Wrecked

by Shiloh Walker

  Chapter Fourteen

  He’s spent more than half of his life doing exactly what you wanted him to do, Abby.

  Brooding, Abigale stared out the window over the bay.

  Usually when they came up to San Diego for one of the family things, they stayed with Zach’s folks. There was even a room that Denise had set aside for Abigale. Abigale wouldn’t go so far as to say it was her room, but whenever she was here, that was the room she stayed in.

  But Zach had told her he had reserved a room for them at a hotel and she had been just fine with that.

  It had been . . . odd . . . all night.

  Even after Sebastian had left, not long after the presents were opened, things had felt off. She suspected it was her, but still, she couldn’t brush off that odd, uneasy feeling.

  Zane had kept his distance and Denise had chattered about everything under the sun. Nobody else had said a single thing about her being there with Zach. But everybody had watched them.

  It was almost like they were seeing things she wasn’t.

  He’s spent more than half of his life doing exactly what you wanted him to do, Abby.

  A warm pair of arms came around her waist and she closed her eyes, sinking back against the warmth of Zach’s body. Part of her wanted to turn to him, curl her arms around him, and just get lost in him so she didn’t have to think.

  But her mind just wasn’t going to shut up right now.

  “What was Sebastian talking about, Zach?” she asked. She’d tried to get the answer out of him earlier but he’d brushed it off. She wasn’t about to let him do it this time.

  She felt his chest rise and fall against her back, felt the warmth of his breath stirring her hair. One hand smoothed down and curved over her hip. “Abby, Seb doesn’t even know what he’s talking about half the time. How should I know?” he murmured. He rubbed his lips over her neck and that felt so good, sending small little shivers down her spine. “Right now, he’s so fixed on the idea of dragging me back here, I don’t think he can see straight, much less think straight. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d heard some of those stupid Bachelor rumors and thought maybe he’d see if he couldn’t work it from his end.”

  “So you have no idea what he meant when he said I made you leave California.”

  His hands curled around her waist. “Abigale . . . I’m pretty damn certain you were in Tucson for months before I saw the ad for the shop. You aren’t the one who told me to buy it. You aren’t the one who put the idea in my head of opening my own place.”

  Some of the tension eased out of her and she managed to breathe a little easier.

  “Is that what’s been bothering you?” he asked.

  Licking her lips, she shrugged. “Some. Although I couldn’t figure out what the hell he was ranting about. I . . .”

  * * *

  Zach turned her around.

  In the dim light of the room, her dark eyes were almost black. As he reached up and slid his hands into her hair, he said softly, “I’m in a hotel room, alone with a beautiful woman. You know the last thing I really want to talk about is my baby brother and his hard head, right?”

  He dislodged the pins in her hair and watched as the curls went tumbling down her back. Then, as she opened her mouth, probably to keep talking about the disaster that had happened earlier, he cradled her skull in his hands and rubbed his thumbs along her scalp.

  Her lids dropped down. “That feels good.”

  “I’ve been wanting to take your hair down all damned day.” He eased his way around to the base of her skull, worked there for a minute, and then nudged her back against the wall. She went, smiling a little at him as he reached for the wide black belt that nipped her dress in at the waist.

  “Zach . . . are you trying to distract me?”

  “No. I am distracting you,” he said, shooting her a look. “I don’t see why we have to keep talking about Sebastian. He thinks he knows what my life should be about and I think he needs to go pull his head out of his ass. There’s nothing else to keep talking about.”

  “Hmm.” She reached up and curled her hands around his wrists. “So he’s got his head up his ass. And that’s it?”

  “Yes.” Leaning in, crowding her body against the wall, he took her mouth, quick and hard. “Now . . . can we stop talking? It’s been like three days since I had you naked.”

  She smiled against his lips. “Wow. Three whole days? However did you stand it?”

  “By fantasizing about what I’d do with you once I had you naked in a hotel room.” He twisted his hands out of her grip and reached for the buttons that held her dress closed. It was a cute little retro piece, a soft pale green that made her skin glow. It was pretty, sexy in a subtle, quiet way and all damned day, he’d thought about either unbuttoning all those buttons and fucking her while she still wore it, or maybe turning her around and bending her over . . . maybe both. The blood drained out of his head as he pondered the possibilities. By the time he’d eased the fourth button free, his fingers were shaking. A bra peeked through the vee of her dress now and he leaned in, pressed his mouth to the pale flesh, licked the outer curve of one breast.

  He managed to free all of the buttons, but he wasn’t quite done, he realized. Pale, gauzy white material still separated him from her and he stroked one hand down it, feeling the firm length of her thigh underneath it before he slid her a look. “I’m thinking about taking you while you’re still wearing your dress, you know.”

  “What . . .” Her voice cracked a little and she stopped, clearing her throat. “What’s stopping you?”

  Besides the fact that he felt like he was about to come just looking at her? Not a whole lot. Crouching down in front of her, he slid his hands under the skirts of her dress and petticoat, catching her panties with his fingertips and dragging them down. She went to step out of the heels she was still wearing and he shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “Those stay on, too.”

  She blushed, her face flaming red and he laughed a little, stroking one finger down her foot. “You’ve looked so beautiful, so elegant, and so sweetly sexy all damned day. Now I get to muss you up and I’m going to enjoy it,” he said.

  “And I have to wear the heels?”

  “Well. No.” He went to catch her calf. “Take them off if you really want to.”

  “No.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  Then she laughed a little and the sound wrapped around him, settling inside his heart and warming every dark, cold place. “You know, I’ve never once had sex while I’m wearing so many clothes, never once—”

  The rest of her words were a muffled shriek against his mouth.

  He just couldn’t think about that. Tangling his hand in her hair, he used his free arm to boost her up. “Don’t,” he muttered. “I can’t . . . just don’t.”

  He had to live with watching her fall in love with another man, although he knew she hadn’t loved Roger. The other guy before Roger, though? The jerk in college? Yeah, she’d loved him, and he’d hurt her. Zach had to stand by and watch it; had to watch her laugh with other guys, be happy with them while he bled and died silently inside. But he couldn’t listen to this.

  He carried her over to the long, low gleam of the dining room table set up on the other side of the door. The hotel was one of the nicer ones and he’d thought they could order breakfast in, eat, and just enjoy the view over the bay.

  Now, though, the only thought in his mind was the table was there. And it was close. Kicking the nearest chair out of the way, he sat her on the edge and bent over her, bearing down on her until she lay with her back flat against the surface. She whimpered against his mouth, her hands fisting his shirt while her knees came up and gripped his hips.

  He tore his mouth away and lifted up, catching her legs and spreading them wide. His name was a strangled cry on her lips as he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to the hot, sweet core of her. Her hands tangled in his hair and she went to arch herself closer, but
before she could, he caught her behind the knees, shoved.

  “Be still,” he growled against her. Open . . . he wanted her open for him. Open and vulnerable, just like he was for her.

  Stabbing at her with his tongue, he worked her closer and closer, felt her climax moving in on her. Knew it was close when her body started to tighten, clench with every touch, every stroke of his tongue. Knew it was close . . . and he stopped. Surging upright, he tore at the fly of his jeans while she gasped for breath and lay there staring at him.

  She sat up, reaching for him and he let her, shuddering as she sank her teeth into his lower lip, as he felt the press of her breasts against his chest, the scratchy material of her petticoat caught between them. Abruptly, her kiss eased and she lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. “Zach . . .”

  The look in her eyes was almost his undoing. He could have gone to his knees before her and everything he’d felt inside for far too long was boiling inside him, threatening to spill out.

  Swearing, he tore back and pulled her off the table, spinning her around and urging her forward. She made a startled sound and he dipped his head, pressing a kiss to her nape.

  “Shhh . . . shhh,” he murmured as he guided her forward. “Bend over for me, Abby. Just . . .”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark and unreadable. So dark. But then, as a sigh shuddered out of her, she bent forward, bracing her hands on the table. He urged her lower, until she was flat against the surface and he slid his hands under the tangle of skirt and petticoat, pushing it up to her waist. Then he swore, long and low, at the sight of her ass, the sleek, wet core of her, exposed to his sight.

  On her hip, he could see the elegant lines of his tattoo and he dipped his head, kissed the soft skin just next to it before he straightened and moved in, tucking the head of his cock against her gate. Soft, wet heat greeted him, closed around him and then, eyes closed, he surged forward—

  “Fuck,” he snarled, slamming a hand onto the table by her head.

  Abby moaned and rotated her hips back, clenching down around him.

  “Abby . . . don’t. Be still.” Sweating, shaking, he braced his hands on her hips. “Rubber. I need . . .”

  “Zach.” Her lashes lifted and she turned her head a little, watching him through her lashes.

  And despite his best intentions, even as he pulled put, he found himself surging back in. Silk. She was slick, wet, smooth silk and she felt so damned good. “I need to stop,” he panted. “I don’t . . . I didn’t put a rubber on.”

  “I’m on the pill.” She licked her lips, blood rushing up to stain her cheeks red. “And . . .”

  He froze, bent over her. “Abby . . .”

  “I had a physical done a couple weeks ago,” she whispered. “When I . . . well. I had one done. It had been a few months since Roger and I were . . . oh!”

  He shuddered and swore as he drove back inside her. “Don’t say his name when I’m inside you, Abby. Just don’t.”

  “It’s been a while,” she said, glaring at him. “And I’m good. You don’t need . . .”

  He knew what she was saying. And it shouldn’t matter. Smart adults didn’t do this.

  But when it came to Abby, Zach wasn’t a smart adult. Bracing one elbow on the table, he rotated his hips against her again, felt her clench around him and he groaned.

  “Do I stop?” he demanded.

  “No.” She held his gaze and when he pulled out, eased back in, she clamped down on him like she never wanted him to leave.

  That worked just fine for him.

  But not like this . . . not now.

  Straightening, he pulled out and listened to her ragged groan, the soft sound of disappointment. But then, as he turned her over, her eyes widened. He reached for the hem of his shirt and dragged it off before pulling her hips to the very edge of the table. Her legs hung off the edge as he tucked the head of his cock against her gate. “Like this. Watching each other . . .”

  Her gaze caught his, held his as he slid his arms under her knees, holding her open . . . vulnerable . . . as he surged deep inside, the soft, slick tissues of her pussy yielded to him and she cried out his name.

  Naked and smooth, tight and hot, she closed around him. Perfect.

  So damned perfect . . .

  I love you, he thought, staring down at her.

  And he had to fight to keep those words trapped inside. Lifting one of her legs, he pressed a kiss to her calf, stroked his palm along her smooth skin. Her eyes, dark and wide, locked on his face and he hated the dim light, wished he’d turned it on so he could see her, see all of her, the way the lacy, flouncy material of that insanely female petticoat tangled around her waist as he rode her, wished he could see the way her skin was so pretty and pale against his own.

  “Fuck, Abby,” he muttered, and his own voice shook.

  But she didn’t seem to notice as she twisted and arched under him, a soft, desperate little moan escaping her.

  “Zach,” she whimpered.

  And he knew. He heard it and the need in her voice just hit him in the heart, in the gut. Releasing his hold on her knee, he slid his hand along her inner thigh and sought out the hard little knot of nerves just above her entrance. Slowing down the rhythm of his strokes, even when all he wanted was to take take take, he stroked her clitoris and felt the answering tension in her body.

  A harsh, breathless scream echoed through the room as she clenched down, milking him as she started to come. Hard and fast . . . and so fucking sweet.

  Once he knew she was falling, he let himself follow.

  Always . . .

  * * *

  In the darkness of the room, Abby lay sprawled with her head on his chest and he toyed with her hair as he stared out the window.

  “Are you mad at Seb?” she asked drowsily.

  Closing his eyes, he bit back the instinctive answer. That answer wasn’t complimentary, but he knew if he let her know just how pissed he was, she’d want to know why.

  “Other than irritated about him having his head up his ass?” he said, keeping his voice easy. “Nah.”

  Guilt tugged at him for lying to her and he knew he shouldn’t. Well, I’m not. Not exactly. He does have his head up his ass, and that’s why I’m pissed. I’m just not clarifying what I’m pissed about.

  It was splitting hairs and he knew it, but this just wasn’t a talk they could have yet.

  This was too new.

  As she stroked her nail along the line of the tattoo over his chest, he rolled his head over to look at her. “You ever call the dickhead?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No. It just doesn’t seem as important now.”

  Zach blinked. “But it’s in your journal.”

  “Yes. The very weird journal.” She moved closer to the dagger where it pierced the heart. “I think if it’s a very weird journal that means I’m allowed to modify the rules as I see fit.”

  “But you don’t modify rules.” He shifted in bed and tumbled her onto her back, pausing a moment to appreciate the shift in positions as her thighs parted to accommodate him. Then, before he could get distracted, he settled his elbows on the bed next to her head and peered down at her face. “You get locked on one certain thing and you have to see it through. Tattoo, check. Affair, check. Stop worrying . . .” He paused and stroked a thumb down her cheek. “How is that part going?”

  A grin curved her lips and she shrugged a little. “Zach, lately, you’ve got my head spinning around so much, I don’t have time to worry about anything. And I’ll have you know, I still plan to flip off the next photographer who snaps a picture of me. Then when they plaster that picture of me in the next gossip rag, they can talk about how I’m fat and angry.”

  “You’re not fat,” he snapped. He shoved back on his knees and settled between her thighs, staring at her, the long, lush curves of her thighs, her breasts, the gentle curve of her belly. “You’re so beautiful, you make my teeth hurt.”

  She blushed a little. T
hen she shrugged. “I’m not saying I think it. Although compared to what they want in Hollywood these days . . . baby, I’m an absolute cow. Which is probably yet another reason I’m glad I never plan to go back there.” She eased upright and settled on her knees in front of him.

  The dark silk of her hair spilled down to curl around her breasts. “Seb’s so certain you miss it, although he never questions my choice to leave it. It’s funny, if you think about it. We both got into it at the same time, did it for the same length of time . . . and it ended at the same time for us.” She eased closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and studying him. “If it’s no big deal for me to walk away, why not you?”

  Cupping her ass in his hands, he shrugged. “Hell if I know. Sometimes, I think he sees himself as the way I was when it ended for me. Maybe he thinks if I’m done with it, that’s what he faces. But I left because I wanted to. He doesn’t want to. I don’t know what his deal is.” Then he rubbed his lips against hers. “And, Abby, if you keep talking about other guys while I’m sitting here buck-ass naked with you, it just might hurt my ego.”

  “Your ego, huh?” She laughed a little and reached between them, closing her hand around his cock, stroking up, then down. “This ego?”

  “Yeah.” He flashed her a grin. “Matter of fact, I think you might have already hurt it. Maybe you should kiss it and make it better.”

  “Hmmm.” She squirmed backward and eased downward.

  And Zach shuddered as her mouth closed around him.

  * * *

  Breakfast was a lovely, luxurious affair at the table where they watched the bay and Zach kept whispering in her ear about how he’d never see another dining room table with thinking about what they’d done on this one.

  Consequently, she spent most of the meal red-faced and was so turned on, she jumped him in the shower when they were supposed to be getting ready to check out.

  Which meant they were late for their lunch date with Marin.

  Marin waved at them from her table with a glint in her eye and a wide grin. “You two, if I’d known you were going to be late, I wouldn’t have gotten up so early to head down here.”