by Nancy Gideon
“Okay.” She sounded hesitant, but not unwilling. “How will I get in touch with you? You made me leave my phone behind.”
“I’ll find you. Tonight, on Freemont Street. If you say it’s safe, I’ll meet with him at the club where he held Turow.”
That would give her the time she needed for what she had to do.
“Two grand.”
Sylvia stared down the proprietor. “Thief” would be a better title. “I’d sooner throw it away.”
He shrugged and began to turn away from the jewelry spread out on the counter. “Your call.”
“Six.”
He took a second look, lifting some of the flashier pieces. “You’ve got some nice stuff here.”
“I’ve got a gold mine here, and you know it.”
“Knowing it and being willing to pay for it are two very different things.” He examined the emerald ring Colin Terriot had given her in a moment of foolish passion and sighed. “Twenty-five.”
“Five.”
“You’re a ball buster, you know that?”
“I’ve been told. You’re my first stop.”
“I’m your best bet. Thirty-five.”
“Forty-five, and I won’t call the police to report a robbery.”
The pawn shop owner laughed and ran his gaze over the sparkling array, figuring his return. “Done.” He glanced up at her. “You know I can’t afford to hold them for long.”
“I won’t be coming back. I’m not sentimental.” The rainbow of stones represented a part of the past she’d put behind her, her price for bartering away pieces of herself and her soul. The only items that held any value were the ones she’d left behind.
Cash tucked into her bra, bag in hand, Sylvia retraced her steps to the one safe place she could think of.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A delighted squeal welcomed her.
“Honey girl, you the last person ole Mar ever expected to see!”
Stepping out of the fragrant cloud and surprisingly strong embrace, Sylvia smiled. “We girls have to stick together, remember?”
“Do I ever!” Shalimar looked in anticipation out into the hall. “Is that dreamy honey-man with you?”
Just like that, the floodgates opened.
Sylvia found herself shuttled to the couch where, hands stuffed with tissues and a supportive arm about her shoulders, she wailed a river of regrets into a sympathetic ear. Her careless, heartless past, her fight for redemption, the love of her life now lost. Everything, except the fact that her family was a clan of shape-shifters, of course. Her friend listened, murmuring, patting, nodding, shoring her up with a calming acceptance she’d never found in another.
When she was done, drained down to nothing, Shalimar offered a fresh tissue and a hug. “There. Don’t you feel better now?”
Like she had fifty fewer pounds of guilt dragging on her heart. But better, no.
Leaning away so her guest could loudly blow her nose and wipe streaming eyes, Shalimar cooed, “We do what we have to to survive. No sense crying over it anymore. You let go of all that pain and you find a way to your bliss. I think you know the way, girl. You just have to grab on to it. You listen to Mar, you hear. That boy loves you like a Lifetime Network special. If you don’t got the guts to hang on to him, I’ll take a run at him myself.”
That woke a watery smile. “What about Kevin?”
“Who?” The flick of a manicured hand. “He’s old news. It’s Raoul now. And oh, girl, he is fine. In fact, he’s taking me away from it all in a suite at the Venetian to celebrate our three-day anniversary.”
Sylvia sniffed and grinned. “As he should.”
“I’ll be gone tonight if you want the sofa. It’s new.” He gave a bounce. “Inner springs.” Well-defined brows waggled. “Care of your honey’s generosity.” Dark eyes welled up. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
“I know. We girls—”
“Gotta stick together.”
Seated on the couch with a glass of decent wine, Sylvia watched Shalimar work through a beauty ritual that was nothing short of an Olympic event. Maybe it was the wine, maybe the normalcy, such as it was, of the moment. Sylvia found herself relaxing back into the big, fuzzy neon pillows, letting her worries fall away.
Defenses down, thoughts drifting, she’d just closed her eyes when another presence was suddenly there. Not in the room.
In her head.
Where are you?
Gasping, she sat up, eyes flashing about the room. Nothing had changed. Mar still fussed over false eyelashes, cursing in a very unladylike fashion. Sultry blues played through a new iPhone dock.
Shivers rippled through her.
Turow. His scent filled her next inhale as if he were standing right in front of her.
Impossible. She was just tired. Still exhausted, actually. Telling herself that, she sank back into the cushion, but the wariness didn’t leave her. The sense of her hunter-mate close by continued to prickle like the stubble of his chin against her skin. Too close for comfort.
“If Fate smiles,” Shalimar was saying with gusty enthusiasm, “I’ll be stretching this night into two. Food’s in the fridge. Towels in the bathroom. Extra keys in the butter dish if you need to go out. And, girl, finish that bottle.” With a wink, he and his My Little Pony overnight bag were out the door.
Alone, only the glow of the music player’s screen to break the dimness of a room with its drapes drawn tight against the glare of fading day, Sylvia rose to pour more wine. She needed it to get through the hours of waiting until she met with Rosie, until she went toe-to-toe with James in a meeting that would decide her fate. She could muster up little interest there. What happened to her was inconsequential. She had nothing to look forward to except a life alone. The story of her life.
There it was again.
The trembling returned, hot, cold, unsettling, running along her body like a lover’s hands. Her lover’s hands. Sylvia’s breathing quickened in dread. Or was it anticipation.
No. It was the bond. That sensual link she shared with her mate, one not as easily broken as her promises.
A readying dampness began to pool in the cradle of her thighs. Heartbeats tripped, picking up a different rhythm, this one strong, hard, as compelling as a tribal drum. A pulse she recognized as one that had pounded against her breast in the heat of the night.
The glass fell from nerveless fingers.
A soft click of the door from behind her. Sylvia turned, a name caught in her throat. Even knowing what she’d see, the shock of finding him there a few steps away paralyzed her like prey in a spotlight.
He looked terrible, travel-rough with weary features unshaven, eyes painfully red from lack of sleep and a hangover. He looked magnificent, a fierce, warrior god come to claim her with a passion barely restrained.
Maybe she should have been, but she wasn't afraid.
“Turow.”
His name whispered from her lips a heartbeat before his mashed down over them. There was nothing gentle about his kiss. It took. It demanded. And she gave.
She pushed his coat from his broad shoulders.
No words. No caresses.
Abruptly, he spun her away from him, bending her over the table, sending Shalimar’s bits and scraps of glittery costuming to the floor as she was forced to grasp its edges. He jerked down her clothing and lifted her hips, his first thrust knocking the breath from her.
He continued that hammering pace, pulling her into him in a ferocious, single-minded rhythm. Re-claiming territory lost and found again. But there was more than anger behind his determination. That more she feared and longed for at the same time. His grip tightened, digging in, nails becoming claws. Deep, growling breaths panted from him, blowing hot against her hair as he labored over her. His strength overwhelmed, his size engulfed, his purpose was unrelenting. Driving, building, forcing a tremendous conquering wave to roar into her like a tsunami.
Still, he wasn’t satisfied.
Gripping on
e knee, he bent her leg up, twisting her over onto her back so they were face-to-face with him wedged as huge and hard as a splitting awl inside her. His eyes closed tightly, he continued to take her with those punishing and oh, so rewarding repetitions, reaching down between them, knuckle working her almost furiously to a finish that had her screaming and crying indiscriminately.
And then he left her sprawled and open on the table, completely shattered.
Dazed, shaking, unable to catch her breath, Sylvia finally opened her eyes. She could see his outline by the window, the lines of his body tense as he stared at the closed drapes. He made no move as she slid onto unsteady legs, swept up her pants and darted in a coward's retreat into the bathroom.
Was this how it was going to be? Desire spoiled by bitter denial? It was what she deserved after what she'd done. What she was used to. But never what she’d expected from him.
She washed and dressed quickly, afraid to meet her own reflection, afraid he’d be gone before she could return to the main room. But there he stood, squared, braced for battle. Her stoic and now very unpredictable prince.
She didn’t go to him. She didn’t dare. Instead she sank down on the couch, hands gripped in front of her like a child awaiting punishment.
“Did Cale send you after me?”
A long pause, then his gritty, “Yes.”
“Would you have come otherwise?”
“I don’t know.”
That brutal statement gutted her. She could think of nothing else to ask. Nothing else mattered. He didn’t know if she was worth pursuing. Worth his time and effort.
Finally, because he was so damned truthful, he admitted, “Yes.”
“Why? To kill me?”
“Because you’re mine.” The words tore from him, violent and harsh, sharp with underlying pain. “I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember. I never thought in a million years you would accept someone . . . like me. I wasn’t wrong, was I? But now you’re mine, and I will not let you go.”
“Row,” she began in a whisper.
His exacting words cut her off. “Wanting you doesn’t mean anything more than that. You belong to me. But I’ll never trust you again.”
Her courage buckled, her heart breaking the way she'd broken his. Her words, however, remained unwavering. “I wouldn’t expect you to. What now? I can’t go back. It would be kinder for you to kill me.”
“Why would I want to be kind to you? Do you think you deserve that from me? Now?”
“Of course not. Whatever you want.”
“I wanted the illusion you let me believe in! Damn you!” He took a breath and released it slowly, regaining control. Finally, he said with numbing calm, “We won’t go back.”
That stunned her. Her words escaped in an emotional rush. “No! I won’t let you make that sacrifice. I could live with knowing I’ve hurt you, but I will not destroy you. Serving your king defines you. It’s everything you are, everything you desire, everything you want.”
“No. Not anymore. It's just you and me.” He sounded so miserable admitting it. “I can't ask him to take a chance on my promises, not after you broke them."
“Turow.” Before she could blurt out the truth, he turned toward her, and she saw in his coldly-chiseled features that it wouldn’t matter what she said. He’d never believe her. So she settled for what he’d demand. “I’ll go with you willingly. I’ll live there as your mate. I’ll stand at your side every day and lie with you every night. I’ll give you no reason to doubt me, no reason to be ashamed of me.”
“Too late.” His stare narrowed. “Why do I feel there’s a condition I won’t like coming?”
She smiled sadly. “Because you do know me, as I know you.”
“Meaning?”
“I need to see James.”
“So, that was your plan when you left me?” Bitterness tainted his question, and his hurt wounded her in return. “To go to Jamie? To do what? Tell him our secrets? Ask him to take you back? Is that why you took Rosalee with you, to hide behind in case you couldn’t convince him that freeing me was just a ruse to gain my trust and a way back inside our family? But you can convince anyone of anything, can’t you? Can’t you?”
“Yes.”
He flinched even though he’d known the answer before he asked it. “To jump back into partnership and into his bed? Was that your plan?”
Her features froze. “Is that what you think?” Though she tried to clamp down on her reaction, his shrewd stare caught it.
“Why wouldn’t I? It seems to be your habit to move on when you get tired of where you are.”
“And you think I grew tired of you?” For a moment, she couldn’t swallow, couldn’t continue because she knew that’s what he thought. What she’d wanted him to think so he wouldn’t pursue her. When he didn’t voice it verbally, she told him bluntly, “I didn’t have much choice. I couldn’t stay, and I had nowhere else to go.”
“And you thought after how we left Las Vegas, Rosalee or not, that he’d welcome you back with open arms?”
“No.” A shudder escaped her.
He didn’t miss that, either. His brows lowered into a dark horizon. “What kind of reception were you expecting?”
“If he let me live, I expect it would have been quite unpleasant. Your brother isn’t known for having a gentle hand in anything he does.”
“He’s hurt you.” The statement made his eyes glitter.
“Does it matter?” She could see it did, and so she tried to brush it off casually. “You think he’s the only one of your brothers who gets his kicks out of knocking women around?”
“Who else? Who else hurt you?”
When she wouldn’t answer, he came up with his own.
“Cale.”
She laughed. “We liked hurting each other. It was part of the attraction.”
He didn’t look relieved. “Colin?”
“No. Never.”
“Rico?”
“No.”
“Stephen?” When she didn’t respond, he growled, “Stephen hurt you? Did he hit you? With his hand?” She looked away. “With more than his hand? With what? Dammit, what did he do?”
“Anything he wanted! He’s a prince in the House of Terriot. And Lee and Michael. Don’t be so naïve. Who would stop them?” she demanded with a resigned sigh. “I didn’t care what they did. It didn’t matter. It was a price I had to pay. There’s always a price. Why make a big deal about it now? It’s not like it bothered you before. Or ever will again.”
He grew thunderous. “It always bothered me! Always. The fact that anyone would bruise you. The fact that you went back for more. That you’d go back to Jamie! What the hell is wrong with you that you have so little self-respect?”
She stared at him, a funny little smile on her face. “What’s wrong with me? How could you ask me that when you’re doing the same damned thing?”
“Me?” His face went blank with disbelief. “I have never put a mean hand on you.”
“There are marks you can see and marks you can’t. The ones you can’t see are the worst. The kind you left. That’s why I couldn’t stay. Because it hurt too much.”
“What did I do to hurt you, Syl?” When she wouldn’t respond, he lost his temper. “Stop! You’re not going to run away from this. You’re not going to run away from me. Talk to me. Trust me, Syl! Just trust me to love you!”
“I can’t.”
“What did I do to hurt you?”
“You made me love you!”
She wailed that as if he’d beaten her to a bloody pulp. Yet in his shock, he only heard one thing.
“You love me.”
“Of course I love you! How could I not love you? You’re strong, kind, generous. You’re a beautiful, beautiful man who protected me and stood up for me and talked to me, laughed with me and made love to me as if I mattered. I trusted you!”
“Then why did you leave me?” All his anguish poured into that question.
“Because I’m a cow
ard. Because I believed you. I let myself love you. And I couldn’t watch all that be ripped away. I couldn’t see that look in your eyes. Oh, you wouldn’t have tossed me out. You came after me, didn’t you? You’re too good a man to kick me to the curb. But you’d look at me the way they all did when you brought me back as your mate. As spoiled, damaged, dirty goods.”
He took a breath, about to speak then thinking better of it. Instead of arguing, he said simply, “We’ll never know, will we? Because you wouldn’t give me the chance to prove you wrong. Is that what you’re really afraid of? That I’d think you weren’t worth all the trouble I went through to have you despite whatever ugly thing you’ve been trying so hard to hide that it’s destroying you, destroying us?”
She stared at him, shivering like a fragile blossom facing the brunt of a hurricane. “You don’t know.”
“Yes, I do. Some, but not all. Dammit, why can’t you just talk to me? Trust me?”
“How?” Her voice quavered. “How long have you known?”
“Since you kissed me when we were kids. I told my grandma you were the most wonderful thing in the world and you were going to be my mate someday.”
Sylvia laughed, the sound abrasive. “I’m sure that horrified her enough to speak even the ugliest of truths to a naïve boy.”
“I didn’t know what the word meant. I was naïve,” he admitted quietly. “I asked Colin because he was the least hateful of my brothers and seemed to know about everything.”
“And what did Colin tell you?”
“He said it was when you fucked someone in your family. I hit him. He laughed at me, so I hit him again and kept hitting him until Lee and Adam pulled me off. He told them I took exception to his definition of a word. He didn’t tell them that word was incestuous.”
Sylvia turned away, trapped, unable to stand the undeserved compassion in his eyes.