by Godwin, Pam
I need you.
Three words, so simple and ambiguous, reached into her chest and shook her. They sneaked under her guard and gathered up the most broken parts of her.
I need you.
“Ten years ago,” she said, voice cracking, “you wrote those words to your girl.”
“And my girl heard them. She listened to me. She was there for me. I need my girl to keep doing that. I need you, Rylee.”
“I’m not…” She pressed her fingers to her brow and released an anguished breath. “You were livid because I invaded your privacy.”
“I’m an idiot.”
For a man who’d spent most of last week glaring instead of talking, she couldn’t fathom what the fuck had changed.
Except she knew.
He was telling her, showing her, and she just couldn’t accept it.
“Someone else could’ve bought Caroline’s jacket and logged into her account,” she said. “I could’ve been anyone. You can’t hinge this on the emails. Why do you need me?”
“You challenge me at every goddamn turn. You keep me in check, never backing down. You don’t cower in the face of fear, not even when you’re trapped under a bed and hunted by a hitman. You’re crazy as hell, but you have a levelheaded grip on your moral compass. You think your heart is subtle? That you don’t show it or share it with anyone? That’s not true, Rylee. I watched you cry for your neighbor. You cried for that motel clerk. And you cried for me when I burnt Caroline’s house.” He dragged a hand down his brow, his nose, his mouth. “As if all that wasn’t enough to send me off the rails…” He looked up, his gaze touching, stroking, heating her body. “You’re so wildly, immeasurably, astonishingly beautiful it physically hurts.”
Heart thundering, she lowered her eyes to the engorged erection hanging between his legs.
A swallow stuck in her throat.
There was no gain without pain. No reward without risk. She would never know how good it could be unless she got out of her own way.
The truth was she did need him. She needed his intensity, his honesty, his possessiveness, his passion.
She desperately needed him to need her.
But she was scared. Yes, she was thinking about Mason and the ten years of pain he’d caused her. How could she open herself up and expose her heart to another decade of agony?
And there would be agony. Over the last nine days, Tommy had proved just how vicious he could be.
He steadily watched her, his demeanor cooling by the second, along with his arousal. She held his gaze, locked in a standstill that made no progress.
With a deep breath, he shot her a shivering look and turned toward the bathroom.
She summoned her pride and remained silent as he walked away, leaving her on the bed with her disparaging thoughts. The door shut behind him, and a moment later, the shower turned on.
Tears threatened as her stomach twisted, but through the churning and lurching, she felt something stronger, more profound. Longing.
There was no one more capable of love than Tomas Dine. He’d been devoted to Caroline Milton at a level that had made Rylee envious. At the peak of his sexual prime, years after Caroline’s death, he’d remained faithful to her. His emails spoke of nothing but love for the girl.
He’d never blamed her for his pain. Never let her loss define him. He grieved without allowing it to control his life.
If he’d married Caroline, he would’ve never cheated on her because betraying someone he loved wasn’t part of his chemical makeup.
Nine days ago, Rylee drove to Tommy’s house with a plan. She wanted to help him move on from his ghosts. But he wasn’t the one who needed help.
Her chest constricted, and she rubbed her breastbone.
The truth was there, waiting.
I need help.
I need him.
Deep down, she still dreamed of finding a life partner, someone who loved her enough to be loyal. Faithful.
I found him.
Her winding, battling thoughts went on through his absence and carried through her own shower. He let her have the space, and like a coward, she lingered in the bathroom long after she finished. If she avoided him long enough, he would realize she wasn’t worth the effort and seek out someone younger and easier to manage.
A voice in the back of her mind hissed, You stupid cow. He loves you.
She hid in the bathroom until her hair was air-dried. Until she was confident he was asleep. He’d been running for days without slowing down. He needed the rest.
Nothing would be decided now.
Wrapped in a towel, she opened the door and froze.
He sat on the floor just outside, his back to the wall and head hanging between his bent knees. Waiting for her.
Her lungs caved in as his golden eyes lifted, searching hers for a specific answer to a specific question.
She clutched her throat. “I hold onto grudges forever.”
He rose to his full height, wearing briefs and nothing else.
“Then I’ll wait.” He held out a hand.
“Forever?”
“For as long as it takes.”
Her heart keeled and bucked and pounded, the painful beats speaking to her, telling her something important was within reach, and she should grab it before someone stole it away.
Her damn heart bayed for his.
Fingers trembling, she grasped his hand. He led her to the bed, undressed, and wordlessly slid beneath the covers. She dropped the towel and followed him in.
Their bodies came together on instinct, chest to chest, hips to hips, legs entwined. He held her with arms of corded brawn, his muscular torso and soft, thick cock pressed tight to her body.
She had a full belly, a warm bed, and a beautiful man with his hands wrapped around a part of her she’d never imagined a man would touch again.
Her heart.
“Tommy.” She touched his strong, whiskered jaw and sank into the golden rays of his eyes. “I’m your girl.”
“From the moment you read my first email.” He cupped her face and rested his forehead against hers.
“I need you.”
She felt his brows pull together, his muscles tightening around her. Then his hand lowered, drifting down her body to slide between her legs.
“No.” She gripped his arm and flattened his hand against her chest. “I need all of you, Tommy. I need us. I don’t know what that looks like tomorrow or ten years from now, or how our worlds fit together, but knowing you, you already have all that worked out.”
“You’re mine.” His strange expression suggested he was trying out the words, tasting them. “Mine.”
“And you’re mine.”
He smiled, a brilliant, lustrous, heart-stopping smile, and caressed his palms along her shoulders. His fingers laced through her hair, and his mouth captured hers, kissing her senseless.
His happiness felt elemental against her lips, stirring a fluttery, whirling, delicious warmth in her chest. They made out without hurry or expectation, touching, kissing, grinning, living.
She was reborn in his arms, alive and unrestrained, her emotions unfurling in staggering abandon. So many feelings, sensations, the good and bad, the pain and pleasure, the past and present—all of it mounted and spilled out in a shocking flood. She gave a harsh cry, her body convulsing and belly clenching, untying knots as sobs tumbled from her throat, along with wave after wave of relief.
He held her through it, kissing away her tears. Then he lowered himself onto her, his mouth hungry against hers as he worshiped her, caressed her everywhere, and prepared her to take him.
When he finally pushed inside, it was with slow, rocking thrusts, fitting his hard length deeper, deeper. At last, he hilted himself, bottoming out, filling her with unholy pressure and pure satisfaction. She gasped, then groaned, matching the growls rumbling from his throat.
He paused, their breaths rushing, colliding, eyes locked in wonder.
God, he was so gorgeous—chiseled
features, squared jaw, a shadow of sexy stubble, and tousled brown hair dangling over his stern brow.
“You should know,” she said, “I might act like all is well, but beneath the surface, I’m dreaming about running my own cartel and pistol-whipping every woman who looks in your direction.”
His eyes danced, his smile beaming. “I’ll provide all the pistols you need.”
By now, she should’ve been immune to the deep timbre of his voice. But the low, throaty vibrations were as intoxicating as the stretch of his cock.
He circled his hips, forcing her to feel every inch, driving shivers of pleasure through her limbs. Her head fell back. She dragged in air, and his mouth fell upon her throat, licking and kissing and showering her in sparks of love.
Desire stirred along her spine, spreading outward like a slow, burning flame. His strokes caught a timeless rhythm, sinking deep, masterfully controlled and wickedly orchestrated.
He fucked her slowly, loved her thoroughly, his stamina and youth carrying her through hours of unadulterated pleasure. He was a mean son of a bitch, a carnal beast, but without a fog of anger driving their hunger, they took their time and savored the explorations of each other’s bodies.
She didn’t know how long they played or how many orgasms she’d chased into the rafters. But she knew he was spent when a hoarse groan brought him to a languid, sweat-slick halt.
Rolling to his back, he took her with him. With their bodies still joined, she gently rocked, reluctant to relinquish the motions that brought them so much pleasure.
Eyes closed, with an arm thrown over his brow, he lay limply beneath her, chuckling softly.
“You’re insatiable,” he murmured and trailed a knuckle along her thigh.
“Get used to it. I hear women only get hungrier with age.”
“Can you have a baby?”
“I don’t know.” Startled, she slid off of him, staring at his closed eyes. “I’ve never tried. Can you?”
“Never tried.”
“Do you want a baby?”
“I want you.” He cracked open an eye, lazily watching her. “Children. No children. Whatever happens, happens. We’re going to have an amazing life together.”
She nodded, wanting that with a healthy amount of fear and excitement.
Tenderly, she ran her palm down the corrugated ridges of his abs, the skin taut and slick over steel. When she reached the trail of soft, wiry hair, he sighed, relaxed.
As relaxed as his cock. It lay along his thigh, wet with their mingled come, and long. Even flaccid, he was at least seven inches. But she could fit that much into her mouth.
Her fingers moved on their own, encircling him, her mind full of wonderment. She’d spent hours exploring every inch of his body, but this part of him still intimidated her. She hadn’t dared to take him into her throat.
She moved between his legs, roving her thumb over the velvety knob. The muscle jerked, but didn’t harden.
He lowered his arm, staring at her from beneath hooded lids. “Are you going to suck the life out of me?”
“I’m going to try.”
He started to swell in her hand, so she hurried, lowering her head and drawing him into her mouth. The tang of their arousal hit her taste buds, the sound of his grunts spurring her faster.
She lapped and sucked, rushing against the clock as he grew harder and longer against her tongue. This wasn’t an act she’d ever been particularly fond of. But the tremors in his thighs, the clench of his hands in the bedding, and his groans… Oh, Jesus, his groans were everything.
Eyes shut tight, he rode out the contractions that rippled along his flat abdomen. Extraordinary.
He was too gorgeous, too sexy, too fucking huge in her mouth. But too much of this man was the perfect amount. The perfect amount of gagging, choking, thrusting…
With a growl, he flipped her onto her back and fucked her until neither of them could move.
Then they slept. Hearts beating in sync, bodies entangled, blissfully content, they slept until nightfall.
She woke in the dimly lit room, dying of thirst. Tommy didn’t stir beside her.
Careful not to disturb him, she slipped from the bed, dressed in the bathroom, and crept into the hall in search of something to drink.
Voices drifted from the living room at the far end. Soft whispers. The team was awake.
She wasn’t keen on facing a gang of armed criminals alone. But if she wanted a life with Tommy, they would have to accept her. She would have to trust them.
Steeling her spine, she adjusted her t-shirt and jeans and strode down the hall.
Halfway there, a partially opened door gave her pause. Light glowed from within, the flooring different from the rest of the house. Polished hardwoods.
No furniture was visible through the crack. Was that…a mirrored wall?
She shifted, stealing another angle, and spotted Cole sitting on the floor near the back wall, surrounded by beer bottles.
Curiosity and concern pulled her closer. She opened the door.
A dance room. Holy shit, it was beautiful. Massive. Twelve-foot-tall seamless windows soared to the rafters. Mirrors covered the other walls, and ballet bars wrapped the entire room. There was a lounge area with a leather couch, a built-in stereo system, and a dancing pole in the back corner.
All built for the dancer who was tattooed on his arm.
Her heart sank to her stomach.
Cole glanced at his watch and dropped his head back against the wall, eyes shut. “Forty-five seconds.”
“What?”
“There’s a rumor going around that Tomas is packing a ten-inch dick.”
The random comments gave her whiplash. “It’s not a rumor.”
He nodded, finished off his beer, and grabbed two more. “Want one?”
“Sure?” Uncertain, she left the door cracked behind her and joined him on the floor.
They drank in silence.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him look around the room, his eyes flickering as if he were tracking an invisible dancer as she swayed through her routine, her feet scuffing and bouncing across the shiny flooring.
Shadows crept over his expression, and he blinked, looking away.
“Do you want to talk about her?”
“Nope.” He popped the P.
“How long has it been, Cole?”
How long have you been hurting?
“She married my best friend seven years ago.” He tipped his beer toward the door, his voice gruff. “Your forty-five seconds has arrived.”
She followed his gaze and found Tommy standing on the threshold.
CHAPTER 23
Tomas couldn’t ignore the territorial feeling in his gut as he took in the unexpected room filled with ballet bars, mirrored walls, empty beer bottles, and his girl.
His gorgeous girl. Swigging beer. With the only single man in the house.
Yeah. He was feeling territorial. They’d just made a monumental step in a fragile, new relationship, and she’d sneaked out of their bed to chug beers with this guy.
Drawing in a deep breath, he slowed his roll and leaned a shoulder against the door frame.
Rylee sat on the floor with her legs crossed, her gaze ticking between him and Cole before settling on Cole. “Forty-five seconds…?”
“The time it took Tomas to throw on his clothes and chase after you.” Cole rested an arm on his bent knee, a beer bottle dangling from his hand. “I know the drill. I used to be just like him.”
“You used to be overbearing, unpleasantly arrogant, heavy-handed, and moody?” A twinkle lit her eyes.
“All of that and worse,” Cole said, expressionless.
“He still is.” Tomas slipped his fingers into the pockets of his jeans, fighting the urge to drag her back to bed.
They had a lot of work to do—phone tracking, computer hacking, and high-tech spying—that heavily relied on Cole’s expertise. The man shouldn’t be drinking, but Tomas wasn’t here to nag
him. The guy was dependable.
“Do you want me to leave?” she asked Cole.
“I don’t care what you do.” He leaned back against the wall, settling in with a long draw from his beer.
Turning toward Tomas, she shot him a look that said she wasn’t budging from this room. And she wasn’t asking him to stay.
The instinct to haul her out and spank her ass warred with all logic and reason. He needed to eat. His friends were already gathering in the living room, and he trusted her.
Proving it, he gave her a smile that caught on her face. She smiled back, and he shifted away, heading toward the kitchen.
As he stepped out of the hallway and around the corner, he paused, tensing.
Across the room, Lucia stood near the windows, crying in Tiago’s arms.
What the fuck?
He searched the living room and found Tate sitting off to the side, perched on the edge off a chair. Leaning over his lap, he braced his elbows on his knees, head down, and eyes up, watching the bizarre embrace like a hawk.
Tiago didn’t look up, didn’t say a word. His attention was engrossed in the weeping woman he held. Lucia wasn’t a crier, so to see her sniveling softly against the madman’s chest, to witness him gently shushing her, stroking a hand over her hair, and hugging her tight, it was fucking weird.
And heartening.
It was a good sign if Tate wasn’t interfering. He didn’t look pleased, but he wasn’t tearing off Tiago’s arms, either.
Everyone knew Tiago harbored a deep affection for Lucia. Nothing like what he felt with Kate. But he and Lucia shared a history. An ugly, brutal history of lies and deception. He’d poisoned her for years. She’d smashed his head in with a lead weight, and through it all, he’d kept her alive, protecting her from enemies and allies in his dark underworld.
Lucia leaned back and wiped her cheeks. Tiago released her, clasped his hands behind him, and stared down at her, speaking softly.
Their relationship was a twisty, complicated knot to unravel, but they appeared to be making progress.
Tomas veered toward the kitchen, grabbed a sandwich from the fridge, and spotted the others outside. Leaving Tate to supervise Tiago and Lucia, Tomas stepped out onto the terrace.