by Angel Payne
The top of her head, while a captivating crown of shiny russet, was unreadable.
The trembles of her shoulders, turning to the shudders brought on by sobbing, were crystal clear.
“Rose.” He let out a weighted sigh. Then pulled her against him. “Oh, little pet, what is it?”
It was all he could not to give in to a tremor himself. Holy Christ, what was he doing? This protectiveness, this aching need to grip her and hold her…he hadn’t felt like this for a living person since he and Heather had whispered their final good-byes. After that day, he thought he’d never feel this way again. No, goddamn it; he’d vowed it. Best to just swear off the pain forever than risk ever going through that hell again. But here, it felt so perfect. It seemed so right. It was the only choice that made sense, even if it did make all this feel like jumping from a plane at 30K feet without an oxygen mask.
With a deep inhale, he spread his arms. Since their hands were still locked, Rose’s followed along beneath. The action succeeded at making her his prisoner against the wall. She gasped. The sound hit him like a rocket, compelling him to lower his cheek, to scrape up Rose’s tears with his beard, to shift his mouth so all he had to do was whisper for her to hear.
“Let it go, pet. You’ve been holding it in for so long, haven’t you?”
She trembled, still resisting. He understood. He waited. The significance of what he asked… It delved far beyond just the words he’d just spoken. He wanted her trust. To help shoulder a burden she’d carried so long that it likely felt like part of her. He could practically feel her torment. Surrender her burden to him and face the emptiness it left behind inside, or turn and run again, back to the safety of her life?
The safety. And the loneliness.
He didn’t want to make her choice easy. Or, if he was being honest, his. He’d been safe for so long now, always opting for the easiest way to think and the most comfortable thing to do, which was usually too damn much. His relationship with Dasha had nearly been the sacrifice for it. He’d only redeemed himself with her by tossing “safe” way the hell overboard.
Maybe that would work here too. Maybe that was why fate had brought him here, to show that to Rose, to make her see that running wasn’t always the answer, that safety wasn’t always the key. And maybe in showing her, he’d push away the loneliness for himself too. Christ, if only for a few minutes…
He shifted his hold so his hands circled her wrists. He squeezed a fraction tighter. “Let it go.” As he ordered it in a whisper, he lowered his mouth to her nape, unable to resist the elegant curve of skin. “I’m here, honey. Let it go.”
Rose whimpered, her wrists twisting in his hold. But when he eased his grip, concerned he’d hurt her from the rush of fresh Dom in his system, she still made the sound. He beheld the taut lips and shimmering gaze that told him one thing clear as the sunshine of which she smelled. He hadn’t pushed her physically at all. He’d rammed home a thousand emotional buttons—and now they all went off at once, overwhelming her.
Triumph surged. Yes. This was what she needed. Mental gears locked into place as he sensed it, knew it, savored it. He’d only met her, but he knew her. He also knew he was meant to be here, to give her what she craved but wouldn’t give to herself. Her worth to the world. Her beauty, within and without. Her desirability, an organic thing from her mind and her spirit, just as much as her incredible curves and her porcelain skin.
“That’s it.” He spread his legs, bracketing her body with his, rejoicing as she softened beneath him. “Don’t fight it anymore. You don’t have to. I’ll be here to catch you, I promise.”
“I…I can’t…” It dissolved into a sobbing hiccup. “This…this isn’t—”
“Anything or anyone but you and me.” He murmured his next words against the furrows in her forehead. “I’ll stop any time you want. Just say the word. But I don’t think you want to stop, Rose.”
She let out a sigh. Her breath flowed against his chest, spreading warmth through his center. Or was the heat already coming from within, stoked by her stunning, instinctive submission? He held his breath, fighting the primal reflexes that screamed for release from their long dormancy. Maybe this wasn’t real. Maybe it was a dream. And if it was happening, maybe he’d overstepped and just exposed himself to drastic scandal. Or worse yet, had messed Rose up when all he wanted to do was help her, heal her. His gut clenched already at that—
Until the next moment, when she lifted her thick, velvet gaze again. “No. I don’t want to stop. Please.”
The words unhinged him. He tore the rest of her appeal from her lips with the crush of his. A sound, high and soft and needing, vibrated up her throat and into his. It urged him deeper. That was exactly where he went, no backward thoughts or remorse, taking her sweet, brave surrender and sparking it into something greater when met by his command. Something higher and hotter…
She seemed to melt from one moan to the next, going fluid as a chocolate bar in the sun as he meshed their fingers and locked their tongues. He surged closer, fitting their bodies together. As he’d hoped, the ridge of his cock fit perfectly against the apex of her thighs. God, she was a sublime sync for him. He growled as they rocked together for a second then stopped at the same time too, sensing she acknowledged exactly what he did. That this was about more than the lust slamming their bloodstreams. It went beyond their awakening to each other as people. It went to the needs of their spirits, mutually calling to each other in a dance deep as time. Flint and kindling. Thunder and lightning. Water and wind. Elements designed for give and take…for domination and submission.
Which meant, when she suddenly pulled away, it felt like ramming a glacier.
He let her free, of course. The second her muscles stiffened, he backed off on the grip. Within seconds she stumbled all the way across the grotto. Her shoulders rose and fell with her breaths. Her face contorted on a look of confusion and conflict.
“I’m sorry, Rose. I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop! Don’t!”
Deeper horror crossed her face, as if she’d transgressed some strange law merely with her outburst. She dropped her head, looking chagrined and so goddamned, adorably submissive. “I…I mean— It was just as much my fault, all right?”
“What?” He felt his stare turning to a glare. “Rose, for Chrissake—”
“You need to get back.” She held out her hands as if to stop him, though he hadn’t moved. “I’ll go back to the meeting room later, to get my things.”
“I don’t have to get back to anything, and neither do you. I canceled the rest of the day.”
She blinked. “Oh.” Her brow creased when he chuckled. “What?”
Mark shook his head and cocked half a grin. “You really thought I’d treat those morons with a shred of civility after what they did to you?”
“They’re not…morons. Not really. A little immature, maybe.” She fidgeted as he switched back to a glower. “Okay, a lot immature.”
“Which is going to get their ignorant asses killed when they hit Baghdad.” He dragged a hand across his head. “Which I so wish I was kidding about.”
“Then they’re lucky to have you, right?”
There was genuine care in her voice. It dunked him in amazement. Despite everything Johnson and his posse had put her through, she still cared about their well-being on this project. He didn’t know whether to kiss her for that, or turn her over his knee and redden her delectable ass. He strongly favored the latter, though he opted for impaling her with a hard stare and stating, “You want to help them? Then get your backside into training again tomorrow, Miss Fabian, and lead by example.”
Spurred by the conviction, he closed the distance between them again and reclaimed her hands in his. “I’ll be there every minute, Rose. I won’t let you fall under their ax again. I promise.”
After a long silence, she finally answered. “I know.”
“And the sky is fucking chartreuse.” He slipped a hand up to her nape. “You
want to try again at convincing me you mean that, pet? Or perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’re really afraid of.”
He didn’t know what possessed him to issue the order. He knew what she’d give as a response. Sure enough, that truth seared him from the depths of the gaze she lifted again to him, intense as a nuclear core and equally merciless. She didn’t speak it aloud. She didn’t have to. But he forced himself to do the deed, tightening his grip on her nape as he did. This incident was clearly going to be the first and only time they were together like this, but he’d be damned if he didn’t follow through on his obligation as the Dominant here, handling the hard stuff as well as the simple.
“Rose. Rose. Why are you afraid of me?”
She blinked again. And between one moment and the next, invisible shutters slammed over her gaze again.
“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Senator.”
He tried, and failed miserably, not to watch the beautiful curve of her backside as she turned and left him with the water crashing in his ears and his senses flooding the dams of his logic.
Chapter Four
“You’re not afraid of him.”
Rose drilled the thought aloud at herself as she tied her running shoes with hard tugs.
“You’re not afraid of him.”
The words came with more conviction. She was not afraid of Mark Moore. When she thought of him, even during those minutes when he’d pinned her against the wall in the waterfall grotto, it wasn’t fear that filled her. God help her, not fear.
It was something beyond that. Something that centered around one word. More. She’d wanted more of his grip on her wrists. More of his tongue in her mouth. More of his body against hers, his voice in her ear, his strength taking over her. More of the snap in her mind that came free as he’d overwhelmed her body. It had been…amazing. Freeing. Like she’d been living her life in a cage and he was a trainer with a whip, ordering her out, commanding her to leap and fly for him. Yes, for him. Because every height she gained was the key to his pleasure too. She’d felt it in every flexed muscle of his body, every coiled inch of his control, every rough note in his voice. He’d become an animal too: primal, passionate, everything she’d been fantasizing about from him, and more.
And there it was again. More.
“You’re not—”
She stopped as she opened the door to her room. The setting sun blazed into her eyes as the truth burned across her mind.
She forced herself to say it aloud.
“You’re afraid of what you are when you’re with him.”
She started her run, skipping a warm-up in favor of a pace designed to ditch the demons in her head. But the monsters wouldn’t shake off. Her confession gave them the perfect fissures to dig in at her psyche.
You’re afraid of what you are when you’re with him…
And what was that?
All the things she couldn’t allow herself to be. Soft. Moist. Pure feeling. Pure need.
Oh God…especially need.
She bumped up her pace. If she couldn’t fry the thoughts away by force of will, she’d drown them in sweat and pain. That seemed a good plan until a cramp clawed her calf. Luckily, she approached the path that veered toward the fitness center. She’d stop in there and grab several swigs of water while stretching out the cramp.
The resort’s gym was spacious, well stocked, and empty. That didn’t surprise her. It was the middle of happy hour, and everyone was likely in the cantina downing twofers of the resort’s watered-down special of the day. She headed for the cooler in the corner that held chilled water bottles. As she got one out, then dipped into a low stretch, somebody emerged from one of the locker/spa areas on the opposite side of the room. At the same second, her calf decided misery was company, and her hamstring seized too. She collapsed to the seat of a weight machine, grimacing hard.
“Mother of a shitfaced bastard!”
With her eyes closed, she only felt, rather than saw, the approach of the room’s other occupant. But the agony in her leg took precedence over putting on a friendly face for them. They’d get the idea fast enough. Woman writhing here, buddy. Just a friendly attack of cramps. Nothing to see. Move along, move along.
“I must admit, you redefine the world of swear words, honey.”
His voice, rough and a little humored, was a pull cord on her gaze. She only hoped she controlled her reaction to appear like mild surprise instead of the awareness flooding her body. She looked up first, for that was where his statement had come from. There was only empty air. A touch behind her knee pulled her sights back down. There was Senator Mark Moore, down on one knee, assessing her with a focus that seemed purely medical. There was just one major exception. No doctor ever cranked her bloodstream from simmer to boil with a single touch.
No. She couldn’t let herself turn into that woman again. The one that terrified her. The unthinking, incoherent, utterly stupid one. Time to activate the prevention plan. Black humor was a good first step.
“Yeah. That’s me. Miss Memorable. I’m a walking USB stick.”
“All right.” His eyes warmed, not that she noticed. “If you say so.” He ran his hand farther up, pressing into the bottom of her thigh, increasing his pressure even though she let out a hiss of pain. “It’s got you from toe to torso, doesn’t it? Probably hurts a bit.”
She glowered. “You think?”
“Don’t get testy. I’m trying to help.”
“By turning your fingers into binder clips? Owww!” She tried to yank away as his grip found the meat of her cramp. But he locked his other hand to her ankle, securing her leg in place. “Please…stop…trying to help!”
The man only focused deeper on her muscle. If she weren’t in such pain, Rose would’ve enjoyed this chance to see him at a closer angle. His face, slightly tanned, had enticing smile and laugh lines at his temples and cheeks. His skin gleamed a little from his workout, as did the gym-ad muscles of his arms and chest, which she had no choice but to notice thanks to his fitted gray tank top. He was power and grace combined, a man sure of where his body fit in the world, of where he fit in the world. She hoped a little of it would seep into her by osmosis, as he continued the relentless pressure on her leg. To feel like she fit—anywhere—seemed the magic unicorn of her life. Unattainable.
“Do you get these cramps a lot?”
His tone remained as clinical as his scrutiny, so the answering blip in her heart rate made no sense at all. “Only when I don’t warm up enough before a run.”
“And you didn’t warm up this time? Why?”
“I—”Needed to get away from thinking about you. “I was impatient to get started.”
A smirk curved his lips.
“What?”
He paused his ministrations to her cramp. Actually, it had ceased being a cramp. Surely he knew that too, having felt her muscles loosen, but he didn’t move his hands. With his fingers still pressed to her thigh and calf, he explained, “You. Impatient. It makes sense now that I know you a little better, but it’s a far cry from three days ago.”
“Oh?” She tried pulling away. He just held on tighter. “I’m funny now, huh?”
“In a number of enticing ways, yes.”
The creases at his temples deepened, officially taking his face from distracting to captivating. “When I first saw you come into the classroom on Monday, I thought of a Victorian cameo,” he went on. “A lady of the aristocracy. You moved like you had books on your head and not a care in the world.”
He spoke the words as caresses, but they wreaked the opposite effect on her composure. Guilt punched in. Without even trying, she’d let someone down again. And that someone was him. For some reason, that was the worst part of it. “Well, sorry for the disappointment,” she snapped.
“I didn’t say I was disappointed.”
“Good.” She had no idea why she still felt so defensive. Or nervous. “Impatience isn’t a sin.”
“You’re right. It’s not. It can even b
e helpful, given the situation.” His features tightened, and his gaze, burning with all the colors of the hazel spectrum, narrowed. “But one of those situations isn’t neglecting your well-being, Rose. You should have warmed up before running. You got off easy; this is only a couple of cramps. What if you’d seriously injured yourself? What if—”
“All right, all right.” She held up her hands. “Got it, Coach.”
The second the nickname popped out of her, his expression went from irked to thunderous. He dropped his hands and stood. “I’m glad you do, brat.”
The word stung. But his physical retreat…that was agony. She only had herself to blame, she knew that, but flipping the anger back at him was the only choice for her sanity. “Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your…concern. But I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now—”
“Maybe that’s your problem.”
Okay, now he actually earned her ire. “My care isn’t your concern, sir.”
She gave the last word a punch of sarcasm, intending it as a verbal shove. That was why the new blaze in his gaze made no sense at all. Nor did the fact that he shifted closer again as she rose, moving with the intent of a lion tracking a zebra. “Maybe your care does need to be my concern.”
She cocked a brow. “And maybe I just need to get out of here.”
It was intended as her parting shot. And yeah, she meant it. This coincidence—seeing him again, sweaty and prowling and volatile—it was never supposed to happen, to mix with her like this, when she was punchy and in pain. And not the pain of her leg either. It was the torment of her psyche, taunting her every minute as the messed-up thing it was, now that he’d come along, pinned her to a wall, and all but ordered her to hand it over to him. So he could heal it, at that! And damn him, making her believe, just for a few minutes, he probably could. Fool. The man had made his name in the senate for his ambition, tenacity, and big plans, but her rat’s nest of self-esteem was beyond even his magical reach.