The Reunited

by Shiloh Walker

  “Maybe.” Tipping her head back, she stared at him. “Do you care?”

  “No . . .” He spun around and put her back up against the wall. “I don’t care at all.”

  She was ready for him to just unzip his jeans and take her. Ready for it to just end that fast. But he surprised her as he dipped his head, skimming his lips along her shoulder. Along the curve of her collarbone. When he went lower and caught the tight bud of her nipple in his mouth, Dru gasped.

  Too much time had passed since anybody had done anything like this . . . Reaching up, she gripped his shoulders, sinking her nails into them.

  Gentle, slow tugs with his lips, then his teeth. Teasing strokes with his tongue. Back and forth, and each stroke sent an arrow of pleasure darting down between her legs until she was rocking her hips restlessly, the ache there about ready to make her go crazy.

  Her breath caught in her throat, lodged there as he went to his knees, trailing a line of burning kisses straight down her torso. When he reached her pubis, he pressed his mouth to her and Dru tensed, her entire body tightening. One hand stroked up the back of her thigh, possessiveness in every touch.

  As he guided her legs farther apart, she stared down at him, watched his dark head, so intimately close.

  The sight of it was so beautifully erotic, she felt herself cramping from need, aching for want of him. He nuzzled her curls, his breath ghosting over her clit. Not even a touch and it was too much. Then he flicked his tongue against her . . . and she shattered.

  Too much need, too much sensation, and that light touch was all it took.

  She heard a rough groan from him as she erupted with a cry and his hands came up, gripping her hips, holding her steady as he teasingly flicked his tongue over her, again, and again, pushing her higher . . . oh. Oh . . .

  It ripped through her, brutal and fast and wicked. The heat of it, the intensity of it, all of it was too much. She shuddered her way back to earth, and if she’d had five seconds to think, she just might have been embarrassed.

  But there was no time to think, or even breathe. Strong arms came around her waist, hauling her up. Too dazed, too breathless, she stared down into Joss’s face as he carried her over to the bed. The soft, smooth sheets were cool against her back as he laid her down, her hips on the edge.

  “Stay there.” He bent over to kiss her, his voice a ragged growl in his throat.

  Stay here . . . I can do that, Dru thought, her brain barely operating. Getting up. Moving . . . not going to happen.

  That had been . . . wow. And he’d barely done anything.

  * * *

  HIS hands were fucking shaking.

  As he tore into his duffle bag, he couldn’t help noticing that small, significant detail.

  Up until this case had started, he was pretty much unflappable. Women just didn’t get to him like this. They didn’t.

  But Dru wasn’t a woman . . . she was his woman. The only one. His everything. And she had him shaking. If he wasn’t careful, she just might have him coming in his pants before he even had a chance to unzip them.

  No. Finally spying the box of condoms, he ripped it open and pulled a couple out. He damn well wasn’t going to lose it before he made love to her. Not after all this time. It might be over quicker than his first time, but damn it, he’d still make it good for both of them.

  And who the hell cared if his hands were shaking?

  Rising, he turned around and then stopped, dead short, a fist rising up to grab him, a fist right around his heart. The breath in his lungs dwindled away to nothing as he stared at her. Her lids were lowered, a soft flush on her cheeks, and a smile curved her lips upward.

  That smile . . . it was the kind of smile that would elicit riots. Start wars and end them. And then she lifted her lashes and caught him watching her.

  Feeling like a lovesick fool . . . feeling like exactly what he was . . . he was helpless to do anything but go to her as she lifted a hand.

  So much they needed to talk through, so much they needed to figure out. And none of it mattered as long as she kept looking at him like that, because it meant she hadn’t totally written him off, right?

  Crossing to her, he threw the condoms on the bed next to her and knelt down, pressing his lips to the soft flesh just inside her left knee. “You’re so damned beautiful . . . so damned amazing.”

  From under her lashes, she watched him, the smile fading, until nothing but naked longing remained on her face.

  “Make love to me, Joss.”

  “Gladly.” Skimming his lips up her thigh, along the satin of her skin, he took in her taste. Salty skin. Sweet woman. His woman. Slipping his hands under her hips, he dragged her to the very edge of the mattress and lowered his head, pressing his mouth against her.

  She bucked against him, slamming her hands down on the mattress. “Joss,” she hissed out, her voice a garbled little shriek.

  “I love the taste of you,” he whispered. “Love it.”

  She whimpered and reached down, cupping his head in her hands and holding him against her, moving her hips, rocking up to meet his mouth. “Oh . . . like that,” she said, her voice a broken gasp when he stabbed her clit with his tongue.

  When he pushed a finger inside her slick sheath, she keened out his name, her nails biting into his scalp. And then he twisted his wrist, adding a second finger, screwing them in . . . out. As she came a second time, his dick gave a violent, demanding jerk.

  Inside her . . . now.

  As she started to come back down, he stood up, tearing his pants open, shoving them down. The kiss of air on his painfully sensitive flesh was torture, and then she sat up, languid and slow, reaching out to curl her hand around him. “Is it my turn now?” she asked, her voice breathless, odd little tremors still wracking her body as she leaned in and pressed her lips to the head of his cock.

  He wanted to tell her that it could be her turn whenever she damn well wanted, except then she opened her mouth and took him inside. She curled her tongue over him and every last muscle in his legs started to tremble, threatened to give out. Closing his hands around her head, he started to tug her back. But then she took him deeper. Pulled back and rolled her eyes to smile up at him. Did it a second time, a third . . .

  With a ragged snarl, he fisted his hands in her hair and started to rock forward to meet her, fucking her mouth, easy and slow, while his legs trembled and his knees threatened to give out on him.

  He was absolutely certain he’d never seen anything as erotic as this, not in his life. Dru’s mouth, so pretty and soft, on his cock, one hand holding the base, the other gripping his thigh, her neat nails biting into his skin. So erotic. So perfect. So very his . . .

  His . . .

  The need to come spread through him, sizzling through his spine, tightening his balls. Fisting his hand in her hair, he tugged her back, shaking his head, feeling half-crazed when she tried to take him back in her mouth. “Not this way,” he growled. “First time is inside you, damn it. In you.”

  A bit of a smile curved her pretty lips. “You didn’t let my first time happen with you inside me.”

  “So I’m a chauvinistic bastard.” He nudged her back on the bed, coming down on top of her, and then he had to stop, closing his eyes at the feel of her body against his. After all this time. Finally.

  “Joss?”

  Groaning, he turned his head to hers, blindly seeking out her mouth. He hooked an arm around her neck, needing her so much in that moment, so much he was all but stupid with it. Couldn’t think, breathe, or speak without her. She was everywhere, inside his head, his heart, under his skin.

  Finally . . .

  His cock jerked against the soft curve of her belly, demanding. Insistent.

  She whimpered low in her throat and rocked, like she couldn’t wait to have him inside her.

  Damn. He understood that feeling. Although it was like severing an arm in that moment, he tore his mouth from hers and shoved upright, fumbling on the bed for one of the r
ubbers. “A week,” he rasped. “When this is done, you and I are gonna find someplace where we can be alone and do nothing but this for an entire week.”

  Her eyes, dark and serious, rested on his face.

  His fingers felt too big, awkward, as he tried to tear the foil packet open.

  “Let me,” she murmured, easing upward and taking it from him.

  Licking his lips, he watched as she discarded the foil, and started to roll the latex sheath down over him. Her slim fingers were strong and confident as she smoothed it down, her hand steady.

  And when she looked back up at him, there was still something in her eyes . . . something almost haunted.

  No. No time for that, not anymore. Nothing mattered now. They were together.

  As she lay back down, he stretched his body out over hers . . . felt that amazing, gut-wrenching connection. Nothing would ever feel as right as this, her body against his, her eyes staring into his.

  Except . . .

  Something was off—

  She was holding back. Those solid walls of hers were back in place, holding steady as he pushed his thigh between hers. He wanted to sink completely into her. Body to body, soul to soul . . .

  “You’re holding back from me,” he muttered, settling in the cradle of her hips.

  “Shhh,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his jaw. One hand curved over the back of his neck, tugging him closer. She slid the other hand down over his chest, across his abdomen, and he shuddered, his muscles bunching and jumping under her touch. Her fist closed around him, stroked up. Down. “Make love to me, Joss . . . haven’t we waited long enough?”

  A hundred years . . . a lifetime.

  Groaning, he caught her knee in one hand, dragging it up. As he did, he pressed against her, the head of his shaft seeking out her soft, wet heat. Her lashes fluttered down. Shoving his hand into her hair, he tugged her head back. “No,” he snarled. “Look at me, damn it. I have to see you . . . see this.”

  Slowly, her lashes rose.

  Her lips parted.

  Catching one of her hands, he twined their fingers. Palm to palm. Skin to skin. As he slowly started to sink inside her, the slick, wet tissues of her sex closing around him, he sank lower, felt her heart pounding against his. Heart to heart.

  “Mine,” he muttered against her mouth. “Finally mine.”

  She opened for him, twining her legs around his hips, her tongue seeking out his as he stabbed it into her mouth. So hungry for her. So desperate.

  Her pussy, wet, slick, and sweet as sin, gripped him, milking him as he pulled out, surged back in. She cried out against his mouth. He felt the pleasure splintering through her, despite the shields she tried to keep between them. It echoed through him, and he knew he’d been right . . . this wasn’t going to last.

  Working a hand between them, he flicked his thumb over the erect little bud of her clit. The hood was stiff, pressing against him, and when he pressed against her, her entire body quaked. “You like that.”

  She didn’t answer in words, but he felt it as she moved against him, her slender, strong body a long arch under his. She tore her mouth away, sucking in one ragged breath after another.

  He flicked her clit once. Twice. She tensed, the muscles of her sheath resisting him as he surged back in. Tight, so fucking tight he had to work just to get back in. A hot flush started low on her breasts and her breaths came in broken little pants.

  Another teasing stroke and her eyes locked on his. Joss stared at her, and felt it shatter through her.

  Echoing through him.

  As she broke into a thousand pieces, he felt it . . . and he shattered right along with her.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  "WHAT do you mean . . . she doesn’t exist?”

  Patrick eyed the organized chaos taking place in his house as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Mr. Whitmore, I’ve gone as deep on her as I can and it’s a good front. A very good one. But you’re dealing with a woman who faked her identity. I don’t know how she managed to craft a false identity quite so thorough, but that’s exactly what she’s done.”

  Faked her identity . . .

  Rage seethed through him.

  Storming through the mansion, he made his way to Ella . . . no, not Ella. The whore. The whore. Who was she?

  As he came into her room, he stood there, looking for something . . . anything.

  There. By the sink was her makeup case. Lowering the phone, he bellowed for Lydia.

  She emerged from the depths of the mansion only seconds later, her face remote, expressionless. “Get a plastic bag, gloves. I want Ella’s makeup case bagged. I want it sent out.”

  She nodded and disappeared.

  Something rubbed against his ankle. Looking down, he saw Demeter rubbing her head against him. Rage tripped through him. For a second, he thought about grabbing the little feline, snapping her neck. Instead, he sucked in a breath. Picked up his cat and stroked her back. It didn’t soothe the enormity of his rage, but after a moment, he could think. Lifting the phone back to his ear, he said quietly, “Have you found out who she is?”

  “No. The identity trail just stops. I’m not searching—”

  “No,” Patrick cut in. “You’re not. Come out to the mansion. I have some of her personal belongings. Run her prints. Find out who she is. Where she is. And once you know . . . you let me know.”

  * * *

  LYING there on the bed, curled around her, Joss was almost convinced that this was everything he’d ever need.

  But when he leaned in to press his lips to her shoulder, those shields were still there. Still solid and cool and impenetrable. Sighing, he buried his face against her hair.” Why are you still shutting me out?”

  She stroked a hand down his arm. “It’s easier that way, lover,” she murmured.

  “Easier. Easier how?”

  One silent moment stretched out into another, and then finally, she rose.

  Joss sat up, staring at her.

  He’d wanted to make love to her again, but somehow, he didn’t think that would be happening just yet. And soon, he had to figure out where Jones was, get his ass back on the job. But this first.

  “You don’t really want me to stop shutting you out, Joss,” Dru said as she rose from the bed.

  As she started to get dressed, he studied her. “And why is that?”

  A bitter smirk twisted her lips. “Because once you’ve heard the entirety of what I’ve had to do since I started working this job, you . . .” Her voice hitched. She paused in the middle of putting her bra on, pressing her lips together. She lowered her head, her shining dark hair falling to shield her expression.

  When she looked back at him, her expression was as remote, distant as the sun. “You won’t want me anymore. I can tell you that.”

  “Nothing could make that happen,” he rasped.

  “Hmm.” She tugged on her shirt. As she snagged her running tights from the ground, he stood up and went to her.

  “Why don’t we put that to the test?” he said quietly, taking the tights away and tossing them on the back of the nearby couch. He cupped her face in his hands. “Stop blocking me out. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, and I’ve spent my entire life waiting for you . . . looking for you. Nothing is going to change that.”

  “Are you so certain?” she asked, her voice raw.

  “Try me.”

  A bitter laugh escaped her. “You’ll regret this, Joss. You really will. But I can’t hide what I’ve done . . . what I am.”

  As her shields dropped, he fell into the very soul of her.

  And his heart broke.

  * * *

  FLASH, flash, flash.

  She felt it as her terror flooded him.

  Her shame.

  The pain. The times she let herself get hit. The first time Patrick had forced her. And the night she’d made the decision not to let him do it again, when she’d taken the choice into her hands . . . and away from
him.

  The shame of it tried to choke her, but she shoved it back. What I did, I did for a reason. She could all but hear herself screaming it inside her head. She might hate it, and she might wish it hadn’t come to pass, but she’d done what was necessary.

  Her heart pounded with each memory that flashed between them. It had never been this intense before. She wasn’t just taking in his memories . . . that was what was supposed to happen. He was taking in hers, and she’d never had a dual exchange like this. She’d never felt anybody’s reaction when she’d done this before.

  And she didn’t want to feel it—instinctively, she tried to jerk away. She couldn’t feel his disgust, couldn’t feel him pull away like she knew he was going to do. No . . .

  But he wouldn’t let her.

  A raw, anguished cry left him.

  They crashed to the ground. She felt the floor bite into her knees. Felt his hands grip her face, and she stared at him through a veil of tears, desperate to break the contact before . . . no no no no . . .

  And then it was over and he was staring at her, his black eyes burning. She could almost see the flames in his eyes as he stared at her.

  “How many times?” he snarled.

  Trembling, she braced herself. So this was how it would end, she thought dully. This man she barely even knew . . . yet she did know him. The man she barely knew would shatter her, break her soul—even Patrick hadn’t been able to do that.

  In a flat voice, she said, “I did it as often as I had to.”

  For a second, he looked blank, but then he shook his head. “Fuck that . . . you did what you needed to keep him from hurting you. How many times did he hurt you?”

  Her ragged, broken train of thoughts stuttered to a halt.

  Her ragged, broken heart stuttered inside her chest.

  Dru clutched at his wrists. “Wuh . . . what?”

  “I’m going to kill him.” Joss stared off over her shoulder. “I plan on doing it slow. I need to gut him. Slowly. That takes a long time to die and I need to hurt him. For every time he hurt you, I’m going to hurt him.”

  With an abrupt jerk, she twisted away from him and stumbled off, getting a few feet between them before she turned to face him. Her knees shook and wobbled.