by Sadie Hart
The silver moonlight drifting through her curtains seemed to carve him out of alabaster, every muscle, every hard line of his torso, was sketched out in the soft light. A few stray dark curls fell across his temple. His jaw was shadowed with stubble. A dark line of hair made a trail down his lower abdomen until it disappeared beneath the sheet riding his hips. She swallowed, suddenly parched. There was no un-seeing the man sleeping on her couch. Though even if she could, she wouldn’t wipe the memories clean.
Seeing Brandt like that woke her up, electrified things she’d long thought dead.
Timber sighed and leaned back against the wall, just watching him sleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest. Everything inside her tightened, desire curling through her in a fiery rush. She barely held back a wry laugh.
Shoulda stayed in bed, girl.
But there was no way Timber could haul herself back up those stairs, not with Brandt sprawled out like a banquet in front of her. Her throat went dry. She wanted to run her hand over those lean muscles, feel the smooth hair under her fingertips, the heat of his body against her skin.
She closed her eyes. How long had it been since she’d even thought about sex?
God, she couldn’t remember.
And yet, she’d kissed him yesterday and wanted to kiss him again. A complete stranger, and here she was staring down at him while he slept, but even as the thought crossed her mind, she couldn’t help smiling. A stranger who already knew more about her than she’d ever told anyone. A stranger who hadn’t walked out the door, no matter how many outs she’d given him, or how badly she’d treated him in the beginning.
He’d already proven to be more important to her life than anyone else in many years.
And she was a fool if she thought it wasn’t going to hurt when he finally walked away. It had to happen sooner rather than later. Charles was a patient man, sick as fuck, but patient. Brandt couldn’t sleep on her couch for weeks on end, hoping to outlast him. He might not give up, but he couldn’t live like this forever.
Even if he did make one heck of a pretty sight.
Running her hand over her sleep-tangled hair, Timber tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. It didn’t have to be forever. Once upon a time, she’d been a forever kind of gal. Wouldn’t have considered dating if she hadn’t been looking for The One. Relationships had never been casual to her.
Then she’d endured hell with Charles, and relationships had ceased to exist.
She wasn’t sure she believed in finding a perfect match anymore. But occasional, casual, just someone in her life, however fleeting...that didn’t sound so bad. Especially if it meant another kiss or two from the Hound stretched out on her couch.
“And you are bad,” she whispered to herself, shaking off the fantasies before she did something very foolish. “Thinking thoughts you have no business thinking.”
She was halfway across the room when she paused, her gaze drifting over his sun-bronzed skin again, the lean cut of his torso, the dark curl of his hair. There was nothing in the kitchen that would slake her sudden, burning curl of need. Timber bit her lip, wavering.
Upstairs, she could finger herself off, but the thought of Brandt waking, of him hearing, made her knees tremble, threatening to give out from under her. Fuck, but after everything, what she wanted was him. One night, two rational adults.
It was a stupid idea, one Brandt might not even go for. After all, she was supposed to be a job. People weren’t supposed to sleep with their assignments. She rocked back and forth on her heels, debating, when Brandt stirred, one muscled arm rising to rest across his forehead just as his dark eyes blinked open. In an instant they seemed to cut through the darkness and land on her.
Suddenly he was awake, his body tensing. He slowly sat up. “Everything okay?”
Couldn’t he smell the arousal in the air? She sure as hell could. Then his eyes darkened to a rich mocha and his nostrils flared. Aware. A grin tugged at her lips when he froze, as if suddenly unsure of himself or what to do. But there was no getting around what she wanted to do.
“Can’t sleep.” Her voice was husky, a low vibration she couldn’t ever remember making before. She hadn’t been a virgin when Charles found her, but she couldn’t remember ever wanting someone with the intensity that burned through her every time she looked at Brandt on her couch.
His chest rose, slow and steady, but she could feel his restraint across the room. She took a step toward him, and when he didn’t move, she took another, and another. Her legs were wobbly, but it didn’t stop her from crossing the distance between them until she was standing next to him, her body close enough that all he had to do was reach out and touch her.
“Timber.” Her name was nothing more than soft breath, barely audible, but she sank to her knees next to him.
The muscles in his chest jumped under her hand when she touched him. One kiss hadn’t been nearly enough. She wanted his lips on hers again, wanted to feel his hands gripping her and dragging her on top of him, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Her hand skimmed over his chest, and she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. A soft, subtle touch, more a plea than anything else. Please.
***
Jesus. Brandt groaned when Timber leaned into him, her hands cupping his shoulders, holding him close. Shit, he knew he needed to pull away, to restore the vanishing distance between them. He was supposed to protect her, not sleep with her. But when the tip of her tongue touched the seam of his lips, he wrapped his arm around her waist and dragged her half on top of him.
Her right breast pressed against his chest, only the thin, flimsy fabric of her night shirt between her skin and his. Her right nipple was a hard, tight little bud, and whatever logic Brandt had left drained right out of his head. He grabbed her hair with one hand and kissed her back. The need to taste every inch of her, consume her, roared through him. His tongue stroked deeper, exploring, conquering. It went from sweet and seductive to possessive in an instant.
There was no backing down, no letting her go. He tightened his grip on her and nipped at her bottom lip, only to feel her squirm against him. Eager. Responding. She wanted him. He could smell the arousal on her skin, taste her desire, feel it in the heat that warmed him. And, damn, but he wasn’t a strong enough man to stop.
Curling one hand under the curve of her butt, he hefted her up until she was sitting on him, her thighs straddling his hips. The sweet heat of her pressed against his erection, and Brandt broke the kiss on a strangled gasp.
“Timber?”
“Please.” She leaned in to kiss him again, and Brandt slid his fingers through her hair to cup the edge of her jaw, holding her there. He wanted this. Wanted her. Once they started, nothing could stop them. But it had to be Timber in his arms, willing and eager, wanting him for him, not wanting to escape a nightmare or a memory.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be used, but if he was going to complicate things further, he needed all of her, not just the part who wanted to forget.
She arched her hips, sliding her seam along his erection and Brandt clasped her thigh, doing his best to hold her still. “Are you sure?”
A hint of a smile toyed around her lips. It wasn’t sad, not like when she was fighting back a memory. No, the hint of amusement that coaxed its way across her face was soft. “Oh, yeah,” she said softly. “You game?”
She slid the flat of her hand down his stomach only to dip her fingers between them, encountering the tip of his erection now poking out of his boxers. Brandt hissed at the contact.
Shit. Brandt damn near bucked as she stroked lightly between them, her hand riding up to rub herself, then down to roll her knuckles against the hard length of his dick.
“We shouldn’t,” he ground out, voice rough.
In answer she pulled away and for a moment Brandt thought she was giving in. Fuck, he didn’t think he was strong enough for that. If she walked away now he wasn’t sure he’d make it until morning. Then her hands wrapped around the hem of he
r shirt and she began to pull it up. It rode up over her thighs giving him a look at the thin blue panties she wore, then higher, exposing the smooth expanse of her belly, the small dimple of her belly button.
She paused at her ribs and for a moment he saw the flicker of unease in her eyes. It was her hesitation that nearly broke him. As much as he wanted her, Brandt didn’t want this without getting everything. She had to be with him a hundred percent, or this wouldn’t be worth it. Maybe it wasn’t just about the job...fuck, he didn’t know. All he knew was, if he was going to have Timber, he was going to have all of her.
She’d be his. Completely.
“I need you to be sure, Timber,” he murmured.
There was that flicker of a smile again. “I am.”
Brandt skimmed his hands up her sides and watched her shiver. Beautiful. Everything about her was exquisite, perfect.
“Then why are you hesitating?” Her tongue danced out over her lips, leaving them moist, and Brandt wanted to drag her down for another kiss, but they had to finish this first. “If you were sure—”
Timber shook her head. “I haven’t...” Her jaw tightened for a moment. “Since Charles. No one has seen—” She broke off and leaned down to press her lips against his, her shirt dropped back down along her sides. Her hands found his and she slid them under her shirt. One hand bumped the soft underside of her breast, the other found the small, ridged bump of an old scar. “I’m not perfect, remember?”
Understanding and empathy swamped him, along with the anger. He wanted Wolfe to pay for that, would make sure he did, but right now the only thing that mattered was making sure Timber saw her beauty the same way he did. A missing breast didn’t matter to him. Scars didn’t faze him. Brandt moved slowly, cradling her until he pressed her back into the couch, his body stretched out on top of hers.
“I’ve never met anyone more perfect.” He nudged her shirt up, exposing her belly again. There was a slight roundness to it, a sensual curve made to tempt a man’s hands. He stroked her skin, then nuzzled and licked gently around her navel. “You’re strong.”
Her shirt rode higher and he kissed her ribs, his teeth nipping over the sensitive skin. Her body tensed beneath him, arching with desire, but he could feel the reluctance there, too. She was braced, just waiting for him to pull back or to flinch.
His hands slid higher, and her right breast came into view at the same time as the thin white scar across the left side of her chest. Brandt stared down at her. Soft and full on one side, a beautiful, flat memory of her strength on the other. “Brave,” he whispered and leaned down to kiss the scar. He felt her jump at the touch, her breath suddenly shaky. His tongue stroked over the hard line, tasting the salt of her skin, and he hoped like hell it was driving away her fear. He tilted his head back so that he could look her in the eye. “Fucking gorgeous.”
Then his hand found the swell of her right breast, his thumb rolling over the hard point of her nipple while he kissed the scar again. “Two breasts don’t make someone perfect, Timber. What’s in their heart, their soul, that’s what does it.”
He rose up to capture her lips with his, their tongues tangling. Her hands framed his face, holding him tight, and she kissed him back. There was an openness in the way her tongue sparred with his, a relief, and Brandt found himself grinning while he kissed her, and her lips curved in a sensual smile in return. “Thank you,” she whispered when she pulled away.
“I didn’t lie, Timber. Nothing Charles or anyone else could ever do to you would make you less than who you are. Not to me. You dragged yourself from the ashes and believe me, there’s nothing more beautiful than a phoenix rising.”
He gazed down at her, his eyes exploring every inch of the woman beneath him. A phoenix. Timber burned more brightly, more beautifully, than anyone he’d ever known. She’d been through hell and she’d broken free. A part of her had shattered, and now she was re-finding herself, re-making herself. That took strength, and a courage he couldn’t even begin to fathom.
Chapter Twelve
Timber stared up at him, her heart aching. There was such kindness in his eyes, such honesty, she knew he wasn’t lying and yet, to know he saw her as beautiful, even with an ugly gash across her chest, wasn’t something she’d even considered. She hadn’t thought about it at all until she began to strip and all her fears came clawing back to the surface.
In minutes Brandt had managed to erase every one of them.
Tears burned at the backs of her eyes, but she didn’t want to ruin this precious moment. She didn’t want to stop. He was right, they probably shouldn’t do it, but it didn’t change the fact that she wanted him. Not just the body, she wanted the man who saw further into her than she saw into herself. Timber skimmed her fingers down the edge of his cheeks. “Then stop stalling.” She rose up and nipped his jaw. Her lips brushed the edge of his ear. “Fuck me.”
The words should have sounded dirty, but they didn’t. Instead they lit every nerve of hers on fire. Delicious heat unfurled low and her body throbbed, aching for his touch. But just in case he hesitated, still worrying that she might not be sure, Timber reached down and trailed her fingertips along his stomach, following the thin line of hair to the waist of his boxers.
Brandt’s breath hissed out of him as she found the tip of his dick. His hips jerked, and Brandt bent his head to rest against her neck, sucking in a hard breath. “Not fair,” he whispered.
Timber kissed his shoulder. “You want this or not?”
“God, yes.” He pulled back, reached for the boxers still clinging to his hips when he froze.
Timber made a low, frustrated sound in her throat, right before she heard it too. A thin, distant howl split through the night silence outside. Quiet at first, but it was building, growing louder. Closer? Her body went cold, icy panic whirling through her, eating right through the desire that had been there a moment ago. She jerked up, but her eyes sought Brandt. He was already moving, hauling on a pair of jeans. He winced as he shoved his erection inside and pulled up the zipper. He reached for his gun and locked his gaze with hers, jaw hard. “Stay here.”
Charles. Timber squeezed her eyes closed. A scream built in her throat, frustrated and angry, until she felt Brandt’s hand brush her temple. She looked up at him. The man staring down at her wasn’t the soft lover he’d been a moment ago. A cold edge had invaded his eyes, all Hound. All business.
No doubt kicking himself for overstepping his bounds.
But as he pulled away, Timber still wanted him.
Brandt checked his gun. “Lock yourself somewhere safe and stay here. Understood?”
“Yes.” The word came out hoarse, uneasy. Desire and fear warred within her. Her body couldn’t decide what it wanted more—to finish what they’d started, or to fall into the familiar panic attack that struck her every time her nightmares resurfaced.
Then Brandt was gone, the door closing behind him, and Timber was alone. This time the fear didn’t overcome her and drive her to her knees. This time she sprang into action. She lunged for the door, locking it after him. Then she scooped her clothes off the floor and dressed. Warm air grazed her thighs, a distant memory of his touch, and a growl snaked out of her then.
Damn Charles. He couldn’t even let her alone for one fucking night.
As if the nightmares he’d left behind weren’t enough, he’d found her again. And now, for the first time, she’d felt normal again, and the bastard had ruined that, too.
Timber snatched Brandt’s sweats from the top of his duffel bag and pulled them on. She refused to wander the house without pants right now, but she didn’t want to go upstairs. The house felt exposed, empty, and she wanted to keep her escape options open. If Charles came for her, she wanted to be able to run and fight, not have to jump out a two-story window.
Not only that, she wanted a weapon in her hand, in case he managed to get in while Brandt was out there looking for him. Her palms itched with the memory of their target practice, longing to have a
gun back in their grasp.
She swallowed.
A knife just didn’t do. It let Charles get too close and, as much as she could hold her own against Brandt now, she didn’t for a moment think she could stay so calm with Charles on top of her.
“No. No! We’re not having these thoughts right now.” She yanked a pair of knives out of the knife block in her kitchen and gulped down a breath of air. “You are not going to let him win.”
When she spoke, she sounded foreign, calm, but it stopped the roar of panic that threatened to overtake her. Everything up until now had been about running. About making sure Charles couldn’t find her again—both in reality and in her nightmares. Running hadn’t worked. Hiding hadn’t worked. It was time to fight.
Because she’d be damned if she’d allow him to keep ruining her life.
Her phone rang, vibrating across the kitchen table while she stared at it. Numb again.
She didn’t have to look at the screen to know who it was. Closing her eyes for a brief second, she set one knife on the table and picked up the phone. Her stomach twisted. She could ignore it, but that’d be hiding, especially when he might say something she could use. Say something Brandt could use.
Blowing out a breath, she answered it. “Charles.”
A woman screamed over the line and Timber’s body leapt, knotting as all that raw terror spilled through the phone. “You know the rules, love. How many more will die because you won’t do what you’re told?”
A slick, wet sound filled her ear, and Timber bit down on the back of her hand as she heard the woman’s gurgled coughs, sputtering, and then silence.
“You’re mine, love, mine. So get that dog out of your house.” The line went dead.
Timber sucked in one breath after another, but all she could hear were the screams, the wet, bloody sound of a knife gutting some stranger, and then the silence. God, how many times had she heard that, been forced to watch that?
No, no, no. She wasn’t going there again.
