by Naima Simone
He didn’t rise to the bait but moved closer. He cupped her jaw, tilted her head back. “You’ve been crying,” he said, voice soft, kind.
Damn. Not a kind Gabriel. She sniffled, tugged her chin out of his hold. A kind Gabriel would break her.
“Are you hurting?”
“I’m tired.” She ducked her head, training her gaze on the floor rather than meet his all-too-perceptive scrutiny.
“Here.” His fingers curled beneath her elbow. “Sit.” He lowered her to the closed toilet lid even as he issued the order. He moved behind her and unraveled the towel from her hair.
“Don’t worry about it.” She grabbed the damp cloth. “I can dry my own hair.”
“I know.” He swatted her hand away.
Too tired to put up a fuss, she sat, docile, as he finished unwrapping the cloth.
“Gabe?” He paused. “Why were you and Chay there tonight?”
“I never left,” he murmured. “Since the hit-and-run, all of us have taken turns watching out for you. Tonight was Chay’s watch. I didn’t feel like going home, so I sat with him for a while. We both heard your front door slam shut, but when you didn’t come out, we decided to check it out, make sure you were okay.”
A part of her should be outraged. Mal, Rafe, Chay, and Gabe had been conducting a stake-out on her home and neglected to inform her about it? But their protective streak had saved her life. Their stubborn love had kept her safe from a psycho’s knife.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re more than welcome, sweetheart,” he said quietly.
Tenderly—more tenderly than she could imagine—he blotted the water from her hair. Gently, so gently, he rubbed the wet strands, taking care with the raw area where her head had struck the floor after she’d been tossed—
Don’t go there!
“Breathe, baby,” Gabriel murmured. He hunkered at her feet, his bent knees bracketing her calves. He cupped her face, tipped it down, and forced her to meet and hold his gaze. “Focus on me, Leah. You’re right here with me. Breathe.”
The phantom fist squeezing her throat gradually released its grip, and she inhaled, desperately trying to suck in enough air to fill her lungs.
“Easy,” he said, calloused fingertips lightly stroking her cheek. “That’s it, baby. In. Out. In. Out.”
She followed his lead. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
“I’m good,” she whispered. Humiliation whipped through her, its sting as biting as the onset of the panic attack. “I was a cop, for God’s sake.” He released her, and she curled her fingers into her palms to keep from grabbing his hands and begging him to touch her again. “It isn’t the first time someone has come after me. Christ, I’ve been shot. I don’t know why I’m reacting like this.”
“Because before, it wasn’t personal—the suspect had a crime to get away with, and you were in the way. Tonight, you were the target. And it was in your home.”
She shuddered. “I feel so violated.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. Rocked back and forth. “He may not have succeeded in killing me, but he did destroy my sense of security. He was in the attic, Gabe! In the attic the entire time you and I cooked and ate dinner…when I showered.” She shook her head. “I no longer feel safe in the one place I call mine.”
“I know. He took your sanctuary away from you,” Gabriel said, smoothing a palm over her damp hair.
“Yes,” she whispered vehemently. “I’ve comforted victims of home invasions and robberies before. Told them everything would be okay. Or, they’d lost stuff but at least they had their lives.” She scoffed. “God, how pretentious I must have sounded. They lost far more than ‘stuff.’ Everything might eventually be okay, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be the same.”
Gabriel didn’t reply. But what could he say? Two years after his own tragedy, and he still struggled to claim a sense of normalcy.
He stood, held his hand out to her. She stared at his palm for a long moment before placing hers on top. He drew her up and led her from the bathroom. He guided her down the hall and into his bedroom.
The last time she’d seen this room, shadows had darkened the corners and pre-dawn pearly beams had stretched across the tangled bedcovers. Tonight, a soft yellow crescent of light spilled from the bedside lamp. The dark blue coverlet and white sheets were turned back in invitation for a tired body. Large pillows promised a haven for a good night’s sleep.
Sleep. She swallowed. What will I see when my eyes close?
The attic staircase slowly lowering. A black-masked man with a knife and the promise of death reflecting off the blade?
“Don’t leave me,” she blurted breathlessly. Oh, shit. She winced, the rash words boomeranging in the room. “I mean, will you stay and talk to me?”
“Of course.”
She nodded, relief quickly shoving aside embarrassment. Avoiding Gabriel’s gaze, she sank onto the bed and eased her feet under the covers. The other side of the mattress dipped as he sprawled on top of the blanket. He reclined against one of the pillows, his fingers interlocked over his flat stomach.
“Do you want me to turn off the light?” he asked, voice hushed.
“No.” She shook her head. Curling on her side, she rested her cheek on her palm. “I remember being afraid of the dark when I was a little girl.” A rueful smile ghosted across her lips. “Mom and Dad used to come in my room and check under the bed and in the closet before I went to sleep. Dad would make this huge production about propping a chair under the closet door knob so nothing could sneak out.”
“I snuck a piece of rope from the basement,” Gabriel confessed, settling deeper into the pillow. “Before I went to bed, I’d tie one end to the knob and wrap the other around my bedpost.”
“But most closet doors open out, so what was the point?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I was seven. It made sense at the time.”
She chuckled. “I didn’t know you were afraid of the dark.”
“Not something I wanted to broadcast,” he drawled. “Besides, cats took the place of the bogey man in the closet.”
“Cats?” She laughed.
He nodded, his expression sober…except for the gleam in his blue eyes. “After Pet Cemetery, I refused to have anything to do with them.” He glowered at her when she snickered. “Okay, your turn. What are you afraid of?”
She hesitated. “Clowns,” she confessed and grimaced at his sharp crack of laughter.
“I’ve known you since you were in messy pig tails. You’re making that up.”
“Honest to God.” She lifted her other hand as if taking an oath. “They terrify me.”
“Clowns are funny, harmless,” he objected.
She sniffed. “What about that demented clown in Stephen King’s It? And The Joker?” She ticked off the number of demented clowns on her fingers. “John Wayne Gacy?”
“Technically, Gacy was a psychotic serial killer, not Pogo the clown.”
“Whatever. They’re freaky.” She shivered. “Let’s face it. Stephen King fucked us up.”
He shook his head, coughed, and earned a glare from her. He held up his hands in mock surrender.
“Your turn again,” she demanded. “What are you afraid of? And remember, I upped the ante, so you have to at least supply me with equal ammunition. What? Spiders? Heights? Ladies’ underwear?”
The half-smile curving his mouth disappeared, the light in his eyes faded. Expecting another mocking scoff, the shift from amusement to solemnity took her aback.
“Gabe?” She rose on an elbow.
“Losing another person I care about,” he murmured. “That’s what I fear most.”
Her lips parted, but the hammering of her heart prevented any words from emerging.
“It’s why I lost it the night I found out about the hit-and-run. Why I insisted—” His voice broke off, his throat worked as he swallowed. He turned his head. Her gaze traced the inflexible line of his jaw, noted the small muscle ticking there as
he visibly reached for control and, after several tense moments, gained it.
“Why you insisted I stay here tonight,” she finished.
He turned back to her. “Yes.” He reached for her.
Long, elegant fingers that typed out the grittiest, most thrilling books were gentle as they traced her jaw…when his thumb whisked across her bottom lip. A shudder quaked through her, and the tremor rocked straight to her soul. His touch singed her skin, and she imagined when he removed his hand, his fingerprints would be imprinted there.
“I was rough when I kissed you,” he said, voice low, dark. She almost missed his words under the wild pounding of her heart. Desire she’d only heard in her most secret dreams throbbed in the rough tone.
God, if I’m imagining it, please let me have this illusion. Just for a little while.
“Did I scare you?” he asked quietly.
“No,” she breathed. His thumb pressed into her bottom lip, the tip grazing her teeth. Her lashes fluttered closed as she savored his caress. When she opened her eyes, she met the burning intensity of his regard. Blue flames leapt and danced in his gaze, stoking the fire deep within her body that was longing to be quenched by his touch.
“Your kiss didn’t scare me,” she said, taking her flimsy, tattered courage in her hands. When it came to chasing down criminals, or wielding a gun, she could do both with no problem. But admitting the secret she guarded like a dragon with his precious treasure…she shook in her socks, but forced the words past her lips. “You do.”
His thumb stilled on her mouth. “You just said—”
“Yes,” she interrupted. “Gabe, I’ve dreamed so often of your kiss, your touch. How can I be afraid of it? But you—” she swallowed and dropped her gaze to his chin, her nerve faltering. “You have such”—she hesitated—“power over me. You always have. And because of it, you also hold the ability to hurt me. Badly.”
Surprise flickered across his face, flashed in his eyes like a bolt of dry lightning.
“I would never harm you, Leah,” he insisted.
“I know. That’s not the man you are. At the same time…” She straightened, and his hand fell away from her face. Her soul cried out for the return of his touch, but instead she curled her legs under her, placing distance between them.
“Leah,” he said, and waited until her eyes lifted to meet his again. “You said you’ve dreamed about my touch. How long?”
Her nails bit into her palms as she warned herself to be cautious with her words and heart. Too late, an inner voice whispered. It’s much too late. Did she want to be careful? Or did she want to discover what it felt like to be touched by him, loved by him? For so long she’d imagined the press of his body to hers, the pleasure of being skin to skin. Tonight she’d almost lost the opportunity ever to experience that pleasure—even if only for one night.
“Too many years to count,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes.
A tense, heavy silence hummed between them. He remained quiet for so long, regret started to creep in. Her stomach twisted. Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut? Years? Damn, she’d probably freaked him—
He dived for her. He swallowed her gasp with his mouth as he bore her down to the pillows, crushing her mouth beneath his. He slanted his head for a better angle, deepened the kiss, demanded more. She met him thrust for thrust, stroke for stroke, groan for groan. Tonight she wanted to lose herself in passion and forget the doubts and fears.
Her stomach clenched hard as liquid heat rolled through her, streaming through her veins, streaking to her breasts, down her belly to the place between her thighs. She wanted him fiercely, with a desire that had no rival, except one.
Her love.
He lifted his head, cradled her jaw. His heart thudded under her palms as she laid them on his chest and gazed into his eyes. Damn, she could fall into them, drown in them, and thank God for such a lovely death.
On the tail of a raw moan, he took her mouth in an orgy of pleasure. His tongue dove between her lips and claimed her like a pillaging warrior on a rampage. The taste of him was sweet and potent like a full-bodied wine. She groaned in his mouth. Lifting her hands from his chest, she tunneled her fingers through his hair, twisting the strands in great handfuls, holding him steady for the delicious feast his mouth offered.
“Leah,” he groaned. He drew back, nipped at her bottom lip then laved the sting with his tongue before sucking the flesh between his teeth. “You’re so sweet. So damn sweet.”
He peppered her jaw and chin with small, stinging kisses before returning to her mouth. His lips covered hers, and they weren’t gentle or sweet. His kiss was wild, out of control. Greedy. She eagerly sucked on his invading tongue, wrapping hers around his. They kissed like long-lost lovers, not like two people touching for the first time.
Hurriedly, they divested each other of their clothing. She didn’t know who gasped at the first contact of flesh to flesh—him or her. Maybe they both did. Her breasts pillowed his chest, and he felt so perfect against her. The height she’d always cursed as the bane of her existence was now a gift. Her mouth fit to the base of his neck where she sipped at the hot, musky scent of his skin.
He leaned back, peered down at the chain and pendant he’d gifted her with seven years earlier. “You still wear it,” he murmured, tracing the rendering of St. Michael. She shivered as he lowered his head and placed a soft kiss above the jewelry.
Of course she still wore the pendant; it had been all she’d had of him to hold next to her skin…all she believed she would ever have of him. But she couldn’t voice the telling admission aloud, so instead she cuffed the wrist of his hand caressing the chain, guided it down her body, and pressed it to the heart of her desire. His fingers instantly curled, cupping her sex. A strangled cry escaped her throat as the tip of his fingers parted her, pressed into her heat.
“You’re wet, baby,” he ground out, rubbing the heel of his palm against her clit and causing a riot of pleasure there. She moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck.
She needed more. Needed his mouth, his touch. Needed him inside her, possessing her. And then she needed him to hold her close afterward, murmur in her ear that he loved her just as much as she loved him.
With a soft oath, he levered off her, eyes closed as if in pain. After a moment, he reopened them. “Condoms.”
“My bag,” she whispered,
He recaptured her mouth in a burning kiss before scrambling off the bed and retrieving her overnight bag. She dove inside and pulled out a foil-wrapped condom. She shoved the bag off the mattress as he plucked the protection from her fingers and sheathed himself before settling between her thighs.
His eyes glowed with an inner fire, and she shivered at the primal expression that hardened his face. Without breaking eye contact, he guided his cock to her body’s portal and pushed forward. She bucked toward him. Wanting.
“Easy,” he murmured. His hands clutched her hips, holding them as he slowly impaled her. “Easy, sweetheart.”
She didn’t want to take it easy. She needed, hungered for his thickness buried to the hilt inside her, his flesh meeting hers, their connection so visceral it couldn’t be denied.
“Now, Gabe,” she demanded, pleaded. “Please.”
He loosed a harsh groan, shifted a hand from her hip and stroked it up her torso, cradled the nape of her neck. With a low rumble, he pulled her up for a hot, ravenous kiss. His tongue plunged between her lips, dueling with hers, licking at the roof of her mouth, consuming her even as he pushed into her body.
“Hold onto me,” he ordered, his voice barely recognizable over the dark rumble from his throat and chest. She did as he commanded and encircled his neck, pressing her cheek to his shoulder and clinging to him as if he were a raft in the middle of this passion-tossed sea. “Don’t let go, baby. Don’t let go.”
Her heart clenched at the same time as her sex. I can’t, she whispered to him in her soul. That’s my problem. I can’t let go of you.
His wide palms cupped her bottom, and he pulled free of her body only to return and plunge deep, filling her to capacity. She cried out, shook against him.
“Shh,” he soothed. “I have you.”
Yes, he did. He held her, whispering sweet words of praise and passion in her ear as he made love to her, branded her, claimed her with every inch. Even if he didn’t realize that he possessed her, she knew another man would never, could never, touch her body or her soul as he did.
He fell forward, his palms pressing into the pillow on either side of her head. With every roll and thrust of his hips, he carried her higher and higher. Desire and love sped through her as they raced for the finish. She loved how he completed her like a perfect puzzle piece. How he tore her apart with the force of his passion, but forged her back together again with his tenderness.
God, she loved him.
The words lodged in her throat; she couldn’t voice them aloud. But she could show him with her body, her need for him. Could surrender wholly to him, savoring every groan and uttered erotic curse in her ear, against her skin. All too soon, a wave of orgasm swelled and, before she could shuffle back from the edge, it crashed upon her. The world went black, but she didn’t go into the abyss alone.
He held her, protected her…anchored her.
Chapter Seventeen
Leah flipped off the light in Gabriel’s bathroom before opening the door to the bedroom. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, biting back a whimper. Passionate sex hadn’t eased the aches already plaguing her body. Instead, making love with Gabriel had added soreness to places no liniment or aspirin could reach.
She glanced over her shoulder to the sleeping male on the bed. The smooth, strong length of Gabriel’s back steadily rose up and down, undisturbed. Love swelled inside her chest, inflating her lungs, clogging her throat. She exhaled a long, silent breath, hoping to relieve the pressure that seemed to fill her to bursting. But nothing could alleviate the delight in just looking at him—or the fear lurking along the edges of her mind, stealthily waiting to invade and steal her joy.