Guilty as Sin

by Jami Alden

  She hesitated again, plucking at the hem of her filthy T-shirt.

  “What?” he said.

  She shifted her feet uncomfortably. “It’s just, there’s no curtain or anything—”

  “So? There’s no one here.”

  “You’re here! I’ve never been naked in front of a guy before,” she blurted.

  The reminder of her innocence sent a fresh wave of heat sizzling through his body. That more than anything made the blood heat in his veins and pool heavily between his legs.

  Sweat bloomed on his skin at the thought of her naked in the shower, the water trickling over bare skin and slight curves. He swallowed hard, realizing if he stayed in there with her, he might not be able to control himself.

  He studied her for several seconds, saw the fear in her eyes and knew she was attuned to his body’s instinctive reaction.

  He didn’t yet know if he could trust her.

  But for both their sakes, it was necessary to put her to the test.

  “Okay.” He nodded curtly. “You have five minutes.”

  Breath whooshed from her lungs, her relief palpable as he backed out of the bathroom.

  “Thank you,” she said, and started to close the door.

  He stopped it with the flat of his hand.

  “Please,” she said again.

  Trust was necessary to every relationship, he reminded himself. And if he ever wanted to earn hers, he had to give his. He nodded. “Five minutes,” he repeated. “And no locks.”

  “Thank you,” she said. The way she was practically crying with gratitude made him feel like the king of the universe.

  Tricia’s heart practically beat out of her throat as the latch clicked shut. She took a deep breath, willed herself to calm down. This was her one chance. She had to keep her head clear so she didn’t blow it. She reached into the shower and fiddled with the faucet, cursing when she realized that the wimpy stream was all she would get.

  Not much to cover the noise. Her belly knotted with tension as she carefully balanced on the toilet to reach for the window above.

  It was boarded up from the outside, and on closer inspection Tricia wasn’t certain she’d be able to fit her shoulders and hips through the narrow space, even if she did somehow manage to knock the board loose and pull herself up.

  Not exactly a given, considering how weak she felt, even if her head was clearer than it had been in days. That was one upside to having gone so long without anything to eat or drink. Whatever he’d been dosing her with had pretty much cleared out of her system.

  There was only one other alternative she could think of. She grabbed the candle from where her captor had placed it next to the toilet. Thoughtful of him, she thought snarkily.

  She held the candle over the floor, looking for the slit in the cracked linoleum. It must be getting close to dark—there wasn’t a crack of light leaking through the floor like last time, or from the thin seam at the window. Though it made it more difficult to find that key spot in the floor, it would be better cover for her if she managed to get out.

  No, when you get out, she reminded herself fiercely. When the five minutes was up, he was going to come in here and find her gone, or…

  A shudder ran through her at the thought. Failure wasn’t an option.

  She ran her hands frantically along the floor. Finally, she found the place she was looking for. A small crack, barely wide enough to get the tips of her fingers through. But she felt its promise in the feel of cool night air licking at her skin.

  She pulled as hard as she could, bracing her feet against the lip of the shower for more leverage as she strained. Nothing.

  She pulled again, muffled a cry as she felt a chunk of flooring give way. The hole was now as big as her fist. Another tug and she could fit both hands through.

  “One minute.”

  She froze as the voice called through the door. Adrenaline surged through her, infusing her arms and hands with strength. One last, hard tug. There was a loud cracking sound, one that made her simultaneously sick with fear even as the cool air rushed over her legs, signaling her freedom.

  “Tricia?”

  She scrambled for the hole she made, afraid her heart was going to explode as she slid her legs through even as the latch on the door rattled.

  Her feet met the ground, wood, plastic, and metal scraping her legs and hips as she tried to squirm her way out.

  The door flew open with such force it bounced off the opposite wall.

  She didn’t have a clear view of his face, but there was no mistaking the lightning-fast transition from concern to fury as he realized what she was doing.

  With a roar he leapt forward and grabbed her under the shoulders. Tricia twisted and punched at him with her fists, tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

  He was too much, his fury adding fuel to strength that was already far greater than hers. “You fucking little bitch!” he screamed, spit flying from his mouth as he yanked her back up through the hole.

  Tricia cried out as something tore into her thigh, through skin and fat until it felt like it was gouging out a chunk of muscle.

  Pain ripped through her as he hauled her up and slammed her into the wall so hard she could feel the cheap plaster crack under the impact.

  He held her pinned there by her throat, her toes scrambling to make contact with the floor as the blood roared in her ears.

  “You goddamn little bitch,” he hissed again. “I give you a chance to earn my trust and this is how you repay me? By trying to escape, after everything I’ve done for you?”

  Her vision started to tunnel, her thigh throbbed with pain, but even through that she could sense the anguish mingling with his rage. On some twisted level he was actually hurt, the psycho.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, but the words came out a choked whisper against the hand tightening around her throat.

  “Sorry?” he roared, and released his grip on her throat.

  She took a deep lungful of air, wincing at both the pain in her throat and the deep throb in her leg as her weight came down on it.

  He grabbed her by her shoulders and shoved her through the doorway. She staggered, crying out as she fell to the floor. Tears stung her eyes as he fisted his hand in her hair and hauled her up by it to throw her back on the bed.

  Through a haze of pain she saw his fist draw back. She tried to shift but still took the brunt of the punch on her cheekbone. Stars exploded behind her eyelids, her ears rang at a second, even harder blow. Her shoulders screamed in pain as her arms were jerked back, and the rattle of the handcuffs sent dread rippling through her. Though deep down she knew it was useless, instinct took over and she kicked and twisted, desperate to get away.

  He pinned her legs down with his knees and she let out a harsh scream, nearly passing out from the pain as his knee ground into the gash in her thigh.

  Her arms were stretched above her head and forced through the bars of the headboard, the cuffs snapped around her wrists so tight she could feel the metal already digging into the tender skin.

  He sat back, breathing hard. “One thing I find I’m losing as I get older,” he said through clenched teeth, “is my patience.” His hand closed around her jaw, squeezing so hard she whimpered, expecting her jawbone to snap at any second. “I was willing to wait for you, but after that stunt you just pulled, I’m thinking I should just cut my losses and get rid of you like I did the rest of them.”

  Dancing on the edge of consciousness, Tricia prayed she would pass out so she wouldn’t have to endure whatever came next.

  But instead of his hands closing over her throat, she felt a stinging pain in her neck. Then nothing.

  He staggered out of the trailer, gasping in lungsful of cold night air, trying to silence the voice screaming at him to end it all, right now. His hands curled into fists, aching to feel the crunch of delicate bone yielding to his knuckles.

  Goddamn it, he’d been such a sap, he thought, his anger mixing with humiliation in a nauseatin
g cocktail.

  She’d played him, a supposedly innocent fourteen-year-old girl who’d tugged at his emotions with her sweetness and modesty, had totally fucking played him.

  She was no better than Kate.

  No, he wanted to roar in denial, thinking of her uncertain smile, her gratitude when she accepted the water he’d provided… it made his heart ache. It had only been five days, he reminded himself. That sweetness, that gratitude might become genuine eventually if he could just show her how much she needed him.

  You kept the last one for over two weeks before she finally understood that her true place in this world was at your side, he reminded himself.

  She left you too, another, bitter voice reminded him. It doesn’t matter if it took years. She still wanted away.

  No. He shook his head and forced his feet away from the trailer, through the grove until he caught the trail that would take him down to the lake. Sweat still clung to his skin despite the cool evening air. He stripped off his hoodie and tied the sleeves around his waist.

  Tricia was different. He just had to give her more time. Have more patience. Part of what happened tonight was his fault, he realized. He’d been so impatient to move things forward, he’d trusted her too quickly.

  He should have known she wasn’t there yet. Hadn’t he learned, over and over, that the truth that was so clear to him was much harder for them to grasp?

  Some—most—never did.

  And that was their undoing.

  Chapter 20

  By the time they got to Tommy’s place, it was completely dark. His dad pulled the truck up the drive and watched, his face hidden in shadows as Tommy climbed out the passenger door and carefully eased Kate off the seat and into his arms. He didn’t need to see his father’s face to know it was drawn with concern, that his eyes were full of questions about exactly what was going on with his oldest child and this woman who had wreaked such havoc on his life all those years ago.

  But all his dad said was “Have a good night, son. Kate, I hope you get better,” before he leaned across the cab and pulled the door shut. As he shifted Kate in his arms and started up the walkway, Tommy was hit with a burst of gratitude that he had the kind of family he could count on to come to his aid, no questions asked—well, in his father’s case at least, whenever he needed.

  Whatever hardships he’d gone through, he’d always taken that security for granted.

  “You can put me down,” Kate grumbled against his chest.

  “You barely weigh anything. Besides, I kind of like it,” he said before he thought better of it. It was true though. Hell, “like” was too weak a word to describe how it felt to be carrying her into his house.

  Her only reply was a soft “Far be it for me to deny you your he-man moment.”

  Tommy pushed the door closed with his hip and started down the hall.

  A grin tugged at his lips. If she was perky enough to give him shit, her condition couldn’t be that grave. Not that he wouldn’t be watching her like a hawk for the next twelve hours.

  His step hitched as he passed the guest room, but instead of pushing the door open to the very comfortably furnished room and tucking her into the queen-size bed, he continued down the hall to his own room.

  This time he didn’t even try to kid himself that he didn’t know exactly what this was about.

  He sat Kate on the side of the bed and went to his dresser to get out a T-shirt. “You can sleep in this,” he said as he handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said, her gaze a little fuzzy as she looked around the room.

  “I don’t have anything here—”

  “Once you’re up to it I’ll take you back to the townhouse to get a change of clothes. And there are plenty of brand-new toothbrushes in the bathroom. Just pick one.”

  Her plump mouth pulled tight. “You seem very prepared for overnight guests,” she said, the bite in her voice diminished by her obvious exhaustion and pain.

  Tommy sank to his knees in front of her and braced his hands on the mattress on either side of her hips. “I happen to like to buy in bulk.” He gave her a pat on the knee and urged her toward the bathroom. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”

  He watched her shuffle away, some psycho part of him not wanting to have her away from his side for even the time it took her to brush her teeth and take care of any other business.

  Part of him was glad to have a second alone to process everything, to absorb the significance of what he was doing even as she obviously had no clue. No idea that in the three years that he’d lived in this house, she would be the first woman to ever sleep in his bed.

  Christ, up until now, the only woman other than his mother and his sister who had been in this house had been a Grace Kelly-esque blonde named Krista Slater. And that was only because he’d owed his buddy Sean Flynn a huge fucking favor, and he and Krista had come as a package deal.

  Not to mention, Sean probably would have cut off his scrotum and fed it to him if he’d so much as breathed in Krista’s direction.

  This place was special, sacred. And the women he hooked up with casually had no place here.

  He heard the water turn off and the door click open, and he turned in the direction of soft footsteps padding across the hardwood floor. His body kicked into gear as he took in the sight of Kate wearing nothing but an oversize olive green T-shirt with the word “ARMY” emblazoned across the front. The shirt settled over her like a tent, hanging almost to her knees as it completely swallowed all hint of the slim curves beneath.

  But with her tousled red-gold hair spilling over her shoulders and the long, sleek length of her calves bare to his gaze, it struck him that women could spend thousands on supposedly sexy lingerie, but nothing was hotter than a hot woman wearing her man’s shirt.

  And by her man, are you referring to yourself, big guy? He shoved the thought aside and ordered his body back under control. She’d been attacked, for Christ’s sake, and from the pallor of her skin and tight set to her mouth, still in a ton of pain. And you’re leering at her like a goddamn pervert imagining what it would be like to hook the hem of that shirt and inch it up her legs, revealing inch after inch of pale, perfect skin…

  He bit back a groan and hurried across the room to help her.

  “Thanks,” she said as he caught her when she swayed a little. “I thought it was easing off, but the headache came back with a vengeance while I was brushing my teeth.”

  The mention of her pain was like a cold shower, but he couldn’t stop himself from moving in with a quick kiss on her cheek as he settled her against the pillows and dimmed the bedside lamp.

  By the time he lifted his head, her eyelids were already drooping, her brow still furrowed against the pain.

  “I’ll be back in a couple hours to check on you. Otherwise, call me if you need anything.”

  She nodded almost imperceptibly against the pillow. “Thanks for taking care of me, Tommy,” she said in a sleepy voice.

  I’ll always take care of you. But he couldn’t get the words past the lump in his throat. He knew they weren’t true. He might have shown up in the nick of time today, but that didn’t make up for all the times he hadn’t taken care of her.

  As he left the room and retreated to his office, he tried to console himself with the reminder that back then, he’d been a naive kid himself. A nineteen-year-old from a ranching family who mowed lawns to pay for school wasn’t any match for a shrewd U.S. senator with a massive grudge.

  Yet as he detoured to the kitchen to grab a beer, that didn’t stop the guilt gnawing away at him at the thought of all those years, all the pain she’d suffered, and he hadn’t been there for her.

  Hell, after he’d finished convincing himself he hated her, he hadn’t let himself think of her at all.

  The beer turned sour in his mouth and he pushed it aside. No good could come from kicking himself about what should or shouldn’t have happened with Kate. But as he settled in front of his computer to write
the summary he’d promised CJ, there was no getting around the fact that he still had feelings for her.

  Big. Deep. And nothing to do with hate. He’d foolishly thought that whatever infatuation he’d felt for her was buried miles deep and covered up with scar tissue thicker than an elephant’s hide.

  But from the moment she walked into Jackson’s office, it had become clear that the scar covering up whatever he felt for Kate was nothing more than paper thin, and every moment spent with her was another layer stripped away.

  And underneath? Well, it was a hell of a lot more complicated than youthful infatuation.

  Still, even succumbing to temptation and having mind-bending sex with her wasn’t what delivered the death blow to the last of his defenses.

  It wasn’t even the sight of her, injured and unconscious, forcing him to confront the possibility of losing her—this time for good.

  That moment came at about two o’clock in the morning when he checked on Kate for the second time. He was struck again at how right she looked, her hair spread across his pillow, her body covered by his sheets and blankets.

  Her pale, sculpted features were relaxed now, the furrow between her eyebrows having disappeared. He hoped that meant the pain had eased. He leaned in close and whispered her name. She turned away from his voice, buried her head deeper in the pillow.

  He couldn’t resist the urge to run his fingers down her smooth cheek. “Come on, sleeping beauty, wake up and tell me your name.”

  Her hand came up to swat his away and he saw her eyes flutter. Like last time, she was unfocused at first, unsure for a moment where she was and how she got there. Then her gaze locked on him and a smile spread across her face that was so bright it was like looking into the sun.

  “Tommy,” she said, her voice saturated with a kind of pure happiness that hit him square in the gut and sent a warm glow rippling through every cell. “You’re still here.”

  And Jesus, just like that, he was a goner. The last of the scab ripped off, and he was flying over the cliff. Chest cracked wide, diving into the abyss, and he didn’t care if he ever came back.