She wanted to bathe in his life energy. Taste his salt flavor, lick him, stroke him. Eat him up. She was high on him. Craving more.
So wrong. So poorly timed. She had no business inflicting her shipwrecked self upon him now. He deserved someone whole and functional, not a broken, gasping, grasping thing. Clinging like a shred of seaweed. Feeding off his strength.
He propped himself up onto his elbow, stretching out his other arm, making his back ripple and flex in the most breathtaking way, but he was unselfconscious about it. He grabbed the cake from the bedside table. He gave her a menacing look. “Food.”
“What is it with you and food?” she complained. “I promise, I’ll eat everything in good time! Lighten up!”
“No.” He forked up an intimidating bite of chocolate cake with an oozing glob of coconut caramel goop draped on top, and waved it in her face with a threatening air.
She took the fork, carefully cut the bite into two pieces, and ate one of them. Sugar shock almost made her dizzy. “Sweet,” she gasped.
He held out another forkful.
“Wait a minute.” She took the fork from him, and pointed it sternly in his direction. “We take turns. It’s a huge piece.”
He narrowed his eyes, but she waited stubbornly, fork in hand.
He finally accepted the bite. “Wow,” he said. “Sugar orgasm.”
He gave her the next bite. She gave him one, and so it went until the chunk of pastry was reduced to crumbs and smears of caramel.
And by then, the hunger on his face made a yearning open inside her, hot and wanton. She set down the plate on the bedside table, and held out her arms. A disorienting spin, and oof, she was flat on her back, with Miles all over her, his deep kisses faintly flavored with caramel. But he pulled himself off, turning away.
She sat up, bereft. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “You need rest.”
“But I like it.”
He held up his hand, a warding gesture. “Saying no, being sensible, cooling it down, all that is up to me, evidently. I get that you’re not going to do it. But don’t mess with me when I try.”
“But it’s fun to mess with you. And I haven’t had fun in months.”
“No.” He ran an assessing eye over her body. “We’ll discuss more fun after you’ve finished that meal, slept ten hours, and then eaten another meal.”
“That’s harsh,” she commented.
“Yeah, brutal.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, groping for his jeans. “Gotta get this thing into my pants and put a padlock on it.” He buttoned the fly, and groped in his pocket for a smartphone. “Mind if I make a quick call?”
That was such an odd request, she was taken aback. “Uh, sure.”
“I need to distract myself.” He lifted the comforter, tossed it up over her naked body. “Cover your chest. The view melts my brain, and I’m going to need my brains to make this call.”
“Who are you calling?” she asked.
He shot her a dour look. “My mother.”
That startled a peal of laughter out of her. “You’re kidding. Now?”
“Don’t think I’m one of those guys,” he said, defensive. “It’s just that I haven’t spoken to her in weeks. Not since I lit out camping. She’s out of her mind with worry, or so they tell me, and I felt really bad about it, but I just couldn’t talk to her. Not in the shape I was in.”
“Then why now?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. I guess because, for whatever reason, now I can. And if I can, then I damn well should. I promise, I’ll make it short. I just have to catch the impulse, before I lose my nerve.”
“Go on, then,” she urged. “Want me to leave? For privacy?”
He looked shocked at the idea. “Hell, no! This is your room. Stay right where you are. Don’t even move. Unless it’s to eat.” He picked at the keyboard, and turned, giving her a perfect opportunity to admire the muscles in his back. The astonishingly perfect shape of his ass.
“Hey,” he said, his voice uncertain. “Mom? . . . yeah, it’s me . . . oh, God, Mom, please, don’t.” There was a long pause, then he spoke again. “I know. I’m sorry. Sean told me he talked to you, and that you . . . yeah. I was busy . . . yeah, I know. No, it’s not an excuse. There was this girl in trouble, and I . . . yeah, that’s what I said. A girl . . .” He shot a grin over his shoulder at her. “Her name is Lara. She’s an artist. Yeah . . . it was tricky. Of course I was careful.” He listened patiently for a moment, and she could see, though his face was turned away, that he was grinning. “Yes, she’s a nice girl . . . yeah, pretty, too.” His gaze darted to her. “Beautiful, actually. Sure, first chance I get . . . don’t know yet, Mom. Things are dicey, and I have to . . . yeah, but . . .” He held the phone away from his ear, frowning. “Yes, she is, but she’s just gotten out of a bad situation, and now is not the time to ask her to . . . no, Mom! Not a chance!”
Lara could hear the shrill, tinny lecture from across the room.
He turned, gave her a dismayed look.
Lara felt her lips twitch. “She wants to talk to me?”
“You don’t have to, for God’s sake,” he said. “Don’t sweat it.”
“What’s her name?” Lara asked.
“Helen Davenport,” he said.
“Is she nice?” she asked.
He looked puzzled. “Of course she’s nice. She’s my mom.”
Lara held out her hand, on impulse. “I haven’t heard a nice woman’s voice in months,” she said. “Give me that phone.”
Miles handed it to her without a word.
She held it to her ear, marveling at how familiar and unfamiliar the heavy little device felt in her hand. “This is Lara. Mrs. Davenport?”
“Lara?” The older woman’s voice was distorted with tears. “Hello. I’m sorry to put you on the spot like this, honey.”
“That’s okay,” she said.
“I just can’t seem to stop crying. I’m so emotional right now. It’s been so long since I heard his voice, you see.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ve been doing a lot of that myself today.”
Helen Davenport forced brightness into her tone. “So. Miles tells me you’re an artist.”
“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “A sculptor.”
“That’s wonderful! How creative of you. And you go to art school?”
“Not lately,” she said. “I was in some really bad trouble. But Miles saved me.”
“Did he, now?” The woman’s voice sharpened.
“Yes, he did. He was incredibly brave,” Lara told her. “And so smart. He was amazing. You should be very proud.”
“Oh, I am. I am.” The woman’s voice dissolved again.
“Oh, please. That is enough of that shit,” Miles snapped, twitching the phone out of her hand. He held it to his ear. “Me again, Mom . . . no way! You cannot talk to her anymore . . . as soon as I know what’s going on. Hanging up now, Mom. I love you. Hanging up, okay? Yes . . of course I’ll call again. Yeah. Love you, too. Give Dad a hug. Yeah . . . hanging up for real, Mom. Yeah. Bye.”
Hs hand dropped. He blew out a long breath, and sat down heavily onto the bed. “Wow,” he said. “That was intense.”
“Pretty much,” she agreed.
He set the phone down on the bedside table. “Thanks,” he said.
She shook her head, tried to smile. Mostly failing.
“She can’t wait to meet you,” he added. “She’s going to love you. My dad, too.”
That did it. Too much cheerful normalcy on an empty stomach.
“My mother would have loved you, too.” Her voice cracked.
Miles’ gaze whipped over to her, alarmed. She looked down at her lap. Her face was shaking. About to melt right off.
“Uh, Lara?” he said, warily. “Are you okay?”
“And my dad,” she said. “He was such a snob about all the guys I dated. None of them were smart enough for him. But if he’d ever met you, I don’t th
ink he would have been able to think of a single thing to complain about. Not after what you did for me.”
“Lara,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“But you’ll never meet him. Or her. They’re gone. There’s nobody left to pass judgment on the men I sleep with. No impossible parental standard to live up to. It’s so simple for me, from now on.”
“Aw, shit.” He scooted to sit next to her, touching her shoulder.
She flinched away. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Somebody put a blow torch to my life, and it’s not your fault, but there’s nothing left that’s normal for me anymore. A phone call like that one, for instance. Never again. And I’m so fucking jealous of you. And that’s so unfair.” Her voice was shaking to pieces. She stopped, breathed, tried to still it. “You’ve done so much for me. I’m such a bitch to feel this way.”
“No, you’re not!” he said. “Just feel the way you feel.”
“That’s very generous of you.” She hated the words the instant they flew out of her mouth. Hated herself for saying them. She was on her feet, running toward the bathroom. Miles called out behind her, but she slammed the door on him. Sank onto the floor, hiding the shaking, agonized grimace her face had become against her knees.
So ashamed. She’d tried not to let the ugliness into herself, but she was steeped in it. Stained by it. She was toxic, bitter, ruined. She shouldn’t inflict that on anyone. Particularly not someone like him.
The bathroom door opened. It had not occurred to her to lock it. It had been so long since she’d had any sense of autonomy about when doors opened or closed. Or maybe she’d been hoping to be followed.
He crouched down beside her on the cold bathroom tiles, and then sat next to her, crosslegged. Put his warm hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I set you up for that. I told you not to treat me like I was broken. You took me at my word.”
“I should have known better,” he said. “I was just thinking about myself.”
“And your mom,” she said, sniffing hard. “You were thinking about your mom, and that’s great. I applaud that. Really, I do. It’s just hitting me all at once. My parents. I tried not to think about what happened to them, but . . .” She shook her head. “He was so afraid of pain. My dad. Even a headache made him panic. He was afraid of a lot of things. You’d never know it to look at him. He was this confident, successful professor, handsome, smart, popular. But underneath, he was scared. Anxious. To think of him going through that . . .” She pounded her fists on the hard tiles, as hard as she could. Bruising her knuckles, but she didn’t care. The pain helped, in a weird way.
Miles caught her fists in his, and stilled them. “He was brave that day,” he said. “He was a goddamn superman that day, in my book.”
She dared for a moment to look up at his face. “Why do you say that? How could you know that?”
Miles was silent. Considering his words carefully. Nervous about touching off a full-out nervous breakdown from the crazy girl.
“I knew that he’d gotten a letter from your mother, giving him certain information,” he said slowly. “Matilda told me about it. It had a rendezvous point, a date, to meet up and save you. When I found him, I also found a ticket to Denver to the rendezvous point. He’d planned to go. They hurt him, and killed him, but afterward, the bad guys still didn’t know about the letter, or the date, or the rendezvous point. They didn’t know about them because he did not tell them, Lara.”
She just looked at him, openmouthed. “Oh.”
He lifted both of her clenched fists to his lips, and kissed one, then the other. “Love makes you strong,” he said.
She came apart. Was a total shaking mess for a long while.
He pulled her into his lap and held her in his strong arms until the storm passed through and left her soft and limp.
It was chilly. When he felt her shiver, he muscled her onto her feet, set the shower running, and shucked his jeans.
He guided her into the stream of hot water, and joined her in there. They stared at each other, hands twined, as the water poured down over them and steam fogged the glass. It was like floating in a bubble, a magic place outside time and space.
He was so gentle. He had water tangled in his long, thick eyelashes, dripping from the ends of his long, shaggy locks. Naked emotion blazed from his eyes. She put her hands on his chest, blocking the rushing pattern of water racing down his chest, down his treasure trail, flowing around the turgid cock. Wow.
On impulse, she seized his thick, veined shaft, stroking it. He gasped, shuddering, and abruptly she was desperate for more. She wanted him to feel as vulnerable as she felt.
She put her arms around his neck, lifted her leg to curl it around his thigh, pressing his cock against her sensitive folds. “Hold me.”
He frowned, shaking his head. “Lara, I—”
“Hold me, goddamnit! I need this! I need you!”
He muttered something obscene under his breath, but he cupped her ass and lifted her to that perfect height where she could take him inside. Wide open, pressed to the wet, tile wall, her knees draped over the crook of his arms. She was still wet from the last time, so he entered her in one deep, smooth lunge. She clutched his shoulders, sobbing at the perfection of that thick club caressing her inside. Her tears mixed with the water from above, sluicing them down.
It was so good to cling to him, to give herself up. She didn’t have to do a thing but hang on, be caressed by his strong arms, his big body, the deep aching slide and shove of his cock. Each slow stroke was a shimmering glide of pleasure, turning her liquid, molten and soft.
This time, he didn’t have to ask. He looked at her, and she knew exactly what to do. It was almost automatic, shaking loose, dancing through the barrier until she was inside, in that safe, beautiful place. It was lit up, blindingly bright and wonderful, and she could hardly tell what was inside, what was out, what was analogous, what was real.
It was the sweetest, realest thing she’d ever felt, his powerful body thudding into hers. So raw, so hot, so incredibly right.
He came, pouring himself into her, and she followed along, in a sweet shivering rush of utter surrender.
Neither of them could bear to break the panting clinch. She could have stayed locked together with him in the pounding water forever.
16
Miles set her gently down on her wobbly feet. He was too abashed to look her in the face. She made his eyes ache, she was so beautiful. Those thick, twisting wet cables of dark hair, clinging to her shoulders, eyelashes wet and tangled.
He reached for the bottle of shower gel, just to have something to do, and got to work on her, caressing her with the slippery suds. He could do this for the rest of time, particularly when he slid his hand between her legs. Soaping, rinsing, delving, until she sighed and squirmed, clenching tight around his fingers. He loved those soft silky tender bits, hidden in her wet thatch. His cock was already thickening. Even after all their inappropriate excesses.
He toweled her off when they stepped out, and scooped her into his arms, carrying her back into the bedroom. Too light. She had to eat. He wasn’t going to stop bullying her about it. Probably ever.
He tucked her in, lifting her wet hair, squeezing the towel around it again and again before spreading it out onto the pillow. He wanted to know everything about her, every moment she’d ever lived. To punish everyone who’d ever injured her. He was enthralled. Utterly fucked up.
He tucked the comforter up under her chin, and used the towel to dry himself. Dragged on the jeans, again, and the shirt, which he did not even bother to button, since who the fuck was he was fooling, anyway. “Try to rest,” he said. “I’m going to see what’s happening downstairs.”
She gave him that shy smile that revealed nothing. He wondered if she knew how he felt. That she had the keys to the Citadel. And he loved having her in there. As much as it freaked him out.
But then, he’d never claimed to hav
e any damn sense.
He ran down the stairs. The kitchen was deserted, dishes washed. Aaro was out near the car, talking into his cell. Davy sat out on the huge deck, reassembling one of his guns.
Miles walked out onto the deck. The cold wind chilled his wet hair, whipped the unbuttoned shirt back from his bare chest. Davy’s eyes flicked over him, registering it.
Miles met his eyes, straight on. Fuck it. He’d done what he had done, and he wasn’t apologizing. They could all just kiss his ass.
Davy’s eyes narrowed. “So?” he said.
“I’m keeping her,” Miles said.
Davy’s face froze, for a long moment. Then he turned, looked away, as if he were admiring the view. But Miles knew the guy well enough to know that he was trying not to grin.
The grin won. “Ah,” he said. “Well, then. Good luck with that.”
“I’m sure I’ll need it.”
Davy slid the reassembled pistol into the side holster inside his jeans. “Come on inside,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because the beer’s in the fridge, and this calls for a toast.”
Miles followed the other guy inside. “Alcohol? Now? What about, ‘lack of vigilance will get you killed,’ and all that?”
“Bite your tongue, punk. Don’t you quote Eamon McCloud to me after rolling around in bed with your woman for two hours.”
The guy had a point, Miles conceded, as he watched Davy pop open two bottles of amber ale. They clinked bottles, drank.
His augmented senses were now able to embrace the flavors of whatever he put into his mouth, rather than being overwhelmed by them. The beer went down, sharp and salty and excellent.
Aaro walked in, scowling. “Drinking, now, too? Loser.”
“Shut it, and have one,” Davy suggested calmly.
Aaro accepted the beer that Davy handed to him. “Just talked to Nina,” he said. “She and Edie and Tam will be here tomorrow. I told them to wait, let her get a night’s sleep.” He looked at Miles, eyes slitted. “If that’s gonna happen.”
Miles stared back. “I’m glad they’re coming,” he said evenly. “Lara will be happy to see Nina. She needs her people.”
10 Fatal Strike Page 20
