by Nancy Gideon
Their kiss started slow and deep but escalated to searing when she turned to straddle his lap. His hands sought those flirtatious red garters that had tempted him throughout the evening, sliding over them, following them up to the tiny scrap of silk that covered her for the sake of propriety but not against the invasion of his touch.
Her breaths blew hurriedly into their kiss. Her clever tongue mimicked the thrusting movement of his fingers, plunging, stroking, until teeth caught his lower lip between them for a savage nip of pain as pleasure overwhelmed her.
She continued to lie against him, trembling as the spasms quieted.
“I love you, Syl.” Movement, even breath stopped until he added, “You don’t need to say it back to me. I just wanted you to know. I always have. I always will.”
She gulped a ragged breath and began a curious quivering.
He tried not to wonder why those words made her cry.
The car had stopped. Row tapped on the opaque glass to let the unseen driver know they were ready to get out. Gathering Sylvia’s open coat more closely about her, her thighs still clenching his hips between them, he swung out of the vehicle when the door opened and started to stand. The night sky whirled for a moment, until a hand gripped his elbow to steady him.
“Thank you.”
“My prince. Let me get the door.”
He wasn’t sure how he managed to get up the walk or find the key Cale had pressed into his hand earlier that night. Even the cold evening air failed to cut through the thick blanket of his buzz. He’d picked a fine time to decide to match his brothers shot for shot!
The interior was dim and warm, a fire brightly burning.
“Do you need any help, my prince?”
He grinned at the poorly concealed amusement in their driver’s voice. “No. I can manage from here. Thank you. Good night.”
Laying the keys on the kitchenette counter with answering murmur of, “My prince,” the driver locked the door behind him.
Sylvia’s head lifted from his shoulder. “Where are we?”
“Home.”
He felt her stiffen in recognition. “This is Cale and Kendra’s place.”
“You’ve been here before?” He was too drunk to disguise the edge in that question.
“Not past the door. Are we roommates now?”
“They’ve got a bigger place, and now, so do we.”
He’d only been inside once himself. His navigation system blurred by drink, Turow stumbled about until he found the door to the bedroom. And then, nearly fell into the huge sunken tub. Finally, he located the big bed thoughtfully turned down in advance. He dropped Sylvia rather abruptly, falling across her in a graceless sprawl.
“Sorry. Sorry. I seem to be a bit uncoordinated.”
“Leave things to me then.”
It took a slight push to roll him onto his back. While the room spun about him, he let her remove his shoes and open his pants, freeing a ready cock that apparently had a higher tolerance for alcohol than his brain. His trousers were wrestled off, replaced by a delicious covering of sleek thighs and wet female center. And garters. He gripped those sexy, stretchy bits for points of focus as she settled atop him and began to move, rocking, lifting, taking him head, heart and soul on a rocketing journey.
“Syl, slow down,” he panted against the rush of pressure.
“For you, my prince.”
With that throaty offering, he let go, spending in a cathartic rush that left him drained and drifting. He tried to reach for her when soft lips brushed his, but his arms wouldn’t move, his eyes wouldn’t open. Vaguely, he heard the sound of the shower. The notion of joining her there flirted briefly with his body’s lethargy. He gave up the fight, rolling onto his belly and into a cottony abyss.
His home. His bed. His bonded bride. Could things get any better? A foolishly delighted smile played about his lips as he sighed.
A kiss brushed his ear. She whispered something, but his thoughts couldn’t catch it as he slipped into dreams.
Brightness teased against Turow’s eyelids, finally stirring him back to life. Even the twitch of his fingers brought pain pounding through his head.
“Oh, hell,” he moaned as he took groggy stock of his situation. He was stretched out on his stomach still wearing his loosely knotted tie, dress shirt, suit jacket and coat. And nothing else in a big, unfamiliar bed in the center of an unfamiliar room.
Alone.
He turned his head at great expense toward the nightstand and the digital glare claiming 8:46 a.m. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. It was the careful presentation of his mother’s jewelry.
And two diamond ear studs.
In an instant of devastating clarity, he remembered the words she’d whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“You were right, my king. I wouldn’t listen. I didn’t want to hear what you were saying. I didn’t want to believe it was true. I thought . . . I thought what I wanted to think and was blind to the truth.”
Confronted with his rigidly contrite brother, all the wrong words were about to burst out when Cale felt the light, tempering touch of his mate’s hand on his.
“Gently, my king.”
He took a long, shaky breath and proceeded less recklessly.
“So, she’s gone, and Colin’s with her. When the fuck did that happen?” So much for gentle.
Turow never blinked, his answer flat and evisceratingly honest. “They’d gotten close. As friends, I . . . thought. Apparently I was wrong about that, too. All his things are gone. It can’t be a coincidence.”
“For the love of—” Cale broke off when Kendra squeezed his hand. Hard. With fingernails. He took another calming breath. “So, what? She talked him into running away with her? I’d have given him more credit than to let his dick carry him into that kind of trouble.” Like it had Turow. That unspoken truth hung between them. “So I suppose you want to go find them.” He hated it, all of it, the treachery, the lies, the awful pain his brother was hiding so well. “To kill him and bring her back in chains? Again.”
Turow’s expression never altered. “That would be up to you, my king. I don’t trust myself with those decisions.”
“Would he be stupid enough to take her to New Orleans with him?” Cale mused, getting angrier by the second at the fall of his two most reliable allies.
“Perhaps not.”
Something in his mate’s soft-spoken words snapped his attention to her. “What?”
“Perhaps he’s taking her back to James. That may have been the plan all along.”
“What?” Cale and Turow demanded at the same time.
Kendra fidgeted then confessed, “I had Rico keeping an eye on Colin.”
“Why?” that growled from the Terriot king.
“Because Tina saw him speaking with James when you all came to rescue us. He made no attempt to capture or restrain him when he had the chance. They were talking like friends, and he let James walk away.”
“And you’re telling me this now!”
She took a stronger stance. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. They’re your brothers, Cale.”
“And that doesn’t seem to matter a damn bit to most of them! Fuck!” He whirled away, stalking across his office to glare at the empty stretch of wall where pictures of the Twelve of the House of Terriot once hung as his father’s pride and joy.
“So she came here willingly, knowing I’d bring all my brothers together to celebrate her bonding with a prince, so Colin could free her and they could both return to Jamie. So they could tell him that our loyalties are scattered, that their king is a fool, and the time is right to collapse the House of Terriot in upon itself.”
“It’s my fault,” Turow volunteered heavily.
Cale showed no mercy. “Yes, it is. For trusting her. And it’s mine for trusting Colin, damn him. And it’s yours, my queen for not trusting me to deal with things fairly. I would have, then, but not now.
Find them, Row. Bring Colin back with you. Use whatever encouragement necessary. I want him able to talk, but the rest doesn’t particularly matter anymore.” He said that tightly, grinding down any other feelings he might have had on the subject of his brother.
“And Sylvia?”
“Do what you want with her. Our doors are closed to her here. She had her chance and chose not to take it. We embraced her as family, and she stabbed us in the back. Again.”
“Cale—”
He flung off Kendra’s petitioning gesture. “No!”
“What if this has nothing to do with James and is just a matter of the heart?” Kendra couldn’t bring herself to look at Turow when she posed that question. “What if he’s taking her back to New Orleans with him?”
Cale sighed heavily. “If that’s the case, deal with them however you see fit, Row. I draw the line at matters of the heart.” He drawled that out cynically. “Not my problem.”
“Yes, my king. I’m sorry my poor judgment has distressed you.”
The slight snag in his tone brought Cale around to scowl at him. “Distressed me? You idiot.”
Turow jerked in surprise when his brother threw an arm about him, pulling his head down to his shoulder, fisting a hand in his short hair as he spoke gruffly.
“I’m not distressed because of anything you’ve done. I’m mad as hell because of what was done to you. That sonuvabitch! I’d forgive him a lot easier for Jamie than I would for his betrayal of you.” He shoved Turow away. “Find him, kick his ass, bring him home to me, so I can do the same.”
“Yes, my king.”
After he’d gone, Cale looked to his anxious queen and frowned, waving a hand. “Oh, hell. Go ahead.”
She had to run to catch up to the long strides. Turow stopped reluctantly when she grabbed his arm. Hiding his emotions wasn’t as simple when her empathetic gaze lifted.
“Don’t judge too quickly. Things aren’t always what they seem.”
“They seemed pretty clear when she took her stuff without a word to me and left these behind.” He touched one of the diamonds he’d returned to his own ears. His hand trembled.
That wasn’t quite true. She had left word.
I’m sorry.
Sorry wouldn’t put the pieces of him back together again.
“She loves you, Turow.” When he made a negating noise, Kendra rushed on. “I should have told you the truth. Colin wanted me to.”
He listened as she revealed the story behind Sylvia’s “fall,” of the mean girls’ attack, but not the actual words exchanged. He didn’t ask for their reasons. That he’d learn from Sylvia when he caught up to her.
“She could have told me. Why didn’t she trust me with the truth?”
“And you’re such an open book?” Kendra chided.
Turow heaved a despairing breath. “Wes tried to warn me. He told me she’d push me away, that she’d run if I pushed back. This is my fault.”
“Then make it right. I’ll handle Cale.”
“And if you’re wrong? If we were both wrong about her? How am I supposed to handle that?”
“Gently.” Dark eyes welled up in ready sympathy as her hand touched his taut cheek. “Worry about that when you find her and find out if you have a reason to worry. I can’t believe this of Colin, either. I don’t understand why he’d do such a thing. He’s interested in someone else.”
“Who knows why Colin does anything. I guess I’ll find out. If I find them.” His eyes filled, burning like the thought of their treachery. He dashed the back of his hand across them in an angry swipe.
“You will.”
She seemed so certain, he almost believed her.
“Use your bond.”
His brow furrowed. “What?” Her suggestion made no sense in a mind slogging through betrayal and a hangover.
“To find her. You’ll know when she’s near. You’ll feel it. Let those feelings direct you, not your hunter’s instincts. You’re connected in ways I can’t even describe. She can’t escape that even if she wanted to. Which I doubt she does.”
He didn’t want to hold on to false hope. His mate had abandoned him in the dead of night, after the best evening of his life, after having sex with him. Snuck out while he was unconscious, dreaming foolish dreams, leaving no reason, no farewell, nothing but a return of his promises to her. Would anything she’d tell him make one damned bit of difference now? If she was sleeping with Colin? If she was running back to James? If she’d had no intention of fulfilling the expectations of their bond?
Even if he found her, could he ever trust her again? Especially after Cale locked the door to their mountaintop home? What the hell difference would his feelings make if she had none to return?
Kendra offered one last bit of advice, and it crushed him.
“Think with your heart not your head. Believe what you feel, not what you see.”
If that was the case, there’d be little point in going at all.
“Yes, my queen.”
“You deserve to be happy, Turow. You both do. She wouldn’t walk away from that. Why would she?”
She hadn’t walked. She’d run.
“Because,” he told her simply, “I’m easy to walk away from.”
Before she could comment to that sad statement, Cale shouted out after them, “A two-person Terriot charter is leaving from Reno in less than two hours.”
Turow was already running.
“I’ll make it.”
He drove like a madman down the mountainside. The weather went from cold and grey to ugly sleet and heavy snow that his wipers barely kept up with. His only hope was that it would delay the flight.
Checking the board as he entered the small outlying terminal for private air services, he began to run toward the desk. Still time. Out of breath, anxiety high, he hadn’t considered how he’d deal with the confrontation until he spotted Colin sprawled in the waiting area, his bags between his feet, another set in front of the empty seat next to him.
His brother’s expression lit with a comical surprise. He’d started to get up, a smile beginning to form, the words, “Hey, Row. What are you doing-” scarcely out of his mouth when Turow’s fist shoved them down his throat. The force of the punch knocked Colin backwards, sending him tumbling over his seat, ass over elbows, to stretch out full-length on the sturdy carpet, feet tangling in the line ropes to bring the stanchions down with a clatter.
Row vaulted the emptied chair, anger fueling his momentum as he straddled the dazed form.
“What the hell was that for?” Colin quickly waved back the counter girl who started to reach for the phone in alarm. “It’s fine. Family. We’re emotional folk. We’re done.”
“We’re far from done, you fucker!”
Colin lay there, eyes going round. “I’ve never heard that word come out of your mouth. What the hell, Row? You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“That!” He jabbed a finger at the second set of bags.
Colin blinked, not connecting the dots. “What?”
“Just friends. You son of a bitch!”
“I wouldn’t say we’re friendly. What are you doing here?”
“Cale sent me.”
That got his attention. Somberly, cautiously, he asked, “Can I get up? I’m kinda at a disadvantage here.”
“And you’re all about taking advantage, aren’t you?”
“What’s going on?”
Rico came out of the restrooms, assessing the situation without feeling the need to intrude. He reached into the second set of bags to draw out a bottle of water. “First this dumb ass drags me out of bed before dawn and tells me to pack, and now you’re here . . . Why exactly are you here?”
Turow was starting to wonder. “Where’s Sylvia?”
Rico shrugged, looking to Colin where he still measured his considerable length on the floor. “Is she in your carryon?”
“The two seats,” Row began with an uncomfortable awareness, “are for the two of you.”
Turow put down his hand and Colin took it cautiously, letting himself be hauled up off the carpet after being wrongfully called out on it.
“She’s not with me, Row.” The look in his brother’s eyes said he knew more than he was saying.
“But you saw her last night." He'd smelled her scent in his brother's room. "She went to you. Why?”
“Not for anything that deserved that punch! Well, maybe a little.” Before Row could think on that more deeply, he added, “I had her jewelry. We got it back from some of the ladies who’d borrowed it while she was gone. That’s all. I told her to talk to you, to tell you everything, that you’d listen and be fair.” He worked his jaw carefully. “But I guess she knows you better than I do.”
Turow squirmed at that. “Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. Honest, I don’t.”
“You didn’t try to stop her?”
Colin faced that accusation with narrowed eyes. “She isn’t my mate. It wasn’t my place.”
No. It was his.
Row was about to apologize when his cell rang. Cale. Taking a few steps away from his siblings, he answered crisply. “She wasn’t with Colin.”
“I know.”
Stomach clenching, Turow listened to his king’s terse message, put his phone away, and after a cold, sweaty second, made a reeling dash to the men’s room.
Colin found him on his knees in one of the stalls, dry heaving the last of his night’s excess. Strong hands cupped his elbows to get him on his feet, steering him to the line of sinks.
“Easy. Easy. I gotcha. Don’t you puke on me. I’m not dealing with that again. I don’t know when cleaning up after everybody else got to be my job.”
Sick in body and soul, and kitten weak, he didn’t resist as a wet paper towel blotted his face and his hands were efficiently scrubbed for him.
“You’re okay. You’ll survive. Trust me. I’m an expert.”
“I don’t think I will,” he whispered painfully, his heart so raw he could barely speak.