands rubbed up and down her arms with a rough agitation. “When you’re mine, no one will dare hurt you.”
A tremor raced through her at what this bargain would mean. Even without the bolster of alcohol to make her bold, she couldn’t convince herself that anticipation didn’t twine about apprehension as she dodged around him and was out the door.
