Candy Houses

by Shiloh Walker

  Rip didn’t appreciate my sarcasm.

  Or maybe he did. He just didn’t say anything about it.

  “This is a problem,” he muttered.

  “Tell me about it.” Although it wasn’t likely, it was possible there were other copies close by and if the girl got to one, she wasn’t going to waste time on proper pronunciation. I had very little time to get to her—the urgency was a scream in my blood.

  And to make matters worse, I had no clue where to look.

  Having Rip around—for once—was an answer to a prayer.

  Although, it was kind of odd…

  Shooting him a look, I asked, “Hey…why are you here?”

  “Working,” he said tersely.

  I rolled my eyes. “Wow. That’s vague. That’s pretty much what we do, isn’t it? Any more detail than that?”

  “Why?”

  I jerked a shoulder in a shrug. Man, he couldn’t be easy, now could he? Couldn’t just up and offer to help me find her? No. I was going to have to ask. Sighing, I rotated my neck. I had a mammoth headache creeping up on me, I was feeling more than a little nauseated and I needed some sleep. And a shower. So bad did I need a shower. “I could use some help finding the girl, if you’re free.”

  I shot a look at him from the corner of my eye.

  He was watching me. The minute our gazes locked, he reached out and caught my arm. “Do you wish for my help?” he asked, drawing me to a stop.

  I couldn’t even go into detail about what I wished from him. There just wasn’t enough time in the day. Or strength in my legs—they were wobbling and threatening to give out on me at any second. I licked my lips and strove for a casual tone as I replied, “Well, yeah. That’s kind of what I said. Are you free?”

  “Free?” he murmured. He eased closer and stroked his fingers over the rips in my shirt, tracing the skin where the bocan had sliced me open.

  I remembered that, a fiery pain, followed by numbness. The real pain hadn’t started until a few seconds later, when my blood was pumping out of me. It had been bad. Really bad.

  But the flesh was already healed and I had no idea how that had happened.

  “I’m not certain I understand what free is,” he said, staring at his hand as he touched my belly. “But yes…I’ll help you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You sound relieved.” A smile tugged at his lips. The fingers grazing over my belly shifted course, traveling up, up, up until he could hook a hand over the back of my neck. My breath caught in my throat. “Did you think I would say no to you?”

  I swallowed. Ah…well, I hadn’t ever thought about it.

  And I couldn’t exactly ponder it in this moment either, because he was looking at me in a way that made my heart race, in a way that stole the breath from my lungs, in a way that made me forget we had some potentially big problems.

  He was close, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face. So close I could feel his warmth…

  Is he going to kiss me?

  Damn it, he couldn’t kiss me. I was covered in bocan blood. I felt so sick to my stomach I thought I might pass out again. My head hurt. My heart hurt.

  Damn it, what if he didn’t kiss me? I missed his kiss, although that didn’t really make much sense. We’d spent a couple of weeks in each other’s company—and one hot, wonderful night that I hadn’t been able to forget. It had been years ago and I still couldn’t forget.

  I didn’t need to be thinking about kissing. I needed to think about the girl. Had to think about the girl. Had to…

  This is why you left after that night, girl. This is why you avoid him.

  Rip has always left me in a mess, a nasty, tangle of a mess, totally incapable of any sort of coherent, rational thought. But I didn’t affect him like that. Hell, nothing seemed to affect Rip. When I walked away from him, he had just stared at me with that blank, noncommittal expression on his face. I’d seen him kill demons with that same look on his face. I’d seen him hold the door for little old ladies with that same look on his face.

  Nothing affected Rip.

  Everything about Rip affected me.

  He didn’t kiss me. He just kneaded the tense muscles of my neck and murmured, “There is very little I wouldn’t do, if you asked, very little I wouldn’t give. Anything that is within my power is yours.”

  “Wow, Rip. You haven’t changed much. You still know how to charm a girl, don’t you?” I pulled back. I had to. It was either that or collapse into a mindless drooling puddle at his feet.

  That smile tugged at his lips again and he asked, “Am I charming you?”

  Man, I’m in so much trouble.

  That was the last clear thought I had for a while. Between the blood loss, the adrenaline rush and Rip, my head was very, very fuzzy. Fortunately, Rip was in better shape. Somehow, he got us both to the house I was renting, and somehow, he got me into the shower—I’m not entirely sure how. I don’t remember unlocking the door, much less taking a shower.

  Hell, for all I know, he ended up getting into the shower with me. Even thinking about that makes me get all hot and tingly.

  I doubt that happened, though.

  I think I’d remember being naked with him…again.

  The next clear memory was sitting on the bed, the heavy weight of my hair dragging me down as I tried to remember what I needed to do.

  All I wanted to do was sleep. For a week.

  “Let me help,” Rip murmured.

  Help? Frowning, I looked down and saw the comb. No. I didn’t need his help—not with something so…intimate. “I can do it,” I told him. My tongue felt thick, about three times its normal size. I didn’t really see how I could do it, because when I lifted the comb, I almost poked myself in the eye.

  “Sure you can.” He nudged my hand back down into my lap and finished with my hair. Then he was tucking me under the covers like a child.

  “You know, I’m a big girl. I’ve been putting myself to bed for a few hundred years now. I can take care of myself.” I glared at him, or at least I tried to glare at him. I had a feeling it came off about as threatening as a pair of bunny slippers.

  “I know you can.” He grinned as he settled down on the edge of the bed.

  “I can,” I argued. My lids felt heavy—heavy as in elephant-heavy. “I’m just kind of tired.”

  “I know…go to sleep, Greta. You’re safe.” He cupped my cheek and stroked a thumb across my lower lip. “You’re safe.”

  I never felt safe when I slept with somebody else close by.

  It was a remnant of a past I can barely remember.

  But I fell asleep with Rip watching over me.

  And I felt safe.

  I fell asleep thinking of him.

  It wasn’t a big surprise when I found myself dreaming about him.

  I’ve spent quite a few nights dreaming about him, more than I like to admit. It’s been years since that one night, years since I’ve seen him. And still, I keep thinking about him. As many people as I’ve met in my life, it’s hard to believe there’s still room in my head for this obsession.

  In my dream, we were on the beach. Warm sun, soft sand and a hard man…sounds like bliss for a woman, doesn’t it? As long as the hard man is Rip, it pretty much fits the bill for paradise, in my opinion.

  He kissed me, kissed me soft and gentle, then harder, deeper, like he’d swallow me whole if he could, like he couldn’t possibly get close enough. I returned the favor—it simply wasn’t possible to get close enough to Rip, not even when he was moving inside me.

  In reality, he may not be affected by me.

  But in my dreams, he seems to need me as much as I need him. Miss me the way I miss him. In my dreams, I really do matter to him. I’m not just a willing woman…I matter.

  “I miss you,” he rasped against my mouth. He had his hand fisted in my hair, using it to hold me still as he took the kiss deeper.

  “How can you miss me?” I smiled at him. Even in my dreams, I had to keep i
t light, had to. “I’m right here.”

  “Not really, you’re not.” He stroked a hand down my side, cupped my hip and circled against me. “I’ll wake up alone…this is just a dream.”

  “Hmmm.” I nipped his shoulder. “If it’s just a dream, we should probably make the most of it, don’t you think?”

  Nudging at his shoulders, I pushed until he moved away and lay on his back. I rolled on top of him and took him inside, shuddering in pleasure. His hands gripped my hips and his eyes, those dark, sinfully sexy eyes, stared at me, rapt on my face.

  Like nothing else existed for him…just me.

  “Nothing else does exist for me,” he muttered. “Not when you are near me.”

  Part of me wondered how he knew I was thinking that. The other part didn’t care—the other part was too lost in the pleasure to comprehend thought. He lifted me up with his strong hands as though I weighed nothing. Slow…steady…

  And not enough.

  Reaching down, I wrapped my fingers around his wrists. “Faster,” I said, staring down at him. “Harder.”

  Rip’s lashes lowered. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to scare you.”

  “You wouldn’t ever hurt me. You couldn’t ever scare me.”

  As I said it, the dream shifted around me and we were no longer the beach, but in a bed. A big, soft bed that cradled me like a dream as Rip moved over me.

  “Say my name,” he whispered. “Let me hear it.”

  “Rip…”

  “Tell me you’ve missed me,” he ordered, kissing me hard and rough. His voice was just this side of desperate, something I wasn’t prepared for, not with him. “Give me something, damn it.”

  But I couldn’t ignore that plea—it was just an echo of my own need, anyway…right? That’s all dreams were.

  “I’ve missed you,” I told him. Then his mouth came down on mine and he was kissing me like he could drown in me.

  One second I was dreaming, lost in Rip’s arms, lost in his kiss and hovering on the edge of climax, and the next second I was awake, brutally awake and all too aware of the fact that I was being watched. I jerked up in bed, clutching the sheets and blankets to my chest.

  Rip was standing in the doorway with one shoulder propped against the door jam. He had a look in his eyes that sent my skin to tingling all over. I mean all over—I felt it in my lips, my toes and every square inch in between.

  “Hey,” I said. My voice cracked.

  He continued to stare at me.

  It was very, very unnerving the way he watched me.

  “Ahh…is everything okay?”

  He didn’t answer. Nope, what he did was push off the door jam and come over to the bed. He knelt down by the bed, resting one hand on top of the blankets. He had such damn nice hands…the hands of a poet, a warrior…a lover. One of those lovely hands was only an inch away from my thigh too. I thought I could even feel the heat of it, through the blankets.

  “You were dreaming,” Rip said, his voice low and rough.

  Oh, shit. Swallowing, I dredged up an innocent smile. “Was I?”

  “Yes.” His eyes, that dark, melted-chocolate gaze, locked on mine and I felt frozen in place. Unable to move as he laid a hand on my cheek and stroked my lower lip with his thumb. “Do you remember it?”

  Oh, man, did I remember. But I couldn’t really tell him that, now could I? Self-preservation is a lovely thing, and I looked him dead in the eye and lied. “Nope.”

  Self-preservation is a lovely thing, yeah, but it doesn’t make me a better liar.

  He smiled, a wolf’s smile. “You don’t remember?” He leaned in and nuzzled my neck, his breath teasing across my flesh like a caress. “Maybe I could jog your memory.”

  The hand on my cheek stroked down, over my neck, across my collarbone, down, down. The tips of his fingers brushed against the curve my breast and I realized I’d dropped the blankets and was sitting there as naked as the day I was born.

  “I’m good. No need to jog the memory.”

  “You whispered my name,” he murmured, nipping my earlobe. “Then you moaned. You sounded exactly like you did the first time I made you come.”

  As he cupped my breast in his hand, I whimpered. Heat…oh, sweet, blissful heat, hurtled through me and I pressed against his touch. Needed more. Needed him.

  “Do you remember now?”

  He lifted his head and stared at me, eyes glittering.

  Dazed, I whispered, “Remember what?”

  “The dream.” He slid his hand up and cradled the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair as he tugged. “Do you remember?”

  I blushed. I could feel my face burning, my cheeks flaming hot. He’d have to be here when I’m dreaming that kind of dream… Then his mouth came down and against my lips, he whispered, “Yeah, you remember.”

  He nipped my lower lip, then asked, “What else do you remember, Greta? Do you remember that night?”

  I didn’t dare answer, didn’t dare tell him I remembered like it was yesterday. I still remember what it did to me when he kissed me. When he kisses me, it’s like…flying. Like dying. I can’t even describe what it’s like to be kissed by Rip. When he kisses me everything else falls away and there’s nothing but me. Nothing but him. His mouth on mine, his hands on my body and my hands on his.

  I tugged him closer, desperate to feel him against me, but he held back. Then he was pulling away from me. I fisted my hands in his hair and tried to hold him—closer, closer, needed him so much closer.

  “Greta.”

  He caught my wrists and pulled. I let him, even as I arched my neck to try and kiss him again.

  “Stop,” he muttered.

  “Stop?” I repeated.

  Stop—wait, he wanted to stop? He kisses me and now he doesn’t want me kissing him? I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. “If you don’t want me kissing you, then maybe you shouldn’t kiss me…maybe you shouldn’t be snooping around while I’m sleeping, or listening in when you shouldn’t.”

  The hands on my wrists tightened. Something flashed through his inscrutable eyes. “You think I don’t want you to kiss me.”

  “Well, you just told me to stop.” I glared at him and tugged half-heartedly against the hands on my wrists. Once more, I was blushing, that hot, nearly painful blush, but it was just as much frustration and disappointment as embarrassment. If he didn’t want me kissing him, why had he kissed me?

  “Greta.”

  I scowled at him and pulled against his hands again. Harder this time. “Let me go.”

  He dipped his head and nipped my lower lip. “No.”

  “You know, there’s a name for people like you—I’m not entirely sure what it is, but there has got to be a name.”

  I glared at him and turned my head away so he couldn’t brush his mouth against mine.

  “Tease—yeah, that’s the word. You’re a damn tease. You kiss me, then tell me to stop kissing you. Then you kiss me again. It’s not nice to tease people, Rip.” Especially with something like this. Especially when I was already so hungry for him I ached.

  “I’m not trying to tease you.” He nibbled on my lower lip again and whispered, “I could kiss you forever. That…and more.” He reiterated the more by letting go of one of my wrists and stroking me. From my neck, down along between my breasts, along my belly and down, resting the heel of his hand low on my belly with his fingertips resting just above the curls between my thighs.

  So close…so close…

  I whimpered as he rubbed his lips against mine. “Yeah, well, telling me to stop is great way to prove that.”

  “You don’t want me kissing you forever, though.” He straightened, pulling his hand away from my belly, letting go of the wrist he still held. “You walked away from me—didn’t want the complication.”

  He stood by the bed and stared down at me.

  For once, those inscrutable brown eyes weren’t quite so inscrutable. I saw a flicker of something. He was acting edgy too. Restl
ess even. That’s kind of weird for him. He’s very much not the restless sort of person.

  He shoved his thick hair back from his face and then pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It drew the material of his shirt tight across his shoulders and if I wasn’t so busy trying to puzzle him out, I might have taken a moment to admire the way his shoulders looked under the soft, faded black cotton.

  “You left, because you didn’t want a complication. That’s what you called it…a complication. I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anybody, but you didn’t want the complication.” A strange, tired smile curled his lips as he watched me. He sighed and shook his head. “Sex with me was just a complication.”

  I’d hurt him, I realized. It had been a hundred years since that night. One hundred years, and I thought about it a lot. But this was the first time I’d ever even considered that maybe I’d hurt him when I’d walked away…and I’m an idiot.

  Because it was right there in front of me.

  It was in his eyes as he looked at me—because he did look at me. When he was around others, he barely paid them any attention unless he had to. But he watched me. He always had.

  It was in the way he watched me, the way he watched over me, the way he spoke to me…

  Did you think I would say no to you? He’d said that to me, late last night…or early this morning, to be precise. Say no to you—

  To me—like maybe I meant something to him. A little more than…well, I don’t know. A little more than others. That was part of why I’d walked away from him. In the few weeks we’d spent working together before, he’d somehow come to mean something to me—something more—I couldn’t really say what.

  But I didn’t want to be just…well, just anybody to him. Most of our kind end up drifting in and out of relationships, casual ones usually because most of us are too damaged for anything more involved.

  I’m not casual. I can’t do casual. Trying to make myself do casual, to pretend to feel casual when I already felt a lot more than that, not knowing if he felt anything at all… I just couldn’t see myself doing it. Add that to the chaos that reigned in my head and heart whenever he was near and you might be able to understand why I didn’t think it was smart to get involved with him.