by Linda Howard
But what was she supposed to do? If she’d remained in Houston, Brad would have killed her. If she hadn’t left Dallas, Brad would have killed her.
The anger mixed with a frustration so raw and powerful she wanted to scream, wanted to clench her fists, tilt her head back, and scream and scream and scream, until she didn’t have a voice left. She wanted to throw a temper tantrum, wanted to break windows and smash furniture, anything to express how furious she was that she was caught in this trap, wanting to live but afraid to, afraid to form relationships—afraid, always afraid, walking a tightrope because that bastard was out there.
If it weren’t for Brad, she’d have kissed Zeke back in a way that would have made his head spin. She’d have acted on the sizzling attraction she felt for him, the burning need to touch his bare skin and take him inside her body. It had been so long since she’d felt anything close to the power of what she felt for Zeke, so long since she’d needed sex, a man. Brad had put her off men, made her hesitant to trust her own judgment because even though she’d spotted his weirdness pretty fast she hadn’t been fast enough. Two dates was all it had taken for him to target her. What if she hadn’t gone on that second date? Would one date have been enough to trigger whatever insanity drove him? And if just one date did happen to be enough, then how could she ever let down her guard again?
She hated Brad, hated him down to the core of her being, hated him with such passion that abruptly she knew she didn’t want to break windows and smash furniture, she wanted to smash Brad himself, she wanted to physically beat him to a pulp for what he’d done to her, to her life, but most of all for what he’d done to Jina.
She couldn’t. He wasn’t here, thank God. She was safe in this place, protected, hidden, all thanks to the man who slept upstairs while she paced restlessly down here wishing things were different, wishing she were free to go to him—
Why wasn’t she?
Why did she keep letting Brad set the boundaries that kept her hemmed in?
Abruptly she was even more furious with herself than she was with Brad, because while there were some things that were out of her control, and some things she’d been pushed into, there were still other parts of her life where she didn’t have to play dead and let Brad dictate what she did or didn’t do.
Zeke knew the score. He knew her situation. Today she had come so close to dying, and if that had happened she would have gone without having known what it was like to cradle Zeke’s powerful body with hers, without feeling the driving force of his lovemaking. She’d thought she was protecting herself, protecting him, and all she’d been doing was depriving them.
She’d be damned if she’d let Brad have that much control over her, over her life.
She was out the door almost before she knew it, making her way through the night-shadowed house, moving around the obstacle course of furniture with ease, because by now she knew every inch of this house, where every chair was, every table, every lamp. The kitchen was lit by the dim glow of digital clocks on the oven, the coffeemaker, the microwave, but other than that the house was dark.
Then her bare feet touched the stairs, her hand gripped the banister, and reality slapped her in the face. She faltered, but didn’t stop, pushing herself upward. Was she really going to go into Zeke Decker’s bedroom and invite him to have sex with her?
Oh, hell yeah.
Enough was enough. She couldn’t take back control of her entire life, but right here, tonight, she could be a woman. She refused to let Brad keep that from her anymore.
The oblong of Zeke’s bedroom door was just barely lighter than the surrounding darkness, telling her that it was open; why wouldn’t it be, when he was the only one up here? He could be walking around naked every night and every morning, for all she knew, because she never ventured up here while he was still in the house—part of her stupid “keep Zeke at a distance” strategy.
She reached the doorway, almost breathless from the fury that had been sweeping her along. Every cell in her body wanted to keep going, to simply take a flying leap and land on him, but common sense kicked in. If she did that, considering the lightning-fast reaction she’d seen from him before, she would likely find herself tossed across the room. So she stopped, almost panting. She could see his bed, see the long bulk of his body, the faint gleam of starlight on the skin of his bare shoulder and arm. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to knock lightly on the doorframe. “Zeke.”
Her voice was strained and low, so low she didn’t think he could possibly hear her even if he was awake—
He was. He did. He was out of the bed by the time the sound of his name had barely touched the air. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?” he asked sharply.
He was naked. Carlin caught her breath, staring at the outline of his muscled frame. The room was too dark for her to see much, but just knowing he was naked was almost as good as seeing. Distracted, she still managed to say, “Nothing. No.”
He moved toward her, darkness advancing. “Nothing’s wrong, but no, you’re not all right?”
She sucked in another breath, her heart beating so violently she could feel it hammering against her ribs. “I’m okay, but—I’m not all right.”
He reached her, his big hands cupping her elbows, the warmth of his palms searing all the way to the bone. “Are you hurting anywhere? You got banged around—”
He was close, so close. Carlin let her head drop forward, resting it against his chest. Heat and scent swirled around her, enveloped her. Instinctively she swayed toward him, but by some desperate surge of willpower she kept her arms down, her hands to herself. Don’t assume … yeah, most men would jump at the chance for sex, but Zeke wasn’t most men. Zeke was steel where she was used to aluminum. She had to be clear, she had to knock down all the walls and let herself be exposed.
“I could have died today.”
His hands tightened almost painfully, squeezing her arms. “I know.”
“I don’t—” She stopped, shuddering, and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to die without having you.” Her voice trailed away on the last word and she stood there, head resting against him, eyes closed, waiting for his reaction.
If his grip had been tight before, now his fingers felt as if they were digging down into bone. For an endless moment there was nothing other than the sounds of their breathing, and horrified embarrassment was beginning to knot her stomach when he said harshly, “I want to make sure I’m not misunderstanding anything here. You want me to fuck you?”
The hard, primitive word sent shockwaves of excitement rolling along her nerves. Carlin opened her eyes and raised her head. “No. I want to fuck you.” Now that the words were said, the rest of it boiled out of her. “No relationship, no couple, no you-and-me stuff, because nothing has changed and I may have to leave at any time, without notice.”
“So what do you want from me? Other than my dick?” His tone had gone from harsh to flint hard.
Boldly, desperately, she reached out and touched him, closed her hand around the thick, hard length of his penis, jutting out from his groin. He was already erect, but at her touch she felt him harden even more, getting thicker. “Just this. Just let me have this.”
“Employee with benefits?”
She’d made him angry. She didn’t understand it but she could feel it, and part of her was sorry because she hadn’t meant to insult him, but anger was good, anger had brought her this far. “That’ll do,” she snapped back. “I can’t risk any more, but I’ll be damned if I let him steal this from me, too.”
His breath blew out like an angry bull’s, but in one swift motion he grasped the bottom of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, tossed it aside. “First round is yours,” he said grimly. “But, by God, the second one is mine.”
The challenge barely made it through her consciousness, but it clicked. She gave a low, rough laugh. “You haven’t made it through the first one yet,” she said, and pushed him. He backed up a step, letting her have control. She kne
w he was letting her, that he could put a stop to it and have this time any way he wanted, but she didn’t care. She was getting what she wanted, and anticipation burned through her veins like whiskey.
He moved his hands to her hips. “Get out of these,” he said, pushing her sweatpants down. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she stepped out of the garment. Straightening, he pulled her in tight against him.
She’d been kissed before. He’d kissed her before. But “before” had almost no relationship with “now,” because she’d never been kissed the way he was kissing her, as if he wanted to take everything she was, his mouth so hungry on hers she forgot that she was the one who was supposed to be doing the taking and simply hung there in his arms, her toes barely touching the floor. Everywhere their skin touched, she burned: her breasts, her belly, her thighs. Deep inside she ached, empty and needing, already throbbing as her body readied itself for his invasion. No. Not his invasion—hers. Because this was her round.
He’d said this time was hers, but he was taking it instead, if she let him. She tore her mouth away, panting, and once more wrapped her hand around his erection. “I’m doing this,” she said, stroking, feeling the silky hot skin move over the iron beneath.
“Yeah? Well, I’m doing this.” He pushed a big hand between her legs, two hard fingers pushing up inside her.
Oh, God. She almost collapsed against him, a weak cry escaping her throat as she went weak from the onslaught of pleasure. She was so on edge, so close, that she didn’t need foreplay, she needed only him.
“Stop, stop!” She released him, pushed against his chest again, taking them almost to the bed. “Bed. Now!”
He laughed, the sound ruthless and male. “How about this?” he said, catching her behind the thighs and lifting her. Instantly she knew what he was doing; she wrapped her legs around his hips and reached for him yet again, gripping his penis and guiding the thick bulb to the moist opening of her body, then slowly letting herself sink down.
The angle was too extreme and she gasped with pain, then tightened her legs and lifted herself, repositioning. Once again she let herself down, carefully, the pressure of her body weight making her opening flower around him. Slowly she took him in, the hot length searing and stretching as she took more, and more.
He made a hissing sound through his clenched teeth. His fingers clenched on her bottom and he fell backward onto the bed, holding her locked to him.
The impact drove him deep into her, pulled a high, keening cry from her chest. She almost sobbed, not because it hurt, but because until she was so completely filled she hadn’t realized how empty she was. The pleasure of it was almost blinding, almost more than she could bear, and yet she wanted more.
Planting her hands on his chest, gripping his hips with her knees, she slowly lifted herself off his impaling length until only the head remained inside her, then even more slowly she drifted back down, enveloping him. She cried out again, almost choking because breathing was almost impossible now, the tension in her body had it locked so tightly. Up. Down. He cupped her breasts, holding them for just a moment before lightly pinching her nipples, pulling them until the tension in her lower body linked to the tension in her nipples and multiplied the electric effect.
She climaxed hard, riding him, riding the deep hard waves until there was nothing else, rising and falling, seeing nothing, hearing from afar the guttural, almost animalistic cries that she could feel tearing from her throat. The world tilted on its axis, she felt herself being buffeted, then she realized that she was somehow on her back and he was on top of her, between her legs, still inside her and thrusting hard.
He wasn’t being gentle with her, but she didn’t want gentle, didn’t need it. She needed life, and this was it.
Chapter Twenty-two
CARLIN FELT AS if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders, as if something in the universe that had been out of kilter was now finally right. After weeks—months—of having to deny herself what she wanted, she’d finally worked up the nerve to take it. It had taken a near-death experience to get her there, but she didn’t regret what had happened with Zeke. She was a little sore and a lot relaxed.
And nothing had changed.
She’d slipped out of Zeke’s bed in the middle of the night, leaving him sleeping. If she’d stayed they would’ve had sex again, and before that happened she had to clear the air. This morning wasn’t going to be as much fun as last night had been.
No, fun was the wrong word for what had happened last night. After much too long a time making sure she didn’t get too emotionally close to anyone, she’d made a connection with another human being. She’d allowed herself to be vulnerable, to touch and be touched in a way that went beyond the physical, for her, at least. For Zeke she was probably just another lay.
She hoped that’s all it was, anyway.
Who was she fooling? What was between them was way too intense to be casual, for either of them.
But she could pretend.
She got up early, too early to start breakfast, but it was never too early to start the coffee. She’d finished a cup of coffee and was working on the second when Zeke came into the kitchen. He looked a little stone-faced. Maybe he was annoyed that she hadn’t stayed, maybe he didn’t want a morning-after analysis—tough shit—but under the stone was an undeniable air of satisfaction. Did he move a little differently this morning? More smoothly, more relaxed, a tiny bit slower? Good lord, the man was gorgeous—not pretty, but gorgeous the way a real man was supposed to be, lean and hard and easy on the eyes.
He poured his own cup of coffee, silently eyeing her all the while. Just as he lifted the cup for that important first sip, she said, “We need to talk.”
He groaned, then went for the coffee. “Well, shit.”
“What? I didn’t even tell you what I want to talk about.”
“The words ‘we need to talk’ are never good news for any man.” He strolled to the table and sat across from her. Those eyes, those magnificent green eyes, were hooded and sexy. And piercing, as if he could see right through her. “If you’re going to tell me that last night was a mistake and it’ll never happen again …”
“I’m not,” Carlin said. “It wasn’t a mistake, and I suspect it will happen again.” Sooner rather than later, but not right this minute … damn it. He was just too tempting.
She took a deep breath, wrapped her hands around the warm coffee mug. “I need to tell you some things. My real name is Carlin Reed. You know why I’m here, why I’m using a false name and don’t want my social security number on the books anywhere, but … yesterday it struck me that if anything happened to me, if I died, my family would never know. I would just disappear from the face of the earth and they’d be left to …” She choked on the very idea. Not the idea that she might die—that was a given for everyone—but that Robin and Kin would never know the truth of what had happened to her. It would be cruel to leave them wondering if she was dead or alive, and never knowing for sure.
“You have family,” Zeke said, his voice low.
Carlin nodded. “A brother and a sister, a brother-in-law, two nieces, and a nephew. I haven’t seen them for more than a year, but I do keep in touch by email. Facebook, actually. I use the computers at the library.”
Zeke took a sip of his coffee, giving her a hard look over the edge of the cup. “I have a computer in my office. You can use it any time.”
She was shaking her head even before he’d finished. “No, Brad is a hacker, and I’m sorry to say he’s a very good one.” How good, she didn’t know, but he’d found her before and she suspected he would again, if she gave him the chance. “If he ever figures out how I’m getting in touch with my family, he’ll be able to trace the computer I used.”
“Huh. Really?”
Strangely, Carlin found herself smiling at the man on the other side of the table. “How computer savvy are you?”
“Savvy enough to do what needs to be done. I’m no hacker, though.”<
br />
Thank God.
So he’d be sure to understand, she explained further. “One of the reasons I’ve been so careful about not telling anyone my name is that if anyone starts checking into the situation, if they search for me on the Internet, I think it will be enough for Brad. You know, you can get alerts if anyone plugs your name into a search engine.” If only she’d lived a hundred years ago, shoot, even twenty years ago! Computers had screwed things up for everyone who wanted to lie low. If only her parents had named her Debbie or Jenny or Sue, if they’d given her a common girl’s name this would be so much easier! There were millions of women with those names. How many Carlins were there? Not many, which made it that much easier for Brad.
Zeke shifted his weight, thoughtfully drank more coffee. “Exactly how bad is your situation? You said a friend died in your place. What happened?”
She sighed, and started at the beginning. “I went out on two dates with him. The first one was okay, nothing special, but okay. The second one … I don’t know, there was just something about him that made me uneasy, so I wouldn’t go out with him again. He started harassing me at work. I ended up quitting my job just to get away from him, because no one would believe a woman who’d been in town for six months over a police officer who’d lived there his whole life. When I figured out that he’d broken into my apartment while I wasn’t at home, I knew I had to get out. I hoped it would be out of sight, out of mind.”
“It wasn’t, though.”
“No. He was a creep, and yeah, I did worry that one day he was going to come into my apartment while I was sleeping, or in the shower, but I didn’t really think he was dangerous. Just … odd, and obsessed. My job was nothing special, but it paid well enough. I was an office manager for a company that sold restaurant supplies, and I was good. Organized, efficient, never sick, no kids to wear me out or screw up my work schedule. With my references and a great recommendation from my boss I found a new job in Dallas, and I moved.”
