The Hideaway

by Meryl Sawyer

  It was simple, he silently told the vigas traversing the ceiling. The wooden beams seemed to understand. As a kid, there hadn’t been one chance in hell of finding the love and support every child needed. He’d been forced to grow up fast, a cocky kid with an attitude.

  All along he’d wanted someone to genuinely care about him. Many women would have, he thought, but he’d never given them the chance. So, why Claire? Why let her get to him like this?

  “Zach,” she said, her voice pitched low. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “I was wondering …” her voice trailed off as her finger traced lazy circles across his stomach.

  Uhh-ooh. “Wondering what?”

  She angled her naked, sexy bod across his, and propped her chin up on his chest She looked so adorable staring up at him, so different than she’d been last night. What had changed her?

  “People in town are saying Max was in bed with Vanessa and Seth when he died.”

  She paused, obviously waiting for him to respond, but he merely shrugged. He couldn’t discuss the evidence they’d gathered with Claire.

  “I’m not asking you for details,” she rushed to say. “I’m just wondering if threesome are more common than I thought. Suzi says all those adult movies they have in motel rooms show at least one scene with three people in bed together.”

  “Suzi? The kid who works for you? How in hell would she know?”

  “She’s twenty-three. Old enough, I guess.” She kissed the whisk of hair just below her chin, sending goose bumps across his chest. “I was wondering …”

  “What were you wondering?” He’d stopped wondering; he had definite ideas.

  She kissed his chest again, but this time her hand roved lower. “Have you ever—”

  “No, Claire,” he responded, seeing where this was going. “I’m the kind of guy who likes having a woman to myself.”

  “Good. I thought so, but I was wondering if you have any fantasies.”

  He looked sideways at the candles flickering in the mirror. He had a fantasy all right, but he wasn’t ready to share it with her yet. Saying he wanted her to come to him and love him made him feel vulnerable, dependent on her or something.

  “Everyone has fantasies, I guess. Only a wild fantasy could make most people get into bed with Max Bassinger. What was that song Elvis sang about a burnin’ burnin’ hunka’ love? That was good ole Max.”

  Claire giggled, then laughed harder at his dumb joke. He loved seeing her like this. He didn’t want to fight with her ever again, but he knew there were issues that would come between them, including her damn father.

  He trailed the pad of his thumb along the nape of her neck across her shoulder and down her bare arm. “What about your secret fantasies, Claire?”

  He thought she’d hesitate, and he would have to drag it out of her the way he usually did, but she immediately responded.

  “I want to make love to you.” She raised her head off his chest and pointed to herself. “I want to be in charge. I want to be on top. Like last night when we were playing king of the mountain. Only this time I want to win.”

  “Is that what we were doing? Playing king of the mountain. That’s your fantasy?” he teased. “Whoa! Let’s not get too kinky here.”

  Her sharp intake of breath caught him by surprise. He could see she was holding back, getting up the courage to say something else. “Come on, Claire. Tell me what’s the problem.”

  She stroked the soft skin beneath his bellybutton and searing heat shot through his body, centering in his groin. Suddenly, he was so hard that retaining a rational thought was nearly impossible.

  “I guess I’m the old-fashioned, conservative type,” she whispered. “There are some things I would never want to do—or have done to me.”

  “Really?” he responded, surprised that she was revealing so much about herself. She seemed so different tonight. He couldn’t get over it. He didn’t bother to point out the obvious contradiction; playing king of the mountain last night was hardly conservative or old-fashioned. “Where do you draw the line?”

  She cocked her head to one side, turning away from him slightly as she answered. “I couldn’t stand to be tied up even with silk scarves … or anything. I just couldn’t stand it.”

  Like a knockout punch, it occurred to him that she shared the same fear of being tied up that he had. He did not want to talk about his fear of being helpless. But Claire was so different tonight. Things were changing between them. He could feel it, and he welcomed those changes.

  “I’ll never tie you up,” he assured her.

  He could see that she didn’t really understand. She had a slightly stricken look on her face. It told him that she had confided something she considered embarrassing, and he’d let her down somehow. He didn’t want to explain his fear of being tied up because it revealed too much about himself, things he’d never shared with anyone. But he didn’t have any choice.

  “Once when I was a kid, my mother left me to go to the Hog’s Breath Saloon,” he told her. “I’d gotten into trouble the last time she’d gone, so she tied me into the swing behind our trailer.”

  Claire gazed up at him with pity. Oh, Christ! He hated telling anyone—especially Claire—anything that would make them feel sorry for him. Against his better judgment, he continued, “It was summer, a blazing hot day. A diamondback slithered out of the bushes, clicking six big rattles. I remembered my dad saying to hold still when a rattlesnake was around, so you wouldn’t get bitten. I froze, and stayed that way for hours until my dad came home and found me.

  “He shot the snake, and untied me. I never cried, but I’d peed in my pants. I was so upset that I couldn’t speak for almost a week. All I could think about was being tied up, unable to get away while death waited beside me.” He touched her long hair where it brushed against his chest. “Nobody is ever going to tie me up again.”

  Her eyes were wide and glimmered with unshed tears. Aw, hell, just what he didn’t want. If she cried, he might cry, too. A stunning thought. He clearly remembered the last time he cried. Snow had been falling as he’d shoveled dirt into his mother’s grave.

  He promised himself that he’d never cry again. And he’d promised himself a better life than the one he was living. When those tears had dried, he’d been transformed from a boy to a man. He refused to take a step backward and start bawling now.

  “You want to be on top, right?” he said quickly to overcome the emotional moment. “So, go for it, just don’t tie me up.”

  “Oh, Zach, I’m so sorry—”

  “Forget it,” he cut her off. “Going through hell has made me a stronger, better person. It was a long time ago. I’m over it.”

  A lie. He still had a secret dread of being tied up and helpless.

  “Can you explain to me why you’re afraid of being tied up?” he asked.

  She hesitated a moment, looking a little disturbed. “I feel foolish telling you. It’s nothing really.”

  He put his finger under her chin and lifted her head so he could look directly in her eyes. “If it’s important to you, it means something. Please, tell me what you feel. Just be honest.”

  “I wish I could point to a bad experience that makes me feel this way,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I haven’t. Big men who can overpower me are intimidating. That’s all.”

  He understood what she meant, and he had to admit he often used his superior height and strength to manipulate her. He’d done it unconsciously, hardly realizing what he was doing, but now that he thought about it, he remembered her reaction.

  “Being tied up—even in fun—would be awful,” she said. “I would feel so … so powerless. You understand. You’ve been through so much worse.”

  He put both arms around her, cradling her against his chest. “I do understand.”

  For the first time, Zach believed he was truly beginning to understand Claire Holt. But he wanted much, much more.

 
Twenty-eight

  “Okay, Claire. You’re king of the mountain.” Zach grinned up at her. “I’m all yours.”

  “All mine, huh?”

  Claire kissed Zach’s bare chest, more than a little shaken by their discussion. His life had been hell, yet he had survived to become a stronger, better man. Was it any wonder he kept a certain distance between himself and others?

  He didn’t trust anyone. She had noticed the reluctance in his voice when he’d talked about being tied up. Pain had flickered briefly in his eyes as he had spoken, vanishing so quickly she almost missed it.

  But he had gone ahead and told her, signaling a small, but significant milestone. It was a start toward a more meaningful relationship, she assured herself. There was a bond between them now, a physical and emotional link she intended to build on.

  “All mine,” she whispered, her lips moving against his skin.

  She rested her head on his chest, absorbing his nearness and the steady beat of his heart. For several minutes she remained still, savoring the moment, an aching tenderness welling up inside her chest. She wanted to tell him how her feelings for him were changing. Take it easy, she silently cautioned herself. Too often, she blurted out her feelings, and found herself in trouble.

  “I thought you were going to have your way with me.” Zach’s voice was husky, a shade shy of a whisper.

  She glanced up and was instantly undone by a look, as deep and intimate as a kiss. He pulled her toward him slowly, ever so slowly, until his lips met hers. It was a sweet, almost tentative kiss filled with unexpected tenderness.

  Longing hummed through her, a lonely sound like a soulful note from a blues singer, a sound only she could hear. It was a searching, tortured cry, startling her because her feelings for him were unexpectedly strong. She couldn’t believe what she was experiencing. Her throat was hot and tight, clogged with words she wanted to say, but didn’t dare.

  She broke the kiss and returned her attention to the masculine planes of his chest. She skimmed across his solid torso, teasing lightly with her fingertips. A silent shudder rumbled through him, and she felt him surrender to the physical demands of his body.

  Surrender to her.

  Her heart jolted with a new rush of emotion that was frightening in its intensity. She disguised the upwelling of tenderness with sweet, lingering kisses as she moved lower and lower. Her tongue danced across his smooth skin, waltzing playfully over new territory until his body went taut against her lips.

  “You’re good at this, babe. Real good.”

  “You haven’t seen anything … yet.” The throaty sound of her own voice surprised her. She sounded as passionate as she felt, fluid warmth suffusing every muscle in her body.

  She moved lower yet, her hand roving across the skein of curly hair to test the forbidden heat between his legs. He arched upward off the bed and quivered at the intimacy of her touch. His reaction startled her and made her bolder yet. She traced the diamond-hard line of his shaft with her fingertip … a scant inch at a time.

  He froze, his body rigid beneath her hand. A moan rumbled from deep within his throat, and she smiled, thrilled at her ability to arouse him.

  He reached for her, but she cautioned, “Don’t touch me. I’m in charge tonight.”

  “Quit stalling.” The words came out from between clenched teeth.

  She ignored his demand and took her sweet time to explore his erection, discovering the sensitive ridge along one side and the iron-hard contours of the other. She glanced at him, but his contorted features made it difficult to know if he was seized with pleasure or pain. She knew how she felt, though. Moisture continued to build between her thighs, a deepening sensual ache demanding release.

  He reached out for her, but she swatted his hand away. “Don’t rush me. Why don’t you hold onto the pillow or something?”

  His response was a sharp curse, half under his breath.

  “Naughty, naughty,” she teased as she tightened her grip on him, moving her hand back and forth slowly.

  She clenched her thighs to control her own body as she lowered her head and finally took him into her mouth. She sampled every delicious inch, nibbling and flicking her tongue over the hard length of him. Her tongue caressed the velvet-smooth skin, throbbing beneath her lips.

  Pulling away, she asked, “Am I doing this right? Do you want to give me some pointers?”

  “You’re doing fine.” His voice was taut with need, the words almost garbled. “Just get on with it. You’re driving me crazy.”

  “A short drive, I’m sure,” she joked, or tried to as she explored him with her mouth. Actually, she had been dead serious about pointers. She’d never done this to a man, considering it too intimate. But she couldn’t get enough of Zach. She wanted to know everything about him.

  He arched upward even more, encouraging her to take him more deeply. She complied, sucking daintily and doing slow pirouettes with her tongue. She could feel him deep inside her throat, and the sensation was so fantastic it shocked her. She never imagined she would enjoy this, but she didn’t want to stop.

  He had yet to touch her, but she was aching with need. It occurred to her that she might climax like this, bending over him, making love with her mouth. The thought alone brought a fresh rush of passion, desire now at a flashpoint—almost out of control.

  His breath was coming in long, deep shudders, lifting his powerful chest, then lowering it. Suddenly, his hands were on her hips, and he was pulling her upward.

  “You’re killing me, angel. You’re killing me.”

  Before she could protest she was in charge, he’d positioned her so she could mount him. His hard erection nudged insistently between her thighs as he widened her legs and made room for himself. With an upward thrust, he was inside her, and she gave a sharp cry of pure pleasure.

  Last night, they’d had difficulty the first time, but tonight she’d aroused herself tremendously by kissing him. He filled her completely, fitting easily, but the throbbing pressure was still there. She didn’t move in that first awesome moment of utter pleasure. He’d burrowed so deeply inside her that she could barely breathe.

  She was hardly aware of the dark room, lit only by the glow of the vanilla scented candles in the adjacent bathroom. The sweet smell of flowers hung in the air, but she didn’t pay any attention to them. The mirror above the dresser captured the whole scene, but she just glanced at it.

  Her entire being was focused on the man beneath her. His powerful body was hers now, hers to control. Or was it? True, she was on top—king of the mountain—tonight. But she doubted she was actually the one calling the shots. She didn’t stop, couldn’t have stopped, to analyze the situation.

  “You’re killing me.” Flexing, he moved with her.

  She rode him hard, increasing the pace quickly. He stayed with her every inch of the way, his hands on her hips to hold her in place, his strokes swift and sure, reflecting the glorious power of his body. He bucked beneath her, surging upward with each thrust, delving deeper inside her than she’d ever believed possible.

  This was like riding a wild mustang, she thought, gripping him with her thighs. It was the most thrilling, erotic experience of her life, and she didn’t want it to end. But her muscles were contracting, pulsing with the need for release. Any second now and she would be over the edge.

  She threw her head back, arching her spine, hearing herself moaning, but the sound was a distant echo dulled by the pounding of her blood in her temples. Release came in a blinding wave of unadulterated pleasure, penetrating her entire being, leaving her trembling. She closed her eyes for a moment, still bent backward, staying with Zach until he finished a few seconds later.

  Her heart beat in uneven, jarring lurches, and she was suddenly so weak she could barely stay upright. She opened her eyes and caught her reflection in the mirror.

  Her blond hair cascaded down her back, touching her naked buttocks. Her face was a study of carnal pleasure, clearly projecting the ecstasy still
throbbing in every pore, every fiber of her being. Beneath her, the mirror revealed Zach, his eyes squeezed shut, his face contorted as if he were in immense pain.

  She stared at the reflection … remembering … remembering. The memory brought a keening cry to her lips. The pain was so intense, so powerful that it obliterated every other emotion. She collapsed sideways onto the bed, sobbing.

  Zach reached for Claire, stunned by the burst of tears. One minute she was moaning with pleasure, the next she was hysterical. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

  She turned away from him, burying her face in the pillow. Her muffled sobs brought the dogs in from the other room. Lucy licked Claire’s bare foot, which hung over the side. At least the dog knew what to do. Zach was dumbfounded, never having experienced anything like this.

  He didn’t know how to deal with tears. Expressing his own emotions embarrassed him. Since his mother’s death, he’d carefully avoided people with problems. But this wasn’t just anyone; this was Claire.

  He didn’t know exactly what had changed between them, yet something had. Claire might not be ready to march down Bent Street with him at her side, but she was slowly coming to accept him as a person, not just a one-night-stand.

  He took a bit of credit for her transformation. He’d known Claire wasn’t the type of woman who could have a casual affair. Last night, he had made love to her over and over and over, believing that each encounter would bring them closer.

  Zach put his hand on her bare shoulder, then ran it down the length of her back, a gentle, soothing caress. “Darling, tell me what’s wrong.”

  She didn’t answer him. Her face was still buried into the pillow. Her sobs had stopped, but he could tell she was still crying because her shoulders were shaking slightly.

  “Please, go away. Leave me alone.”

  He rose and went into the bathroom where his things were scattered across the floor. The damn candles were still burning, and the room reeked of vanilla. He managed to find his clothes, but one sock was missing. He didn’t bother to search for it, suspecting one of the dogs had dragged it off somewhere.