Bonded

by Laura Wright

  The ping came back, but she shoved it away. “Isn’t it?”

  He inhaled deeply, blew it out. “No. Wish it was, though.”

  “Damn you, Blue.”

  “What?”

  “You start off all nice, then toss that in at the end. You wish you didn’t care about me? ’Preciate that.”

  “You don’t understand,” he began, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Seems like lately, caring about someone, whether it’s family or a person you met online and believed was honest and real, turns out real badly. I feel like I’m a wrecked man, Em. Can’t trust. Closed off. Nothing much here to offer, if you get my meaning. And you . . .” His gaze moved over her, slow and almost hungry. “Shit, honey, you deserve something far better than damaged goods.” He turned around then, and started making her goddamned bed—with the blankets she’d brought and the pillow.

  “Please don’t tell me what I deserve,” Emily said softly. “And don’t do that.”

  He was quiet for a second, his eyes on the small vase near the window. It held the flowers he’d given her last night at her parents’ house.

  Yes, I’ve been thinking about you, Emily said silently. Wrecked man though you claim to be.

  “You hungry?” he asked, dropping her pillow into place.

  The question was so out of the blue, she didn’t answer right away.

  He turned to look at her, those eyes sweeping over her face. Why did he have to be so beautiful?

  “We can go to the diner,” he suggested.

  “My mom actually sent something with me.”

  He seemed disappointed, pensive. It was a very sexy look on him. But then again, what wasn’t? “They’re going to miss you, you know?”

  “My parents? Yeah, they will. And I’m going to miss them. But it really is time.” She glanced around the room. “Experience life on my own. Figure things out before I’m not so on my own anymore.”

  His pensive look intensified. “I suppose your mama didn’t pack enough for two.”

  Interesting. He didn’t want to leave. And in truth, she didn’t want him to go. But there was this fear that clung to her insides, played with her mind. He’s here because of the baby. He never sought you out after that night, Emily. Get a clue.

  “Right,” he said, taking her silence as rejection and heading her way. “I know I’m being a pushy bastard. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She stopped him just as he passed, going out the door. Her hand on his biceps. It was like wrapping her fingers around granite. But such smooth, warm granite. Her belly clenched with awareness.

  “Stay,” she said.

  His eyes caught hers, held. “Yeah?”

  She nodded, feeling breathless. “If you want to.”

  His mouth curved into a smile. A slightly wicked smile. “Oh, Emily Shiver. You know I want to.”

  Oh Lord. Was that heat surging into her blood? She released his arm and stepped back. “I need to take a quick shower first. That’s where I was when you knocked. About to turn on the water.” She needed to stop talking.

  His expression changed in an instant. From soft, simmering interest to an almost untamed need. She’d never seen anyone look like that. And certainly not aimed at her. Shower. Go take a shower. And maybe make it a cold one. “I’ll be out in ten minutes,” she uttered, her insides so hot and liquid now, she had to quell the urge to moan as she moved past him and headed for the bathroom.

  “I’ll be here,” he returned, his voice near to a growl.

  * * *

  “You know that eating-for-two thing is a myth,” Emily said when Blue handed her another piece of bread.

  They were sitting on the blanket-clad futon, enjoying a picnic of lasagna, bread, fruit, and rice pudding. Mama Shiver sure could cook, Blue thought. Even rivaled Elena, and that was saying something.

  He grinned. “Can’t help it. I just want to feed you. I feel like my mother when I was in high school. Always pushing plates on me.”

  “Well, you needed it,” she said. “You were a beanpole back then.”

  He didn’t deny it. Beanpole was actually stretching things. More like a pushpin. “I swear I could eat a side of beef followed by a vat of pasta and nothing stuck.”

  “Lucky bastard,” she said with a grin.

  He laughed. “Yeah, but it killed my social life. Girls barely gave me the time of day. Bones weren’t nearly as attractive as muscle.”

  “Well, you certainly overcame that obstacle,” she said, her cheeks going pink. “If only those girls could’ve had the foresight to know what was going to happen in a few years.” Her gaze flickered over him, then returned to his face. “Probably kicking themselves now.”

  Heat was pulsing through him. Shit. It had been since she’d opened the door, in her robe. “You’re making me blush, Em Shiver.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Okay, you’re not. But other things are happening to me, I guarantee you.”

  Her eyes widened and she gasped, nearly choking on her piece of lasagna.

  He laughed. “Careful, now.”

  She swallowed thickly, then cleared her throat. “Okay, back to the high school discussion. There must’ve been someone, right? Someone who saw through the bones?”

  He thought for a second, popping a few grapes into his mouth. “I dated Sheila Erickson in ninth grade.”

  “Oh yeah. I remember her.” She gestured to her mouth. “She had those blue braces. I was so jealous. I had the ugly metal kind.”

  “Sheila,” he reminisced with a sigh. “Wasn’t the nicest person in the world, but damn could she kiss.”

  Without thought, Emily tossed her bread at him.

  He laughed. “I’m just giving respect where it’s due, ma’am. Despite the metal, Sheila knew what she was doing.”

  Emily pressed her lips together. “Where is Sheila now?”

  “She’s an orthodontist in Austin,” he said with a straight face.

  “No!”

  He laughed again. “I don’t know. Lost track of a lot of people when my mom and I moved into the Triple C. Was a strange time.” He picked at his lasagna, not sure he wanted to continue, and yet there was something about the moment, with Emily, that pushed him. He’d wanted to get closer, get to know her. Maybe that included her getting to know him too. “My mom was keeping Everett together. The brothers were gone. The house just always felt in mourning, you know? I didn’t do much on the social front during that time.”

  Emily was watching him closely. Looked like she was trying to decide what to say. Push him on the past or keep things light. She opted for the latter.

  “Poor Sheila,” she said on a sigh. “I bet she regrets not keeping in touch with you.”

  He shrugged. “She didn’t call. She didn’t write.” He smiled halfheartedly.

  They ate in silence for a bit. Then Emily asked, “Did you ever wish you hadn’t gone to live there?”

  “The Triple C?” he said.

  She nodded.

  Her question slowed him a bit, forced him to think, reflect. It wasn’t his favorite thing to do these days. He put down his fork. “I don’t know. There have been times in the past few months where I would say absolutely, yes. But . . . not sure that’s the truth. The Triple C is my life. Always has been. For better or for worse. Everything I am is wrapped up in that ranch. I’m in the soil, you understand?”

  Her eyes were pinned to his as she nodded.

  “Things were pretty good until Everett passed,” he said. “More than good. Had my mom and Mac. Had Everett. He treated me like a fourth son. His were gone, Cass was gone, and Deacon came back and tried to destroy the C . . . I thought, what a terrible thing to have sons like those.” Blue laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “I had no idea what was really behind their anger. I never questioned Everett’s kindness and affection for me. I just basked in it.”

  “’Course you did,” she blurted out, impassioned.

  He looked at her.

  “Well, why wouldn’t y
ou?” she continued. She started cleaning up, stacking their plates and putting everything back in the basket her mother had sent. “Why do you think he didn’t tell you, Blue? About being his son? Or why didn’t your mother?” She put the basket on the floor behind her. “I mean, after Mrs. Cavanaugh died, why would they still hold on to the secret?”

  He inhaled deeply. “I’m sure there’s an answer to that question.”

  “You’ve never asked?”

  He shook his head. “My mom wants to tell me. Talk to me. Lay the whole mess out in front of me to dissect. But I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to hear the reasons. I don’t think I want to forgive her or him.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered.

  His eyes lifted to meet hers. No judgment there, only curiosity and interest. “Sometimes I feel like my anger is the only thing holding me together. Keeping me sane. Keeping me from making the same mistake over and over.”

  “What mistake is that?” she asked.

  “Trusting.”

  She made a soft, sad sound. “Oh, Blue . . .”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he said on a frustrated growl. “I shouldn’t be.”

  She scooted closer to him, then reached out and put her hands on either side of his face. “Look at me,” she demanded. When he did, when his eyes connected, locked with hers, she said, “Just because you were vulnerable with a few people and they screwed with that, doesn’t mean everyone will. I . . .” She stopped, bit her lip.

  “What? What, Em?” he pushed.

  For a moment, she didn’t answer. She looked like she was trying to find the right words, or decide if she should continue—and what it would mean if she did. Then she released a breath. “I wouldn’t. Just so you know.” She shrugged lightly. “I wouldn’t screw with that.”

  Her words touched him. Deep. Hit a place inside of him that had been dead for the past several weeks. And then when she leaned in and kissed him—one soft kiss that made his insides erupt, made his hands clench into fists, made his head fuzzy—well, he just plain broke. Inside out. Cage around the heart.

  “I don’t have the blue braces,” she said against his lips. “But I’m a pretty good kisser.”

  “Yeah you are,” he whispered huskily.

  “Maybe better than Sheila Erickson?”

  “Who?”

  She eased back, locked eyes with him and shook her head. “Oh, boy, I like you something awful.”

  Her tone was a mixture of hunger and melancholy. Blue knew exactly what she meant. This was probably not the best of ideas. It was complicated. And yet neither one of them could help it.

  “I like you too, Em.”

  She leaned in and lapped at his bottom lip with her tongue. “Prove it.”

  Oh, that did it. Her hot, pink tongue. Her challenge. Made his rational, reasonable mind exit through his ears. With a growl of possession, he picked her up and placed her on his lap, forcing her to straddle him. And she did—instantly—wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Hungry and impatient, Blue captured her mouth with his own. A groan escaped him as he tasted her, sucked at her bottom lip. Sure, he’d kissed her that night—that fateful night—and it had been ravenous and hot. But this . . . this time he was completely and totally sober. He was all here, all in. And it felt so real, so perfect—like every breath she took, every moan she made, belonged to him.

  Her fingers moved through his hair, gripping his scalp as their kiss intensified. Blue pulled her closer, wanting to feel her, the softness of her, the strength in her, and he groaned with pleasure as she pressed her breasts against his chest.

  How could something as simple as a kiss turn rabid? Within him? And going by what he felt from her, how she moved and reacted every time he bit at her lip or suckled it into his mouth—she was right there with him. In his foggy mind he warred with the idea that this woman, this beautiful, incredible, intelligent woman, if she really knew him—his ravaged heart that seemed to crave vengeance against anyone who had done him wrong—she’d pull away and demand he get the hell out of her apartment and her life. But then again, maybe she did know . . .

  Didn’t care.

  Wanted him anyway.

  His hand slipped between their bodies and cupped her sex. Through the thin layer of cotton pajama bottoms, he felt wet heat against his palm. In that moment, whatever was left of that rational, reasonable—sensible—mind departed for parts unknown. And all that remained was a man who had been in a state of unfulfilled desire for weeks—ever since the night three weeks ago when he’d sat at a bar with a flower-haired angel.

  He slipped his hand inside the loose waistband of those thin pajama bottoms and followed the hot trail down her lower abdomen until his fingers brushed her soft pussy. Instantly, Emily bucked and pressed herself against him, releasing a sigh of need. As his mouth gently played with hers, as his eyes opened from time to time to catch her looking at him, he started making small circles over her clit. The tight bud pulsed beneath the pads of his fingers, matching his rapid heartbeat.

  “Why does this feel so good?” she uttered against his mouth, her tone breathy and strained. “With you . . . you . . .”

  That’s right, only me, he wanted to say as he pinched her ever so slightly.

  “Oh God,” she cried out and started grinding against him hard.

  “You want to come, Em?” he whispered, circling her, then giving her a couple of gentle flicks.

  “Yes,” she breathed. “And no.” She laughed softly, pained. “I want it to go on forever. Never stop touching me, Blue.”

  “Christ, darlin’,” he said, his entire body rigid with need. His cock so hard it was leaking at the tip. It wanted her. Wanted to be the one she craved. Wanted to be the one who touched her. So deep she couldn’t talk, couldn’t do anything but cry out, moan, scream his name.

  And then he felt it. The initial shock waves of her coming orgasm, and the lights of thought went out. His mouth took hers, hungry and fearsome, and as she canted her hips and thrust against him, he circled and pulled gently at her clit. He kept his motion steady, instinctive, until she froze.

  “Oh God!” she cried out. “Oh, Blue. Please.”

  It was like a possession had taken her. She thrust her hips and gripped his scalp and drove her tongue into his mouth as she came. And Blue loved every goddamned moment of it. He relished it. His angel. His Em. Her pleasure belonged to him.

  There was nothing he wanted more than to be inside her at that moment. His cock. As deep as she could take him. But he knew that if he did that right now, he was going to lose himself, and his mind, and his will. Emily Shiver was too sweet. Addictive. And if he made love to her—again—what little there remained of the protection around his busted heart would be gone. He’d be open to her, falling for her. She’d have the power to utterly and ultimately bring him down.

  Before she could touch him, he wrapped her in his arms and dropped back against the futon.

  She felt the disconnect immediately and asked, “Blue . . . ?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t want me to touch you, do you?”

  Shit! Of course he did. He wanted her soft hands all over his body, her fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him as he kissed her so hard and so thoroughly, she came again.

  “Not tonight,” he pushed out, his voice a raw nerve.

  “Why?” she asked sadly. “Is it me?”

  Yes.

  Fuck, yes.

  “I just want to touch you tonight, Em,” he said through gritted teeth. “Want to make you feel good. Isn’t that okay?”

  He prayed she wouldn’t fight him on that. Want to talk it out, probe. He couldn’t take it if she did. Couldn’t resist if she was determined to make him feel good too.

  Just the idea made him groan.

  But instead of pressing him, she snuggled into him. Which, frankly, was almost as bad. She wanted to be close, to connect. The Blue of three months ago still
lurked somewhere inside him. That man wanted a goddamned connection so bad he’d missed any and all signs of a relationship built online and on lies.

  “You staying?” she asked, her voice threaded with hope and the fading huskiness of climax.

  His body flared once again with heat. He should go. Get up and get out. If it was logic and reason and rational thought he craved in this moment, then heading for the cold air and his truck was the right thing to do.

  And yet, how did he leave this woman? Warm. Wanting him. His child resting easy inside her belly.

  “I’d like to,” he managed. “For a while at least.”

  She didn’t say anything at first, but he felt disappointment. At the last bit he’d uttered. Felt it in the way she nuzzled against his chest. “Just don’t go before I wake up, okay?” she whispered.

  His gut tightened at the irony of that request, and he pulled her closer. “Okay.”

  Sixteen

  The sun was barely up when Emily woke. Well, not exactly woke, but opened her eyes and rolled over to . . . good God, what a view. He’d slept over. He’d actually stayed. In her bed, wearing his jeans and T-shirt. Next time? No jeans or T-shirt. She smiled to herself. She could have all the slumber parties she wanted now that she was on her own.

  Huge perk.

  Through her still sleepy haze, she studied him. He was truly the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. She wanted to touch him everywhere, memorize how his skin felt against her fingers. Without thought, she reached up and brushed her thumb over his lower lip. Then over his jaw. It was dusted with stubble, and the feel of his sharp yet soft hair on the pads of her fingers made the muscles inside her sex tingle.

  Again.

  Memories of the night before barreled through her. Hands, lips, fingertips . . . She shivered.

  A low, masculine growl rumbled between them, but Blue’s eyes remained closed. “Keep touching me like that, darlin’, and we won’t get out of this bed today.”

  “Futon,” she corrected, playing with a shock of hair near his ear. “We won’t get out of this futon.”