Hateful Desire

by Marianne Willis

  He yearned to touch her. Dammit, he would touch her. Chayton captured her hips, and caressed her through the softness of her silk top. “Not just sleeping.” Images of last night jostled his mind. Amber in that sexy dress, straddling his lap, mouth parted in pleasure. Her butt writhing against his erection as moist heat coated his fingers.

  He swallowed a groan. The explosive chemistry that had dominated him wasn’t something he’d been ready for…just like the last time.

  He’d nearly lost control, and as a defence mechanism, he insulted her, his way of facing reality and keeping himself in line. Maybe that had been wrong of him, but he couldn't hold his tongue when around her.

  Every time he looked at her, he was reminded of her cruel ways. Shouldn’t he try to make this work? After so many years, the anger remained alive and pulsating.

  She trembled beneath his fingertips, her bottom lip caught between her white teeth. “I can’t think when you touch me,” she whispered.

  Neither could he. She was like his favourite beverage mixed with poison, delicious and tempting, yet deadly toxic. “Then it’s simple.” He eased closer, the restraint he craved crumbled piece by piece. “Don’t think.” His lips crushed hers in a burning kiss, addicted to her sweetness.

  She whimpered, and he held her close, angling his head to savour the experience. Her body relaxed, and her pliable tongue met his stroke for stroke. He could lay them along the floor, and make sweet, gentle love to her. The idea should disgust him, but didn’t. He hated this woman for so long. Now she had to be his lover, his lifelong mate.

  Visions of the past surfaced, her evil glare, her threats…then breathless pain, and blood, so much blood. Staggering out of the embrace, he swallowed a roar. Her delicious flavour lingered in his mouth, provoking his hatred.

  Dammit! He had kissed her a few times, but never like this, virtually cherishing her. He controlled his breathing, and refused to show how she affected him. Amber on the other hand panted, hard, and gauging the quizzical look, she was confused to his sudden halt.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “S-sure,” she stuttered.

  “Not that I’m complaining, but what made you change your mind about us?”

  “I um…” Her voice grew weak. “I decided when I saw the picture of you in the yearbook, after I remembered who you were.”

  He nodded slowly. “So your guilty conscience made the decision, or are you here out of pity?”

  “I thought you weren’t complaining.” She spun away, hugging herself.

  Yes, he did say that. The hurt emanating from her poured into him, and he bit the inside of his cheek to ignore the pain.

  “Look,” she said. “Tell everyone I’m not feeling well. I don’t like surprise parties, and wasn’t prepared to meet new people today.”

  A poor excuse, but he didn’t argue. In fact, a part of him wasn’t ready to see her with his people. They were family, and to consider Amber a member of that family troubled him. “I’ll get your bags, so you can unpack.” He exited the room, and winced at how awkward he just made things between them.

  ****

  “You don’t have to do that. Go home, Dad.”

  Everyone had gone, except for his father. The wooden clock above the fireplace confirmed nine o’clock. Paper plates and cups covered his dining table. Stacy’s mother was nice enough to cook her famous fried rice. Steak and sausages sat leftover in an aluminium tray, and he covered them with foil to reheat for tomorrow night. This would save Amber from cooking. He doubted he could stomach another one of her meals.

  “I don’t mind helping. I’m so bored at home, especially with your mother gone.” His father threw the empty beer bottles in the garbage bag. “She asked about you.”

  “Any news of when she’ll come home?”

  “Not yet, son. Your Uncle Felix’s condition has worsened. I wish I could be there for her.”

  Chayton grabbed a tea towel and wiped his hands. “She seemed okay when I last spoke with her.”

  His father grinned, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “She may sound brave, but I can feel her pain.”

  “All the way in France?” Uncle Felix suffered with cancer, and had been given three months to live. When his mother learned of the news, she boarded the first flight out to be with her family.

  “After twenty-eight years, she could be on the moon, and I’ll still be able to sense her emotions. In time, you and Amber will share a bond that solid.”

  He disagreed. Yes, he wanted her, but strengthening and meditating their bond like most mated couples wasn’t part of his plan. He required the slightest connection, just enough to see him through his goals. “Seriously, I don’t need your help,” he said, seizing the rubbish bag his father grabbed.

  “Okay, okay.” Len held up his hands in surrender. “I should let you have some alone time with your mate. I hope Amber is feeling better.” Len snatched his wallet and car keys. “We’ll talk soon.”

  “Goodnight, Dad.”

  Moments later a car engine juddered behind the house. Ian must have told everyone to park around the side, not to ruin the surprise. Damn him.

  “Want some help?”

  He rotated. Amber stood near the dining table, semi-dried hair around her face. A purple singlet hugged her ample breasts, slim waist, and curvaceous hips.

  The tempting white shorts displayed the tops of her toned thighs and smooth legs…except for the grazed knees. That must have happened last night when she jumped out of his truck and fell.

  “Sure.” Apple and pomegranate hit him when she passed. She ripped a garbage bag off the roll, shook the plastic open, and collected rubbish. “Do you have an early start tomorrow?”

  He shut the dishwasher, flicked it on, and grabbed the broom against the fridge. “Yeah, I must finalise a few things before I take time off for the games.”

  “How far is your gym?” She tied a knot, and dumped the bag with the others in the corner.

  “Qualla Gym is ten minutes away. Feel free to use the computer out in the living room, if you have any work to do.”

  “You know about my job?” She paused from closing the faucet at the kitchen sink, and gazed into the running water.

  “The freelance stuff? Your parents told me.” They did not seem proud their daughter sold royalty-free pictures online. In fact, Amber’s parents weren’t proud about anything she did. “This is weird.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Us, talking without arguing, cleaning together like we’ve been a couple for years rather than a few hours.”

  “I promised I’d try.” A pink hue coloured her cheeks, and she faced him. “May I…” she hesitated and twisted toward the sink. “Never mind.”

  “Tell me.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “May I see your marks again?”

  Why? Did she have doubts? He set the broom against the wall, and reeled around. Grasping the hem, he tugged the shirt over his head, and brushed aside the hair covering his nape. The soft pat of footsteps made him still.

  Her breath tickled between his shoulder-blades and her fingers traced the pattern of freckles, starting at his neck and gliding down. He swallowed. Her touch more than caressed, it burned, searing his skin in an addictive way. Each stroke pulsed within, and he shut his eyes, senses on alert and at the mercy of her mere fingertips.

  When her touch ended, he subdued a protest. But the warmth returned, now trailing over his chest. He opened to witness slender hands flattening across his pecs.

  Eyes fixed to his body with a mesmerised sparkle, a single finger danced along his stomach muscles and lower. Caramel and salt lingered in the air, and he closed his eyes to inhale the delicious scent. When she traced the V of his pelvic lines, he grabbed her wrist, ready to spin her, bend her over the countertop and take her.

  Instead, he stared at the smoothness of her shoulder. Each beat of his heart cried her name. He tilted her chin, lifted her gaze to his. If he kissed her now, he’d be lost. An
d that scared him. This new vulnerability terrified him, but to stop would be worse.

  Dark circles beneath the lust in her eyes made him pause from leaning in. He frowned. “What are you thinking right now, Amber Johnson?” He hungered to drown in the azure flames, uncaring if he was burned.

  “You and me, in each other’s arms…I can’t deny I want you,” she whispered the last part. “What about you, Chayton…Locklear?” She grinned, mocking him.

  A minute ago he desired the same. “I’m thinking how tired you look, and how long this day must have been for you.” He kissed the top of her head. “Go to bed, Amber.”

  Her smile faded, but disappointment didn’t alter her expression. “What about the cleaning?”

  “I’ll finish up here. Go,” he whispered.

  She pivoted and disappeared into the hall. He clutched the edge of the countertop. Why were his emotions heightened? Amber would always be the same girl he knew in high school. His judgment of her should never change. Tomorrow night they would perform the bonding ritual. He would not let her touch manipulate his skin, her kiss sear his lips, or the concept of bedding her consume him.

  By the time he tidied the kitchen and entered his bedroom, Amber lay on her side, fast asleep. Tresses of golden hair splayed over the pillow and alongside her face. He knelt beside her, tucked a strand behind her ear. “I won’t fall for you,” he said to convince himself. “I can’t.”

  Chapter 10

  The slam of cupboards accompanied by a loud blender towed her out of a listless sleep. Rumpled sheets from the empty spot beside her confirmed where Chayton had slept. Amber groaned at the vague memory of snuggling into his warmth sometime throughout the night. Great, she no doubt made things awkward between them. She threw off the sheet, and gasped. No grazes marred her knees. Had he used his saliva again? She snatched her robe off the floor, tied her waist with the pink silk, and followed the noise down the hall.

  At the counter, Chayton sipped a protein shake while preparing two sandwiches. He did not turn, but stiffened as though sensing a presence in the room. A fitted black singlet stretched the confines of his tanned muscles. Any woman would feel safe wrapped in such a solid embrace. No wonder she had snuggled close to him last night. “Good morning,” she said, her voice groggy from sleep.

  “Morning,” he called over his shoulder. “Help yourself to anything.”

  Anything? Her gaze fell to the taut buttocks clad in grey pants. “Thanks.”

  He wheeled, and she glanced at the day-old stubble coating his jaw. How would it feel rubbed against her lips, her breasts, along her…

  “You left this in the trunk,” he said, picking up a black binder. “I found it last night.”

  Her face heated like roasted coals and she dashed forward, snatching the folder out of his hand. “You didn’t look inside, did you?”

  He blinked and shook his head. “No, I swear. Why are you so…?”

  His words faded as several loose pictures slipped from the folder and onto the floor. She dove to pick them up, but he was already on the ground, collecting the ones she’d taken a year ago at Grandfather Mountain.

  “Is this your work?”

  Over the years, she stored her photos within this portfolio. Her pictures were her babies and the thought of him viewing them made sweat break out along her nape. As he flipped through each one with care, taking his time assessing the images, she stood trembling.

  “Amber.” He grinned. “These are really good.”

  Air eased past her lips, and it was such a relief to exhale a breath. “Are you just saying that?” Her parents always scoffed at her images. She sometimes wondered if her photography was good enough.

  He glanced at her. “I mean it,” he said, pointing to the mountain slopes on an early winter’s morning. “The dark blue of the landscape coated in white snow, and the angle this is taken…it almost has an eerie beauty about it.”

  She bit her lip. That was what she had aimed for, and the fact he could depict what she captured caused butterflies to flutter in her stomach. Chayton Locklear liked her pictures.

  “Have you ever considered doing more with your work?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Instead of selling to websites, have you thought about becoming an event photographer, starting an official business?”

  No, she hadn’t. Witchcraft had always been her first priority; it was the reason she worked from home, unable to move out. A few years ago she had won a competition and was chosen as the photographer for a photo-shoot with a men’s health magazine. Since then she’d listed herself with some agencies, but only received a few jobs here and there.

  His idea wasn’t a bad one. Why couldn’t she start her own business for special occasions? He lost his smile and cleared his throat, as if realising he’d complimented her and was uncomfortable by the idea.

  “I’d best be off.” He placed the empty glass in the sink, and ambled down the hall.

  Not very hungry this morning, she snagged two cookies from a tin box. With a steaming beverage and her biscuits, she chose a seat at the dinner table. Chayton returned, phone to his ear, a duffle in one hand.

  “No, the builders have to stick with the new plan.” His grip tightened on the bag. “Tell them I’ll be there in a minute.” Ending the call, he placed the cell into his pocket.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He shook his head. Disappointment weighed her down. Did she actually believe he would confide in her? Oh, she rolled her eyes, hating how needy she felt. With her appetite lost, she dropped the half-eaten biscuit on her plate.

  “I’ll be home later this evening.” He left the room. A few seconds later, the front door clicked close.

  “Thanks for healing my knees,” she murmured into the silence, then sipped her coffee. Last night they made the slightest progress. So what changed this morning? Chayton resembled a board game with his own set of rules.

  “Crap.” Two sandwiches enclosed in Saran wrap sat on the kitchen counter, and she dashed out the front, but his truck wasn’t there. She placed the sandwiches in the fridge.

  A magnet held the title Qualla Gym with the address and contact number listed underneath. Two available options, stop by his work, or telepathically inform him about his forgotten lunch. It wouldn’t hurt to drop these off, at the same time check out the neighbourhood.

  Fond of the idea, she raced to the bathroom for a shower. She sighed once she stepped beneath the hot steam, and paused from grabbing her shampoo that she’d placed in the caddy the night before. Instead, she took his body wash which sat above her products, flipped the cap and inhaled. The familiar fragrance consumed her, and her eyes closed of their own accord. What would it be like to shower with Chayton? He’d wash her back with sensual leisureliness, kiss her shoulders while flattening her hands against the tiles, and easing her forward. His fingers would sink inside her from behind, pump in slow at first, then work faster, and deeper…

  Whoa! She opened her eyes. Where the hell did that come from? Guilt had been a big part of her decision to move in, but now she wasn’t so sure. Last night she admitted she wanted him, so consumed by the live sparks crackling between them, the words had slipped out without proper contemplation. Never had she been direct about her feelings to anyone. Could this connection be because of their bond, or was she more attracted to him than she cared to admit? She dried off and entered the bedroom, clicking her fingers several times, but no lights flicked on.

  Amber rolled her eyes. Would she ever adapt to life without her witchcraft? She slapped the switch. Light filled the room, and she changed into a cotton summer dress. After typing the location into her phone, she sailed into the kitchen to collect the sandwiches. Her keys were by the microwave with a new set hooked to the chain. He must have added this sometime last night. This place didn’t feel like home, and she feared it never would.

  In less than ten minutes, she found the gym. The large building resembled a warehouse. A yellow on black logo re
ad QG in large letters. She grabbed the sandwiches and placed them in her purse.

  The spacious foyer stretched with high ceilings, a café lounge to the right, and several plants aligning the wall on her left. Tan, black and cream decorated the inside. Chilled air pumped out of the air-conditioner, and fast beat music echoed throughout the building. The smell of sweat did not linger, but fresh alpine. An archway to the gym area stood behind an attractive blonde at the reception desk, typing into a computer. Behind her was a display of energy bars and drinks, and sports gear with the company logo.

  The woman peeped up and smiled. “Welcome to Qualla Gym. Are you looking to join our membership?”

  Amber cleared her throat, and placed her purse on the desk. “Um…no, is Chayton here?”

  Blondie frowned, and with a tight smile, said, “Mr. Locklear is busy at the moment. May I take a message?” She snatched a notepad and pen.

  “I’m here to drop this off.” Amber withdrew the sandwiches, and the woman’s scowl resumed, deeper this time.

  “Who are you?”

  How should she answer that? His girlfriend? Fiancée? Freckle Mate?

  Ian rushed in, hands rustling through paperwork as he searched the reception desk for something. “Gwen, did the contractors leave a copy of the blueprints here?” He glanced Amber’s way, gaze snapping back with recognition. “Oh, hey. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m after Chayton.” This was a bad idea. “I didn’t mean to disturb him. He forgot his lunch.” She placed the sandwiches on the desk, snatched her purse, and sauntered away.

  “Don’t leave,” Ian called when she made for the exit. “You can wait in his office. He shouldn’t be long.”

  “Ian,” Gwen said in a tone close to warning and nudged his side.

  He swivelled to the blonde. “Gwen, you haven’t met Amber Johnson…Chayton’s fiancée.”

  Gwen sagged in her seat, brows puckered.

  Heat coursed within. Why was this woman thwarted?

  “Follow me,” Ian said.

  They passed the reception area into the open floor. Clanging equipment echoed throughout the massive space. Aerobic machines lined a wall with a large television, some being used by men and women, some empty.