She’d never before woken with a man next to her. It was a…fascinating experience.
She glanced down and saw the arm encircling her waist, the large, strong-looking hand falling in limp relaxation on the dark blue comforter.
“Z,” she mouthed silently in wonder. She touched his corded forearm sprinkled with dark hair—very lightly—and turned to look at his face.
She’d never seen him while he was deeply sleeping before. Repose softened his stark features…but only a little, like he kept his vigilance very close to the surface. Cautiously, she leaned toward him and brushed her lips against his cheek, whisper soft. The contact of his skin against her mouth made her smile. When she leaned back, she blinked, sure her eyes were tricking her. But no…
Even though he didn’t move, and she was sure he remained fast asleep, her kiss had brought a subtle smile to his hard mouth, as well.
A minute later, she silently left the room, her clothes and shoes cradled in her arms.
Z tried to slow his rapid stride as he stalked down the forest path that led to the creek. Surely that’s where Ursa had gone. Where else could she be? There was no reason for worry. The coffee had been made, but there was no sign of her in the cottage or on the front porch. He knew from experience that when you stood on the front porch, you could hear the burbling of the creek that meandered through the property. She’d probably been drawn to it and the woods, being the nature lover that she was.
“There you are,” he said upon breaking the tree line and seeing Ursa perched on a large rock next to the stream. She leaned her right shoulder against the thick trunk of a nearby sycamore tree. Relief swept through him at the sight of her, which was ridiculous. What had he been thinking? That she’d run away? That she’d had second thoughts about what they were doing, just as he’d had last night, and escaped him by hiking across the countryside on foot?
“Hi,” she said, her smile as potent as sunshine. She’d brushed out the curls from her hair and pinned it back from her face. The rest of it fell around her shoulders and down her back in dark gold waves. She wore a pair of shorts, white socks, lace up hiking boots, and a checked flannel shirt that she’d tied at her waist. Predictably, there was a book in her lap.
He shook his head as he approached her. The surrounding foliage seemed to cradle her, as though nature recognized one of its own. “I should have known right away you’d be out here in the woods. Fairy girl.”
Her laugh was as clear and fresh as the water rippling across the rocks next to her.
“You haven’t called me that in years.”
He sat down next to her on the wide, flat rock. “It’s what always came to mind every time I unexpectedly came upon you, reading in the woods or hiding in that little cave in the stacked boulders at the beach. It was like I’d startled some kind of wild thing, like I’d trespassed on something a little otherworldly,” he recalled gruffly. He glanced down at the book in her lap. “That’s hardly fairy reading material, though.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed it,” she said, holding up the book. It was one of his books on motorcycle design and technology.
He shrugged, distracted by the fresh, sweet scent wafting off her loose hair. He put his hand on the rock behind her and leaned forward. He took an unapologetically greedy inhale. God she smells good. It made him abruptly ravenous, but not for food. His body prickled with awareness.
“It’s not exactly fascinating reading if you’re not into bikes,” he said.
“I like the pictures.” He glanced over at the nearness of her voice. She’d leaned into him as well. Their faces were just inches apart. In the dappled sunlight, her eyes were the color of a newly opened leaf. Her pink mouth looked extremely appetizing and very edible. She smiled in the face of his obvious, abrupt horniness.
She smiled.
“Especially this one.” He watched her lips moving without comprehension at first. “Z?”
He realized she was holding up the book and pointing at a photo of a Ducati custom made racer. “It says you built it, Z,” she said, sounding a little amused at his blank expression. “It says it was named one of the top custom bikes of 2017 by Cycle World magazine.”
He reached into her loose hair and scooped it away from her nape. He pressed his mouth to her neck, hungry for more of her scent. More of her. He’d been extremely disappointed to wake up empty-handed this morning. Especially since he’d been having an extremely vivid and erotic dream about her just before he’d awakened.
“Z?” she laughed, but she tilted her head back and sighed, giving him more access to her delicious skin. He ran his lips against her, and then tasted her with the tip of his tongue. “Aren’t you going to say anything about the bike?”
“What do you want me to say?” he growled. “Yeah, it’s my bike. Or it was. I sold it to some Silicone Valley billionaire last year.”
She put her hand on his chest and pushed him back several inches. He blinked, frowning at being deprived of his feast. Ursa’s cheeks looked flushed—a good sign that she’d liked what he was doing to her neck—but there was a puzzled expression on her face.
“But you never told us.”
“Told you what? You know I build bikes.”
“You never told us one of your bikes was named a top custom bike of the year by a major motorcycle magazine, or that you were featured in books,” she said, holding up the volume.
“Why would I?”
“Why wouldn’t you? Everyone at home would be so proud of you.”
“Everyone at home thinks I’m a juvenile delinquent and major disappointment that grew up into a loser with anger management issues and a criminal record. They’re just waiting for me to fuck things up again.”
She started back at his abrupt harshness. He shut his eyes in immediate regret. Jesus, where had that come from? He swept his hand through his hair.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Z?” She waited. He sighed and unclamped his eyelids, meeting her wide-eyed stare. “Is that what you really think? That your family and friends think you’re a loser?”
“I’m an alcoholic, Ursa. I spent time in jail for assault. I used to associate with low-life criminals. Of course they think I’m a loser. Especially when you compare me to Jude: the boy-genius of the economic world.”
“Your talents are different than Jude’s. Do you think Jude could create this? Do you honestly think he wouldn’t be hugely proud of you, if he saw this?” she demanded, holding up the photo of the bike he’d built.
“What difference does it make? I don’t care what people think of me.”
“It makes a difference because you’re wrong, Z,” Ursa snapped. He glanced at her in surprise. She’d sounded mad. What did she have to be mad about?
“You’re one of the most talented people I know…that I’ll ever know. Yeah, you’ve made mistakes. But you’ve paid for them. And you’re doing an amazing job turning your life around. Yeah, you’re an alcoholic. Lots of people have that disease. But you’re following the program. You’re staying sober. And I know how hard that is. I know it from my clients. I know it’s a cruel disease. It’s a constant uphill struggle that never goes away.”
She paused, panting slightly, her eyes glittering with emotion. She was really worked up, and that’d taken him by surprise. Why was she taking this so personally? She pointed at him.
“So don’t sit there and tell me so smugly that you think all of us consider you a loser. We think NO. SUCH. THING.” She stabbed her forefinger at him for emphasis. “It’s an insult to everyone who knows how brilliant you are, how special you are, to say that. It’s an insult to everyone who loves you, Z.”
She pushed herself off the rock and started to walk away.
Flummoxed, he sprung up and caught her arm. She spun around, her long hair whipping across his chest. He was shaken to see tears in her spring-
green eyes.
“What the hell, Ursa. What are you so pissed off about?”
“I’m pissed off at you, what do you think? I’m not going to sit around casually while you put yourself down!”
“I wasn’t putting myself down, I was just stating a—”
She pointed at him again, looking ominous. “Don’t you dare say you’re stating a fact. Don’t you dare, Zev Beckett.”
For a few charged seconds they faced off. Frustrated anger seemed to swirl between them like a miniature electrical storm.
Slowly, he became aware of the creek bubbling behind them. The sound soothed his agitation a little.
“I wasn’t aware I was putting myself down,” he said eventually. He was telling the truth. He hadn’t realized it until that moment in the woods, staring down at Ursa while she radiated frustrated indignation.
“You shouldn’t do it. It’s not… healthy,” she whispered. His head dipped to catch her words. Amazingly, he’d insulted her. She was mad at him because she believed he’d trash-talked himself.
Was she right?
Yeah, probably. She usually is.
“You may not have noticed until now, but I’m not as healthy as you are. I’m not as good,” he said.
“That isn’t true.”
She said it gently, but firmly, like she was stating an undeniable fact.
He stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “I’m not one of your projects, Ursa.”
Her spine straightened in returned indignation at that, her eyes shooting fire. Too late, he realized his mistake. He put up his hands in a surrender gesture.
“I’m sorry. Forget I said that. I don’t actually believe you take on projects, either as a social worker or in your personal life. That was uncalled for.”
The last thing he wanted to do was argue with her at that moment. She exhaled, some of the tension seeming to leak out of her at his hasty apology. He’d apparently prevented another tongue-lashing.
He leaned down over her. He found himself staring at the pulse flickering at her throat. She was so delicate. So lovely. So unlikely, here in these woods, her body so close to his.
And yet, against all the odds: Here she was. That truth electrified him.
“Come here,” he said quietly, bidding her closer to him with a hand on her hip. She stepped into him, her stare on him never wavering.
He scraped back a few strands of hair that had fallen across her face, pausing to cup the back of her skull. Dipping his knees, he lowered a few inches to better match her height. He brushed his nose against hers, and tightened his hand in the hair at the back of her head. Gently but firmly, he tilted her head so that her mouth rose to just beneath his. Her eyes looked huge in her face. Her lips slowly parted.
With a shocking surge of need, he grew achingly erect. He palmed one of her ass cheeks and pressed her belly firmly against his arousal. Her eyes widened.
“I’m starting to think that just the smell of you could make me come,” he told her, brushing his mouth against hers. He was like a bee hovering over a delectable blossom, savoring the moment he’d drink his fill. Loving the anticipation, but also greedy, he ducked his head to sandwich her lips between his in a quick, rough kiss. Her breath hitched, and she went up on her to tiptoes when he lifted his head.
His anticipation intensified at the feeling of her firm, round breasts pressing against his ribcage. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Are you still going to defend my character when I tell you I want you so much that I’m not going to wait to get you back to the house?”
She looked a bit surprised, but then that mysterious little smile ghosted her lips. How many layers are there to you, baby girl?
“Of course I’d still defend you. I did say you were the one of the most talented people I’d ever know. I was referring to more than just your mechanical skills,” she said huskily.
He laughed, inordinately pleased with her at that moment. Both hands at her ass, he lifted her against him. She started at his abrupt handling of her body, but placed her hands on his shoulders trustingly as he swung her around. He set her feet on the flat rock she’d been sitting on when he arrived. With no further ado, he planted his face in her shirt-covered chest and molded her breasts together with his hands. He twisted his head slightly, drowning in her scent, relishing the soft fullness of her breasts against his cheeks, lips and hands.
God, he wanted her. He heard her gasp, and then felt her fingers in his hair, the sensation of her nails scraping his scalp making a shiver rack him. The stark realization of his blinding need made him balk for a moment. He lifted his head from the valley of her breasts, only to find himself staring at the feminine flesh behind her shirt, just inches from his face.
He growled low in his throat, abandoning himself to his need, and reached for the buttons at the top of her shirt. He heard her whimper. She started to fumble at the knotted shirttails at her waist, eager to help him. He quickly grabbed her wrists, though. He pushed her hands into the small of her back and glanced up at her face.
She was the most perfect thing he could imagine. He wanted—no, he needed—to set her up on that rock and worship every square inch of her. Pierce her to the core. Absorb her. Possess her utterly.
That or go mad, in that moment.
But of course he couldn’t say that, even if the feeling behind the words did burn inside him.
“Keep your hands there,” he rasped. “I want to be free to do whatever I want to you.”
Her mouth dropped open. Distantly, he cursed himself for his blunt savagery. Smooth, Shakespeare. But his brief regret evaporated when he parted the top of her shirt, leaving the shirttails fastened. Sweet, amazing girl. Awed by the vision of her flushed, perfect breasts speckled by moving shadow and sunlight, he carefully tucked the shirt beneath her upper arms. When he was finished, he just stared for a moment at the firm, feminine, succulent flesh he’d exposed. He noticed that her chest didn’t move, and glanced up at her face.
“Breathe, Ursa,” he said, before he cradled both bare breasts in his hands and slid his lips across a nipple.
It was like the first time he’d ever touched or kissed a woman’s breasts. No, it was like the first time a man ever had been exposed to so much beauty, the first time he’d been granted permission to drown in it. It was sweet. Primal. Raw.
He grew fierce at times, overwhelmed with passion, and gentle at others, finessing her, absorbing the gentle tremors that shook her body as his tongue learned every tiny bump, every detail of her now hard and distended nipples.
He found himself with his hand on her spine, supporting as he forced her back to bow while he drew on a breast with concentrated pleasure. The madness had overtaken him. It took a moment for the sound of her sharp pleas and the sensation of her anxious fingers moving in his hair to penetrate his lust.
He realized hazily that she was frantic, and cursed himself for his blind selfishness. Without a word, he lowered his hand, shoving his fingers up the legs of her shorts and beneath the crotch of her panties.
Everything went black for a second. She soaked his fingers. He cursed out loud, and slid his thumb between slick labia. No finessing here. He sensed the desperate tension in Ursa’s body. He rubbed her hard and fast. She let out a loud, surprised cry that echoed against the treetops.
She broke in his arms.
“Shhh,” he murmured, his mouth covering hers, hushing her anxious whimpers. One hand continued to move between her thighs while the other grasped a handful of hair at her nape and pulled back her head, tilting her mouth up to meet his. He plucked at her full lips hungrily, and then plunged his tongue into the honeyed warm cavern of her mouth. His cock jerked in protest against the confines of his jeans, but still, he ate up her fevered cries like a starved man. He swallowed her sweetness, hazily wondering if he could ever get enough.
He’d have her n
ow, this tempting little fairy who had offered herself to him so sweetly. And it would feel so good.
He removed his hand from her warm, wet sex reluctantly. He spun her around so that her back faced him. His hands were already unfastening her shorts. A moment later, he shoved them, along with her panties, down to the top of her hiking boots.
“Step out of them,” he directed, his own voice sounding unintentionally harsh in his ears. He helped her, steadying and assisting her while she hastily kicked off the garments. “Now bend over. Brace yourself against the tree. That’s right.” He couldn’t unglue his gaze from her as she positioned herself, and he attacked his own button fly. She’d followed his instructions. Her long hair fell in a wild, sexy mess around her back and hung down in the air when she bent at the waist. She wore nothing but the flannel shirt still tied at her waist, socks and the hiking boots.
He groaned as he stroked his now exposed cock, pausing to squeeze the flaring head hard. Her round, bare ass looked paler than her legs, plump and delectable. His cock surged in his hand.
He moved behind her, reaching to stroke a smooth ass cheek.
“You’re so pretty, Ursa. So sexy,” he praised, completely lost in the moment. He positioned himself. With her standing on the rock, the angle was ideal for entry. His cock looked huge, ruddy and angry, somehow, compared to the flawless, smooth skin of her buttocks. He experienced a flash of concern. But then he parted her flesh, and saw her glossy, vividly pink sex, and knew that she would match him perfectly.
He experienced a sharp moment of anticipation as he guided himself to her entrance. He patted a buttock gently.
“Open wider for me, sweet girl. Let me in.”
She hurriedly spread her feet on the rock to accommodate him. Once he felt the head of his cock enter the tight, unbearably sweet lock of her body, he let go of all restraint. He grabbed her bottom tight with both hands and thrust.
Wild, Wounded Hearts Page 13
