EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE

by Debby Conrad

  Why the hell should he could care that she was naked beneath the T-shirt and boxers? That her skin was probably warm and fragrant with her womanly scent. It shouldn’t matter one bit. He felt nothing for her, and yet he was fully aroused.

  Every time she came within two feet of him, his body betrayed him. Like it had at the trailer the day before, and the way it had when she was fifteen and he’d known better.

  But he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t control the way his body reacted to the sight of her. Disgusted with himself, he swore again.

  Once inside his bedroom, he tugged a white T-shirt over his head before rooting through his drawers for something Hollin could wear. And then he found it. A black, cashmere sweater.

  He’d worn it only once. Had no idea why he’d even bought the damn thing. Maybe just to prove he could finally afford the pricey wool. Yanking a blanket from the top shelf of his closet, he made his way back to the library. He dropped the blanket at one end of the sofa and handed her the sweater.

  To offer her privacy, he picked up their glasses and went to the bar to refill them. He took his time, keeping his back to her. But he’d totally forgotten about the mirror behind the bar. He saw her stand, lift the T-shirt over her head. Her breasts were still small, delicate, her shoulders and waist slim. She quickly tugged the sweater over her head.

  “It’s a little big,” she said.

  He turned around, taking in the sight of her as he crossed the room. He set her wine on the coffee table, then returned to his chair and sat. She was standing in front of the sofa. The sleeves of the sweater hung way past her fingertips, the V-neck hung low, revealing the soft swells of her breasts, and the hem hit her at mid-thigh, hiding her boxers, but showing off her long, creamy white legs.

  “You can roll the sleeves up,” he suggested.

  Hollin took his advice, rolling first one sleeve, then the other, to expose her small hands. And then she lifted her shoulder to her nose and took a long, deep breath.

  “If it smells I can get you something else. I don’t think I ever washed it the one time I wore it.”

  Lifting her head and relaxing her shoulders, she sat down. “You don’t wash cashmere. And it smells fine. It smells . . . like you.” She kicked her shoes off and folded her legs beside her.

  Griffin tightened his grip on the glass. She had no idea how erotic her statement was. Or how damn sexy she looked curled up on his sofa, wearing his sweater, the glow of the fire’s flames licking at her tousled hair.

  “You probably want me to get on with what I came to say so you can go back to bed.”

  “I usually get up for work by five anyway. Besides, I’ve waited thirteen years to hear you say you made a mistake, what’s a few more minutes?”

  She reached for her wine, took another small sip, then set it on the table once again. She took a deep breath, folded her nervous fingers as if she was working up the courage to speak.

  “I haven’t been able to think about that night in years. Not that I haven’t thought about it. Trust me, I think about it everyday. But what I meant was, that I haven’t thought about all the details. What I saw, felt, heard, smelled.

  “I remember there was a patch of lilies by the garage, close to where . . .” She shuddered, pulling her legs in closer to her hip. “I can’t stand the smell of lilies to this day.” Her eyes seemed to be searching his face, looking for something. But he had no idea what it was.

  He took another swallow of his drink. “Go on.”

  “At the trial I only answered the questions I was asked. They asked if I saw his face, and I said ‘No, he was wearing a ski mask.’ And they asked if I saw any distinct markings, like a scar or tattoo. What about a watch, ring or other jewelry. But no one ever asked me about his shoes.” She blinked her tired looking eyes. “Do you remember what kind of shoes you wore that night?”

  Shoes? “I don’t know,” he said, and then it came to him. “Boots. Back then I only had one pair of black boots. They were a half size too small. Used to hurt like a sonofabitch.”

  She smiled sadly and nodded. “They were scuffed. I remember.”

  Confused, he lifted a shoulder and leaned forward in the chair. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “The man who hurt me wasn’t wearing boots. He wore loafers. Penny loafers, or at least I think he did.”

  “You think?”

  “I’m almost positive.”

  “Almost? Were they black? Brown? Cordovan?”

  She blinked, a blank look crossing her features. “I don’t know. Black maybe.”He leaned back in the chair, the air leaving his lungs in a huge rush. “Maybe?”

  “Brown. I think they were brown.”

  Closing his eyes for a moment, he shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his muddled brain. Then he pinned her with a look. “What are you doing, Hollin?”

  She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what the hell are you doing?” He slammed his drink down on the table, and she jumped, her turquoise eyes growing wide. “Are you trying to convince me that you believe me based on that bullshit shoe theory, or are you trying to convince yourself?” He was bitter, his anger raw, real. “How dare you come here, half naked, in the middle of the night with some ridiculous story about shoes. You know what I think? I think you’ve known all along it wasn’t me, and you were just looking for someone to pin the blame on. You were pissed at me that night because I didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear. You were all ready to give up your virginity in exchange for a few words of love. But the minute I gave it to you straight, you turned to ice.”

  He saw her chest rise and fall with each breath. A glazed look of anguish spread over her pale face. Keeping her eyes trained on him, she stood and pulled her shoulders back proudly and lifted her chin. She walked around the coffee table and stopped directly in front of him.

  “You bastard,” she hissed, and at the same time, raised her hand and struck his face.

  Griffin didn’t so much as flinch, even though his cheek stung. Whatever minor pain she’d caused him, she had to be feeling double. “You got that right.”

  She started to back away, but he caught her by the wrist and stood, looming over her. Close enough to smell her scent. To see the moisture building in her eyes. “Just so you know,” he said, giving her wrist a tug when she tried to pull away, “I understand what it’s like to be raped.”

  She dragged her gaze upward to meet his. A look of tired sadness passed over her features, and a tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Because of your lies, I went to prison.” He hesitated momentarily, already regretting what he’d said so far, but for some reason he pushed on. “A big guy, everyone called him Whale, decided he was going to make me his.” His voice broke miserably. “It took three of his buddies to hold me down.”

  She choked back a sob, tried to pull away from his grasp, but he wasn’t about to let her off the hook so easily. She was going to hear it All of it.

  “The next morning, one of the guards found Whale in the shower, covered in his own blood. His throat had been sliced. No, it wasn’t me,” he said, when she went still, all color draining from her face. “An old guy, a lifer, did it. Bragged about it to me the next day while we were eating lunch. Seems he and Whale had been enemies for years. But the guys who were with Whale that night, the ones who had held me, all thought it was me. From that day on, no one ever bothered me again.”

  He’d never told that story to anyone. Had no idea why he’d told Hollin. Certainly not because he wanted her pity. But had he told her so he could hold it over her, make her feel guilty? Make her understand the hate and resentment he felt for her.

  He realized she was staring up at him. Raw hurt glittered in her eyes as well as a gentleness, an understanding. She raised her free hand and touched his cheek. The cheek she’d slapped only moments ago.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Coming up on tip-toe, she brushed her soft lips to his cheek, jaw, neck, raining his ski
n with tiny kisses. “I . . . am . . . so . . . sorry.” A tear escaped from beneath her lashes and landed on his collar bone.

  Griffin released her wrist, intending to step back. Away from her, away from her reach. But she lifted her hand and brought it behind his neck, pulling his face down to hers. Something intense flared through his insides. She was so disturbing to him in every single way.

  He hated her, or at least he’d tried to convince himself he did. Grasping her by her shoulders to hold her back, he gave her a gentle shake. Her head snapped back, allowing him to look deeply into her tear-filled eyes. Did she have any idea what she did to him, how she made him feel?

  “Damn you, Hollin,” he said between clenched teeth, and then he kissed her.

  #

  Hollin was shocked by her eager response to the touch of his lips. Her mouth opened, letting his tongue inside to swirl with hers. She tasted the liquor he’d been drinking, warm and potent.

  He kissed her with a savage intensity, like he couldn’t get enough, angling his mouth one way to cover hers, and then tipping his head to the other side and kissing her again.

  Her breasts were crushed to his hard chest, and his hands were all over her. On her back, the sides of her breasts, her waist, her butt, pulling her tightly against him. The way he ground against her pelvis told her he was clearly aroused, as she was sure he’d intended for her to know.

  She let her hands fall from around his neck to explore the hard muscles of his back and shoulders. Deftly, she lifted the T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans to feel the blazing heat of his skin.

  His mouth left hers to graze at her earlobe. His breath was hot and moist against her skin. “Hollin,” he whispered. “I want you so badly. I’ve wanted you for so long.” He found his way under the cashmere sweater, his rough palms firm and persuasive on the backs of her thighs, pulling her leg up to wrap around his hip.

  Their lips met again, lingering, savoring with hungry, open-mouthed kisses, as he molded her bottom, kneading, pressing her into him.

  Something within her burned, awakening her passion and sweetly draining all the fears and doubts she’d had. With a boldness that surprised even her, she brought her hands to his hard abdomen, her fingers toying with the crisp hair around his navel. She ran her hands up his chest, teased his flat nipples to tiny little peaks, then smoothed a path down his stomach, stopping at his navel again.

  It would be so easy to lower a hand inside his jeans, to touch his erection. Instead, she touched the snap of his jeans. It was open, like it was when he’d answered the door. His zipper was only a fraction of an inch away. With shaky fingers, she tentatively touched the zipper pull, giving it a tiny tug. But Griffin jerked her hand away, and at the same time, broke the kiss.

  “Hollin, you’re playing with fire.” His voice was raspy, his breath coming in heavy gulps.

  She planted both feet on the warm hardwood floor. But rather than heed his warning, she looked up into his passion filled eyes. “Make love to me. Please, Griffin,” she begged.

  His chest rose and fell with each of the heavy breaths he took. His eyes narrowed, hardened. The way he was staring at her she thought for sure he was going to push her away. Then his eyes glazed over and he lowered his head to kiss her again. Slowly, gently this time, yet he was being thorough, his tongue reaching every recess of her mouth.

  Raising his mouth from hers, he gazed into her eyes, watching her reaction as he pushed his hand inside the waistband of her flimsy boxers. His fingers searched out her heat. He teased, separated her folds, and pressed a finger inside her.

  Shivers of delight followed his touch, and wanting more, she opened her legs slightly to accommodate him. She clung to his muscular arms, allowing him to explore. But soon her legs grew weak, and just when she thought she couldn’t take any more without exploding, he lifted her effortlessly into his arms and carried her to his bedroom.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hollin wrapped her arms around Griffin’s neck. Her head fit perfectly into the hollow of his neck and shoulder, where his skin was nice and warm.

  Just inside the door to his bedroom, he flicked a wall switch with his elbow, and a lamp lit the room with a soft glow. The room was masculine. Classy, but without the frills. Hardwood floors, big but functional furniture with an iron bed that looked like an antique. A butter cream leather sofa sat near the sliding glass doors.

  The black, goose down comforter and red, black and white striped sheets were rumpled. Griffin set her down gently in the center of the bed and gazed into her eyes.

  He pressed a knee to the mattress, climbing atop the bed, and reached for the sweater he’d loaned her, pulling it over her head with one clean sweep.

  Her first instinct was to cover her bare breasts, and her hands began to lift of their own accord, but she lowered them just as quickly. She watched his face, gauging his reaction as he sat on his knees staring at her chest. Did he find her appealing? Too small?

  And then he lifted his heated gaze and met her eyes. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

  Her heart swelled with something she refused to call love. She wasn’t going to kid herself. Griffin wasn’t in love with her, nor was she in love with him. What they were about to do had to do with need, comfort, pleasure. She’d never wanted to make love with anyone except Griffin. But the night she was raped all thoughts about being with a man had quickly dissipated.

  Looping an arm around his neck, she pulled him with her as she lowered her head to one of the feather pillows. After a long, sweet kiss, his mouth sought out her breast, and with his tongue, he traced a pattern around her nipple.

  Shivering with a mixture of fear and delight, she tugged at his neck, until he fastened his entire mouth onto her nipple and sucked it with greed. Flames of passion licked at her insides, the spot between her legs growing hot and wet like molten lava. “Yes. More. Please, Griffin.”

  He didn’t disappoint, nipping, suckling, remembering to use the same torture on her other breast until she thought she would explode. She couldn’t lie still. She pressed the palms of her hands into the mattress, lifting her hips from the bed.

  Griffin released her nipple with a wet, sloppy pop. “Relax,” he whispered, trailing a finger from her breast, past her navel, to the waistband of her boxers.

  “I can’t,” she sighed. “I need you.”

  “Shhh,” he said. “I’m going to take care of that.”

  He lifted her hips off the mattress, stripping her of the boxers. She was completely naked in front of a man for the first time. This time, she did cover herself, but Griffin pulled her hands away, and pinned her wrists at her sides. “Let me look at you.”

  Gazing up at her with a question in his eyes, he put pressure on her wrists at the same time. She could read his mind, knew him so well, this man she’d known when she was a young girl. He was asking permission to hold her wrists down. Normally, she wouldn’t have been able to stand it, but this was Griffin.

  “I want to taste you. Do you trust me not to hurt you?”

  A hot shiver ran up her spine. Hollin closed her eyes, telling herself to relax. “Yes. I trust you,” she whispered.

  She felt his tongue dip into her navel and swirl around her belly, searing a path down her abdomen and lower. He teased the insides of her thighs, coming dangerously close to her center, then moving away. Instinctively, her body arched toward his mouth, begging him to taste her.

  “Please,” she moaned.

  And then he touched his tongue to her most sensitive spot.

  She gasped, her eyes popping open to watch him. His expert touch was a huge turn on. He seemed to know exactly where to place his mouth and tongue and how.

  “Spread your legs for me,” he mouthed against her, and she did, giving him better access. He groaned as if he was enjoying the taste and smell of her, which also excited her. And then shivers of delight spread throughout her body, reaching between her thighs. Her head shifted restlessly on the pillow, her hips bucking.
/>   “Griffin,” she called out, barely able to speak.

  “It’s okay, baby. Come against my mouth.”

  And then there was no turning back. Wave after wave of pleasure washed through her as Griffin lapped at her juices. He released her wrists, molding his hands over her sensitive breasts and squeezing, giving her time to return to normal.

  Slowly, he raised himself over her and kissed her throat, her face, her lips. She could smell and taste her own scent.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, peering down at her.

  She nodded, smiling sweetly with an exhausted sigh. Her eyes drifted shut. Her whole body was weary, languid. “Never felt better.”

  He lowered his weight to the bed, pulled her head to rest on his chest and cradled her in his arms. “Go to sleep.”

  Hollin opened her eyes to search his face. “But, what about you? I thought we were going to make love.”

  “This time was for you.” He kissed the top of her head, easing her head down again.

  “But--”

  “Hollin, have you ever made love with a man?”

  “No,” she said, almost embarrassed.

  “I didn’t think so. When and if we make love, I want to make sure it doesn’t have anything to do with you feeling guilty or sorry for me. I want you to be able to look me in the eye while I’m inside you. I want you to ride me fast and hard. And I want to take you in every position I can think of, without you being afraid.”

  Tiny electrical charges raced through her veins as she listened to his words. Was she feeling guilty for ruining his life? Did she feel sorry for him? And would she freak out once he penetrated her? She wished she could answer “No” to all those questions, but she was afraid Griffin was right. She did feel guilty, and sorry for him. And, in spite of wanting to make love with him, she was terrified.

  Hollin smoothed a hand over his T-shirt covered chest and nestled more closely. She loved the smell of him, soap and man. “Griffin,” she whispered.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Remember the sheriff’s deputy found your pocketknife near my garage.”