He might just make her disappear, and reappear in pieces, like Alec had said.
She didn’t know what to do.
Hurriedly, keeping her eyes peeled, she left the safety of her mom mobile, and walked down the sidewalk toward the house. Her mace was tight in her hand, the key to the door already poised between her knuckles. When they reached the front door, she looked back and did a quick scan of the neighborhood, but it looked just as peaceful as ever.
Quickly, she entered through the front door, breathing a sigh of relief once it was locked behind her.
And then a scream ripped from her throat, because coming toward her through the darkness, was the shadowed figure of a man.
He stopped abruptly and held his hands up.
“It’s me,” said Mike.
She fell back against the door, clutching her chest. “God dammit. Why are you creeping around in the dark?”
He lowered his hands. “Didn’t want anyone to think I was home.”
She pushed off the door.
“Where are the girls?”
He moved toward the narrow window beside her, pulling back the curtain just an inch to look outside. She noticed then that all the shades had been drawn in the living room, and the dining room as well. As he approached, she could feel the tension he carried with him, sparking through the electric air between them. Despite it, she would have given anything for him to hold her. Kiss her. Tell her everything would be all right.
“Mac’s restaurant.” The edge in his tone was as rough as sandpaper.
The image of Alec’s friend’s restaurant on the shore across the Bay came immediately to mind.
She couldn’t believe he’d sent them away.
“The apartment,” she said slowly.
Mike nodded.
Alec and Anna had stayed there when they’d run into trouble before Maxim Stein’s trial. The apartment above the restaurant was quiet, and had been safe when Anna had needed it to be. Amy had visited her there once, and remembered the small, quaint space with the hardwood floors and the exposed ceiling beams.
“Who is with them?” she asked.
He turned to face her.
“People we trust,” he said, annunciating the word. “Alec and Anna. Her father, the detective. My mom. And Marcos, in his civilian car, without his uniform. I made sure everything was taken care of before I came back.”
She imagined them locking down the place like a fortress and some of the tension slid away. But as much as any of them loved Paisley and Chloe, no one would defend them like a father would.
It was harsh, but all she could manage to say was, “You should have stayed with them.”
He gave a short, bitter laugh. “Let’s not play the ‘should have’ game.”
No. He was right. There were many things she should have done, and she knew that.
She felt his burden then. If she’d thought it had been hard for her to leave the girls this morning in his care, she could only imagine how hard it had been for him to leave them with friends.
There was nowhere to go. Nothing to do until they figured a way out of this. It was time to face the music.
They were still standing in the foyer, and knowing that everything she needed to tell him was about to come out, she set down her purse on a small wooden table where he usually left his keys and braced herself. She became aware of how his hands were in the pockets of his jeans, and his shoulders were raised, and as her vision adjusted to the dark she could see that he hadn’t shaved. His eyes caught a sliver of the light from outside and gleamed, hard and golden.
“Did you find Danny?” He bit down on the name.
Apparently Alec had told him she’d come by.
“No,” she said.
“Neither did I.”
“You looked for him.” She wasn’t asking; it was more a statement of fact.
“I looked for you.”
He was still frowning, but his voice was softer when he spoke again.
“I won’t apologize for the things I said to him before. Just so you know, I never hurt him.” He hesitated. “I am sorry I hurt you.”
“I know why you did it.” Even if it had made things worse, the fact that he cared enough to defend her meant something. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I saw him a few weeks ago. I wish I had. Maybe things would be different now.”
His head tilted down just the slightest bit, an invitation to elaborate.
Tentatively, she placed a hand on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the thin fabric. He leaned toward her, just a little bit. Enough to give her the strength for what came next. She took a deep breath, counted to three, and said, “Mike, I’m in trouble.”
And she told him everything.
Without moving so far as the living room, without even turning on the lights, she told him about Val Connolly, and Aiden Farrell, and the Fox, and all that had happened that day. She told him that Danny had shown up outside her work asking for money, and then that her bank account had unexplainable charges. That her therapist had called to say Amy’s file had been stolen, and that it had to be Aiden, based on how much he’d known about her outside the club. Her words spilled out like water from a broken dam, faster and faster, punctuated by the growing gestures of her hands and subtle rise of her pitch. The light outside faded. They did not turn on a light.
He listened in silence, hardly moving, soaking up her words like a sponge so that they didn’t stay stuck to her shoulders, weighing her down. He took it all, until the story was spent, and she was nearly dizzy with the exertion it had taken to tell it.
“I...” She took a shaky breath, and forced her chin up. “I need your help. I don’t know what to do.”
Finally, he moved. A rise of his shoulders, and a slow exhalation. Not a sigh of disappointment, but of relief. Then, before she could draw another breath, she was in his arms.
Her body sagged into him, a shudder working through every muscle. She probably looked like hell, and didn’t smell much better, but he didn’t seem to care. His body was steel, and when it surrounded her, the world outside was put on pause. She could feel time slow, and then stop, while her heart beat stronger, and faster.
“We’ll handle it,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not with me,” he told her, just as he’d told her before. “We’ll figure it out.”
There was such determination in his voice, she couldn’t help but believe him.
Leaning closer, she pressed her lips against the base of his neck, where the swell of his shoulder met his throat.
It hadn’t been something she’d thought about beforehand. The move had come as naturally as taking her next breath. But once it was done, she felt the impact of it, the closeness beyond his quiet comfort, and she did it again.
She felt his breath change, the rise of his chest dragging hers up and down just the slightest bit. She could feel his heart, hammering against his ribs, talking to hers. The scruff on his chin scraped the tender skin of her cheek.
Between them, something stronger than the fear she’d felt all day began to take hold. His fingers fanned over her back, then slid lower, to the base of her spine, and back up to her shoulder blades. A question, awaiting an answer.
Before she could give one, he took a step back and blinked.
“We should...” He cleared his throat. One hand rubbed his forehead.
She moved closer. Reaching for his face, she rose on her tip-toes and kissed him. His lips were soft as a cloud, the gentle pressure on her lower back giving away no hint of the powerful muscles in his arms. Her eyes drifted closed, and she became light-headed, a little dizzy. It could have been the lack of sleep, or the fact that she had gone so long without eating she wasn’t even hungry anymore, but it felt like more than that. A sip of him was enough to make her tipsy.
The knuckles of one hand grazed her cheek, and then lowered down her neck, over the delicate skin that covered her quickening pulse. His fingertips found her collarbo
ne, and the tiny V in the middle, and then slid lower, pausing at the collar of her shirt that rode just above her breasts.
He stared at his hand, contemplating.
“Mike?” She felt thin, close to breaking, and if anything could make her solid, it was him. His touch. His words. His faith in her. She needed him to drown out the noise, to clear the images of Aiden Farrell, and the sleazy man with the orange hair, and the envelope that said Corbett or Val Connelly, so she could think clearly.
His gaze lifted to hers, and she was staggered by the emotion she saw there. Not just the fear and vulnerability reflected in her eyes, but something deeper. A struggle she couldn’t name.
“I won’t tell you what to do,” he said. “But Amy, if you had been hurt today. If something had happened to you. I don’t know... I don’t know.”
She kissed him, and this time she could feel his hands tremble on her hips. They moved beneath the hem of her shirt, and when he found the bare skin of her waist, she gasped, and his tongue slipped into her mouth, bringing a slow burn in her belly.
Slowly he moved, just as he had in the beginning. Carefully testing the waters while every tender touch reinforced the same message: trust me. I will not hurt you. His fingertips climbed up her spine and fanned over her shoulder blades. His thumbs hooked beneath the back of her bra, the slide of the fabric bringing a new sensitivity to her breasts. The pressure of his hips, of his arousal, made her ache in a stronger, more urgent way.
Her breath came faster. She needed to feel his skin on hers, and pulled at his shirt. He instead removed hers, and every graze of his hand, even the brush of her hair on her shoulders, brought another bright wave of awareness. He moved her backward, never breaking their contact, until the arm of the couch came in contact with her thighs. With a steady arm around her back, he eased her down onto the cushions, and then moved her higher, so that he could lay there as well.
Her knees parted, opening for him, and then one rose up his side. He gripped beneath her thigh. Instinctively, her hips pressed against him, and the feel of him there, against her center, felt so right it made her breath catch. In the dim light she could see a layer of perspiration on his brow.
“God help me,” he said. “I need you, Amy.”
Hearing the words thrilled her, even amidst the chaos. That she was a coveted, wanted thing was a feeling she was unaccustomed to, but the heat rising inside her body, spreading to her limbs, that was familiar. Soon it would burn her, burn them both, but that only made her want it more.
“Hurry,” she said.
He broke away, just to pull his own shirt over his head and toss it on the floor, and then he was close again. His hand climbed over her ribs, over the cup of her bra, squeezing her swollen flesh.
“More,” she said. Her hips had begun rocking against him, a motion she couldn’t think to control. Her stomach flexed with each movement, the deeper muscles between her legs contracting, making her aware of damp places, ready for him to fill. She crossed her ankles behind his lower back to get closer.
He gave a strained groan, something she hadn’t heard before, that kicked through her system. Without thinking, she reached around him, and dragged her nails down his back.
The reaction was instantaneous.
He slammed his hips against hers, back arching, chest flexing. She was awed by the pure maleness of him, the ripple of muscle, the tapering of his waist. And his eyes. Golden and hungry.
With one hand he shoved up the cups of her bra, and then his mouth covered one nipple, lashing at it with his tongue, a harsh, desperate touch that made her cry out unexpectedly, and arch closer. She gripped the back of his neck, holding him there as the bolts of heat scalded her, and connected those twin points to that empty place between her legs.
He moved to the other side, this time sliding a heavy hand between her thighs. Just one, hard caress before finding the side of her pants and tugging them down her hip.
“Oh God,” she said. “Mike.”
He rose up to better grip her pants. As she shimmied beneath him, he pulled them down, taking her panties as well and leaving her bare.
His hands spread her thighs, and then slipped higher. One finger traced her lips, then pushed inside of her.
Her nerves seemed to explode all at once, all focus driving to the central point of her body. The friction of his skin, and the feel of his knuckles at her entrance as his strokes deepened. A second finger filled her, and she gasped for air, trying to cling to the cushions.
“Come back,” she begged, needing the warmth of his body, and the weight of him in a frantic way. “Come close. Please. Make me...”
He was over her, and pressed her down, hips following the motion of his hand, mimicking what she really needed.
“Make you what?” he asked. It was as if he was asking for permission.
She strained against him, right on the edge, right there. And then the heel of hand changed positions, and pressed on that sensitive bundle of nerves. Her world ripped to pieces. The fear, the anxiety, it shattered, leaving a thousand sharp edges that pierced her with a pleasure so acute it bordered on intolerable.
It wasn’t enough.
He kissed her, drawing her sounds into his mouth, while his fingers curled, and rubbed, and drove her even more insane.
“Make me...” she whimpered.
“What, Amy?” His voice had gone rough. “Tell me.”
The feeling of the word filled her before she could voice the sound.
“Safe.”
Through a flexed jaw, he made a sound of pain. He brushed aside her hair, cupping her cheek in his large, callused hand. “You’re safe. I promise. No one’s going to hurt you.”
“Make me safe.” There were better words—there had to be—but she couldn’t think of them. Her head was spinning, her body still reeling. Everything was too intense, and growing brighter by the second. It confused her. She should have been coming down from the high, but instead, her need felt even more demanding.
As she reached for the buckle of his belt, he seemed to grasp her meaning. Hastily, she undid his fly, and he helped when her fingers fumbled. Soon, she saw him, hard and virile, and was filled with anticipation, even as he hesitated.
“I don’t have...”
“It’s okay,” she said. She didn’t want him covered. She needed him, skin on skin, joined together in that basic primal way.
He sank down over her, and kissed her, and when she felt him at her entrance, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
He pushed in, and out, and in a little further. She was aware of the shape of him, every contour of his cock as her body pulled him closer. Out and in. The wide crest of his head, the thick, steel girth of his length. Out and in, until he was completely sheathed in her warmth. His forehead rested against hers, his lips parted. He was working hard to stay in control; she could feel the tension in his body. His thickness stretched her completely, the depth of him seared straight to her core.
“Amy,” he murmured.
She touched his face. Finally she felt what she’d needed. That safety that only came in his arms, made so much more powerful by the bare truth of their bodies. The knowledge that he would defend her, protect her, and honor her. That this moment between them was sacred, and that he would never use it against her.
It was overwhelming.
He wasn’t as gentle as he’d been their first time, but he wasn’t rough on her either. There was a deep, emotional passion behind every stroke, a possession, and every time he drove into her, she felt him all the way to the base. He moved faster when she touched his back, harder when she dug her nails in. He rose on his knees, and lifted her hips, watching her eyes the whole time.
“Show me your body, beautiful girl,” he said when she covered her breasts. She hadn’t meant to hide, but her nipples had grown so tight she’d needed to cover them just to still the pressure. She lowered her hands, and was immersed in his gaze.
He moved her knees closer to her chest,
and she bit her lip and groaned as his cock rubbed a place deep inside her body that hastened the unraveling. Before, their joining had been a gentle discovery, but this connection was stronger, more desperate, the union of not just their bodies, but their souls, and because of that she felt completely and utterly consumed.
She was losing control, losing her thoughts. Her head was spinning. The heat was scoring through her blood. Closer and closer she hurdled toward that dark cliff, unable to stop. Unwilling, even if she had been able.
She touched him everywhere she could. His chest, his sides, those rippled abs. Her hips rocked with his, and then against, until his thrusts were pounding, striking nerves on the outside and inside of her body. When he fell forward she bit the side of his neck and clawed at his back. He reared up, still at last, shuddering as she was filled with the warmth of his desire. Burst after burst. Unending.
And then the orgasm hit her—a force so powerful she bowed against it. There was no more Amy. No more Mike. There was only one. Their bodies, as one.
“I love you.” She gasped for breath as the rims of her vision went dark. “I love you.”
She reached for his shoulders with numb fingers, but they slid off. She was falling, falling, the questions in his golden eyes dimming in her vision.
Then there was only the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Amy.”
His voice called through the night, as if he lived in her dreams. She was pulled toward the sound of it, coming back to her senses piece by piece. First, feeling the warmth of her body, then breathing in the dark spice of his skin. He was gripping her shoulders, which wasn’t exactly the most comfortable thing in the world, and then he was shaking her.
“I’m awake,” she said automatically. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy, like the pounding at the back of her head she was suddenly aware of.
“Look at me,” Mike ordered. “Open your eyes.”
“They’re open, they’re open. Geeze.” She blinked at him, seeing the bright concern in his gaze.
“Are you hurt?” he asked. She was strewn across his lap, her legs off to the side, her head resting in the cradle of his arm. She felt a little disoriented, like she’d had too much to drink.
More: A Body Work Novel (The Body Work Trilogy Book 4) Page 27