Fury on Fire

by Sophie Jordan

  “Sorry,” she murmured. “C-could I maybe hold your hand? Just until I fall asleep?”

  He lifted her hand from his arm and laced his fingers through hers. “Of course.” Their arms stretched between them, not touching except for where their fingers were linked, the only point of contact. Her hand felt small and slim clasped in his. Their palms were flush and he could feel the steady pulse of her heartbeat, fusing with his own.

  His chest swelled with something he had never felt. Something that made him want to do more than hold her hand. It made him want to pull her against him and fold her into his arms. It also, ironically, made him want to bolt out the door.

  Hopefully she would fall asleep soon and he could let go of her hand and scoot to the edge of the bed until he fell asleep. Hopefully.

  TWENTY

  She woke to darkness.

  She inhaled and then winced. Her throat hurt. She lifted her fingers to her neck. Frowning, she swam through the fog of her thoughts, trying to make sense, trying to remember and piece everything together.

  She shifted slightly, and then noticed that the bed felt different. The mattress felt different. More solid somehow. And then it . . . moved. The mattress lifted underneath her cheek. She brought fingers to rest near her cheek. And then she realized her head did not rest on the mattress. She rested her head on a person. A chest. Her neighbor’s chest. North Callaghan’s chest. They shared a bed.

  Because she had asked North to spend the night with her. At the time it had seemed like a good idea. At the time it seemed like the only option considering how unbearably agitated she felt. Aloneness had never bothered her before. That was before someone tried to kill you.

  Tonight she had allowed herself the weakness. She allowed herself to make the request. Just once she would let herself be vulnerable.

  But now she was faced with the consequence of that weakness. She was in bed with North Callaghan. Plastered over his chest.

  Isn’t this what you wanted? All along? Tonight’s events, as terrible as they were, had given her a reason to make it happen.

  She lifted her head up slightly from his chest.

  “Can’t sleep?” His voice grumbled deliciously across her skin in the darkness.

  She glanced over his body to the clock. It read 3:51 a.m. “I was sleeping soundly. I don’t know why I woke.”

  Only she did know why. It was the strangeness of sleeping with someone, of being wrapped up in someone so closely and so tightly that it was impossible to know where she began and he ended. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she extricated herself from his arms and settled back on her side of the bed. “Thank you for being here for me.”

  “No problem.” He waited a beat before asking, “You didn’t want your brother to stay?”

  She thought about that for a minute. “I love him. He’s great . . . but a little overbearing. It’s hard for him to just be around me without telling me what to do . . . how to live. Tonight, I didn’t want that.”

  She thought she sensed him nod. “Older brothers can be like that.”

  “They excel at it,” she agreed. “What about your brother? He’s around still, I presume. Doing . . . okay?”

  “Yeah. He’s doing great. Married and happy. His life is . . . His life is great.”

  She imagined that she heard something in his voice besides happiness or even neutrality. There was something there. Something he felt toward his brother and his brother’s state of “greatness” that he wasn’t okay with.

  “When it comes to overbearing brothers, I totally get it.” He shifted on the bed. She turned and studied his profile, noting the arm he tucked behind his head. She caught a whiff of him. Warm male. “The guy gives me a hard time. Calls and texts. Pops in. He always wants me over for dinner.”

  “I don’t know. Sounds kind of . . . nice.”

  “They’re going to have a baby.”

  She watched his chest rise and fall on a great, silent breath.

  “You’re going to be an uncle.”

  “Yeah. They want me to be the godfather.”

  “Wow. That’s great.” She’d hoped she would be an aunt by now. She was the youngest.

  “Not really. What can I do? What can I show this kid?”

  She moistened her lips. “You can love him. Be there. That’s all anyone can really do.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  She nodded in the dark and then realized he probably couldn’t see the motion. “You can do it. You were here for me when I asked . . . and this after you told me to forget you existed. You don’t even like me.” She laughed lightly and the sound fell flat.

  “Is that what you think, Walters?” he asked, his disembodied voice floating between them. “That I don’t like you?”

  She released a gust of breath, regretting her words. She had meant to make a joke but now things were awkward. “I just think you’re a better person than you think.”

  Her whispered reply didn’t improve the awkwardness. Silence swelled between them. Moments passed and slid into minutes. Her thoughts drifted. She swallowed and felt the rawness of her throat muscles. Grimes’s face flashed across her mind, his feral expression as he tried to choke the life out of her.

  “I took his son away.” Her quiet voice sounded distant and far away in the darkness.

  He didn’t say anything for a long while. She started to wonder if he would speak at all. Maybe he had fallen asleep.

  “He didn’t deserve to be a father,” he finally replied, obviously understanding her reference.

  “How do you know that’s true? Maybe I—”

  “Because you took his kid away. You wouldn’t have done that if he deserved to keep him.”

  “How do you know that?” Her voice sounded strained even to her ears. And not because of her bruised throat. “You don’t know me.”

  “I know you enough to know that. Some people are messed up. Sick. They don’t deserve to be a parent . . . they don’t even deserve their freedom.”

  “I guess you would know about that.”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “Did you deserve to be put away?”

  “Yeah. I got what I deserved. And this guy who hurt you . . . he needs to get what he deserves, too. For being a shitty parent, you lose your kid. For attacking you . . .” His voice faded for a moment. She knew what he was thinking right then. She knew he was remembering what he did to Mason Leary.

  “I’m sure there will be a restraining order on him come morning. My brother will see to it. Not that he’ll be out of jail yet. Knowing my brother, he’ll be in there for a while.”

  “Handy having law enforcement on your side.”

  “Not as handy as having you next door, it would seem.”

  He released a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “You moving in next door has been interesting, too.”

  She sensed that he had turned his head on the pillow and was looking at her. Not seeing her, but looking at her.

  He continued, “I haven’t texted this much since I got my phone two years ago.”

  She snorted. “I’m sure that’s not true. You with the endless booty calls.” Even as she said this, she realized she hadn’t heard him with anyone in a while.

  “Yeah, been kind of in a drought since you moved in though.”

  Ha. So what . . . almost two weeks? “What’s going on with the lovely Serena?”

  The bed shifted as he rolled onto his side. “I wouldn’t know.”

  Pleasure suffused her at this admission—even though she knew she shouldn’t care. It didn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything.

  She rolled onto her side, too. She felt the soft fan of his breath on her face. She tucked her hands under her cheek. “You stopped holding my hand,” she murmured and even to her own ears her voice sounded almost coy.

  His eyes gleamed like black pennies in the dark. “What are you doing, Faith?”

  Her heart thundered against her ribs. “Just . . . talking.”

 
“I’m not going to touch you again.”

  “Why not?” she shot back.

  “Because that would lead to other things and tonight isn’t the night for that.”

  “Why not? Tonight feels like the perfect night for that. I almost died.” She propped herself up on her elbow. “Maybe I need you to remind me that I’m alive.”

  He didn’t respond and she knew she’d made a valid point. He was thinking. She decided to push her advantage. She leaned forward, unsure exactly where she was headed until she felt her nose brush his jaw. She dove in closer, ducking into the crook of his neck. She pressed her open mouth to his throat, letting her teeth scrape the salty-clean flesh. Her tongue laved the velvet of his skin, tasting, exploring the texture with undulating licks of her tongue that would probably leave a mark.

  She inched up to his ear, breathing into the whorls, “I want to taste you everywhere.”

  He growled and before she realized his intent, he flipped her on her back. Then he was over her. “Be careful what you wish for, Faith.”

  Her hands grasped him by his sides, tugging him toward her.

  “No,” he bit. “I’ll give you what you want. I’ll remind you that you’re alive, but it’s happening my way.”

  She nodded hastily. Whatever that meant, whatever he had to give, she would gladly take. Just the sensation of him over her, his big body wedged between her thighs, set her afire. He pulled back slightly, knocking their blankets aside. Snatching the waistband of her shorts he slid them down her legs in one smooth motion.

  “I dreamed of these,” he growled, his hands skimming up the outside of her calves and then roaming over her thighs. He slid down between her knees, pushing her thighs wide to make room for his head and shoulders.

  “Let me taste you,” he murmured, seduction dripping in every word. His fingers grazed the outside of her knees in teasing circles that made her limbs shake. He turned his face to trail kisses along the inside of her thighs, his tongue darting out to lick. His teeth occasionally biting and nipping.

  Her hands lifted above her head and grabbed fistfuls of pillow. She arched, noisy pants escaping her, broken by the occasional yip.

  With a groan, he crawled above her and latched onto a nipple through the thin cotton of her tank. She felt the perfect prod of his cock through his briefs, poking and thrusting into her bare sex, only a barrier of cotton separating them and saving her from direct penetration.

  “North, please,” she begged.

  “Please, what?” he asked, his mouth talking around the aching nipple he was working with his tongue, lips and teeth.

  “Fuck me!”

  He bucked harder against her and ground his erection against her weeping sex. “Oh, you’re soaking for me, baby.”

  He moved to her other breast, sucking the nipple deep into his mouth as his hand came up to squeeze the other one roughly, his finger and thumb clamping down on the distended peak. She screamed, coming up off the bed as her orgasm washed over her.

  He moved then, sliding down her body and dropping between her splayed legs. His mouth claimed her, drinking her climax deep. She jerked, startled at the sensation of his mouth down there. No one had ever—

  He sucked her clit deep into his mouth and she forgot everything. She cried out, her fingers clawing through his hair as his hands slid under her bare bottom, pulling her closer to his face. He pulled her clit between his lips, savoring it with hard licks.

  He continued to taste her, drowning his face in her. She should be mortified . . . if it didn’t feel so amazingly good. She started to shake and rock against his questing tongue. He settled deeper between her thighs, adjusting his hands under her ass and lifting her higher for him.

  It was wicked the way he feasted on her. She screamed and cried out . . . and now she understood what he meant about making women scream. He hadn’t been lying. No woman could hold silent while he did this to her.

  Her fingers tightened in his hair as he increased his mouth’s pressure, his tongue playing with her until she was senseless, tears leaking from her eyes as he launched her into another orgasm. She cried out, pushing into his mouth wantonly.

  Then he added his hand to the mix. As he thrummed his tongue over her clit, he slid a finger inside her wet channel, pushing deep and hard, curling inward. He started a rhythm, pushing and pulling in and out of her body. She released a muffled shriek, convulsing all around him, coming apart yet again, her channel tightening around his finger.

  He lifted himself up. She still shook in the aftereffects, clinging to his head. His gleaming eyes locked onto hers in the darkness.

  She wasn’t the only one shaking. His hands trembled where they clutched her hips. And there was still his erection, hard as a rock against her sex. She shifted, bumping her swollen sex against him.

  “North,” she pleaded. Her hand trailed down his chest, searching for him. He stopped her from touching him, hopping off her and landing on his feet outside of the bed.

  “I told you this would happen my way. I’m not fucking you.”

  She stiffened. “What about you?” Was it so easy for him to turn away from her? She’d felt his erection. She knew he wanted her.

  “I’ll survive.” Turning, he headed into her bathroom and shut the door behind him. Soon she heard water running.

  She dropped back on the bed, tugging her tank down to her waist. She needed to find her shorts but her limbs felt like jelly.

  He’d pleasured her, but a part of her still felt empty and dissatisfied . . . and hurt. It was that same part that wanted to follow him into the bathroom and tempt him into finishing this the way she wanted it to end. He gave it to every other girl. Why not her?

  Was he not tempted? Was his control so great, so unbreakable? She wanted to please him and herself. She wanted to feel him thrusting inside of her. It was more than a physical ache. She frowned. And that, she realized, was the most dangerous thing of all.

  TWENTY-ONE

  This was not good.

  He took the coldest shower he could tolerate. He didn’t shut off the water until his dick had gone limp. By the time he emerged she was asleep again. She hadn’t bothered to put her shorts back on and he got an unfettered view of her beautiful ass (which woke his dick back up) before he turned the bathroom light off.

  He dared to get back in bed with her. He had promised to stay the night, after all.

  North shifted uneasily as Faith slept beside him, her breathing slow and even. She rolled close and flung an arm over him. Fucking misery. He could feel the hammer of her heart against his side and all of him pulled tight as a wire about to pop free.

  Not good. How he came to be in this position, this role of comfort giver, he couldn’t fathom. He didn’t do this.

  In prison, after Knox and Reid left, he kept his head down. He never played hero. A guy would get himself killed at the Rock trying to be a hero. He’d learned to turn a blind eye. To look away and ignore the cries for help. He’d gotten really good at that—he’d killed his humanity to survive. And yet now here he was . . . rescuing women and giving comfort and solace. Pleasuring her but taking none for himself.

  Oh, he’d enjoyed it. He could still taste her sweetness on his tongue. But his cock ached. His balls burned from lack of release.

  What he should do was roll her over and do what he’d been fantasizing about since he first spotted her getting out of her car.

  She wouldn’t resist. She was too vulnerable right now. And the way she had screamed and responded to him, he knew he aroused her. Traumatized or not, he could have her climaxing and clawing his back in no time.

  Dawn tinged the sky, lightening the room as his conscience (what was left of it) battled against his willpower. He closed his eyes tightly, forcing himself not to look at that ass, at the pussy his mouth knew so well now. His cock wanted to know it, too.

  He couldn’t take her. Not like this. There was some humanity left to him, after all, he supposed.

  With a muffled curse, he
climbed out of the bed, moving stealthily, careful not to look at her, not to wake her as he slipped from her bed.

  “North?” Her voice sounded fuzzy and still half asleep.

  He hesitated at her door before turning to face her.

  She sat up, rubbing at one eye. He wished it was still dark so that he didn’t have to see her like this. “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “It’s morning now.”

  “Barely.”

  “You asked me to stay the night. I did.”

  She stiffened, dropping her hand. “I’m sorry it was such a chore for you.”

  “That’s okay. You had a rough night. You needed someone with you.”

  She nodded stiffly. He knew he’d made it sound like he didn’t want to be here with her, but that was for the best.

  “Thanks,” she said, her voice cold, distant. As though she were totally unaffected by him. “I appreciate you taking such good care of me. It must have been torture.”

  She would never know the extent of his torment. Touching her, tasting her and then turning away practically killed him.

  “No problem,” he reassured her as though he hadn’t caught her sarcasm.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t trouble you again.”

  He hesitated. She hardly seemed like a traumatized victim this morning. Even with the bruises marring her throat, she looked strong. Composed as she sat in the bed staring at him coolly.

  He wanted to crawl between those sheets with her and finish what they started, wrecking that perfect composure. Except she was still the sheriff’s sister and a white-picket-fence kind of girl—exactly the type of trouble he had vowed to avoid—and he was still North Callaghan.

  He would never say the right thing. Never do the right thing.

  Never be the kind of guy she deserved.

  Without a word, he turned and walked out of her house.

  Three days later, Faith was finally having that second date with Brendan. She’d seen North once in the few days. Only from afar. When she’d been checking her mail, she watched him pull into the driveway and go inside the house.