Undone

by Rebecca Shea

  “What?” I grumble when I hear the vibration again. “It’s my day off. Let me sleep,” I say as I roll over and pull it off the nightstand. Sliding my finger across the screen, I see I have missed a call from my mom and another one from Landon. Landon; my heart jumps momentarily at the sight of his name on my screen. Debating whom I should call first, I decide that coffee is more important.

  I shuffle down the long, tiled hallway to the kitchen. The kitchen is bare, with only a few small appliances on the counter top, and the large bouquet of peonies from Landon adorning the granite kitchen island. Pulling the coffee grounds from the freezer, I prep the coffee pot and start it. Leaning on the island, I close my eyes and press my nose to one of the large flowers that has opened as I inhale the fresh scent of the flowers that remind me of home. The flowers put a smile on my face when I think of Landon and the bright pink color stands out against the modern cream cabinets and light granite counter tops of my newly remodeled kitchen.

  The kitchen is filled with the smells of the peonies and the freshly brewed coffee, and the only thing that could make this morning any better was if Landon was sitting here in the kitchen with me. Thinking of Landon, I grab my cell phone and slide my finger over the recent calls screen, tapping his name. My heart flutters inside my chest as the phone rings… once… twice…

  “Hey, Doc.” His raspy voice puts a smile across my face.

  “Morning, Champ. I saw you called—what’s up?”

  “Wanted to steal you for the day. I know it’s your day off.”

  Various thoughts cross my mind as he asks me to spend the day with him, but right now, my need to see him, to smell him, to touch him is greater than the voice in my head telling me to slow down and take this slowly. There is something dangerous about him—but it’s something I want, something I need.

  “Sure, but aren’t you working?”

  “Not today. I’ll explain when I come over.”

  “It’ll have to be a while; I just woke up and just started a pot of coffee.”

  “Perfect. I’ll be over in fifteen minutes. Save me some coffee.” Before I have time to say anything, he’s hung up on me.

  “Shit,” I mumble to myself as I run down the hallway to the master suite, stripping out of my negligee and panties as fast as I can. I turn on the shower to warm up the water. I brush my teeth quickly and swish some mouthwash around, before spitting it into the sink. Stepping into the warm shower, I immediately lather up my body with the sponge and body wash. It’s mornings like this that I thank myself for spending a small fortune on laser hair removal, never having to shave my legs, bikini or armpits ever again. The time saving alone was worth the thousands I dropped as a medical school graduation gift to myself.

  Lathering up my long, dark hair, I massage my scalp for a few seconds, hoping to relieve what I hope is not the start to a migraine. Ever since that day, fifteen years ago, I’ve battled migraines. I swear it’s because I’ve never cried so hard over anything ever, and I’ve convinced myself that I damaged myself from crying and lack of breathing and not sleeping for what felt like months. As a physician, I know that’s not the case, but I never had headaches before that day.

  Rinsing my hair, I condition it quickly and rinse—grabbing an oversized towel and wrapping it around myself. I pull my hair into a smaller towel, twisting it on top of my head. Careful to move quickly, I apply lotion, deodorant, and pull my wet hair down from the towel. Checking the time, I realize that Landon should be here any minute, so I rush to the large walk-in closet and sift through some casual dresses. It won’t be too much longer and the weather won’t allow for dresses, so I’m taking full advantage of it while I can. I pull down a navy blue cotton dress and pair it with nude flat sandals, gold hoop earrings, and a gold charm necklace with matching bracelets. I love this outfit; it’s cute, casual, and comfortable.

  With no sign of Landon yet, I apply make-up and begin blow-drying my long locks, running a round brush through my hair in hopes of creating some waves. My eyes wander nearly every minute to the cell phone that is sitting on my bathroom counter—tormenting me. I keep watching the clock, wondering where he is. Just as I’m putting the blow dryer away, I hear the chime from my doorbell. My heart races and I stride down the hallway to the door.

  With a deep breath, I turn the knob and open the door. He is standing in a light blue shirt and faded blue jeans with a pair of aviator glasses and I literally stop breathing.

  “Hey, Doc.” He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead.

  “Come in,” I say, stepping aside as he crosses the threshold into my home. I notice immediately how observant he is. He scans the kitchen, the living area, and the hallway. Maybe it’s the cop in him, or maybe it’s just him—but I love watching him. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a light blue polo shirt that hugs the muscles in his arms perfectly, I can’t take my eyes off of him.

  “Nice place, Doc.”

  “Thanks,” I say quietly, dropping my eyes from him. This condo is gorgeous—stunning. I know it is, but it is also almost embarrassingly so. It’s so not me, but I fell in love with this place when I was looking at homes. In reality, I’m much more modest than this condo appears, but the luxury kitchen with high-end appliances sold me. “So why are you off work today?”

  “We’re celebrating.”

  “Celebrating what, exactly?”

  “My new job.” He smiles and I lunge at him, throwing my arms around him in a giant hug. His arms fall into place, holding me tightly in return. My nose is pressed against the side of his neck as I breathe him in.

  “Congratulations,” I breathe against his neck and he squeezes me a little tighter. “I’m proud of you,” I say, pulling out of his embrace.

  “Thank you,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. He’s holding my forearms, not letting me out of his immediate space. “I was thinking we could go to the shooting range and then grab lunch, unless you already had plans today.”

  “Shooting range?”

  “Yeah, shoot some guns,” he says excitedly.

  “Sure, but I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.” I hang my head, slightly embarrassed about yesterday’s events in the garage.

  “What about it?” He tips my chin up so that we’re looking directly at each other. I don’t even know what to say; I’m just embarrassed, so I shrug and take a deep breath while trying to form the words to a coherent sentence.

  “You were kind of aggressive.”

  “And?”

  “And, I don’t know.” I study his blue eyes. There is so much hidden in those eyes, compassion, danger, fierceness, pain, and maybe even love.

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  “No.”

  “You should be.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to hurt you, Reagan. It’s who I am; it’s what I do. I will never physically hurt you—but emotionally, I will wreck you, and I don’t want to fucking hurt you. I like you—a lot. But it’s inevitable, I’m going to hurt you and I’m going to hate myself when it happens.” He drops his head and his shoulders slouch slightly. He shoves his hands into his front pockets and stares at his feet.

  “So don’t hurt me.” Where did those words even come from? “I know you won’t hurt me.”

  “You don’t know that,” he says, lifting his head, but he turns and looks away from me. “Give me your hand.” He pulls his right hand out of his pocket and I reach for it. Placing his hand over my heart, I hold it there. I want him to feel how rapidly it’s beating—for him.

  “Feel that?”

  He nods his head.

  “This is what happens when I’m near you. You scare me in a good way. This…” I press his hand tighter to my chest, “doesn’t happen for just anyone. I know you won’t hurt me.” I say those words with confidence, a little louder than I normally would have.

  He turns back and catches me with his eyes. There are so many unspoken words just sitting in those eyes.

  “So I scared you
last night. I was too aggressive?” My eyes fall from his to those lips, then to his jawline, which is lightly covered in day-old stubble.

  “Yes, a good scared,” I whisper. “You were aggressive and sweet.” I swallow hard and inhale deeply. “And I liked it—all of it.”

  We stand staring at each other. My arms have since fallen to my sides and I stand as his large, firm hands hold me by my upper arms. He moves quickly, pulling me to him—our lips connecting. His full lips press against mine and I lose myself in his kiss.

  Guiding me back until I rest against the kitchen island, our tongues dance as our kisses deepen. My heart races as I lean back and he lowers his mouth to my neck and I let him consume me. Grabbing my hips, he lifts me and sets me gently on the edge of the island, my long legs dangling off the side. My arms are wrapped around his neck as he peppers the sensitive area just behind my ear with kisses. He positions himself between my legs much like he did yesterday, only today I’m wearing a dress and the hem rises higher, the further my legs spread apart. His firm hands rest on my bare thighs and he squeezes them lightly as his kiss intensifies.

  My breathing becomes more rapid and his lips move from behind my ear along my jawline, taking his time as he moves slowly back to my mouth. He tugs gently at my bottom lip with his teeth and his hand slides further up my thighs, finding the junction of my hips. My breath catches when his thumbs finally come to rest at the edge of my panties. His mouth leaves my lips as he kisses a slow trail down my cheek to my neck as he settles in and sucks gently on my neck just above my collarbone. Goose bumps break out across my skin as he nips tenderly at my neck.

  “You like that, huh, Doc?” he whispers as his hands move higher under my dress, resting just under my bra. His thumbs brush over the lace that is doing nothing to hide my tight nipples and I gasp.

  “God,” I mumble as he continues his assault on my neck, kissing, sucking, and nipping. My fingers dig into the firm flesh of his shoulders and he bites at my neck a little harder. I flinch slightly at the little bite, and I hear a low growl in the back of his throat. I know that if I don’t stop this, we’ll never make it to the gun range, not that I really want to go shoot guns—but if it means spending time with him, I’ll do it.

  “Landon,” I mumble as a shiver rolls through me.

  “Yeah, Doc.” He continues kissing, sucking, licking, and my head falls back even more.

  “We need to stop, or we’re not going to make it to the range, or lunch.”

  “This is lunch,” he mutters against my neck.

  “Do you want to fuck me?” I ask him directly, just as he asked me. He stills, his lips still pressed against my neck, his nose tucked behind my ear. I can feel his hot, heavy breaths just behind my ear. Pulling himself off my neck, he steps back and looks at me—searching my eyes. His breathing is still heavy, labored, and his light eyes have darkened.

  “Yeah, Reagan, I want to fuck you,” he says quietly. He releases me from his arms and steps away from the kitchen island. I tug at the hem of my dress, pulling it down to cover more of my thighs before I slide off the island and walk over to him.

  “I want to fuck you too, but my need to see you again, to have you be a part of my life is greater than my need to fuck you. Does that make sense?”

  “Jesus Christ, Reagan,” he mumbles and rakes his hands over his face. “Look what you do to me.” I smile when I see how flustered he is. Taking a moment to compose himself, he reaches out and fixes a piece of my hair. Running the backs of his fingers over my cheek, he stands and shakes his head at me before a smile breaks free from his lips.

  “Let’s go to the gun range before I change my mind and tell you how much I hate guns, Champ.” I lean forward and kiss his cheek before grabbing my clutch and cell phone off the counter. He’s still shaking his head as he follows behind me, opening the door for me.

  “Do you really want to…”

  “Landon.” I stop him.

  “Fine, let’s go shoot some guns,” he says, closing the door behind us.

  The entire drive to the shooting range, we hardly say anything to each other. She sits with a smirk on her face and giggles while I try to think of kittens and unicorns and girly shit to make my hard-on go away. It doesn’t work. My hand rests on her thigh in a possessive manner, as if she was mine—because she is, kind of. My thumb rubs small circles along the soft skin just at the hem of her dress. I want to see everything under that dress.

  “So what’s with the car?” she asks, finally breaking the silence as she turns away from the window to look at me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What’s with this car? I mean, I like it, it just doesn’t seem like something I thought you’d drive.”

  “What did you envision me driving? A mini-van?”

  “No, but a completely blacked out Camaro wasn’t what I envisioned—it’s very ‘bad boy’ of you.” She flashes her sweet smile at me. The one that lights up her whole face and makes her blue eyes sparkle.

  “Did you really just say that? I’m selling this car now,” I joke with her.

  “I’m just giving you a hard time. I actually really like it. It’s fun and sporty—where my SUV is practical.”

  “Maybe that’s what I like about you. You’re smart and sexy and practical.” She doesn’t respond, but I see her thinking. She’s quiet the remaining few miles until we get to the range. Cutting the engine, I look at her and she looks terrified.

  “Ready?”

  “No, not really.” She runs her palms over her blue dress nervously.

  “Look, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re here to learn. I’ll be with you the entire time.” I reach out and hold her hand, giving it a little squeeze. “I promise it won’t be as scary as you think it’s going to be.”

  “Everything with you is scary,” she says under her breath, but I hear it. She reaches for the door handle and opens the door. As she steps out into the humid air, I see her chest rise and fall as she takes a deep breath. I meet her on her side of the car just as she’s closing the door. Walking back to the trunk, I pop it open, taking out my 40mm Glock and a smaller nine-caliber Glock for her. Meeting me at the back of the car, she stands to the side of me, fidgeting with her purse.

  “Ready?” I ask as I take a few steps, heading toward the entrance of the range. When I see she’s not following, I walk back to her and lace her fingers through mine. No words are said as I slip her soft hand into mine and gently tug her behind me to the entrance.

  I open the door for her, and she steps into the shop. Her grip on my hand tightens. Before we approach the counter, I pull her aside.

  “Look at me,” I demand quietly. Her large blue eyes find mine. “Something else you have to know about me, okay?” She nods. “I don’t make promises. But I’m going to promise you something, Reagan, right now. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?” She stares at me and, if I’m not mistaken, her eyes are slightly pink and misty. “You’re safe with me right now—here.” She nods again in understanding.

  At the counter, we hand over our driver’s licenses and sign the required waivers. Her hand shakes the entire time she signs and her fingers are white from pinching the pen so tightly. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  “You’re all set, window four,” the man instructs us. “You’re lucky; it’s dead today. No one is here but you. Have fun and take your time.”

  Taking her hand in mine again, I walk her slowly to the sliding glass doors that open and lead us toward the range. I guide her inside and wait for the next set of doors to the shooting range to open. When they open, I nudge her gently and we walk down to window four—all the way at the end of the range. I set the guns and ammunition on the small ledge, as Reagan steps back from the window. Her blue eyes dart from window to window, to the ceiling to the floor as she takes in the open space of the range and its surroundings.

  “Doc, it’s going to be okay. Calm down,” I nearly beg her. Reaching out, I hold her firml
y by the shoulders. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” God, I wish those words were true. I won’t let anyone else, or anything hurt her, but I can’t promise that I won’t hurt her.

  “I just really don’t like guns. I should never have agreed to this.”

  “But you did, and I already told you, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?” I press a tender kiss to her temple.

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  I tuck a piece of her long, wavy hair behind her ear, and drop my hands from her shoulders down her arms. Leaning in, I kiss the tip of her nose and whisper, “Don’t be afraid.” With a tight smile and a hard swallow, she nods her head.

  “I’m going to go first. Watch me. Watch how I stand, where I put my hands on the gun, how I lean. Just watch.” I push bullets into the magazine and she fiddles with the protective glasses in her hand. Setting the gun down, I take the glasses and slide them onto her face. Her blue eyes watch me nervously through the clear glass lenses as I take the ear protection and slide it onto her head and over her ears.

  “Watch me,” I mouth to her and she nods again in understanding. I clip the target and push the button on the wall to send it down the range. Taking my position, I grab the gun and take my stance. Glancing over my shoulder to her, I can see she’s watching me intently.

  With steady pressure, I pull the trigger and pop, pop, pop, I empty all sixteen rounds into the target down range. Setting the gun down, I push the button to bring my target back. I nailed the target. All sixteen rounds hit exactly where I wanted them to. I pin a new target on the clips and send it down range for Reagan to shoot at. I fill her magazine while she stands anxiously picking at her fingernails.

  “Ready?” I say loudly, hoping she can hear me.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she yells back as she steps up to the open window. Positioning myself behind her, I press myself against her back. Her shoulders are tense, and her long hair hangs down the middle of her back. I adjust her grip and straighten her arms. I breathe in the smell of her shampoo mixed with the light floral perfume she’s wearing. Her smell is feminine—sweet. With my chest pressed firmly against her back, I wrap both arms around the front of her, placing my hands on top of hers. She’s shaking, so I hold her for a moment and try to calm her. Her slender fingers are locked around the handle of the gun and her forefinger rests on the trigger. I pull back the ear protection from her left ear and she turns her head just slightly.