AFTERSHOCK

by Jill Shalvis

  "You don't want him?"

  "This is very complicated. I can't seem to think straight."

  "Of course you can't! Where's my head, pressing you to talk to me before you're ready. Maybe you haven't even decided if you like me—"

  Now Amber did laugh. Emily McCall could wear down a saint. "I like you, very much," she assured the older woman. "It's just that—"

  "That you don't think of me as your family yet." Emily sniffed, clearly insulted. "I understand."

  "You know that's not true."

  "No, it's okay, you don't owe me anything."

  "Emily, please. I think you're an amazing woman."

  "You do?" Pleasure quickly replaced hurt. "Really?"

  "Yes." It had never been easy for Amber to share herself, but for some reason, the words came now. "I think the way you love your family is beautiful."

  "It's no more than any mother would do."

  Maybe it was the late hour or the emotions of the day, but suddenly it was easy for Amber to admit the truth. "Not any mother."

  "Not yours?"

  Emily's sympathy and pity didn't frighten her as she thought it would. "Definitely not mine. But I used to dream about it, and if I could have drawn my mother the way I wanted her to be, she would have been just like you."

  "Oh darling, now you're really going to make me cry."

  "Don't you dare." Amber laughed through her own impending tears. "You'll get me started. And after what we've been through this evening, I may never stop."

  "Dax is careful, you know. He's the best at what he does."

  He was the best at everything he set his mind to. His work. Fatherhood. She could only imagine what a husband he'd make. The warm glow that came from that thought no longer surprised her.

  "I imagine you have a lot on your mind," Emily said. "Especially with the thought of babies and marriage and all the like."

  "I thought you didn't want to be nosy."

  "Oh, you." But Emily had the good grace to laugh at herself. "You already have my number. Just like all my children." Her voice went stern and demanding. "Now bring me Taylor. You go to my boy."

  * * *

  In the end, Amber didn't drop off Taylor, figuring Dax would want to see her. He seemed to thrive on any opportunity to do so.

  Plus she needed Taylor to hold, needed to feel that small, warm bundle of life against her, reminding her that no matter what happened with Dax, she mattered to someone.

  Dax had given her a key to his house, insisting he didn't want her waiting for him outside if he was ever late when they were supposed to meet. Amber had felt uncomfortable with that, had assumed she would never use it, but it came in handy now.

  Less than one minute after she arrived, Dax pulled into the driveway, setting her nerves to leaping. Head down, shoulders tense, he opened the front door and stepped inside. As if he sensed her, he stilled and slowly raised his head to reveal a weary, hollow face.

  When he saw her his eyes warmed. So did Amber's heart.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  "Hey." Dax acknowledged her, but he didn't move into the room.

  Amber's nervousness tripled. Was he bothered by the fact that she'd let herself in? Was he sorry he'd given her his key?

  Why didn't he say something, anything? "I hope you don't mind," she found herself saying awkwardly.

  With an audible sigh, he kicked off his shoes.

  "I … used the key you gave me."

  He dropped his jacket where he stood and the leather hit the floor with a thud.

  "Taylor's here, too." She felt stupid and intrusive, but a search of his expression told her nothing. A first. "Your mom offered to baby-sit, but I thought you'd want to see her."

  He rolled his head on his neck, winced and then sighed again.

  "If you're too tired, I'll just…"

  He spoke then, though the words were muffled by the sweatshirt he was pulling off over his head. "I'm never too tired for Taylor." He tossed the sweatshirt aside, his words in direct opposition to the exhaustion on his face. "Or you, for that matter."

  "Because I could just scoop her up and leave…"

  He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "Didn't you just get here?"

  "Yes."

  His face was bleak, his eyes red-rimmed, and his big, tough body so weary she imagined he was standing on his feet by sheer force of will. "I saw everything on the news," she said. She watched as he dumped out the contents of his pockets into a small bowl on the low table in the entry.

  His silence was killing her.

  "I couldn't tear myself away from the television," she added.

  He nodded and rubbed his eyes, but still didn't speak. Her heart was racing so fast she didn't know what to do.

  "When the roof collapsed—" she drew a shaky breath "—and those firefighters fell through the gaping hole…"

  He flinched and her heart ached at the stark pain she saw so clearly in his eyes. "Oh, Dax."

  He hadn't stepped toward her, hadn't really looked at her, not once. He hadn't made one move that told her how he felt about her being there. "Would you rather I go?"

  "Actually, I'm hoping you're going to tell me the real reason you're here."

  "I … I thought … I just wanted to be."

  He came toward her, his face still bleak and grim, but now there was something new in his gaze. He stopped a mere foot away from her. "I've never known you to stutter."

  "I don't. N-n-not—" Ruthlessly she bit her tongue. "Not usually anyway." Frustrated, she reached up to shove back a loose strand of hair at the exact same moment his fingers came up to tuck it behind her ear. His hand slid over hers and he brought those joined hands to his chest. "You've been biting your nails. A new habit?"

  "Another one that I've not had for years."

  "What's the matter? I've never seen you so unsettled."

  "Unsettled. I guess that's what you'd call worrying myself sick." All her pent-up fear spewed out. "I went through hell tonight, watching the news."

  "It's my job."

  "I know. I know! That's not what I'm saying."

  "What are you saying?"

  "That I worry, okay? I don't want to, but I do."

  He let out a long breath and all the tension suddenly draining out of him, immediately replaced by a new, different sort of tension. "Yes," he whispered, his eyes glittering with emotion. "Yes, that's what I wanted to hear."

  "I suppose then, that you'd love to know I couldn't even breathe, thinking that you'd be hurt. Or worse!"

  His other hand slid up her spine, around to cup her face. His thumb brushed over her lower lip before his fingers sank into her hair, holding her head still. Closing that last gap between them, he nudged her up against his body. "Yeah. I would love to know that."

  She flattened her hands against his chest and had to tip her head back to look into his eyes. "Is that ego talking?"

  "No. It's not even remotely related to anything in my brain." He smoothed his hand over hers, holding it close to his chest. "It's right here, where pride has no place. And if you think you should be ashamed about worrying for me, think again. Not when I do nothing but think about you, worry about you, want you. It feels incredible to know you're capable of doing the same."

  Had she been so selfish to keep that from him? "I care about you, Dax. So much it hurts."

  For the first time that night, his eyes heated, his mouth softened. He closed his eyes and with an aching tenderness, rubbed his jaw to hers, drawing her so tight to him she could feel his every breath.

  Then he pulled her even closer, burying his face in her neck. "We lost twenty-two people tonight. Six of them children. One was a baby girl, the same age as Taylor."

  Shock reverberated through her and she hugged him as tight as she could. "I'm so sorry."

  "I had to tell her mother—" He swallowed hard. "I kept seeing Taylor, kept imagining how I'd feel if I had to face you, tell you that— God."


  Envisioning the scene, Amber felt his anguish as her own. "You did everything you could, all of you did everything you could to save them."

  He made a wordless sound of grief that tore at her. In her arms was the strongest, toughest, most heroic man she'd ever met, and she didn't know what to do for him. She wanted to take his pain away, wanted to hold him close so that nothing could hurt him ever again. She had no idea how long they stood there, rocking slowly, absorbing each other's heat and strength, when Taylor cried out.

  "I'll get her," Dax said. "I … I need her."

  Amber followed him to the room he'd set up for Taylor. It had been his office before, so the crib was between a leather sofa and an oak desk. Both were now covered with stuffed animals, toys and freshly laundered baby clothes. The place was a comfortable, cozy mess.

  Taylor had fallen asleep again, on her tummy as usual, her padded bottom sticking up in the air, her fist in her mouth.

  Dax stood by the crib, his hand on Taylor's back, a look of combined sorrow and joy on his face, so poignant it hurt to look at him. But that wasn't a good enough reason to turn away.

  For the first time in her life, Amber reached out and made the first move. It was difficult, but only until she touched him. At the contact with his warm, hard body it was the most natural thing in the world to slip her hands around his waist and hug him from behind. "She's okay, Dax."

  He nodded and turned, gathering her close. The exhaustion was still there in his expression, but some of the bleak despair seemed to have lifted. That it was herself and Taylor doing that for him gave her a warm burst of something so thrilling, so breathtaking, so wild and fierce, it terrified her.

  It was hope.

  Was it real? Could it last?

  Dax leaned past her, stroked a gentle hand down Taylor's back and with an achingly tender expression, bent and kissed his baby, murmuring something Amber couldn't hear.

  Straightening, he looked deep into Amber's eyes as a slow, unbearably sad smile crossed his mouth.

  Then he left the room.

  Confused, she followed him as he padded down the hallway to his own bedroom.

  He didn't turn on the light, but she made out his silhouette as he tugged off his shirt and let it fall. His shoulders slumped as he stood there in the middle of the room, still and silent.

  "Dax?"

  "I'm fine," he said, emotionlessly. "You don't have to stay."

  The only light in the room came from the pale moon shining through the window, so she couldn't see his expression. She didn't have to in order to know he felt empty to the core. "You want me to go?"

  A harsh laugh escaped him. "No. But I know you're still afraid of all this, and I'm just vulnerable enough tonight to beg."

  "I can't help the fear, Dax," she said carefully. "It's all a part of it for me. But I can tell you what I feel for you is different than anything I've ever felt before."

  She felt his surprise.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her fingertips to them while she drew in a deep breath. "I won't deny what's between us, but I feel like I'm on an emotional roller coaster."

  "I understand that you like to keep your emotions in check. Hell, you've had to in order to survive, but Amber…" He lifted his broad shoulders helplessly. "I can't do the same."

  In the dark his silhouette seemed larger than life, more vital, more full of passion and hope than she could ever be, and never had she felt the lack in herself so much as she did in that moment. "I know," she whispered.

  "I won't ever hurt you," he said quietly. "I've told you that. But I can't temper myself, hide my emotions. No matter how much I want you, I can't change. Not even for you."

  He was close enough now that she could see him more clearly. The contours of his bare chest were delineated by the faint moon's glow. He was powerful, and he was beautiful.

  And he could be hers.

  All she had to do was believe it.

  He turned away and sank down onto his huge bed. With a little groan, he flopped on his back and covered his face with one arm.

  Exhaustion had clearly claimed him.

  Was it too late to tell him? Could she find both the courage and the words? "Dax?"

  He let out an answering grunt, but didn't budge.

  She moved close, until her knees bumped the mattress. She lifted one to the bed and bent over him, gently setting a hand on his bare chest.

  At the unexpected heat of him, she nearly pulled back, but the sensation of skin to skin felt so good, she set her other hand on him as well. Then closed her eyes to savor it.

  Suddenly his hands came up, tugged her down. Gasping in surprise, she fell over him.

  "If you're going to lean over me, staring as I sleep," he muttered, "then at least get down here and keep me company while you're doing it."

  Those were the last words he spoke. He drew her close, tucked himself around her, then immediately fell into a deep, exhausted slumber.

  He was warm and safe and strong. There was no way to resist snuggling in even closer.

  Then she, too, fell asleep.

  * * *

  She dreamed they made love … she could feel him, all of him, skin to skin, burning her, healing her, making her body hum.

  She dreamed of his hands skimming over her body, shedding her clothes. The picture was so vivid she could feel the calluses on his fingertips when he touched her bare flesh with such terrifying tenderness it made her weep and press closer.

  She dreamed she touched him, too, and under her hands the muscles of his big, tough body quivered. In his eyes she saw need and ecstasy and anguish and oh…

  This was no dream.

  "You're awake." Indecision and sweet resignation swam in his eyes.

  They'd already established she wasn't a morning person, nothing had changed. Then she realized it wasn't morning yet. She blinked in confusion because she was wrapped around him like a blanket.

  "I woke up like this," he murmured. "We must have gravitated toward each other in our dreams."

  He expected her to walk away. She could hear it in his voice. He thought she'd made a decision about him, about her life, and that decision didn't involve him.

  He thought wrong.

  "Touch me, Dax."

  The strain on his face nearly broke her heart. "I am."

  "More."

  "It won't change anything," he said tightly. "We'll still be fundamentally at odds, wanting different things, and—"

  She shifted closer to that intriguing, throbbing heat pressing between her legs. "Mmm." She grabbed his hands from her hips and slid them over her body. To her waist, her ribs, her breasts.

  "Amber." He groaned. "You feel incredible, but—"

  "You talk too much." She kissed him softly, then not so softly, drawing him in deeper, and he let out a tortured sigh, deepening the kiss himself. As if he could read her mind, her dream, her need, he caressed her, worshipped her body and set her senses on fire.

  "My clothes," she managed as his mouth dipped and nipped over her collarbone, trailing to a breast. His tongue circled her bare nipple, and she arched closer. "Where did my clothes go?" She moaned when his hot, pulsing erection nudged at her wet center. "Where did yours go?"

  "We must have shed them in the night."

  He rose above her, swirling that inventive, greedy tongue over her other breast, teasing the nipple until she nearly cried.

  When she tried to lift up her legs and draw him inside her, he evaded her, slipping down her body. She felt his warm breath high on the inside of her thigh. Equal parts thrill and fear coursed through her. "Um … Dax?"

  "Shh. You talk too much." His tongue swirled over her. Then his teeth, and when he sucked her into his mouth, he made her wild, frantic. Shameless. And as the orgasm tore through her, he took her to heights she'd never even imagined.

  Unbelievably, he would have rolled away then, but she managed to open her eyes and saw his vulnerability, and understood he appreciated hers.

 
; He wouldn't take advantage of her.

  She felt the resolute, unmistakable connection of their hearts and souls, and knew he never could. She reversed their positions, holding him in place as she slowly and torturously experimented on his body with her mouth.

  When he tossed back his head, his face tight in a mask of agonized pleasure, she lifted her mouth off of him and licked her lips.

  He moaned.

  "Am I doing all right?" she whispered.

  "You're doing better than all right," he managed in a strangled voice. "And if you stop now, there's every chance I'm going to die on the spot."

  Empowered, she gave him a wicked grin before resuming.

  In less than two minutes, she had him clawing at the sheets, shaking, begging for release. The thrill of that was such a rush she nearly came from just watching him.

  "Love me," she whispered.

  "I do." His eyes squeezed shut, hiding himself from her. "Amber—"

  "Condom?"

  She saw him hesitate, and desperate for the feel of him thick and throbbing inside her, she reared up and opened his nightstand herself.

  He made a rough sound, reached past her and grabbed a foil packet. With a new boldness, she took it and attempted to put the thing on, but it wasn't nearly as easy as it seemed it should be. "It's not big enough," she said, surprised when he let out a groaning laugh.

  "Amber, stop. This isn't—"

  Before he could deny her, she drew his face down to hers, arching her hips as she kissed him, forcing his decision.

  A low groan came from deep in his throat, and he barely managed to get the condom on before he thrust into her, hard and deep. "I'm sorry." His voice was as rough and ragged as his breathing. But he held her hips and thrust again.

  She wanted to tell him not to be sorry, that this was what she wanted, but all she could do was cry out with the pleasure of him inside her. She tossed back her head and gave him everything she had, and as she did, her heart opened, rejoiced, and in return, received.

  When it was over, when she lay limp and exhausted in his arms, their bodies still connected and pulsing with the passion and love they'd shared, she smiled for the first time in too long as she drifted back off into sleep.