Wild, Wounded Hearts

by Wild, Wounded Hearts (epub)

  “Z?” she asked hoarsely, still caught up in the dream she’d been having.

  He didn’t reply. Not with words, anyway. Instead, he cupped her waist with one hand and gently rolled her onto her back. He bent. Then his mouth covered hers, his lips warm, firm, and persuasive. So hungry…

  She moaned. It was definitely Z.

  His taste and the pressure of his mouth, so singular and painfully familiar, flooded her brain. She threaded her fingers into his hair. It felt sun-warmed and soft next to her fingertips. Maybe it was a dream, but if it was, it wasn’t one from which she wanted to wake.

  His kiss grew more forceful. Wild. Touching him was like touching the very essence of desire itself. Her head swam under the influence of his kiss, the feeling of his hair, the firm pressure of his hands on her waist and on the side of her ribs and breasts. He nipped at her lips, his action frantic…almost angry, as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of her, and it infuriated him. Then his tongue plunged deep, their lips sealed as they both plundered, and again she was swimming beneath the waves, submersed in desire itself, drowning in him.

  She felt his hand between her thighs, and she opened for him without question, welcoming him. Needing him. His fingers slipped beneath her bikini bottoms. She moaned and gyrated her hips against him, suddenly as frantic as he was.

  He lifted his head and made a rough, hissing sound.

  “Christ, you’re soaking wet.”

  He shifted, his weight coming down over her. She welcomed it, her hands moving anxiously across his muscular back and narrow waist, pushing him to her, requiring the solidity of him, the certainty. His mouth seized hers again, their kiss wild…completely untethered to anything rational. He bit at her lips, and she bit him back. His hand moved desperately between their straining bodies as he removed the obstacle of their clothing.

  He entered her. Her eyes sprang wide. He felt huge with need, stretching her, invading her inch by inch, possessing her by means of forceful fusion. His grunt and violent curse made her clench around him. It made her burn.

  “Fuck, Ursa.” He sounded like he was being strangled. Desperate.

  She clutched his buttocks and spread her thighs wider. He slid into her to the hilt. She threw her head back and cried out shakily. She looked up into his shadowed face. It was pinched and tight with restrained pleasure. His powerful arms were bent at the elbow as he held himself off her. The moment pulsated inside her, around her, just as he throbbed deep at her core.

  “Fuck me, Z,” she told him. “Do it hard.”

  Make me forget.

  He began to thrust, his action smooth and rhythmic, and yet utterly ruthless. They stared at one another, both of them entranced, both of them transported by sheering, blasting pleasure.

  Both of them lost.

  Ursa reached and touched his face. He’d shaved off his goatee at some point this summer, but dark whiskers scraped her fingertips. He was different, but the same. Always the same.

  All of her drowsiness had vanished, only to be replaced by alertness so sharp, a reality so vivid, it filled her to overflowing. She pressed her thumb into his lower lip as he grimaced. He thrust harder, faster, groaning in pleasure. She shut her eyes, the harsh, inevitable truth of him making her full to bursting.

  “Open your eyes, baby girl. Now,” he rasped.

  She followed his instruction without thinking, once again ensnared by his furious, blue-eyed stare. He sunk into her to the hilt, circling his hips subtly, applying pressure to her clit. She broke beneath him. As she cried out in climax, he moved, pounding into her at a pitiless pace. She knew he was ruthless to himself, as well, though…that both of them longed to make it last, but knew they’d eventually have to submit to the inevitable.

  She felt him lengthen inside her, sensed him swell, heard his groan of misery. He stiffened, his arm and chest muscles straining rock hard.

  He poured himself into her, his big body racked with the same explosive need and pained pleasure that tormented her.

  Everyday reality came back to her slowly. A breeze flickered across her perspiration damp neck and face, cooling her. Z slumped over her, his chest and back expanding and contracting as he panted for air. His arms still held his body weight off her, but his elbows had sagged some, bringing him closer to her.

  She could feel his warm, rhythmic breath through her sheer beach cover-up, on a patch of skin above her left breast. She had the bizarre idea that he was breathing directly into her heart, making it pump at his pace.

  His control over her was absolute.

  The thought chilled her. She shifted her hips beneath him. Slowly, he lifted his head and met her stare. What she read in his gaze made her eyes sting. She saw love, huge and burning. But she saw something else: denial of that love, and naked desolation.

  “You had no right to do that to me. Not after the things you said.”

  His jaw tightened. “I know.”

  “Then get off of me.”

  His expression froze. She’d been a little surprised at how calm and firm she’d sounded, as well, especially after the flash fire that had just erupted between them.

  He shifted his hips. A stream of his semen fell on the sensitive skin just above her pubic hair as he withdrew. She winced at the full, horrible realization of raw intimacy that had just taken place between them.

  He’d been cruel to her last spring. He’d thrown her feelings for him in her face, and mocked her innocence. And yet he’d she’d taken him into her body without thought or question after months of separation.

  He hadn’t even said hello.

  The cold reality of her treachery to herself made her suddenly nauseous. She jabbed at his ribs with her fist. He grunted and tried to move off her, but the space was constraining, plus his pants were shoved down around his thighs. She was forced to wait, rage building in her. He hefted his weight into the tiny crevice at the far corner of the little cave. She scurried out from under him the first chance she got, hopping down onto the sand. She let her long hair fall forward, covering her face as she hastily searched for the bikini bottoms he’d discarded.

  “Ursa. What are you doing?” he asked after she’d found the panties and put them on in record time.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Z?” she asked, adjusting her clothing and avoiding his stare.

  “I came for Labor Day.”

  “I mean what were you doing there?” she bit out angrily, pointing inside the cavern. Their stares met, hers hot and accusing, his uneasy. Stunned.

  “I don’t know.” She realized he’d pulled up and fastened his jeans. He scooted toward the lip of the enclosure and swung his long legs over the edge. He sat there, his hands clutching the rock. His shrug struck her as flummoxed. Embarrassed, even? She wasn’t used to seeing Z embarrassed, so she couldn’t quite be sure. “I came onto the beach, looking for everyone, and I saw you walking in this direction… ”

  “So you thought you’d follow me and catch me at a vulnerable moment.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  “It didn’t happen.” She jabbed her finger again at the cave. “That never happened!”

  His eyes flashed. Anger tightened his jaw. “It did happen. And you were right there with me, every step of the way.”

  She ground her teeth together, a sound of bitter frustration and fury vibrating in her throat. She started to climb up the stacked boulders.

  “Ursa.”

  “Just stay the hell away from me, Z.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ursa was determined to ignore Z, but it was a little hard when the plans for the weekend included a cookout and bonfire on the beach tonight with the Becketts. And of course they’d be doing the whole beach thing again tomorrow, and Monday, as well. Although Ursa didn’t plan on sticking around to suffer three days in a row in Z Beckett’s op
pressive, anxiety-provoking presence.

  Why the hell did you let him do what he’d done at the boulder cave? Why, in God’s name, can’t I stop thinking about how phenomenal it was?

  Maybe he’ll leave, after what happened this afternoon.

  Do you really want him to go?

  The last voice in her head was said with utmost sarcasm and self-disgust as she rearranged her hair in the bathroom mirror. She’d redone a French braid at least a dozen times because it didn’t look quite messy and careless enough.

  Idiot, she thought darkly, staring at her reflection severely and tearing her fingers through the French braid. She’d leave her hair loose. She’d gotten a decent tan today, and that along with clean hair, no makeup, and a simple sundress was just have to be good enough for Z Beckett.

  Like it matters what that jerk thinks.

  Against her will, she saw his eyes flash in defiance. “It did happen. And you were right there with me, every step of the way.”

  Leave it to Z to use the truth to gouge her yet another time.

  Earlier that day, after their volatile meeting at the boulder cave, Ursa had retreated to the house to lick her wounds and re-erect her shattered defenses. Not only that. She’d had to go back and shower before returning to family and friends. His scent was all over her.

  But Z—Ursa had learned later from Esme—had returned to the Lodge, donned his swim trunks, and joined the rest of them for a few hours of happy frolicking on the beach. Apparently, he’d been just fine and dandy. He certainly hadn’t required any emotional recovery time, like I did, Ursa thought bitterly.

  She was probably more furious with herself than she was at him for her lack of control…for her wanton need. She was also confused, ashamed, and overwhelmed with a desire to not give a damn, when in truth, she cared so much it hurt.

  It made for a brutal brew of emotions as she made her way to the beach that evening with her sisters, each of them carrying bags with various supplies that Ilsa had designated for the cookout.

  Esme had also told her earlier that Ilsa had invited Grandpa Joe, Stephen and Z for dinner at six thirty. That gave Ursa a little much needed time to get the higher ground and collect herself before Z arrived.

  She came to an abrupt halt on the beach retaining wall, Sadie and Esme leaping down onto the sand ahead of her. Z sat at the picnic table beneath the pavilion, his wide, muscular chest and arms bare, slicing up a zucchini on a cutting board and casually talking to her mom. He glanced up when Sadie and Esme approached the tent, his gaze scanning the beach and landing on Ursa where she stood on the wall. She started, as though his distant stare on her was a touch.

  Then Sadie blocked her view of him. She hopped down onto the beach, and wiped the scowl off her face.

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of appearing miffed. It was just Z Beckett sitting on the beach—half naked, tanned and glorious after spending a good portion of the afternoon in the bright sunshine. She’d seen it hundreds of times before. It was all just business as usual, as far as she was concerned.

  Determined as she was, she didn’t look away when Z caught her stare.

  “There’s the sunshine,” Z murmured, his mouth tilting slightly in amusement as she approached the table. Ursa knew he was being sarcastic. She looked more like a storm cloud than the sun. Unable to stop herself, she curled her lip slightly in bitter disgust.

  “Oh honey, let’s hope you have the steak in yours,” Ilsa said, poking her hand in Ursa’s bag. “Aha!” she called, pulling out white paper wrapped packages.

  “Since when are you so domestic?” Sadie asked Z humorously, nodding at the bowl of cut of vegetables in front of him.

  “He brought me the zucchini, along with sweet onion, chives and some other lovely spices from his friend’s garden,” Ilsa exclaimed happily.

  “A friend’s garden?” Ursa asked, straining to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  “Yeah, whose this friend?” Esme asked, poking Z on a muscular shoulder while he continued to cut the zucchini. He suddenly seemed completely focused on his task, ignoring their jibes.

  “Z’s been giving me some tips on the spices for the basting sauce for the kabobs, as well,” Ilsa told her daughter’s, looking like a proud mother.

  “We should have brought him an apron,” Ursa said, ungluing her stare from Z’s tanned, extremely masculine, naked chest. At least it would have covered him up.

  “It’s cutting vegetables, not haute cuisine. I think I can handle that much,” Z said, dumping the zucchini in with the other vegetables. It suddenly struck Ursa, that on at least a couple occasions in her life, she’d seen something similar to this scenario: walking into the kitchen before a big family dinner where the Becketts were guests, and seeing Z innocuously doing some kind of meal prep while he chatted with Ilsa. He’d likely dissembled on those occasions, just like he did this evening.

  “Is he done?” Esme asked her mom. She popped Z on the back of the head with a Frisbee she’d brought. “Can Z come out and play, Mama?”

  “Yep, I’m all set. Thanks, honey,” Ilsa told Z warmly.

  Z stood, wiped off his hands, and started to walk toward the shoreline with Sadie and Esme. He turned back in the process of putting on his sunglasses.

  “You coming?” he asked Ursa.

  “No. I’ll stay here and help Mom.”

  He started to say something, and then caught himself. His mouth went flat. He turned and sauntered onto the beach to join her sisters.

  Afterwards, Ursa found it infuriating, to be forced to endure listening to her mother gush about Z cutting up a few vegetables, making it sound like he was a top notch farm-to-table chef or something. Especially because Ursa knew he was a fantastic gardener and cook. And yet he purposefully chose to hide that knowledge from family and friends.

  Just like he prefers to conceal all his accomplishments or anything positive in his life.

  When he’s not busy eradicating the good things from it. Like me.

  “Honey, cube the steak. We’re having kabobs, not steak burgers,” Ilsa said a while later as Ursa watched Z vertically jump what looked like three feet and snag the Frisbee with sexy nonchalance. She glanced down at the cutting board and realized she’d been aggressively demolishing the first steak. While her mother was busy preparing the grill, she switched to the other side of the picnic table for her task, so that she wouldn’t be forced to watch the annoying—jaw-dropping—sight of Z Beckett playing Frisbee wearing only some swim trunks, sunglasses, and a cocky little grin as he teased her sisters.

  Damn man.

  When Grandpa Joe and Stephen arrived, Z, Esme and Sadie returned to the pavilion. Ursa and her sisters helped their mom set the table while Stephen and Z worked on setting the timber for the bonfire.

  They ate supper as the sun begun to dip behind the ridge of the mountains, casting the sky in a hundred hues of pink, purple, red and gold. Everyone’s face appeared to glow with the last brilliant hues of the sunset as Ilsa passed around a thermos of after-dinner coffee.

  “You’re awfully quiet this evening, Ursa,” Grandpa Joe observed.

  “Esme wasn’t letting her get a word in edgewise,” Sadie said.

  Esme made a face at her older sister, but then gave Ursa a speculative glance. “You have been quiet, even for you,” Esme said. “What’s going on in that brilliant brain of yours, baby bear?”

  “Yeah, we’ve heard all about Esme’s spring line and Sadie’s latest movie. What’s happening in your world?” Stephen asked.

  “Not anything nearly as exciting as Esme’s and Sadie’s.”

  “It’s all interesting to us. We haven’t seen much of you this summer. Come on, give us some gossip,” Stephen said.

  Her gaze briefly met Z’s. He watched her with a steady, enigmatic stare. He’d donned a T-shirt and black hoodie before dinner. His eyes seemed
to glow in his sun-darkened, whiskered face. Was his stare on her warm? Disinterested? Wary? Was he worried she’d say something about her trip to Columbia? Expose his private, well-guarded world?

  The fact that she couldn’t guess what he was thinking at that moment frothed her already foaming emotional state.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have much gossip,” she said, giving Stephen a smile. “Ask me at Thanksgiving or Christmas, and maybe I’ll have a juicy story or two.”

  “Why, what’s going to happen between now and then?” Stephen wondered.

  “I’ve decided to let Esme and Sadie set me up with some guys they know in Reno.”

  For a few seconds, silence prevailed beneath the pavilion. Finally, Z leaned forward, his eyes catching the crimson of the sunset sky.

  “Guys?” he asked flatly.

  “Yeah,” Ursa said with false cheerfulness. “I’ve had problems meeting a decent guy…someone who’s serious about a relationship instead of just screwing around.”

  “I haven’t heard about this plan yet,” Esme said, giving Sadie an interested glance. “But I’m up for it.”

  Ursa shrugged. “Sadie and I talked about it last night, and I’ve decided it was a good idea. If the offer still stands, that is?” she asked Sadie.

  “Of course,” Sadie said, hiding her surprise.

  “You’re going to have Esme and Sadie set you up with guys,” Z stated, his tone still flat, as if he hadn’t quite interpreted what Ursa was saying.

  “Yeah. That’s right.”

  He glanced over at Sadie and Esme incredulously. “What guys do you two know that’d be appropriate for Ursa?”

  “What are you talking about? We know plenty of potential men,” Esme defended.

  Z made a scoffing sound that made Ursa’s blood start to boil in her veins.

  “Like who?” Z challenged.