Why (Stalker Series Book 2)

by Megan Mitcham

  “You’ve got to stop that,” he groaned.

  He spread her arms wide, placing his palms atop hers. His blue gaze darkened with heavy lids.

  “I can’t.” She continued to wiggle and arch. The hair of his legs abraded her lower lips. “Owen, I can’t.” The weight of his muscles provided enough friction that her breath caught. She shattered under him, grabbing his hands and holding tight for dear life.

  Before she put herself back together, he hooked an arm under her back and levered her up. His knees shoved her thighs apart. They perched on her bed, face to face. Her muscles still convulsed. He held her to his chest and pressed the head of his cock inside her aching body.

  “Yes,” Gen panted and pulled at his shoulders, needing him closer.

  He withdrew and arched deeper. One of his hands grabbed her ass cheek while the other plunged into her hair. He pulled her face close and pressed his forehead to hers before spearing her to the hilt.

  Her arms shook. Her legs quaked. He felt like steel and silk inside her. Never before had it felt like this.

  So good. So delicious. So natural.

  She froze.

  Owen matched her. His gaze dropped to their joined bodies. “Shit. I never forget.” He moved to pull out, but she trapped him with her legs, holding him where he belonged.

  “Me neither. Not ever,” she admitted.

  “I have protection.” He made another move to get it. Again, she held him tight.

  “I do too.”

  The sexy, devilish grin she’d come to know and love curved his kissed-red mouth. “You have to let me go for me to get it.”

  “I know. It just feels so good.”

  His laugh was big and nearly unhinged. “That’s an understatement.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, rolling her hips and grinding him deeper still.

  “Fucking Christ, Gen,” he growled.

  “This feels different.”

  “Yeah,” he barked the reply and sucked a breath through his nose.

  “Not just that.” She gestured to their naked connected bodies. “All of it.” Her arms tightened around him.

  “Another understatement.” He pulled her close and plastered a kiss on her mouth.

  She kissed him again, pulled from his hot flesh to the tip, and then impaled herself on his cock.

  His fingers grabbed her hips. He breathed through his nose again and let it out slowly, as though grappling for control. “We need protection. Shit, I need it. If I get you pregnant, you’ll kill me.”

  It was her turn to laugh. Pant and moan and laugh. “I’m on the pill.”

  “There’s always a chance.”

  “One I’ve never been willing to take.” She smoothed a thumb over his severe jaw, interlocked her fingers around the back of his neck, and arched in is hold. His cock slid from her body to the full head. When he was nearly out, she deliberately lowered herself onto him, making no mistake in her intent.

  “And now you are.” A moan hissed through his teeth.

  “And now I am.” She squeezed him with her inner muscles. Her head lolled to one side, and she rolled her hips, feeling everything as though it was the first time. And in so many ways, it was.

  Owen watched her work their bodies into a frenzied mess of sweat and desire. He used his grip on her hips and drove them higher, angled her deeper. His thrusts stoked every nerve ending. He shifted his grip back and filled his hands with her bottom. With each exquisite collision of their bodies, he arched into her. The muscles in his chest and neck strained. His abs rippled. The tattoos danced. His gaze locked on hers. And Gen caught fire.

  Her orgasm came hard and fast, searing her skin. Melding her to Owen. She gasped and convulsed and clung to him, riding out every last jolt of pleasure. Then he was there with her. He tensed and keened. Heat filled her and spilled down her leg, proving just how foolish this wonderful man made her.

  Twenty-Four

  Springs groaned, and the bed dipped, and Gen rolled into his embrace. It was both foreign and familiar, new and more comforting than a slice of cheese pizza and a beer.

  “Morning?” she asked in a sleepy grumble.

  “Afraid so.”

  “Damn.”

  His salacious lips pressed to hers, and she let him. Morning breath be damned. Maybe it’d scare him away and save her the heartache because this level of bliss was not sustainable. Like the best cup of milk, this too would curdle.

  It didn’t. His kiss was long and deep, and all she wanted to do was pull down the blinds and block out the day. She wanted to forget the world, the good and the bad, and focus solely on Owen for, well, ever. Her belly clenched and jerked at the thought. Forever with Owen Graham. The room spun.

  “I need a shower.” He rubbed his stubbly cheek against hers. “Join me?”

  “Last time we showered together, I didn’t get very clean.”

  “Me neither.” His teeth nipped at her neck.

  “And whose fault was that?”

  “Yours. Definitely yours.” He placed one more kiss on her lips and shoved from the bed. “So wanna get dirty with me?”

  “Yes.” She rolled to her side and watched his perfectly formed ass head for the hallway.

  “But?”

  “You get clean. I’ll go grab coffee.” There wasn’t any more food in her apartment than there had been when he’d nursed her wounds the other day.

  “How are you not married?” he hollered from the bathroom, mocking her.

  “Stuff it.”

  “Already did. Several times,” he reminded.

  Owen hadn't been kidding when he’d said they’d be fucking off and on all night. The sun barely tinted the horizon, and they’d logged a few naps between bouts of the most intimate debauchery of her life.

  “I’m not above doing it again.” The shower turned on, and he continued over the rushing water. “In fact, I’d like to. Sooner than later. What are you doing tonight? Let me take you to dinner. A proper date.”

  Gen pushed from the bed, and blood rushed to every sensitive spot on her body. She hugged her arms around her naked skin, luxuriating in the feel. The spot above her pelvic bone was tender to the touch. Her nipples ached. Hell, the globes of her ass probably had his fingerprints. A smile curved her lips. She walked gingerly to the bathroom doorway and called through the crack in the door.

  “How normal.”

  “Not too normal. I’ll cook.”

  “You can cook?” She pressed her head to the doorframe. Why was he so wonderful?

  “The basics. Nothing too fancy.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” She whispered the words so he couldn’t hear them. There was nothing. Oh wait, there was that one issue she’d yet to figure a course of action to maneuver. He demanded emotional intimacy, not just physical.

  Gen shoved off the wall, headed to the closet, and pulled on her favorite tights, boots, and an oversized sweater. She pushed into the bathroom and mounted her wild hair atop her head with a band.

  “Hey, what’s a guy got to do to get breakfast with that coffee?”

  Her laughter caught her completely by surprise. Just like the man did. She stared at her smiley, happy reflection in the mirror in total shock. Happiness looked good on her, better than the makeup she skipped.

  “You already did it. Several times.”

  He gave a sexy purr. “Tell me what it was so I know for next time. I’m quite fond of breakfast.”

  A noise to her left caught her attention. His pants were chirping. More accurately, the phone inside his pants chirped.

  “Your phone is going off.”

  “Ah, I have other things on my mind now.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah? Eggs, bacon, dark roast.”

  “I’m going. Don’t use all the hot water.”

  “I never do.”

  Gen always did. There’d never been anyone to save any for. She pulled the bathroom door to without latching it and went in search of her phone. The living room was d
ark. A chill worked its way up her spine.

  “Ridiculous.” She rolled her gaze toward the sky. After a lifetime of living on her own, this was hardly the time to get scared. Something caught the edge of her clunky winter boot, and she went down hard. Her knee whacked the floor. She sprawled on the hardwood, nearly catching a mouthful of rug.

  “Gen?”

  “I’m fine,” she hollered, “just clumsy.”

  She rolled to her side and saw the light screen of her phone inches from her face. Hadn’t she left it on the couch? She palmed it and pushed to her feet. After a few swipes and slides, the device’s flashlight filled the sitting area. The files she’d left in disarray had been stacked into a neat pile, right up until she’d kicked over the box.

  What the hell? Why had he done it? Was he a neat freak, or was he looking for something? When had Owen done that? They’d spent the afternoon and night in a tangle of arms and legs.

  Gen killed the flashlight and saw her long list of text messages and missed calls. Sixteen was bound to be a new record. Owen was on to making his own record. His phone beeped and vibrated, dancing across the floor once more.

  Had he looked at her phone sometime during the night? Maybe when he’d re-boxed her files?

  And I’m the one with trust issues?

  She shuffled back to the hallway, reached down, and snatched the phone from his pants. It was a record. Records, Tammy to be specific. Tammy from records had tried to hand-deliver the phone records he requested for a number she didn’t recognize. He had been out, so she’d left them on his desk. Tammy hoped to catch him next time and was available any time to help with any request he might have. Smiling devil emoji.

  Heat, akin to the fires of hell, engulfed Gen. Suddenly, the sweater was suffocating, and rage pounced on her temples.

  Before she could think or the message could disappear, she swiped left and pressed view. She wanted to tell Tammy to go fuck a lamppost because it would show more interest than Owen. Shit! Jealousy was a potent emotion. One with which she had zero experience. And it showed. What the hell was she doing? Of course, Tammy from records wanted Owen. There wasn’t a straight, blue-blooded woman who wouldn’t. He was kind and hella hot.

  She was about to replace the phone when the smiling devil on her shoulder jumped, making her fingers dance across the letters.

  Thank you so much, Tammy. Can you grab me the records for 212-323-0087?

  Owen may have packed Perry’s case away, but she hadn’t. She hit send. Tammy responded immediately with a bubbly, Anything for you, Gorgeous.

  “On second thought, I have other things on my mind.” Owen opened the door dripping wet, heavy-lidded, and fully erect. His hand extended toward her, but he stopped short. That steamy blue gaze dropped to the phone in her hand and then turned inquisitive.

  “It was going crazy.” More like she was going crazy. “I thought it might be important.” Gen darkened the screen and handed it to him. “I’m gone. Coffee. Breakfast.” She scooped up her purse from the kitchen counter and practically ran from her own apartment.

  The trip down the street, the wait in line, the smell of coffee beans and bacon, the trip back, none of it helped the knot growing in her stomach. She shoved open the apartment door, expecting and hoping to find it empty.

  Owen sat on the end of her bed dressed in the clothes she’d stripped from his body. He held the cell phone to his ear. “I understand. I’ll get on it immediately.” There was a pause.

  Gen stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Why, of all the places he could have been, was he on the bed? It was so personal. She set the bag with his breakfast and the cup carrier on the counter inside the kitchen. Everything inside her tingled. Fear of losing what she hadn’t known she wanted forced her to grip the edge of the counter to steady herself.

  “Yes, just as soon as I get in.” Owen’s voice was strong, steady.

  She drew in a deep breath and headed to her death with her shoulders hunched like the coward she never thought she was.

  He’d ended the call, and his eyes were on her, the disappointment fully visible in the early morning light. She stepped into the bedroom.

  “Pamela and the kids weren’t his only victims. Perry killed Rita Ayers when he was a teenager. His sister witnessed it. He scared her into silence until after his acquittal. She confided in me a few days ago. Then there was Tiffany and Henson Renly. They died in a hit and run with no suspects, but I can almost certainly place Perry at the scene. A dark-colored sports car was spotted speeding away from the crash. Perry’s father left him a black Jaguar in his will. There’s a garage at his mom’s house with three old cars under tarps.”

  Owen stood. “You still think this is about proof, Gen.” His head shook. “All you had to do was open up. Just talk to me. That was it. No matter how many or how few pieces of the puzzle you had, I’d have given you anything you asked for.” He drew a heavy breath. “Fuck, Gen, I gave you my goddamned heart.”

  Tears clouded her vision. His words were too true. Too perfect. And she fucked it up. So she did what she did best. She straightened and lifted her chin.

  “I don’t know what to do with those.”

  “Clearly.” Owen sidestepped her and left. He didn’t even bother slamming the door.

  Twenty-Five

  Shredding. Tearing. Slashing. His absence carved a void inside her chest. Pain dragged her to her knees. She clung to the duvet and pressed her heart against the edge of the bed as though the mattress could stem the sorrow flowing from her most vital organ.

  A futile scream ratcheted its way up her throat. She gathered the white down to her face. The explosion should have rocked her block. It should have shaken her building by its foundation. That was what he’d done to her. He’d taken the stable footing of her life and turned it to quicksand. A sand all too happy to take her life. It pulled her down deeper than she’d ever been. Her cheek met the floor, and she sobbed into the scent of their lovemaking.

  Morning turned to day.

  Her phone continued to vibrate at her hip, inside the purse she’d yet to remove. She didn’t care.

  The handle of her front door twisted, and then the door groaned open.

  Hope, unwarranted and unearned, filled her enough that she rolled to the side and opened her swollen lids toward the doorway.

  “Gen? Genevieve Holst!” Larkin’s voice echoed through her home. The door slammed, and stilettos clacked across the hardwood into the living room and then the tile in the bathroom. Her friend practically ran into the bedroom before skidding to Gen’s side.

  “Oh, dear God!” Larkin’s hands were on her face and sliding down her neck. She shoved them off.

  “Who else would it be?” Gen growled.

  “What?”

  “Genevieve Holst.” Gen glared at Larkin. “Who else lives here?”

  Larkin knelt on the floor in Gen’s apartment in her workday best. Her hands flitted around as though unsure of what to do. She didn’t speak either, which said a lot.

  “I’m alive,” Gen reassured her. “I know because it hurts so much.”

  “What happened? Where are you hurt? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

  “I fell in love like a stupid, fucking moron. It hurts everywhere. And no, an ambulance won’t help.”

  “Oh, Gen.” She’d never seen such pity pour from Larkin. Her friend leaned over and wrapped her arms around Gen. They were colder, smaller, and shorter than the ones she really wanted. Still, she hugged Larkin back. Her tears rushed back in earnest.

  “Love? Gen, I’m new to this mess myself, but this isn’t love.”

  Larkin helped her sit up. Gen wiped the streams from her cheeks. Good thing she’d foregone makeup. If she’d bothered, it would’ve dripped down to her chin by now or been wiped onto the covers.

  “Yeah, it is. I just fucked it up.” Gen bit her lip.

  Sweet Larkin stared at her with wide eyes and parted lips.

  “I know,” she groaned. “It came as qui
te a shock to me too.”

  “Owen?”

  Gen nodded and wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

  “If it is love, like you told me, then you have to talk to him. Tell him everything you’re feeling.”

  She rolled her eyes at her friend. Larkin wasn’t deterred.

  “It may not solve the problem, but you’ll feel better, and he’ll understand you better.”

  “When did you get so smart?”

  “I have great friends.”

  Gen wrapped her arms around Larkin and held her tightly to her chest. “Me too.”

  Larkin rocked her back and forth.

  “Thank you,” Gen squeaked.

  “Don’t thank me yet. You’re not dead, so I get to yell at you for scaring the hell out of me.” Larkin squeezed her tight and then released her, stood, and extended her hand.

  “I deserve it, but can it wait a couple of days?” Gen grabbed Larkin’s hand and stood on shaky legs.

  “As long as you learn how to answer your damn phone again.” Larkin palmed her own phone and called Douglas on speaker.

  “Yes?” His warm fatherly voice filtered through the device.

  “She’s alive. I’ll be down in a few.”

  “Take your time. You are loved, Genevieve. Don’t forget that when you go missing again. Also, don’t go missing again. Not even Larkin will keep me from pulling out all the stops.”

  “Thank you, Douglas.” She had people who cared about her. More than most, she knew how special and rare that was, and she’d taken them for granted. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

  “Good.”

  Larkin ended the call and led her into the kitchen. She pulled a stool out from beneath the bar, motioned her atop it, and slipped Gen’s purse from her body. Her friend presented her with her phone. “Answer it. Every time. Do we have a deal?”

  “Deal,” Gen agreed. She opened the screen and began cataloging each call and text. Not for a second did she dare listen to Owen’s messages … from before. There were none since he’d left, since she’d screwed up so terribly.