Can't Let Go

by Gena Showalter

  The hope brightened, but it was tempered with dread, as if she didn't want to put too much stock in his claims. He took another step toward her; she remained in place. Unfazed, he kept going, until he'd pressed her against the mechanical bull.

  Little panting breaths left her.

  She licked her lips. "How are you going to fight it?"

  "Not going to. Fighting now. One day at a time. One thought at a time. I'm done treating you like glass. For all I care, you can carry your own jars of moonshine from now on."

  She snorted, as he'd hoped.

  "If you want to travel, we'll travel," he continued. "Unless you'd rather travel alone?"

  A little gasp left her. "You'd be willing to go with me?"

  "Not just willing, but happily. And if you want to sing in the bar tomorrow night or the next, I'm not going to protest. If you want to run errands around town, I won't try to stop you."

  "Even though Dushku is still a threat?"

  "Even though. I'm not saying I'll be perfect from now on, because I might shadow you if you leave, and by might I mean I will, but I'm going to be better."

  Her eyes widened, different emotions playing in their depths. More hope. Less dread. Excitement. Arousal. Happiness of her own. Her body softened against his. Melted, really, and he had to contain the urge to bang on his chest. If this were his reward for fighting fear--her willing surrender--he'd gladly remain on the battlefield for the rest of his life.

  "Yes," she finally said, smiling up at him as if he'd just made all her dreams come true. "I will do you the great honor of becoming your wife."

  The acceptance shocked him, even as satisfaction heated him from head to toe. "Damn right you will. But tonight the two of us are going to be dishonorable. So strip down to your panties and climb on the bull, shortcake. I'm going to do bad, bad things to you."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  SHIVERS CASCADED THROUGH RYANNE. Bad, bad things? Yes, please. All evening she'd vacillated between arousal, anger and uncertainty, all courtesy of Jude. Now arousal won the battle, consuming her.

  This man was a natural born conqueror, a trained seducer, and he was giving this relationship his all, nothing held back. Except maybe his heart. Did he love her? He must. Look at how hard he'd fought to keep her.

  "Still giving me orders, cowboy? Well, good news. This one I happen to like."

  Trembling with desire, she stripped down to her panties and hopped onto the bull.

  His gaze roved over her, heating--heating her. "Turn around--face the other way."

  "Sir, yes, sir." She turned, as commanded, sitting on the bull backward.

  He typed into his phone, stripped to his underwear and climbed in front of her, his delicious scent enveloping her.

  With the push of a few buttons, the machine jolted into motion, nearly tossing her off. They both had an app on their phones that synced with the bull's controls.

  "Jude," she said with a laugh.

  "Don't worry. I won't let you fall." His arms snaked around her, holding her in place. Holding her where she belonged--against him. "You've been begging me for a ride all night, and I'm going to make sure you get one."

  Another laugh bubbled from her. "Someone has learned how to innuendo. I've been a terrible influence on you." As the bull continued to buck and swing, she said, "What about the cameras?"

  "No one can see us. The feed is now streaming exclusively to my phone."

  "So we can watch the video later?"

  "Exactly."

  "How naughty of you." Smiling her most wicked smile, she flattened her palms on his chest. His heartbeat raced, the organ practically jumping up to meet her touch. "Just so you know, I want a ring."

  "You'll get one. Probably a tattoo of one, too. The world will know you're mine."

  Again he pressed a series of buttons in the app, this time slowing the bull to a crawl.

  His navy eyes lightened, glittering like sapphires, the warmth of his breath fanning over her breasts as he rested his forehead on her shoulder, drawing goose bumps to the surface.

  Dang, she loved this man. Loved him with every fiber of her being. She'd already realized the truth, but her love had grown since then. She loved every part of him.

  "The highlight of my day," she rasped, "is when Jude the Ice Man melts for me, only me." And oh, crap, the gentle back and forth motion was turning her on, the stiff leather rubbing between her legs. A moan escaped her.

  His head whipped up, his attention fixed on her hammering pulse. He smiled a wicked smile. "I see my evil plan is working. Now, prepare for every day to be your favorite."

  Ooh la la. "What is your evil plan, hmm?"

  He leaned forward, grazed her earlobe with his teeth. In a blink, the tone of their connection changed, humor fading, leaving only the sweet burn of arousal.

  "Making you beg for me," he said.

  The bull tilted, and another moan escaped her. "I haven't begged yet."

  "Silly shortcake. You will."

  Anticipation flooded her as he cupped and kneaded her breasts, the bull continuing to rock slowly, so slowly, back and forth.

  "I have wanted you for so long." He played with her nipples, white lightning streaking to her core. "Now I'm going to have you."

  "But we're not married yet." Protesting? Seriously? She ran her tongue over her lips. "What happened to waiting until I'm Ryanne Laurent?"

  "I love you, whatever your name happens to be. Tonight, that's enough."

  Shock. Amazement. Wonder. Each emotion flooded her. He loved her. Jude Walker Laurent loved her back.

  Overcome, she threw her arms around him. "I love you, too. So danged much."

  "You'd better." His mouth slanted over hers, drugging her, his taste as intoxicating as an entire bottle of whiskey. Though a sense of urgency had claimed her, Jude took his time, his tongue rolling with hers, as if savoring every second. No matter how she attempted to speed him up, scratching at him, biting him, frantically rubbing against the hard length of his erection, he maintained that slow, steady pace.

  The air heated, beads of sweat popping up on her brow, between her shoulder blades and every place Jude's skin touched hers. When finally she yielded to his leisurely seduction, he flattened his hand between her breasts and urged her backward.

  "Lie down as best you can," he croaked. "You're going to be my buffet of sensual delights."

  "Wicked...romantic...what happened to the Ice Man?"

  "He met the Fire Queen."

  With her back resting on the neck of the bull and her spread thighs on top of Jude's, her body was completely vulnerable to his every whim. First he toyed with her nipples, stoking the fire inside her. Then he dragged his fingertips along the still-flat plane of her belly. Then, oh, then, he traced the outline of her panties. The waist, the sides...the center seam.

  Moaning and groaning, Ryanne writhed, seeking more, everything he had to give, getting lost in his touch, in this man she loved. This man she trusted. Getting to this point might have been a challenge, but their tests and trials had only made their need for each other stronger. An unbreakable bond had been forged, the darkness of the past eclipsed by the brightness of the future.

  "Jude...my cowboy."

  One of his fingers snuck past her panties and slipped inside her. Air hissed between her teeth, the exquisite feel of him destroying what remained of her control. Her hips lifted, sending him deeper.

  "So wet. So tight," he praised. He wedged in a second finger, only driving her need for him higher. A need that would never be quenched. "So mine."

  Still the bull rocked on, Jude matching the thrust of his fingers to its languid rhythm. Pleasure became agony, agony became pleasure. All she could do was enjoy.

  "Every day, in a thousand different ways, you undo me, love. You're my world."

  Despite the slow pace, a swift and brutal orgasm ripped through her. His actions, his words--too much! As she shouted her rapture to the ceiling, her inner walls clenching, Jude drew her to a sit
ting position. Rather than collapsing against him, weakened by the pleasure, she revved up.

  Need him. All of him. Now.

  "Get inside me." Ryanne shoved his underwear out of the way, his shaft springing free. The head already glistened with moisture. Desperate, she hoisted herself up as best she could, moved her panties out of the way and poised him at her entrance. "Please. I'm begging."

  Jude took her by the waist, stopping her from sinking all the way to the base. "There's no place I'd rather be than inside you, but I'm going to take my time getting there."

  With his gaze locked on hers, his hands on her bottom and her nails in his shoulders, he continued to move with the bull, entering her one torturous inch at a time. Hours seemed to pass until she was finally, blissfully, seated on him. And oh--oh! He'd touched a sensitive spot inside her, fueling the ravenous ache in her core...and her soul.

  Again and again and again he rolled his hips in a counterclockwise motion. Not once did he increase his pace. The friction! The heat! She cried out. Her chest was flush against his, sweat causing a succulent glide. He was the flame, and she was the match. Together they burned.

  It was the most romantic moment of her life, his love for her as palpable as his desire. Two had become one, and the knowledge pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

  "Almost...there," she said between panting breaths, then ran his lower lip between her teeth. "Please. Please!"

  He was panting, too. His beautiful, scarred fingers traced a path of fire around her waist, slipped past her panties and pressed against the little bundle of nerves soaked with her arousal.

  Ryanne erupted, shuddering against him, screaming, her entire being caught up in a raging storm of pleasure and satisfaction.

  "Can feel you coming," Jude rasped. His thrusts increased, until he hammered inside her--until he roared her name and poured himself into her.

  *

  TRUE TO HIS WORD, Jude stopped shadowing Ryanne's every move. For the next few days, as he and Daniel unsuccessfully scoured records of different shell corporations and dummy companies in an attempt to find Dushku's pot of gold, he'd even left the Scratching Post without having a full-blown panic attack. Of course, he'd still monitored security from his phone.

  He'd had breakfast with Carrie and Russ, as planned, and when he'd told them about his engagement to Ryanne, they'd expressed joy. Carrie encouraged him to move forward without guilt or fear. Russ mentioned how wonderful it was to see the sparkle had returned to his eyes.

  They'd said their goodbyes, and he'd promised to visit. His child would have the best grandparents in the world.

  Today, he'd left the Scratching Post for a different reason. One all his own. He'd spent over four hours inside a tattoo shop in the city, getting a surprise for Ryanne etched into his chest. He'd also bought her a ring. A large center pearl with four small diamonds on one side; each diamond was set in platinum and had a small hook at the end, making the ring resemble a cat paw.

  Nontraditional, yes, but so Ryanne.

  Now he couldn't stop smiling.

  Life was good, and if all went according to plan, it would only get better.

  *

  RYANNE WORKED IN the kitchen alongside Caroline, preparing cookies and cakes for the bar's next event. The glow-stick party. She'd found edible glow in the dark frosting, and decided to go with sweet treats versus savory tonight.

  As Caroline rambled on about Glen Baker--When he kisses me, I see stars, but any time I try for more, he stops me and I swear to goodness gracious he looks like he's going to vomit, but I'm wrong, right, he can't look like he's going to vomit because he's totally into me, why else would he keep asking me out, oh, you know what, I bet it's his new job, all the stress of performing well causes undue stress on another type of performance, if you know what I mean--Ryanne tried not to miss Jude. Had she seriously complained about having him around all the time?

  I suck.

  The man was the puzzle piece that had been missing from her life. And he loved her. The greatest guy ever born loved her, exactly as she was. He worshipped her body every night, teased her, took care of her, and looked forward to more days, months and years with her.

  "Glen?" Caroline said.

  "What about him?" When no answer was forthcoming, Ryanne looked up, her gaze landing on her frowning employee.

  "What are you doing here?" Caroline asked, staring past Ryanne.

  Glen? Here?

  Confused, Ryanne turned...and found Glen standing a few feet away. He was pale and waxen, sweat dotting his brow, dirt staining his clothes. He had his hands behind his back as he rocked from one foot to the other.

  This wasn't the confident but struggling businessman who'd flirted with her at Dorothea's party. This was someone else entirely.

  A better question: "How did you get in?" The bar wasn't open, so all the doors were locked. Jude had double-checked before he'd left, and had probably checked a thousand times on his phone, too. He had to know an unauthorized male had breached the premises.

  "I'm sorry," Glen said, peering at Ryanne. "I had no money, and lots of legal troubles."

  "What does that have to do with--"

  "He offered me enough money to start my own company and he ensured the embezzlement charges against me were dropped," Glen interjected, a tormented expression on his face. "All I had to do was get rid of the whore and make sure you understood the same would happen to you if you interfered again, but I messed up and...I can't go to jail, Ryanne."

  There was only one "he" that made any sense in this situation. Dushku. Her heart skipped a beat. "Whatever you're here to do--"

  "I'm sorry," he repeated, striding forward. He extended his arm, and she caught sight of the Colt .44 clutched in his grip.

  Caroline whimpered. "How could you do this, Glen? You told me you--"

  "Shut up," he snapped. "Just shut up. This is hard enough."

  Ryanne stepped in front of her trembling employee and tried to back him away, but the counter stopped her. Caroline moved beside her to present a united front.

  "Glen," Ryanne said. "You need to think about this, okay. You're only inviting new legal troubles."

  "You don't understand. He owns me now. If I don't do what he says..."

  No talking sense into him. Noted. "I'll help you. Jude will help you, but only if you let Caroline and me walk out of this kitchen."

  "You can't even help yourself," he spat.

  No offering aid.

  Very well. Ryanne bent down, grabbed her own gun and straightened. But she was too late.

  Before she could take aim, he slammed the butt of the Colt into her temple. Pain exploded inside her head--and then the world went dark.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A DULL ACHE in her entire body woke her, or maybe it was the persistent throb in her temple.

  With a groan, Ryanne blinked open her eyes. Hazy eyesight, surroundings a blur. What the heck had happened? Morning sickness?

  Possible. Her stomach churned with a toxic mix of acid and what seemed to be nails.

  Had Jude carried her to bed? Her ears twitched, detecting the sound of shuffling footsteps and muffled voices. No way. He wouldn't have let people inside their apartment.

  Blink, blink, blink. At last her vision began to clear. She reached up, or rather, tried to. Her hands were stuck.

  Stuck?

  She struggled, and the sound of jangling metal rang out. Chains?

  Her hands were bound behind her back, but not with metal. Plastic, maybe. The plastic was hooked to a chain, the other end of the chain anchored to the far wall, giving her room to walk around but not enough to leave the area.

  As she increased her struggles, something warm and wet dripped into her eyes. Blood?

  Why would--

  Memories broke through whatever wall had held them back. Glen had snuck into her bar. He'd pistol-whipped her, knocking her out.

  She jolted upright. Dizziness struck with a vengeance, and she would have collap
sed if not for a large wooden crate that halted her descent. When she attempted to brace against it, her arms, still bound behind her back, refused to cooperate. The plastic--zip ties.

  Her heart hammered wildly. She was in a warehouse? The building might just span the length of a football field.

  Boxes abounded throughout, and at least five cars were parked along one side--a Hummer, two Jeeps and two vans. In the corner, a foldout table had papers and different office supplies scattered across the top. There were other rooms nearby, a half wall cordoning each. Dust mites whirled through the air.

  Had Glen carried her out of the Scratching Post himself, or had he gotten help from Dushku's men? Where was Caroline?

  Caroline!

  A few feet away, her unconscious friend lay on a dirty concrete floor. Like Ryanne, her hands were bound behind her back with a zip tie that was looped through a chain. She had a bruise and knot on her temple.

  How much time had passed? Jude had to have seen what happened on the feed. Maybe he'd followed Glen and would fly through the door...any...second...

  The shuffle of footsteps grew louder, the voices no longer quite so muffled.

  Urgency driving her, Ryanne contorted in an effort to reach for her gun. Dang it! The holster in her boot was empty. She had no other weapons on her.

  As quietly as possible, she scooted to Caroline's side and performed the world's most awkward pat down. No weapons on her, either.

  A pained moan left the girl as her eyes blinked open. Then she gasped and jerked upright. "Glen," she said. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea--"

  "Shhh." When Caroline pressed her lips together, Ryanne whispered, "How did Glen get into the bar?"

  Shame flushed her cheeks. "Last night, when I was on break, we kissed in the alley. He was the reason I was late. He must have watched me punch in the code."

  So they'd both played right into his plan. Okay, whatever. What was done was done. Now they had to find a way to break their bindings and sneak out before Glen came back.

  "We can't stay here," she said as quietly as possible. The voices were so close their words were almost distinguishable. She pushed to her feet and raced to the desk, careful not to let the chain clink against the floor. Pens, pencils and rubber bands. She grabbed a few of everything.

  If she could, she would pick the locks on the chain. If she couldn't, the pens and pencils could act as daggers. The rubber bands...she wasn't sure yet, but better safe than sorry.