Stolen: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

  Staring at Angie’s name, at nothing but Angie’s name, Shay whispered, “She’s the only person from my family that I keep in touch with. I broke all ties—changed my name after the trial and everything. But Angie knows about me.”

  “You don’t think—”

  “No.” Shay jerked her head, staring at him. “No,” she said again. “There’s no way.” And there was no doubt in her mind, in her gut, in her soul. “But if anybody knows anything about my past, it’s Angie.”

  Taking a deep breath, she tapped on the screen and waited for the email to load.

  Hey Sweetie

  Man, this is hard to talk about. You were so little then, and so scared. I don’t remember all of it, either. So I can’t tell you much. I hope you understand. But when you first came to live with us, when Mom told us to call you Michelle, for the first few weeks, you didn’t answer very well. And one day, out of the blue, you started talking to me a little. And you told me your name wasn’t Michelle. It was Michelline.

  But Mom never, ever wanted us to call you that. As a matter of fact, I once got in a lot of trouble for doing it. I didn’t see the big deal—you were so little and nothing was the same for you. What did it matter if you were called your old name? She grounded me for a month and took away everything but books.

  It wasn’t until I was older that I figured it out.

  I don’t want to pry, but I hope you’re okay. You forgot so much of everything before you came to us. If you ever need to talk, I’m here, Shay.

  Tears burned her eyes but she blinked them away. Filing the email, she put the phone down and covered her face with her hands.

  Can you tell us what happened, Michelline?

  No …

  She sat there and shuddered. Do you remember …

  No. She didn’t. But a part of her was trying to, and she really dreaded the day those memories finally crept into the open.

  Selena Campbell stood at the back window, staring outside.

  Darkness had fallen.

  She hated the night with a passion. These hours were when she missed Lance the most. He had been the most wonderful man. He had made her laugh, had made her smile. And he had told her something was wrong with the girl who had come to live with them.

  But Selena had always wanted to look for the good in people. After all, the dark-haired child had been so young. So sweet and kind when they first brought her home. How could there be anything wrong with her?

  Lance had been right.

  It had just taken her several years … and several losses … to see that.

  Selena pressed her hand to her belly, grief gripping her brutally.

  Mrs. Campbell, we found traces of something unusual in your blood.

  Her heart raced and she blinked away the tears. It was foolish, really, to cry over it now.

  It caused your body to go into early labor. That’s why you lost the baby.

  A few days later, Lance had found the little bag in their foster daughter’s room. The girl had been a nice, neat little monster and she’d had it labeled. He’d researched it and discovered that the herbs inside weren’t drugs. But they could induce a miscarriage. And when they’d confronted her, she’d just smiled.

  “Child, what are you out there doing now?” she whispered.

  She should have warned the woman who’d come to her door. But she hadn’t.

  And now, if that woman was harmed, she’d have yet another death on her hands. Staring at the spot where Lance’s workshop had once stood, she let a tear fall.

  They’d left Arizona to get away from all of that grief.

  But the grief … and the monster who’d caused it … had followed them.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  “DO YOU WANT TO GO DOWNSTAIRS AND GET SOMETHING to eat?” Elliot asked after they’d stowed their bags—her duffel bag, his, and her briefcase—and carried up her laptop.

  Shay wandered around the hotel room, pausing only long enough to kick off her shoes. By the window, she glanced back at him and smiled. “Do they have room service?” Curling her toes into the plush carpet, she decided it was … nice.

  It wasn’t home, but it was a nice room.

  And it was kind of fun being in such a small space with Elliot. They’d headed on to Detroit, getting the hell out of that small, tired town. Nothing had been there for them anyway, and the only hotel hadn’t been much more than a single strip of rooms. They hadn’t even slowed to check it out.

  “I’m sure they have room service,” he said, padding across the floor to her. “If you’re too tired to go downstairs, room service sounds good.”

  She shrugged. “It’s not that I’m tired. Although I am. But I’ve never stayed in a hotel room and done the room service bit. It might be fun.”

  “Sure. Paying a fifteen or eighteen percent surcharge for the same food you can get downstairs sounds like a blast,” he drawled, rolling his eyes. But he’d smiled and reached up, stroking her chin as he said it. “I’ll dig up the menu.”

  As he did, she turned back to the window and stared outside. Detroit was all lights, she decided. There were a lot more lights than Anchorage, at least. And it was a bigger city. But not as pretty. She wouldn’t be able to see the northern lights from here … too much light from the city.

  But then again, no place was like Alaska. No place was like home.

  “Here you go.”

  She turned around and saw the menu he held out. Taking it, she headed to the bed and stretched out on her belly, studying it. “Man, do they price things up or what?” she muttered.

  “Yep.” He stroked a hand up her thigh. “May I?”

  She shot him a look over her shoulder. “May you what?”

  “I was going to give you a back rub.”

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “Okay.” But when he straddled her thighs, her breath lodged in her chest. Panic swelled inside her—

  “You okay?”

  Elliot’s voice called her home. And she managed to blow out the air threatening to explode inside her chest. “I’m fine,” she squeezed out. Gripping the menu desperately, she stared at it even though the words didn’t make any sense.

  “You sure?”

  “Right as rain.” No, I’m not. But she wasn’t going to admit to that. Make it until I fake it … Because damned if she was going to freak out because the guy she loved …

  Shit. The menu fell from numb fingers. She might have wilted if he hadn’t slid his hands under the hem of her shirt. “You with me?” he murmured.

  “Yes …”

  The guy I love … Oh, shit.

  Strong, gentle hands worked their way up her back. “Why don’t you lie flat?” he suggested. “I can get to you better that way.”

  Unable to argue, she stretched out, her mind still reeling. The guy I love …

  I love him.

  His thumbs ran along her spine, working it in a way that stretched those muscles. “You’re too tense,” he said softly.

  No shit.

  “Know what you want for dinner?”

  “Ah … I’m still trying to decide,” she hedged.

  “Okay. We got time.”

  Closing her eyes, she folded her arms under her and buried her face, hiding it from him, and the world, while she tried to come to grips with what she’d just admitted to herself. She loved him.

  Damn it all to hell.

  Brooding, Elliot opened the door for room service as he admitted to himself that he’d pushed too hard. It hadn’t been completely intentional. But he’d sensed her nervousness and instead of backing off, he’d pushed.

  Which would explain why she’d been staring at him with dazed, glassy eyes for the past hour. Which would explain why she looked completely and utterly shocked.

  After the guy finished setting up the food, Elliot tipped him and shut the door behind him, bracing himself to turn around and apologize. But when he turned around, Shay was on her feet.

  And she was halfway across the floor.<
br />
  “Shay, I’m sorry if I …”

  “Shhh.” She reached up and touched her fingers to his mouth, lightly. Then she replaced her fingers with her lips. “I was kind of wondering … can the food wait a little while?”

  Elliot groaned as he opened his lips for her.

  Staggering back against the door, he pulled her against him. It took everything he had not to clutch her tight, not to tear her clothes away. Instead, he kept his hands loose at her waist. He kept the kiss light … or tried to. She bit his lower lip, nuzzled at his mouth, and when he tried to ease up, she followed him, hungry. Almost as hungry as he, it seemed.

  She pulled away for a minute, stripping her shirt off, her bra, and then she reached for his clothes. This time, she didn’t make any attempt to hide the scars and he didn’t try to pretend they weren’t there. He cupped her breasts in his hands and dipped his head, skimming his lips along the ridges, then lower to catch a nipple in his mouth.

  Shay cried out.

  Bracing an arm around her waist, he lifted her. Where … he thought, his thoughts muzzy and hazed.

  As though she’d been reading his mind, Shay whispered, “Bed, Elliot. Take me to bed.”

  He stiffened. Fuck, he’d already pushed her tonight just by putting some of his weight on her. She thought he hadn’t seen, but …

  Her hands fisted in his hair and she tugged his head back, peering down into his eyes. “Bed,” she said again. Then her lashes flickered. “I … I need to show you something first. And I need to do it now before I lose my nerve.”

  The pit of his stomach dropped out.

  On wooden legs, he carried her to the bed and lowered her. When she reached for the waistband of her jeans, he felt as if somebody had wrapped barbed wire around his gut, his heart, and his throat.

  Her hands were shaking, shaking so hard she kept fumbling with the zipper. And there were tears.

  Shit. Elliot eased her hands away and unzipped her jeans. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. And part of him wanted to leave. Part of him wanted to run away and hide. He didn’t want to see whatever it was that had her crying when she’d been so sweetly kissing him just a moment earlier.

  Instead, he pressed a kiss to the soft curve of her belly, the dip of her navel. With his hands on her hips, he stroked down, taking both the denim and the silky scrap of her panties with it. Her thighs were strong, slender, and pale—he could still remember how she’d gripped his hips and rode him, the strength in that seemingly delicate body.

  Once he had her jeans down to her ankles, she stepped out of them and then settled back on the bed. Her breath was coming in harsh, ragged pants and she didn’t speak, just caught his hand and tugged him down next to her on the mattress. Elliot went, still braced on that razor’s edge, wondering. Waiting.

  She took one of his wrists and guided it to her breast, to the scars.

  Her eyes stared at him, begging for him to understand. To see something. Elliot didn’t know what.

  Then she guided his hand lower.

  What—

  At first, he didn’t know what it was he felt under his fingers.

  Then, as realization dawned, he closed his eyes. Yeah, that part of him that wanted to run was really jeering at him now. Running would have been so much easier.

  Easing up, he moved to his knees and settled between her thighs. She had her face averted and there were tears streaming endlessly now. But she didn’t fight him.

  That fucking monster had cut her here as well.

  Through the neat little curls between her thighs, Elliot could see hair-thin scars, even more delicate than the ones on her face. Five of them, it looked like. Unable to breathe, he bent over her and pressed his face to her neck, breathing in her scent and just trying to take it in.

  He wanted to ask why.

  But he knew she had no answer.

  He wanted to rage.

  But he knew it would serve no purpose.

  He wanted to undo every fucking hurt that had been done to her. That, damn it, he’d at least try to do.

  “If anybody else ever tries to hurt you, Shay, I’m going to kill them,” he whispered against her skin.

  Her arms curled around his shoulders.

  Then she stroked her foot up his calf and murmured, “I want you to touch me. I’m so tired of the strongest memories I have being those memories. Give me better ones, Elliot.” She turned her face to his and pressed her lips to his cheek. “Can you give me better ones?”

  Fuck. He felt gutted. Destroyed. As though somebody had hollowed him out and left nothing but the dregs of him. But he couldn’t say no to her. He moved to roll to his back, but Shay tightened her arms. “Here,” she whispered. “Like this.”

  “Shay …”

  Before he could say anything else, she raised her head and pressed her lips to his. “Like this,” she said again. Then she twined her legs around his waist and arched up.

  It was awkward, unpracticed … and as he felt the brush of her naked flesh against his cock, he almost exploded.

  “Okay …” He groaned. “Like this … just give me a minute before you kill me.”

  Shifting his weight to the side, he reached down and covered her sex with his hand, watching as her eyes went wide. Fear skittered across her face but it didn’t consume her. Didn’t take over. Still staring at her, he pushed a finger inside her. Hot … she was hot.

  And as he started to stroke, she grew wet and slick, rocking up to meet him. Her gaze sought out his, her eyes glassy, almost black. A broken gasp escaped her and it was the most erotic sound he’d ever heard. Almost enough to wash away the fury that tried to creep back in as he brushed against one of the scars as he added a second finger, screwing them in, then out of her sweet, sweet heat.

  “Elliot!” She drove her heels down in the mattress and lifted her hips high while her hands gripped the comforter beneath her and twisted it in desperation.

  There were tears glinting in her eyes as she climaxed. Elliot kissed them away as he settled between her thighs, watching for any sign of fear, any sign of nerves.

  And he would have been fooling himself if he hadn’t expected to see anything.

  Almost as soon as she felt his weight, her body tensed. When he went to pull away, Shay curled her hands around his biceps, her nails digging in. “Stay,” she muttered, her voice hoarse and broken, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

  Her midnight eyes stared into his as she said it again, “Stay …”

  Elliot reached up and cupped her cheek in his hand. Pressing his brow to hers, he closed his eyes. “Shay.”

  Keeping his weight braced on his other arm, he muttered against her lips, “You do it.”

  She tensed. “Me?”

  “You want me here … you take me here.”

  He lifted his lashes and stared at her, watched as her cheeks flushed. But she surprised him by reaching down. Then, as her fingers closed around his naked cock, he groaned. “Damn it, I need to get a rubber.”

  “Do you?” Her fingers tightened, stroking him with a hesitant little caress, from about the midpoint up to his tip.

  Elliot could have whimpered, right then and there. “Fuck, Shay …”

  “You feel soft. How can you feel so soft?” Then she grinned at him. “But not?”

  “Telling a guy he feels soft when you got his cock in your hand isn’t exactly nice,” he muttered. But he didn’t care what in the hell she said as long as she kept touching him. Her grip tightened and she gave him a longer stroke. He rocked against it and shuddered. “Shit, I need to grab a rubber before I do something embarrassing.”

  “Do you really need it?”

  He stilled and made himself look at her face.

  “You do know what happens when people have sex, right?”

  Shay stuck out her tongue.

  Dipping his head, he caught it in his mouth, sucked on it. She laughed breathlessly when he lifted his head. “Yes, you moron. But … well. There are no issues on my s
ide, and … um. Well, I just got off my period a few days ago—the day before you and I … actually. So. Anyway.”

  “Anybody ever tell you that you’re really cute when you stammer?” He nuzzled her neck and rocked against her hand again. She’d stopped touching him, and that had been the last damn thing he’d wanted. “Shay … are you sure you want to do this? And you need to be sure, because the more we do things like this, the more I’m going to think we’re getting serious and it’s going to kill me if things end up ending on us again.”

  “Yes.” She rubbed her thumb around his head and he hissed, his eyes all but crossing from the sensation.

  He held her gaze. “Then like I said … you want me here, you take me here.”

  And that’s what she did. Gazes locked, she shifted and squirmed beneath him while he held himself, muscles tensed, over her. When he felt the first brush of her naked, slick heat, he groaned. Her hand fell away and he surged inside, watching her … waiting.

  Shay smiled.

  Seeking out her hand, he twined their fingers and rode her.

  He could feel her heart slamming against his chest. He could see the dazed pleasure in her eyes. And he wanted to see it again, and again, every day and always.

  “Shay …”

  Then she completely shattered him. Lifting her hand, she touched his cheek and whispered, “Elliot … I love you.”

  Groaning, he dropped his head, covering her mouth with his. He rolled onto his back, taking her with him and clutching her tight, so tight. Rocking up, he took her fast, desperately. I love you, Shay, he thought.

  But he didn’t dare take his mouth from hers to say the words … not yet.

  He was afraid if he so much as spoke, he’d wake up and realize all of this was just one very, very strange dream.

  As she climaxed around him, he pulled her down, burying his face in the curve of her neck, and threw away his shaking grip on control … and just gave in.

  To her.

  To the need. And the love.

  Shay smiled against his skin as he stroked a hand up her back.

  “Did you mean that?” he whispered, his mouth moving against her shoulder.