Out of the Light, Into the Shadows

by Lori Foster

She laughed. “Fibber.”

  He ignored that. “I’ve been dying to get you alone.”

  “Hmmm.” She smiled. “Is that so?”

  “Damn right.” Tracing along her jaw to her throat, and down to her cleavage, he said, “You look beautiful tonight, Mercy.”

  She touched her hair and said again, “Fibber. I look terrible.”

  “No. Just tired, that’s all.” But that acknowledgment redirected his thoughts. “You’re always sexy as hell, but if you need to rest—”

  “I’m never that tired, Wyatt. Not for you.” Cupping his jaw, she brought his face up and whispered, “Never for you.”

  Damn, but his blood rushed, his muscles tightened. He took her mouth and kissed her with all the need raging inside him.

  Mercy might deny it, but he felt her slipping away. It seemed the minute she claimed to love him, everything went wrong.

  Somehow he had to make it right again. Mind-blowing sex would be a good start.

  MERCY practically raced Wyatt into his home. She knew she should discuss things with him first, tell him that their situation was about to change in a very big way, but she wanted this, him, without added pressures for possibly the last time.

  She made it to the bedroom before he caught her wrist and spun her around toward him. His mouth was on hers, his hands on her backside, before she could take a breath. He devoured her, almost as if he sensed the same urgency to steal this special moment.

  When he started to catch her wrists together, Mercy stopped him. “No.”

  He breathed hard, and his eyes were diamond bright with lust. “No?”

  God, she loved him so much it hurt. Licking her lips, Mercy stepped back and said, “Take your clothes off. Tonight I want to take the lead.”

  His left eyebrow shot high; his lips parted. A bulging erection strained his slacks above the fly.

  “Take off your clothes,” she repeated, “and stretch out on the bed.”

  “Damn.” He hesitated only a moment before yanking enough buttons free that he could jerk his shirt off over his head.

  She loved his chest, the chest hair, the muscles, the sleek skin. She curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching for him.

  After toeing off his shoes and sliding his belt free, he shoved down his slacks and boxers and took off his socks as he stepped free of the clothes.

  Challenging her, daring her, he stood there naked and watched her.

  “On the bed, Wyatt.”

  Pleasure curved his mouth. “Alright.” He lay down on his back and put his arms behind his head, bent one knee. “Now what, baby?”

  “Now you stay like that.” Watching him, she removed her jewelry and sandals, taking her time, enjoying the way his eyes tracked her every movement.

  His relaxed posture didn’t fool her. She’d played the supplicant for him too many times not to know just how tense with anticipation he was right now.

  Her gaze went over his body, scrutinizing him, enjoying the sight of him. “I love your arms, Wyatt. Your biceps.” Her breath faltered on a shaky inhalation. “And the sexy muscles on your abdomen.”

  Those muscles tightened, fascinating Mercy. Wyatt had a delicious body that only got better each time she saw him naked.

  She wanted to see him like this for the rest of their lives.

  Lifting her dress off over her head, she placed it across a chair. Wearing only a demi-bra and thong panties, she moved closer to the bed. Would Wyatt notice her thickening waist? Her plumper breasts?

  Lately, her nipples had become supersensitive. Just thinking about his mouth tugging on her made her damp with need, achy with lust. Now, with her body’s changes, she needed gentleness—at least at first.

  She crawled onto the bed and straddled his lap, carefully settling on his rigid erection.

  His jaw clenched, but he managed a smile. “Damn, you’re hot.”

  “Burning up, actually.” Reaching behind herself, she unhooked her bra and let it droop off her shoulders. Wyatt stared at her breasts. She cupped them in her palms, keeping the bra cups in place. “I want your mouth on me, Wyatt.”

  His eyes flared, he started to reach for her, and she said, “Unh-uh. Be still.” Teasing him with a smile, she whispered, “I’ll come to you.”

  Heat flushed his high cheekbones. He settled back, his biceps bunching even more with his restraint. Voice rough, he said, “Whatever you want.”

  “I want you to suck on me, but gently. Very gently.”

  His chest rose on a deep breath. “Bend down here.”

  With the expectation of how hot his mouth would be, how it’d make her feel, Mercy’s nipples tightened and she almost moaned.

  Breathing hard and fast, she dropped the bra over the side of the bed.

  “Come to me, Mercy.”

  Even in this, he tried to take control. She had to get a grip. Tonight was for him, a memory they’d both cherish.

  Deliberately sliding along the length of his shaft, Mercy adjusted her position and felt him stiffen more.

  She put her hands on either side of his head, arms straight, so that her breasts hovered over his mouth. “Well?”

  “Tease.” Wyatt lifted his head and licked at one nipple.

  Everything deep inside her tightened. She bit her lip and forced herself to stay still.

  He licked again, circling her before closing his mouth over her and suckling softly.

  Oh, God. Her thighs clenched on his hips. She closed her eyes and curled her fingers into the bedclothes.

  Wyatt moved to the other breast, giving it the same tender treatment, and just that easily, she was ready, already wet and pulsing.

  Determination kept her from changing her plans. She wanted this to last. She wanted to physically show Wyatt how much she loved him.

  Eyes burning, Wyatt challenged her. “You need me, Mercy.”

  Never did she want to be a burden. She wanted his love and respect, his affection and fidelity, but not his sense of obligation. “For this, yes, I need you.”

  His brows came down in a fierce frown. “So it’s only mind-blowing sex you need? Well, babe, I can give it to you.”

  “Oh, trust me, Wyatt, I know you can.” The exchange of words helped her compose herself. “I’m counting on it.”

  “Then …”

  “Shhh.” What she wanted to prove was that she could give him the same wild satisfaction. “Just be patient.”

  As she moved to Wyatt’s side, his expression darkened more. She rose to her knees and pushed down her panties, then sat back, stretched her legs out, and took them off completely.

  In the process, she made sure to give him a show. It worked, given his rapt expression and the narrowing of his eyes.

  Using her silky thong, she teased his cock, sliding it around him, stroking him. His legs shifted on the bed; he made a low, growling sound of mixed frustration and pleasure.

  While still playing with him, Mercy sought his gaze. It startled her, even unnerved her a bit, to catch the dark intensity of his direct stare.

  To compose herself, she looked back at his erection. A drop of fluid showed on the head, tempting her and filling her with satisfaction. She blindly tossed aside the underwear, curled her fist around him to hold him steady, and slowly leaned down.

  Wyatt’s feral groan matched her descent until she reached him. He held his breath. Mercy squeezed him tight. She closed her eyes—and opened her mouth around him, taking him deep into her mouth in one move.

  His breath hissed out and he strained beneath her. When she started to pull back, his hips lifted, keeping his cock buried deep in her mouth.

  Mercy teased him as far as she could, then pulled away and straddled his hips again. She was shaking all over, his lust inspiring her own. She held him again and ever so slowly eased down to take him inside her.

  Wyatt’s riveted gaze took in the slow penetration even as his chest bellowed and his muscles clenched.

  “You’re killing me, Mercy.”

 
She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. Tipping her head back, she took more of him. It was so deep this way, and her body was so different now, more sensitive, needier. Riper.

  “Mercy,” he warned, lifting his hips again to speed up her progress, pushing up into her until he couldn’t go any farther. “Spread your knees.”

  Done with her game, she did as he asked, and felt herself slip down another inch. She gasped.

  “Wyatt?”

  His jaw worked. “Yeah?”

  “You can take over now.”

  So fast that she didn’t have time to catch her breath, he sat up and pulled her closer, covering her mouth with his own, kissing her hot and deep. His fingers tunneled into her hair, holding her skull as he raped her mouth.

  She loved every second of it. So close to the edge that she couldn’t take it, Mercy started to move.

  Wyatt stopped her. “Oh, no you don’t.” His hands slid down her back to clasp her hips. “If you start that, I’ll come and it’ll all be over.”

  “I want you to come.”

  He shook his head. “Not just yet.” Bracing an arm behind her back, he arched her forward and bent to her breasts. His mouth was hot, damp, but now the gentle tugging wasn’t enough.

  Mercy tried to encourage him with small sounds and movements, but he only released one nipple to move to the other.

  “Wyatt …”

  “Shhh.” He met her gaze. “Open your knees as far as you can. Let me look at you.”

  Mercy didn’t hesitate. She saw his eyes darken and narrow, and then he put his fingers there, touching her so lightly, teasing her.

  Caught so close to a climax, her breath strangled in her throat.

  “Look at you, all stretched around me, wet and slick.”

  She should never have tried to play this game with him. He was too good at it.

  “I need—”

  “To come, I know.” He kissed her slack mouth. “Tell me you love me.”

  “I love you.”

  His fingertips moved over her swollen clitoris, found a rhythm, and that combined with his erection filling her was more than enough. As the orgasm rolled through her, she felt his mouth on her nipple again, sucking, tugging, and she lost total control. Her hands dug into his shoulders, and she cried out.

  The waves of pleasure were barely starting to recede when Wyatt dropped back with her, rolled, and put her beneath him. Still a part of her, he rose over her on stiffened arms.

  “Look at me, Mercy.”

  It was an effort, but she got her heavy eyes open.

  “I love you.”

  She smiled. “I love you, too.”

  He started thrusting, hard and fast. The muscles of his arms corded with his rising tension. His face darkened, his jaw locked.

  He put his head back on a deep groan and shuddered with his release.

  Watching every nuance of pleasure over his face, her heart full with emotion, Mercy stroked his chest.

  When he dropped down onto her, she squeezed him tight and kissed his shoulder.

  It was fifteen minutes later when she realized he’d dozed off. A tender smile caught her by surprise. He worked so hard, but still he’d made time for dinner with her brother.

  With a nudge to his shoulder, he rolled to his back and sighed. “You okay?”

  “I’m fabulous.” She started to get out of the bed.

  His hand settled on her thigh. “Where you going?”

  “To clean up and remove my makeup, brush my teeth. I won’t be long.”

  He sighed again, stretched, and sat up with her. “I need to do the same.” He gave her a long look. “God Almighty, you’re beautiful.”

  Mercy laughed. “You like that just-tumbled look, do you?”

  “When it’s you, and I’m the one who did the tumbling, yeah.” He left the bed and, buck naked, strode into the bathroom.

  Her heart softened. She owed him the truth. Now. Tonight. But she couldn’t do it like this, in the bed they’d just wrecked.

  She’d shower first, and then … Well, whatever happened, she’d deal with it. She was Brax Jardine’s little sister, and that meant she could deal with anything.

  SIX

  “WYATT?”

  He was still repairing the bed when Mercy stepped out of the bathroom. Smiling, he glanced up and found her freshly showered and … dressed. He glanced at the clock. It was damn near midnight.

  Uneasiness clawed through him; he straightened. “Going somewhere?”

  Her fingers laced together. “I hope not.”

  His mind raced. He wanted to go to her, to hug her, but she wore that distanced expression again, as if she guarded herself so she wouldn’t be hurt. “This is your home now.”

  She nodded, took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  If it was another man … But no. Mercy wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t believe that. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m hoping nothing is.”

  Wyatt frowned.

  “That is, I’m hoping you won’t think anything is, because I don’t.”

  “You’re not making any sense, honey.”

  She nodded again and squeezed her hands a little tighter. With an effort, she put her shoulders back and met his gaze. “I’m pregnant.”

  For one dizzying moment, the world closed in around him. Things from his past erupted into his future, hateful comments, murderous gestures that he’d long buried in an effort to forget them.

  Unseeing, he stared at Mercy. “How?”

  Her laugh held no humor. “The usual way.”

  “You told me you were on the pill.” It wasn’t so much an accusation as an effort to assimilate what she’d said, to come to grips with it.

  Pregnant. A child. His child.

  God, he’d never thought—

  “I was on the pill, but—”

  “Was?” He could see her now, and it tore at him. She looked lost, sick. His throat burned, making his voice rough. “When did you go off them?”

  “When I found out I was pregnant.”

  He shook his head again. She wasn’t making any sense.

  Taking one step toward him, Mercy rushed into speech. “You remember when I got sick? Well, I was throwing up a lot and the doctor thinks it’s possible that for a few nights, my body didn’t have the chance to absorb the pill, and … I got pregnant.” She ended with a shrug.

  Wyatt looked at her breasts. They were bigger, he knew that. He’d noticed it, but he hadn’t thought … And her waist, it was a little thicker. She looked tired all the time, and she’d thrown up—

  His head went back with disbelief. “How long have you known?”

  “For only a little while.”

  Things her brother had said, Cameo had said, resonated anew in his brain. He caught the bedpost for support. “You told your brother and his assistant? All through dinner, they knew?”

  Now she took a step back. “I never told Cameo. I guess Brax did.”

  She thought that made it better? His hand tightened on the post. “You told your brother, but not me?”

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I share everything with my brother.”

  What could he say to that? He wanted her to share everything with him—but she hadn’t. Maybe she never would.

  His heart punched hard against his ribs. He needed a minute alone, a little time to bend his mind around the impossible. No words came to him, so he said nothing.

  Feeling as if hell chased him, he turned away from her and left the room. All through his house he now saw signs of her presence in his life, his heart. He went to the back door and stepped out into the yard.

  The moon hung low in the sky, surrounded by glittering stars. He dragged in a breath, but still his lungs ached with tightness.

  A child.

  His child.

  How the fuck could that be?

  And more important, what would he do about it?

  The sound of his front door closing jerk
ed him around. No. Fuck no. He ran around the house to the front just in time to see her headlights bounce off the driveway, hit the road, and start moving away.

  “Mercy!”

  She kept going—not speeding, but leaving him all the same. Chasing her barefoot, in his boxers and nothing else, would be insane—but that’s what he wanted to do.

  Prodded by panic, he ran back into the house and grabbed up the phone. He dialed her cell, but she didn’t answer.

  Damn it.

  He closed his eyes and again saw her desolate expression. No, he didn’t have any answers. God knew he’d never, ever expected to be faced with this particular situation. Statistically, he was probably the very worst candidate to be a father.

  But he knew with a bone-deep certainty that he couldn’t lose Mercy. He loved her far too much.

  Everything else could be fixed. Somehow.

  Driven by new resolution, he pulled on a shirt and jeans, grabbed his truck keys, and raced out the door to find her.

  IT was just beyond dawn when Mercy gave up and pulled into Brax’s driveway. She felt like death warmed over and probably looked pretty close to that, too.

  She’d left Brax’s house in a T-shirt dress and flip-flops, her hair a mess, her face devoid of makeup … and damn it, she was going to cry again.

  Sitting in her car, she struggled to get herself together. It was bad enough that her face was blotchy, her eyes swollen. If she walked in sobbing, Brax would want to kill someone. From the time she was a child, it crushed him to see her upset and he went overboard to “fix” things to make her happy again.

  Resting her head on the steering wheel, she drew in slow, steady breaths.

  When a tap sounded on her driver’s-door window, she screamed. It so took her by surprise that everything in her jolted.

  “It’s me, Mercy. Cameo.”

  Mercy squinted her eyes to see in the early-morning twilight. Man, even at the crack of dawn Cameo looked very pulled together.

  She rolled down her window and, feeling like an idiot, said, “Hi.”

  Cameo’s mouth flattened and her eyes rolled. “Give it up, honey. I can see you’re a mess, and no, you don’t need to explain. Come on, let’s go inside.”

  Grumbling to herself, Mercy relented. She opened the car door and dragged her sorry behind out. “What are you doing here so early?”