Dread crawled over skin, sank deep, and burrowed into his heart. “The break-in.”
She nodded. “What he said. Spending time together. The intruder wasn’t Alex, but that was his favorite phrase to describe his punishments—”
“And that’s what he said. Pat’s murderer. ‘We didn’t get to spend time together.’” Horror congealed into a nauseous lump that traveled from his throat and sank into his stomach. “A message only you would understand. What else?” he asked through numb lips.
Crossing her arms, Danielle confided about the gifts that had mysteriously appeared on her doorstep, the mugging that wasn’t a mugging, Carmen’s disappearance and death. His heart thudded, slow and heavy. The moisture fled his mouth.
“The police think it was a drug deal gone bad, but the last time I spoke with Carmen, she swore she was clean. She wouldn’t have been involved in a drug deal.” She stared out the window. “And Alex was just released from jail. And he always promised if I left him, he’d harm her.”
“Send her to jail, sweetheart. Not kill her,” he gently reminded her.
“No,” she objected softly. “Alex was a man of his word. And Carmen always saw right through him. She hated Alex. And in her own way, loved me.”
The dots were circumstantial as hell, but damn if they didn’t connect.
“He’s hurt the people I care about most.” She shook her head. “I have to leave. How selfish would I be if I stayed and allowed more people—you—to be in danger? I can’t, Mal. Don’t ask me to.”
Mal. A wry smile twisted his lips. The first time she called him by the shortened version of his name only used by those closest to him, and it came when she pleaded with him to understand why she had to disappear from his life.
“And don’t ask me to just let you go.”
She turned to him, and he braced himself for her scoff or brush-off. Hell, if Rafe or Chay uttered those words about a woman they’d met a mere fourteen days earlier, he would’ve slapped them upside the head and ordered them to find their balls. But this was Danielle and his heart he saw edging out the door.
“He won’t stop, Mal,” she said. And the gentle note of resignation and—worse—resolve clawed at him. She shouldn’t be on the lam, running for her life, hiding like a rabbit in its hole, terrified to poke its head out lest the hunter spot it and blow it off. She deserved more than that empty, frightening existence. Never able to enjoy the simple things like comfort, security, and companionship. And all because of an obsessed, crazy asshole. “At least if I leave, it’ll draw him away from here, and if I’m careful enough, he won’t locate me again. But if I stay…” Again, she shook her head. “He won’t stop,” she repeated. Her sigh tore at his heart—then she placed a palm over the cavity. “I won’t let you sacrifice yourself for me.”
Shit. He closed his eyes. Just…shit.
“You’re like this life raft steadily drifting farther and farther away from me even as I’m swimming after you,” he murmured, palming the side of her head and covering the hand over his heart. “But I need you to listen to me and to understand.” He cupped her chin, tilted it back until her eyes stared into his. “I’m going to keep swimming. And keep protecting you. And keep fighting for you. I’m not Alex. I won’t jail you. I’ll never use selfish-ass excuses to justify hurting you. But what I won’t do is leave you. I’m going to stand for you like no one else has done.” He brushed a kiss across her mouth. Once. Twice. “And sweetheart, I’m a man of my word, too. Tell me you’ll stay...” She closed her eyes, and he didn’t demand she reopen them. Even if she ended up resenting him for his interference…he refused to watch her walk away from him. “Lie to me,” he whispered. After he held her…touched her…then he’d figure out a way to make the lie turn into truth. “Just lie to me and say yes.”
She leaned forward, rested her forehead on his collarbone, and her moist breath heated the skin under his T-shirt.
“Yes,” came her soft, muffled reply.
He wrapped her in his arms, clasping her to him. Her palms slid up his back, careful of his ribs, his bruises. Murmuring her name, he grazed the crown of her head with his lips. Her curls tickled his chin, caressed his mouth. He lifted his hands to the unruly mass of black silk. Scrunched the strands between his fingers, tangled all ten digits into the dark mane.
“I love your hair.” He tilted her head back, peered down into her brown eyes, studied her Madonna face—no, not Madonna. He’d never seen a rendition of the sainted mother with such passion and need painted on her face. “The first time I saw you, I remember thinking how beautiful, how free it was. Even before I admitted how much I wanted you, your hair touched this place in my soul I hadn’t visited in so long I forgot it existed. Freedom, peace, joy. I almost resented you for making me taste something I couldn’t have. Didn’t realize I wanted.”
He lowered his head, sipped at her lips. Savored her clean, fresh-air-and-rain scent. She opened to him without the smallest prodding. Before he could slip all the way inside the moist cavern of her mouth, she met him, tangling her tongue with his. Rising on tiptoe to give even as she took.
Their mouths melded, the mating a sensual precursor to the more intimate, erotic dance he craved. Damn, he wanted to be deep inside her wet, clinging channel, surrounded and gripped by her slick muscles. There, she couldn’t hide from him, could hold nothing back. There, she was his. He growled, his fingers tightening against her scalp.
“God, I love the taste of you,” he snarled, nipping at her full bottom lip, her chin, the slim column of her throat. He swirled his tongue in the dip where her pulse throbbed beneath thin, golden skin. Impatient to slide his hands over more of her flesh, to feast his eyes on more of her sweet body, he gripped the hem of her sweater. Wait. Wait. He paused, his breath heaving in and out of his chest. His fingers flexed then relaxed around the knit.
“Can I?” he breathed.
She nodded, shooting her arms straight up. He dragged the material free and dropped it to the floor. Then he touched her. Cupped her shoulders, trailed his lips across the slim slopes, raked his teeth over them. She didn’t wait for him to ask about removing her bra. Instead, Danielle unsnapped the tiny closure between her breasts and slid the plain white undergarment from her body, and it joined her sweater at their feet.
Jesus, she was beautiful. Fucking breathtaking.
Lowering his head, he breathed in her scent that was headier than the most expensive perfume. She couldn’t be bottled, couldn’t be captured. He pressed his mouth over her heart. Paying homage to her strength, her resilience. Her life. As he whispered a kiss over a full mound, her arms cradled his head, pressing him close. On a moan, he peppered her flesh with kisses before sweeping over her dark brown nipple and drawing it within his mouth. He suckled and pulled. And she arched into him, her small frame quivering.
Delight speared him at her perfect responsiveness, unspoiled by fear or trepidation. He switched his attention to the neglected tip, his tongue circling it and tugging. Damn, he could stay right here all night, feasting on her breasts, her low cries and whimpers stroking over him like a sensual hand. But his cock throbbed in adamant demand, insisting on a deeper caress.
Not yet. More than his next breath, he hungered gloving his erection in her silken depths, to thrust and rock into the heart of her. But not just yet. He needed more of her—needed to give her more. For too long, she’d known selfishness not sacrifice. Pain not pleasure.
And then there was the Neanderthal part of him that longed to hear her scream his name in ecstasy. Yearned to see her splinter apart and know he’d caused it.
He gently, but firmly, guided her backward several steps until her spine aligned with the wall, then sank to his knees before her. His fingers closed around the button at her waist, pushed it through the opening. In seconds, dark blue denim and the silken scrap of her panties pooled around her ankles. Quickly, he lifted one foot then the other, shoving the material out of his way.
Then he put his mouth on
her.
Son of a bitch, she tasted like heaven. Like the strongest proof Scotch and the purest nectar blended together: potent and sweet. He couldn’t get enough of her.
Her fingers gripped the short strands of his hair, pulling, and the tiny stings to his scalp spurred his own desire. He thrust his tongue into her grasping sheath, lapping at her like a man dying of starvation and thirst. Her hips bucked against him, her cries danced around his ears, and still he continued. He withdrew from her channel, slicked a path through her folds and latched onto her clitoris. Scraped his teeth across the sensitive nub, drew on it. Burrowed his fingers deep inside her.
She broke. With a wail, her body seized, convulsed.
He treasured every quiver, every cry, every drop of moisture. Took every bit she had to give, and then demanded more.
“Malachim,” she pleaded in that sexy, husky voice, weakly pushing at his head. He caught one of her hands, pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the palm. Need rode him hard, ripping at him, and he shook with desire as he yanked his T-shirt over his head. The protest of his ribs and sore back were smothered under the overwhelming power of pain meds and hunger. He switched positions with her, and with his back to the wall, drew her down and over his thighs. Deftly, he released his jeans and cock. He lifted his hips and removed his wallet with the condom tucked in its folds from his back pocket. In seconds, he ripped open the protection and covered himself. And though his cock pulsed hard and aching between them, his hands were gentle when he encircled her wrists and placed her hands on his shoulders.
Whispering instructions, he cupped her hips and guided her up and then down. Down his rigid flesh. Down until her spasming sex softened around him, accepting him.
Eyes to eyes, harsh breath for harsh breath, heartbeat to heartbeat, they faced one another, his length throbbing high and deep within her. Her nails bit into his shoulders, and her chest rose and fell on labored lungfuls of air.
Damn, he didn’t want to move. But damn, he needed to move.
With a groan, he lifted her. The cool air in the room kissed the head of his cock, but only for a moment. He rolled his hips, surging upward, even as he sank her down over his erection, burying himself in the sweetest, hottest embrace.
Over and over. Up and down. Forward and retreat. She rode him, and he plundered her. Taking. Giving. Loving. Fucking. He craved it all. But with her, only with her.
Release sizzled in the base of his cock, raced up his flesh.
“Not yet,” he grunted. “Not yet.” Reaching between their straining bodies, he swept the pad of his thumb over her clitoris. Once. Twice. Three times. Danielle whimpered, cried out. Shattered. And snatched him over the edge with her.
Long moments—an eternity—passed before he crawled out of the abyss and rejoined her.
Sorrow stabbed his still pounding heart. Too soon. It was over too damn soon. I need more time. Just a little more.
He abandoned her hips and cradled her face between his palms. Her lashes fluttered but didn’t close, allowing him to observe and cherish the passion clouding the brown depths. No shadows, no pain, no worry. Just pleasure, satiated passion, and…and…
“Lie to me,” he whispered, begged.
Tears glittered in her eyes before she closed them.
“I love you.”
…
Danielle moved through the living room on quiet feet, keeping to the pockets of gray and black as if she were a burglar, and the pearlescent moonbeams streaming through the windows waited to expose her shifty activities.
Not far off, actually.
She was sneaking out of Malachim’s house in the still morning hours like a thief—an ungrateful, cowardly thief. An image flickered across the screen in her mind. Malachim, sprawled on tangled sheets, eyes closed in sleep, his breathing heavy and deep from their lovemaking and the pain medication. Regret and grief weighed down her limbs, and dragging on her abandoned underclothes, sweater, and jeans seemed like a herculean feat.
Keep moving. As long as she kept moving, she couldn’t second guess. Couldn’t reconsider her actions and give in to the selfish voice that whispered she stop, stay, and surrender. Surrender to Malachim’s wish for her to remain with him. Let him stand beside her—in front of her—and fight.
Damn it. She pressed her fingertips to her eyes. They had been the sweetest words anyone had ever spoken to her. Made even sweeter because he’d meant them. He wanted to be her champion when she…she refused to champion herself.
She dropped her arms and slowly sank down to the top of the coffee table. Jesus.
A year ago, running had been about survival. About finding and grabbing onto pieces of a life because she hadn’t been ready to face her ex-husband again. Hell, she hadn’t believed she would ever be ready. She’d been satisfied with living under an assumed name just as long as she remained free of him. Yet the truth was as long as she continued to hide, run, not form a life with laughter, relationships, and…and love, she would never be free of him. Even from Alabama, he wielded power over her actions and thoughts, because everything she did and said were related to him, to eluding him.
And the thought of running once more and never seeing Malachim again…never inhaling his unique scent from his damp chest after they’d made love…never being on the receiving end of the sensual smile that lit up his violet eyes… She couldn’t do it.
She’d allowed Alex to take so much away from her. And then she’d voluntarily sacrificed more just to stay alive and on the run.
Maybe the time had come to stop running. To reclaim her life. To stand up to Alex and say, “No more.” To truly be free...
Oh, God. She was staying.
She pressed a fist to her tight stomach. Oh, Jesus, she was scared. She would be a liar if she denied it. But the alternative—an empty existence always looking over her shoulder—scared her more.
She was taking back her power.
“So you’ve made your decision.” She jerked her head up at the sound of the sleep-roughened voice that came from the living room entrance. Malachim leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his bare chest. Jeans he most likely had grabbed from his floor rode low on his hips, revealing skin she’d kissed and stroked just hours earlier.
God, he was beautiful.
“Yes.” She rose from the table.
Three long strides brought him to her. He crushed her to his chest, his strong arms encircling her in a bruising embrace she didn’t mind. She wanted him to hold her tighter. Closer. Never let her go as he’d promised. A sigh shuddered from between her lips at the utter sense of finding a harbor, a sanctuary of flesh, bone, and blood. Flesh that could be bruised and blood that could be spilled. But if he was determined to stand by her, to fight for her, she could do no less.
“I’m staying,” she said.
Malachim pressed a soft kiss to her temple. And didn’t say a word. But the stalwart presence of his body wrapped around her stated more than a sermon could.
The jangle of his cell phone penetrated the silence. He lifted his head and glanced over at the small glass table next to the couch where he’d set his phone. Reluctantly, he released her and went to grab it.
“Hello?” he answered, voice sharp. Not that she could blame him. Calls in the middle of the night or early morning almost never heralded good news. “Hold on.” He moved the cell away from his ear. “Do you know a Walter Lawrence?”
“Walt?” she asked, already walking over to him. “Yes. He’s a friend of mine from the diner. When I was at the hospital, I called him from your phone. He must have kept your number in his log.”
His frown deepened, but he passed the phone to her.
“Walt?”
“Danielle?” Walt’s voice, raspier and thicker than usual, echoed across the line.
“Yes. Walt.” Fear spiked in her chest, closing around her throat. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
“I was jumped tonight when I left the diner. Two guys beat me up pretty bad.” A cr
y broke free from her lips as she groped across the covers for Malachim’s hand. He found her first and grasped her fingers tight. “I’m at the hospital.” He named the same one Malachim had been discharged from.
“Oh God, Walt,” she breathed. Closed her eyes. “I’m on my way. I’m—” Her voice cracked as she bowed her head. “I’m on my way.”
She dropped the cell to the couch, and the sob she’d been holding back ripped free. Malachim was there beside her an instant later, holding her, rocking her. She haltingly repeated her conversation with Walt.
“Alex. It had to be Alex. It can’t be a coincidence that another friend is attacked by two men. What if they were the same men who hurt you?”
“We can’t do anything about that yet, sweetheart,” Malachim murmured. “But as soon as we get to the hospital and check on your friend, we’ll call Detective Rider and have him come over. Okay?”
She nodded. “Yes. Will you…?” she hesitated. This asking for help thing would take some getting used to. “Will you come with me?”
He brushed a kiss over her lips. “I said ‘we,’ didn’t I?” He smiled, sweeping the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. “Let me get dressed and we can go.”
Within ten minutes, Malachim was dressed, she’d tugged on her sneakers and coat and they hustled down the steps into the winter night. The nippy December air swirled around her, its icy fingers creeping beneath her collar. She shivered, grasped the lapels tighter at her neck, and followed Malachim up the walkway.
“Don’t worry. We should make good time—”
A large, looming figure appeared out of the darkness, blocking the sidewalk.
Malachim drew up short, shoving her behind him.
Terror, sharp and bright, wrapped her in its freezing embrace, numbing her limbs, her thoughts, her breath. Everything but her racing heart.
“Baby.” Malachim’s murmur was pitched low enough for her ears only. Cold metal bit into her unresponsive hand. “Take this key and run for the house. Get inside and lock the door behind you. Don’t open it.”
Secrets and Sins: Malachim (A Secrets and Sins Novel) (Entangled Ignite) Page 21