Painted Walls

by Megan Mitcham

  He’d said he could deal with having her just once. He’d lied to himself. He’d told himself what he needed to hear to make taking her okay. He’d taken her all right—and no way could he give her back.

  “I’m not blushing yet.” Ava spread her arms wide, confident and resplendently naked.

  “Huh.” Keen spun her around and thrust her toward the table. He shuffled the two feet and planted his hand on the small of her back. “Palms on the top, ass in the air, and don’t even think about blushing yet.”

  He bracketed her hips and tilted her pelvis, revealing the wet pink labia and the pretty pucker of her bottom. His chest brushed against her back. The edge of his mouth

  hit the shell of her ear. “I’m just getting started.”

  His clothes had to go. He toed off his shoes, kicked his pants off the end of his feet, and added his open shirt to the pile. The tie, oh yes, he had plans for it.

  Keen held the middle in his hand. The pointed tips dangled. They grazed her arched cheeks. Ava’s red head fell between her shoulders. Her sides quivered as he danced the silk up her spine. He let the ends split her neck, and then he released it.

  Floorboards creaked under his shifting weight. His knees hit the wood. He found the ends of the tie and grabbed hold. “Spread your legs, Ava.”

  She shifted her feet wider.

  “You’re blushing now.”

  When he traced her lips with his tongue she bucked. He pulled on the ends of the tie. She tipped back into him and he buried his face in her pussy. Ava panted. He tongued her, made out with her intimate flesh, nipping and laving his fill.

  Her hips bucked. “Stop, Keen. I don’t want to come yet.”

  Keen popped her engorged clit from between his lips and sat back on his heels. “Trust me, you want to, but you can’t. Not just yet.” He stood, unlaced the tie from her neck, and secured it around her waist, leaving enough room for his fingers. Part of him needed to control the uncontrollable ascent.

  He pushed inside her to the hilt and stilled to keep from coming.

  Ava apparently didn’t have the same kind of restraint. Her hips rolled frantically, jacking him inside her. “Yes. I want to. I want to.”

  His grip tightened on the silk around her waist and barred the bulk of her movement. “You will. I just need a second.”

  “Please, now.” Her fingers splayed wide on her white table. Her sides heaved.

  “Impatient woman.”

  “I’ve been patient too long.”

  He unsheathed himself. She immediately stood, ready to battle. Keen lifted her by the cheeks and wrapped her legs around him.

  Her hands cupped his face and she kissed him full on. He pressed into her body.

  He thrust easily at first, but too soon became wild. Keen took her with a ferocity that spoke complete possession and complete loss of self.

  Their orgasms came in shouted love words and curses. They clung to one another for a long time, a mass of quivering, clinging muscles.

  When he figured he could move without falling Keen carried her to the bed. He collapsed onto his back and expected her to roll off. She doubled her hold, curling around him like a roving vine. Her grasp was so tight he had to shallow his breathing.

  Tilting her head to face him, he looked at her questioningly.

  “I thought I’d lost you today. I thought it was your blood on the floor. I’ve never been so terrified in all my life. Not when I found out about the awful things my father had done. Not when I went through the academy. Not when I pushed you away.”

  She dragged in a choppy breath and continued. “I refused to let you in before because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. I know I hurt you. I hurt myself, too. And I’m so sorry for us both. Sorry for the time we lost.”

  Keen wiped a tear from her freckled cheek. His heart revved inside his chest, not knowing where this confession would lead.

  Ava swatted away another tear and trudged on. “I don’t want to waste any more time worrying about the past or the pain. I want to focus on the future…on a future with you. So,” she quickly hastened, holding up a hand to keep him from speaking. She shifted, and on two knees she grabbed his hand. “Kenneth Richmond Hunt, will you marry me?”

  One instant his heart was firmly planted in his chest. The next it was lodged in his guts. Of all the things he’d ever expected her to say, a marriage proposal didn’t make the list.

  Ava sat, breath stalled and eyes wide. The young girl he’d fallen in love with had grown into a woman, the woman he planned to spend the rest of his life learning, pleasing, protecting and, above all, loving.

  He bum-rushed her into the mattress before she could speak and smothered her mouth with his own. When his hands began to roam she pushed him hard on the chest. “So? I need to know because I could be pregnant and you know how my mom would flip over an unwed mother.”

  “Pregnant?”

  “Well, I could not be, but we haven't used anything and I don’t take anything. Oh God.” Her hand shot to her mouth. “You don’t like kids? You’re not ready?”

  He grabbed her hand. “I’ll love our kids whenever they come.”

  Her mouth hung so wide he could see the dangly thing at the back of her throat. A laugh broke deep in his chest and shook the entire bed. She punched him on the shoulder. He laughed harder still.

  “Ava Marie Shepherd, I have loved you since the moment I saw you on the dock trying to revive that damn fish. I love you now and I’ve loved you every moment in between, even when I hated you.”

  “The day you broke up with me I had a ring to offer you. I still have it, at home, and I still want you to have it. So, Ava, will you marry me?”

  “Just remember I asked first.”

  “Technicality.” He kissed the satisfied grin off her face.

  29

  A knock grazed Ava’s subconscious only enough to cuddle more firmly against Keen’s shoulder before settling back into sloppy-drool sleep. If only he’d stayed put. Her pillow disappeared. She free-fell all the way to the sheets, a long way when you’re asleep. Her head bounced off the mattress. Her lids blinked the moonlit room into view.

  Keen’s white cheeks and sculpted legs moved swiftly and silently across the room. His gun hung by his side.

  Her eyes bulged. What was going on? What time was it? Where was her gun?

  The clock read twelve-forty a.m. Her gun lay nestled under her pillow. As for what was going on… She had no clue.

  Three firm knocks sounded on the apartment door.

  Keen stopped at the frame and slid her an inquisitive glance. Ava shrugged, and then wiped the drool from her chin. He eased an eye to the peep hole. For whatever reason she thought the whole gun and sneak thing was overkill, but hey, if roles were reversed, she’d probably do the same.

  He eased to the peep hole. “Blonde woman. Short. Leather shirt. Tight pants. Nice…ah…face.”

  “You can say boobs.”

  “What?” He quirked a look at her.

  “I know you were going to say nice boobs.”

  “No.” His hand eased through the air at hip level, and then held up his index finger. “I was going to say nice rack.”

  “Are they big?”

  His hand became a shield. “I’m not—”

  “Yep, they’re big.” Ava jumped off the bed, ran to Keen’s pile of clothes, grabbed his boxers, and tossed them over. “Put these on and let her in.”

  Another series of knocks sounded. “Ava, I need to talk to you,” the thin voice called through the door.

  “Just a minute.” She’d have put her panties on, but they were wet. Her cheeks flushed. Keen’s shirt sat on top of the disheveled pile. She snatched it up and fumbled with the buttons.

  She heard the flip of the lightswitch a fraction of a second before the beams of artificial light pierced her retinas. Her eyes watered. At least that was what she told herself caused the moisture seeping out of her eyes. But when Keen opened the door and Annelise stood in the
corridor hugging herself she knew it was a lie.

  “Come in.” Ava waved her forward with a floppy sleeve. She hid her hands behind her back and flipped up each cuff.

  Annie’s hands dropped to her side and she eased into the apartment, her gaze on Ava. The leather halter appeared to be painted on her friend’s luscious curves. Her jeans too. She wore black come-lick-me heels and her makeup had never looked better.

  But her face...

  Sorrow hollowed her eye sockets. It pulled the edges of her pretty mouth into a frown. Its weight dropped her shoulders and hunched her back.

  Keen closed the door behind her. Annie jumped and turned toward the noise. The sadness melted away ever so slightly. Her chin lifted. Her rack saluted. The corners of her mouth moved from frown to straight line.

  Annie blatantly inspected Keen, starting with his feet and working her way up. Then her scrutiny shifted to the bed, the haphazardly strewn clothes, and then settled on Ava.

  Guilt burned a hole in her gut. Her friend was hurting and here she was having the best sex—sure, the only, but she’d been around long enough to know he was better than most—of her life.

  “Whoa.” Annie’s neutral expression shifted to a smirk. “You really need an apartment with a bedroom, now that you’re finally getting laid.”

  “You must be Annelise.” Keen switched gun hands, moved it behind his thigh, and offered his right to her friend.

  “You must be Keen.” Annie tilted her head and inspected his lean abdomen.

  He looked from Annie to Ava and back, and then eased around her. “I’ll get some clothes on.”

  “Hey, not on my account.” Annelise covered her heart, which also happened to be her exposed cleavage. “Just because I don’t bat for your team doesn’t mean I don’t like to watch the game.”

  Ava’s heart constricted. Her friend was back. Sure they had a long road ahead, but Annie had come to her when she should’ve gone to Annie.

  Keen rubbed Ava’s cheek on the way to the bathroom. When the door closed Annie took a step closer. Her gaze hit the floor, bounced off the wall, ricocheted off the bed, and finally settled back on Ava.

  “I’m sure you don’t want to hear anything I have to say after the way I spoke to you the other night…”

  Ava stepped forward. “I love you and I want to hear whatever you have to say.”

  A tear slipped down Annie’s cheek. Somehow Ava managed to choke back her own.

  “I know you didn’t hurt my sister. I knew you hadn’t when I confronted you last week. It was wrong, a real low blow for me to blame you. Especially when I know how much you struggle with being that man’s daughter. I was just so mad.”

  Annie slapped a stream of tears off her cheek.

  “I felt guilty for being your friend. If I wasn’t your friend he wouldn’t have killed Josie. But if I weren’t your friend, I wouldn’t have had anything all these years.”

  “That’s not true. You’re the coolest, most outrageously funny woman I know.”

  “Do you still feel that way?”

  “Hell yes.”

  “Good. It’s been hell losing…but to lose you too? I can’t take it.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Ava opened her arms, but her gaze snagged on the door opening behind Annie.

  “Yes, sister, you are.”

  Blood drained from Ava’s heart and rushed to her extremities so quickly the room paled for a moment. Weakness gripped her limbs and wracked her mind. Cool, calculating thought vanished. In its place came gut-wrenching panic.

  The red-headed devil stepped into her apartment. His arm wrapped around Annelise’s middle. Silver flashed in his right hand.

  “No.” Ava shrieked the command, but it flopped across the room like a dying fish.

  The blade stopped at the tender flesh of Annie’s throat.

  “Don’t worry. I killed her sister, I think that’s quite enough pain for someone who’s done me no wrong. Unless you want me to end your misery.” His handsome face dropped to Annie’s ear. “Huh, cricket, what do you say?”

  “Fuck you.” Annie jammed her elbow into the man’s side.

  Rory Coghlan stood a few inches below six feet, but he was built like an Irish ox, complete with horns. A low chuckle rumbled. His chest shook, rocking Annie along with it. “Cute. Do it again and I’ll show your nephew exactly how I killed his mommy.”

  Huge tears ran in torrents down Annie’s face. Her makeup went with it, streaking her face in shades of black.

  No. This couldn’t be happening. Everything was just starting to get on track and now she saw no clean way out of this.

  If Keen came out of the bathroom, which he probably would any second, he’d try to shoot Rory. That was great, except the bastard had a knife jammed so close to Annelise’s carotid artery his reflexes alone could sever her life. Then there would be nothing Ava could do but watch her friend bleed out.

  Ava could get to her gun, but again, Annie.

  Plus she didn’t want to put Keen in the middle of this.

  As though Rory read her mind his gaze shifted to the bathroom. “Where’s your lover?”

  “In the bathroom.” What other choice did she have, but the truth?

  “Get him out.” His chin jerked toward the door. “And tell him to carry his gun barrel first with two fingers.”

  Ava’s bare feet stuck to the floor. No doubt Keen would try some heroics. She just didn’t want Annie to die from them.

  “I see you need some incentive.” Rory raised the knife into the air.

  “No.” Ava screamed the command with force this time, but it didn’t stop the nightmare.

  Rory’s hand descended in an angry stroke. He slashed the razor edge across Annie’s biceps. The skin flayed wide.

  Annie screamed.

  He aimed the silver tip at her mouth. “Scream again and I’ll cut your tongue out.”

  Her friend bit her lower lip. Spittle and tears mixed at the sides of her mouth with each labored breath.

  “Stop.” Ava lifted both hands in the air and walked backward. “I’m going. Stop.”

  “You stop,” Rory ordered.

  She did. So did her lungs.

  Blood formed a stream from Annie’s arm off her elbow to the floor.

  “You don’t get it, sister. You’re no longer in charge. You’ve pranced around the last five years like you own the fucking world, but you had no idea how close I was, how many times I sniffed your pillow or watched your slut of a roommate go down on me.”

  Ava’s blood froze. She tried to stop her hands from shaking. It didn’t work. “I’m sorry—” Her words rattled as much as the rest of her.

  “An apology isn’t going to help you.”

  The droplets of Annie’s blood formed an expanding circle. Maybe Ava could antagonize him enough that he’d turn Annie loose and attack her. At this point it was worth a shot.

  “You didn’t let me finish.” Her gaze found his. “I’m sorry my father didn’t slit your mother’s throat the first time he met her. I’ll bet he is too. I mean, you can’t even perform a decent copy-catting, even with all his training.”

  Rory stepped forward, throwing Annie off balance. “I didn’t want to take after my old man any more than you did.”

  “Yeah, but I catch bad guys and lock them up. I’m going to lock you up, Rory. And you won’t be known as the great copycat. You’ll be known as the bastard child of Bloody Red Hardy and no more.”

  He lunged forward, dragging Annie with him. Rage etched his features, but then he straightened. The angry groove of lines softened. “I’ll be known as the man who killed Ruby Red Hardy. Now, you be a good girl and your friend might live. You and your lover, you don’t have a chance. So don’t even try.”

  Opportunity slipped through her weak hands. Ava forced her feet forward one stiff step at a time. The knob jiggled under her hand. She turned it, and then opened the door.

  The white shower curtain hung to one side of the shower. The toilet sea
t and windows were both down. The sink wasn’t running. And the bathroom was empty. She looked behind the door. Nothing.

  “Ava,” Rory warned.

  She turned to the closet, but there was no place for him to hide. Besides, he wouldn’t hide. Not his style. She didn’t have a balcony. The only thing out the window was four stories of air, and then concrete. The duct work was too small to smuggle a cool breeze through, much less a six-foot-two man.

  Ava found Rory’s gaze. “He’s not in there.”

  His head tilted to Annie. “I don’t guess she values your life very much.” He lifted the knife into the air.

  30

  The two-inch metal vent protruding from the side of Ava’s building continued to bend under Keen’s weight. Sweat slipped off the tip of his nose. It fell so fucking far it disappeared from view. A tight row of shrubs cuddled to the side of the building, but he didn’t think greenery would make a difference at this height.

  Tan brick grated into the open wounds on his fingers. Catching two-hundred-twenty pounds on the unforgiving corners of masonry proved harder than it looked. And he still had one hell of a stretch to reach the living room window.

  No time to puss out.

  Keen reached his right arm and foot toward the sorriest excuse for a window ledge he’d ever seen. The tiny strip of brick made the tin can crumpling under his acute weight look like a damn helipad in comparison.

  The rubber of his top sider wobbled on the ridge. His calf constricted. The shoe steadied. As soon as his raw finger found the side he shoved off the vent.

  Metal gave way.

  It hit the bushes with a rustle.

  One more inch and he’d have been fertilizer.

  His cheek scraped the sandpaper surface of fine DC architecture. Keen grabbed the brick side of the window with both hands. One foot braced his weight on the sill. His face steadied his precarious spot on the modern cliff. He had to stay out of sight, without falling. Keen drew a quick breath, and then eased the center of his balance toward the glass.