by Laura Wright
“Maybe not,” she agreed. “I’ve never gone through what you’re going through.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “But I don’t think what you’re doing is going to give you the results you want.”
“And what do you think I want?” he asked coolly.
That chill didn’t push her off or scare her. She told him. “Protection . . .”
He snorted, grinned.
“From getting your heart broken. Again. And again.”
The grin faded. He stared at her, his biscuit and soup completely forgotten now.
“Like I said last night, I’m not looking to do that,” Emily said, her own food a distant memory as well. “Not sure you believe me—or can allow yourself to believe me—but there it is.”
His eyes were so fierce as he stared at her. Like he was trying to see straight through her, or into her—into her mind and soul. See what she was truly thinking—if what she’d just said could possibly be sincere.
And then he pushed back his chair and stood.
Emily looked up at him. “You want to leave, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Blue . . .”
He reached for her. “I want to go to bed.”
Twenty
With a hum of desperation, of need, running through his blood, Blue placed Emily at the foot of the bed and started to undress her. He felt on edge, a little insane . . . Everything she’d just said had been too close to the mark. It made sense, and right now he didn’t want sense. Refused it. Because sense called for him to leave this apartment and go back to the Triple, continue treating his mother like shit and turn his back on everything that was once so important to him.
Her eyes, those huge pools of lust and confusion, searched his for answers, for assurance. Everything’s going to be okay, darlin’. Promise. He lifted her gray tank over her head and let it fall to the floor. Then he unclipped her bra and tossed that away too. Christ, she was beautiful, perfect. Too perfect. Thoughts ripped through his mind. He hadn’t wanted to argue with her. Hadn’t wanted to hear her opinions of him. Her truth. Even her assurance that she was different, that she wouldn’t hurt him.
Off came her black pj bottoms. She wasn’t wearing underwear, and his chest tightened as he eased her back on the bed. The bed he’d made for her today. A real bed—forget the futon. Though, shit, they’d had fun on that too. His gaze moved over her, hungrily, covetously. “You are one beautiful woman, Emily Shiver.”
Her eyes glistened, but not with appreciation. “And you make my heart hurt.”
He groaned. “Don’t say that.”
“You’re holding on to so much, Blue. You don’t have to. You really don’t.” She came up on her elbows, completely at ease with herself, her stunning nudity. Or maybe it was just that she was so focused on him. “None of what’s happened has to control you or define you. Or decide your present. Only you can do that.”
His chest was so tight it ached. He shook his head.
“I know you want me to stop talking,” she continued. “I know you want to push it all away and pretend it doesn’t exist—”
“Just for an hour or two,” he cut in with a bitter edge.
She looked up at him, and behind her eyes he saw her grappling with what he’d said. How she wanted to respond to it. Continue to push him or just let it be, let him work out his demons his way.
“I want you, Blue,” she said with a strange melancholy to her tone.
He shrugged out of his shirt, then knelt down, his hands cupping her knees. He knew what she meant. His heart and guts knew too. He hungered for that closeness. It was nearly unbearable to him, and yet as he eased her thighs apart and settled himself between them, he shook his head. Fuck, what was wrong with him? After all they’d done, experienced—everything he’d touched and tasted, everything she’d explored—it seemed nonsensical to keep sex out of the equation. But he knew that if he took her again, this time would be different. So different. This time, he’d want to claim her, keep her.
This time, she would be inside him as much as he was inside her.
“I need this, Emily,” he said, hating how harsh and desperate his voice sounded. “I need you. This way.” He ran his hands up her thighs. “Can I shut down, turn off my brain . . . Christ, my heart . . . and just have you the way I want to have you?”
Her eyes, so conflicted yet so turned on, searched his, probed his, and then Blue dropped his head and kissed her sex. Just one, sweet, soft kiss. When he glanced back up, her lips were parting, her chest was rising and falling rapidly, and she nodded.
Hunger seized him. The kind that couldn’t be satiated. He wondered if it ever could as he looked at her, his hands pressed inward across her hips. She was so soft, so warm. He could barely wait to taste her. Gently, he opened her, his thumbs splaying her wide. His gaze dropped. Pink, wet, and so ready.
He licked her. One slow swipe from sex to clit.
“Oh, Blue,” she groaned.
He grinned. She was truly his heaven. His place to get lost for days. His place to forget and just be . . .
For just a few seconds, just to make himself wait, make himself crazy with lust, he let his mouth trail over her lower abdomen. The scent of her skin made every inch of him hard. He let his head drop and he nuzzled her hot pussy. He was so hungry, so desperate for her.
As he circled his tongue over her clit, she cried out and let her head fall back. There was nothing better than tasting, scenting, and feeling her desire. She arched her back, canted her hips, and bucked hard against his mouth. Blue slipped his hands under her backside and took the opportunity to tug and suckle on her clit. The action made her wild. Moaning, rocking, she was hard to control.
But, Christ Almighty, he loved it.
He moved down an inch and thrust his tongue inside her.
“Oh yes,” she cried. “You inside me. Any way I can get it.”
Her words shot into him, straight to his heart. But he pushed the feeling of loss away. She was his. Right now, she belonged to him.
Her hands found his shoulders and she dug her nails into his skin. And then he spread her wide with his thumbs and ate her. His tongue lapping at her juices, his lips sucking, his teeth gently scraping.
With a hard thrust against his mouth, she came. Her fingernails dug deeper and her head thrashed from side to side. And yet, Blue kept on tasting her. Taking her climax, claiming her pleasure.
And when she started to come down, easily rocking against his mouth, he didn’t release her. No. He wasn’t about to let her descend. He was still so thirsty.
He thrust two fingers inside her and uttered hoarsely, hungrily against her pussy, “Again.”
* * *
“It’s my day off,” Emily grumbled good-naturedly as Blue led her down the stairs. She was exhausted. But in this strange, unfulfilled way. Even after Blue had given her climax after climax, her body still wanted more.
It wanted him.
And he was refusing her.
No. He was refusing himself.
She’d always wondered what guys meant when they talked about blue balls. Well, now she knew.
He lifted her hand to his lips as they hit the bottom stair, his eyes heavy-lidded. “That’s why I want to take you to breakfast, darlin’.”
“We could have breakfast here,” she suggested with a saucy wink.
He opened the door for her and cold morning air rushed at them. “Leftover soup?”
She smiled knowingly at him. “Does a body good.”
Before she could take another breath, she was in his arms, pressed hard against him, and he was kissing her—smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk. Lord, she could kiss him for days, weeks. A straight month if work wasn’t a factor.
When he finally released her, she tried hard to catch her breath. “That does a body good too.”
He laughed.
“Fine, fine, breakfast at Mirabelle’s,” she said, trying to slow her heart as they moved down the sidewalk. “Besides, I need
to stop by the real estate agency anyway and get Aubrey Perdue going on some new rental spaces.”
“The flower shop?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“How long have you been wanting to do that?”
She sighed thoughtfully. “A few years. I’ve always loved flowers. How they can change a person’s mood in an instant. How each flower, each color, means something different to each person. Their memories, their traditions. When I was little, I used to insist we have fresh flowers, which were mostly wild flowers, mind you, on the kitchen table every day.” She looked over at him. Expecting a reaction, a smile of understanding, of camaraderie. But he was staring past her.
“What is it?” she asked.
He stopped at the corner just a few feet away from Mirabelle’s, his eyes darkening with fury. When she turned to see what he was looking at, her heart lurched. Releasing his hand, she walked over to the light pole and yanked down the bright pink flyer that had been taped there.
“What the hell is this?” she ground out. Her eyes narrowed. It was a picture of her from a few years ago with the caption PREGNANT over her head. And underneath: BY WHOM?
Blue was beside her, radiating anger. “I’m going to kill them.”
“Them?” she repeated, stunned, shocked, sickened, still staring at the flyer.
“The Cavanaughs.”
This time, she turned to look at him. “You don’t believe they did this.”
“They’re the only ones who—”
“No way,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “It’s not them.”
“Then who?”
A slow, startling revelation crept over her. It made bile rise in her throat. Blue had been right. The girl was dangerous. More than dangerous. Diabolical. “This is something a woman does. Out of spite, immaturity, and the perceived belief that I took her man.”
“Natalie?” he breathed.
She nodded. “Best guess. I can’t image who else would feel the need to humiliate me.”
“But how would she know you’re pregnant?”
“It’s not as much of a secret anymore, is it? My family, your family.” She cursed. “Someone must’ve blabbed or forgotten they were in earshot when they talked about it. And that girl is a lurker.”
“Jesus, Em,” he whispered. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
“For what? You didn’t do this.”
“’Course I did. She and I—”
“Had an online relationship built on lies.”
“Yes, but it was more than that. Granted, we never even met in person. But, Christ, maybe what I did share was the most intimate part of me. I was hurting. Pissed. And she was everything I needed . . . the best listener . . . so kind. She knew me, my feelings, my fears . . . I believed, and I fell.”
Emily shook her head. “Jesus. No wonder you can’t trust me.”
“Don’t say that.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “At first I thought she was just a liar, but clearly she’s got a major screw loose. She thinks there’s a bond that’s been built between us. She thinks I need saving from you.”
“Don’t you?” She couldn’t help herself. In all the madness, she would reach for humor. Perspective.
Blue’s eyes blazed down into hers. “Absolutely not.” Then he took her hand. “Come on. Let’s forget about this and go eat.”
“’K.” She followed him. “How many people do you figure saw this? Do you think there are more?”
He never got the chance to answer, because the second they walked into the diner, the question was answered for them. Granted, there were only ten or so customers in Mirabelle’s, but every single one of them not only looked up when she and Blue entered, but looked directly at Emily’s stomach.
“Guess maybe I should skip breakfast and go find the other flyers that are most assuredly posted up around town,” she said dryly.
“What are you all gaping at?” Blue called out. He sounded about as fierce as he looked. “Nothing to see here.”
“Don’t, Blue,” she told him. “I don’t care.”
“I care.” He pointed at a couple of men at the counter. “Jerry Duffy, Earl Waverly, you got food in front of you. I suggest you get back to it if you know what’s good for you. Same goes for the rest of you.”
While she appreciated Blue’s strength, championing her the way he was, she felt embarrassed and confused, and honestly a little scared. Her appetite was definitely gone, and she just wanted to get out of there and try to figure out what to do next.
“You stay,” she whispered to him before leaving the diner. “I’ve got work to do.”
Twenty-one
He didn’t give a shit about food. After giving the occupants of Mirabelle’s a death stare, he followed Emily out the door. He couldn’t imagine how she was feeling, what this would mean for her in such a small town. Granted, River Black wasn’t over-the-top provincial, but it had its unspoken morality clauses. Just to be outed this way—so brutal and hostile. As if she’d done something wrong.
He spotted her right off. She was moving down Main with purpose, her gaze shifting from one side of the street to the next. Christ Almighty, it was worse than he’d even imagined. Bright pink flyers were affixed to every surface. Some blowing in the wind, not as tightly fastened to their surfaces as others. He even saw a teenage kid holding one as he skateboarded down the middle of the street.
Anger rippled through him. He was going to take care of this. Make it right. After he took care of Emily, of course.
Blue caught up with her pretty easily. She’d already pulled off one flyer, and when she reached for another, he did it for her.
Emily jerked out in front of him, her eyes a little wild, her nostrils flared. “No,” she told him. “I want to do it.”
“I’m just trying to help you,” he began.
“No.” She was rigid, furious, her face a mask of vitriolic determination. Not that he blamed her one damn bit. He was pretty much there himself. Natalie Palmer was going to feel his wrath.
“Emily,” he said, pushing the gentle tone, “I want to help, be by your side through this. It’s about us, for crissakes.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she ground out. “There’s nothing on this piece of paper that says us or you.”
His guts twisted a fraction. “What I mean is that it’s our baby they’re talking—”
“Not they,” she cut him off. “Her. And right now, it’s my baby.”
Her words startled him, filled him with a cold dread. Made his chest ache. “What are you talking about?”
She looked away, breathed a couple of heavy breaths. “Just that in this situation, I’m on my own.” She caught sight of something, and her eyes narrowed. “Goddammit!” Then she took off, barely looking both ways before she hurried across the street toward the market.
A rumble of fear moved through Blue. Right now, it’s my baby? Shit, she couldn’t say stuff like that to him. Not now. Not ever. He knew she was upset, lashing out, confused, and he didn’t blame her. But this was cruelty. Tossing this in his face. Warning, threatening . . . On her own—just her and the child. She didn’t need him, didn’t want him.
Blue stood there on the street, a couple of pink flyers tumbling past in the wind. Sure it was cruel. Her lashing out this way. But he’d set it up for her to believe that, think that way—feel alone. Right? Hadn’t he? Yes, he’d been hanging around, staying the night, showing a fierce interest in the child, making soup—yet he’d refused to make love, refused to get as close as two people could.
Pain laced through him. This was his doing. The whole goddamn thing. Natalie had thought she could get away with this because he hadn’t shown her, or anyone else, for that matter—including the woman he was falling for—that Emily was important to him.
That she was who he wanted.
Fuck . . . What an idiot he was. A stupid, stubborn idiot. With a growl of frustration, he took off down the street, following her, watching as she pulled a flyer off the window of the
market. What the hell had he done? He’d let down his defenses and allowed that crazy woman inside his mind and heart. And yet he couldn’t allow Emily in there?
No wonder she was so pissed.
No wonder she’d just pushed him away.
No. Given up on him.
He was just a half a block away when the door to the market opened and out came Elena. At first his mother didn’t see him, but when she turned to check traffic to her right, their eyes met. Locked. She opened her mouth; then her gaze went to the glass, then left to Emily—the woman he was clearly pursuing. When she looked back at him, there were so many things playing behind her stunned gaze he wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Then she turned away and crossed the street.
Emily was coming back his way. She’d seen Elena, seen the silent exchange. “Go,” she said when she reached him.
He shook his head. “No. It’s fine.”
“Go after her,” she pushed. “Go talk to her. That’s your mother, isn’t?”
“I’m with you right now,” he said with a touch of heat.
She looked disappointed. Maybe even a little disgusted. Like she wondered if he was using her as an excuse not to talk to his mother. And shit, maybe he was. Christ, he was messed up.
“I told you I’m not wanting company right now,” she said. “I’m going to take care of this on my own.”
Wasn’t it only an hour ago when they were kissing, flirting. . . . “We should do this together,” he insisted.
That sent her over the edge. “Why are you pretending like we’re a team?” she demanded, her eyes narrowed on his. “Together? You don’t even feel close enough to fuck me.”
His jaw tightened. “I hate when you talk like that.”
“You need to be talked to like that,” she countered. “You need to be told to get over your shit and move on before it’s too late and we all walk away from your ass.” She inched closer, her nostrils flaring. “I understand now why you won’t make love to me. Why you’ll touch me, go down on me—all in the name of making me feel good, and in turn that makes you feel good. It’s really because you’re too afraid to connect with me. Get lost in me the way you so badly want to.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m tired of this. And, God”—her voice broke—“we haven’t even really started.”