His clamoring body made his mind work a bit longer to realize what she’d meant, that with her life in that mess, she never knew when she might run into that one man she couldn’t escape from or fight off.
He let out a sigh of relief.
“And just like that, you believe me,” she said, sounding amazed. Surprised, his brow furrowed. “You’re an honorable man. Anyone can see that. How do you know this isn’t. . .a trap?”
He got it then. “If I’m that wrong about you, then I deserve it,” he said gruffly.
They seemed to be the right words, because she smiled. “Thank you.”
Somewhere down deep in him resolve grew. Somehow, he would find a way, a way for her to take some kind of normal life back. But right now, with her looking up at him with an echoing heat in her eyes, all he could do was kiss her, long and deep.
Chapter Twenty-Five
His bed was a tangle of sheets and blanket. He saw the direction of her gaze and grimaced. “Haven’t been sleeping much lately.”
“Neither have I,” she whispered, wanting to ask if she was haunting his dreams, even as she was not quite willing to tell him how he had been haunting hers.
She shivered as he put her on the bed, and the thought flashed through her mind that this was significant somehow, that he’d brought her here, to his bed, when in fact the guest room she was already in was closer. But his steady strength had never faltered, he’d carried her upstairs and to here as if she were no burden at all.
True Mahan would never falter. . .
She knew what she was doing. Knew she was setting her heart up for more pain, that the longing she would take with her when she left would be with her for the rest of her life. But so would the regrets if she didn’t seize this one chance she’d ever had for someone who made her feel like this. As much as she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life remembering what she’d lost, she wanted even less to never truly taste this, at least once.
And then he came down beside her, his hands, those strong, work-roughened hands moving over her hungrily. Her body arched in response, and she nearly gasped with the wonder of it; if him merely touching her did this, what would taking him inside her do to her?
And suddenly she wanted that so much she couldn’t think of anything else, of loss, pain, or regrets. When he tugged at her shirt she simply yanked it off over her head, then used her own shaking fingers to tug at the buttons of his shirt. She wanted that broad, powerful chest naked against her, as soon as she could get it. But then he was cupping her breasts with those hands, and she forgot how to breathe. His thumbs rubbed over her nipples and this time she did gasp as hot, sweet sensation arrowed downward from both peaks to someplace low and deep, and her body fairly rippled, already out of her control.
She became a mindless thing she didn’t recognize, half-unaware of tearing at his clothes even as he pulled at hers. And then there was only naked skin against naked skin and she thought she might just burst into flame right here. She’d imagined him, during those dark, sleepless hours, but she knew now that her imagination fell far short; he was more beautiful than she’d ever realized was possible. Lean, muscled, and fully aroused, he took her breath away.
And then his mouth took over where his fingers had been, his tongue flicking and teasing nipples that were still tight from his touch. His hands kept moving, stroking, lingering here and there, as if she were the most beautiful, precious thing he’d ever held. This man who knew just what needed to be done everywhere else seemed to know it here, too, and her own moans echoed in her ears as she fairly writhed beneath the onslaught.
When his hand slipped downward, probing, reaching flesh already slick and waiting for him, finding that tiny knot of eager nerves and caressing it, she cried out. Helplessly she moved, lifting her hips in an instinctive invitation she couldn’t have stopped even if she’d wanted to.
He said her name, in a rough, low voice that sent an echoing shiver up her spine. Her arms tightened around him, then slid down his back. Later, she thought rather wildly, she wanted to trace every taut, muscled line of him, but now, now she wanted one thing more than she’d wanted anything in her life.
“Please,” she whispered.
“I want to go slow,” he said roughly, “but it’s been a long time.”
She’d known that, even as she’d thought no one had ever known how to touch her like this. But it had been a long time since she had dared risk this, too. But unlike then, this time was singing in her blood with the rightness of it.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Now?” he whispered.
She had no more words, so answered him in the only way she could think of; she slipped her hands further, to cup that high, tight backside she’d coveted and urge him forward.
Making a strangled sound, he reached for one of her hands and pulled it around between them. For a moment all she could do was register the incredible feel of him, hot silk over rigid flesh. She wanted to stroke, to touch every bit of him, but again her body screamed “later.” She guided him, sensation rippling through her at the first blunt probe of him into a body that felt as if it had been waiting for him forever. As perhaps she had.
It was her last coherent thought because then he was inside her, sliding, stretching, filling. She lost herself in the sensations then. It was fast, driving, and a little bit wild, and when the wave swept over her it was consuming, swamping, delirious. In the moment after the fierce clenching of her body began she heard him growl her name in a voice that sent her even higher, and felt the pulsing of his body inside her.
They collapsed together, two souls who had both been lost in different deserts, coming together in an eruption of joyous human pleasure. And in the fading light of day he gathered her to him and just held her.
Much later, when she had satisfied that need to touch, to stroke, Hope cupped his face in both hands, held him so that she could meet his gaze. Very carefully she said, “There was nothing—nothing—about this that was a mistake.”
He looked startled, then pleased. And she’d meant it, more than almost anything in her life. She had come so close to missing this, to never knowing it could be like this, to never experiencing the most soaring, overpowering sensation in her life. To never knowing the feel of him driving inside her, the power of that strong, lean body, the incredible feel of his skin against hers, the unexpectedly erotic effect of every sound he made, of his very urgency.
She’d never been wanted like this in her life. She’d never wanted like this in her life.
And now she had to walk away.
It nearly broke her right then, the thought of leaving him, of leaving this. She even hated the thought of leaving this town that had somehow grabbed her and woven some kind of spell around her, making her wish she could stay, could have a place here in Whiskey River, with its colorful characters and wild west history.
It didn’t matter that, even if she could stay, that he would never love her. Not in the way he had his wife. That kind of love wasn’t in the cards for her, she’d messed up too badly. But it didn’t matter because now she knew that whatever True could give her, whatever was left of his heart would be more than she’d ever expected to have.
But she had to go. For his sake.
For all his skill, all his decency and goodness, he couldn’t fix her life.
“Hope.”
Her gaze, which had turned inward as it had so often since she’d landed here, snapped back to his face.
“Stop,” he said softly. “Whatever you’re thinking, just stop.”
“I can’t.” It nearly choked her to say it. “I want. . .I wish. . .”
He moved then, quickly, covered her with his body. On his elbows, one on each side of her, he looked down at her.
“Listen to me, Hope. I’m only going to say this once.” She’d never heard this tone from him before, and there was no mistaking it for anything but deadly serious. She didn’t even recognize this True. “I will help you fight this. I will he
lp you do whatever it takes for you to get your life back.”
She stared up at him. “Going to find him and kill him for me?”
“Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind.”
Her breath caught. He meant it. And suddenly she knew who this was. This was the man who’d made the decision to change his entire life for his sister when their parents had been killed. This was the man who had walked the woman he loved through the valley of the shadow, and come out the other side.
True Mahan would never falter. . .
Even as she’d thought it, she hadn’t realized how true it really was.
“You would, wouldn’t you?”
“If I thought it would change anything. But it won’t. Any more than pounding the steering wheel over Amanda stopped her from dying.”
“It would probably make things worse,” she admitted. “And. . .it’s not worth it. What it would do to your life.”
He studied her for a long moment. She was achingly aware of the precious weight of him, the feel of his sleek skin against her, wanted nothing more than for him to make love to her once more and send all these troubling thoughts flying out of her brain. She could feel his response to their closeness, it would take so little for him to slip inside her, she was already slick and ready for him. But this True was intent, determined, and she knew there would be no derailing him. Not even with explosive sex.
She saw his jaw tighten, felt a new tension in his body. He stared down at her.
“You think you’re not worth it,” he said softly. “Because your parents drilled it into you before they abandoned you.”
Again her breath caught as he hit dead center at the heart of her darkest fear, even darker than her fear for her life; her fear that that life wasn’t worth fighting for. She couldn’t look at him anymore, and turned her gaze away.
He dropped down then, until he was draped over her from shoulder to knee. His mouth next to her ear, he said gently, “Your parents were selfish, self-absorbed fools who should never have had a child. They didn’t deserve you.”
A shiver went through her.
“Your grandparents, on the other hand, they did. They do.”
“True. . .” It was all she could get out.
“I can’t give you self worth, Hope. I wish I could. But I can only show you what you’re worth to me.”
She moaned, low and deep, in the moment before he began to kiss her. He trailed his mouth over her ear, sending delicious shivers through her, shivers of a completely different kind. And then he took her mouth, probing, tasting, as if he’d found treasure there. And she realized he was doing exactly as he’d said, showing her what she was worth to him.
Then he lifted his head, just far enough so that he could look into her eyes. “I will help you, if you want to put an end to this. I won’t deny that’s what I hope you choose. But it’s not my choice to make. It’s yours.”
“What if. . .I can’t?”
What if? Her own words shocked her. When had fighting back even become a possibility? When had she even let it into her thinking?
“I will stand by you if you decide you can’t. Keep you as safe as I can. Whiskey River will help. We’re a town that pulls together for one of our own.”
One of our own. She’d never thought of belonging to a place like that. Not the way True belonged here. But even in the short time she’d been here she knew it was true, this town was his home in a way she’d never known. But True was True, and she was. . .
“I’m not—”
“Stop,” he said again. “You’re worth what you think you’re worth. Your life is worth fighting for. But if you can’t, or can’t yet, then just. . .stay.”
And yet again he took her breath away. Stay? Had he somehow read her mind, did he know that this very wish had brought on that emotional break that had ended up with her hands battered by her own doing?
She felt as if she were drowning. Or had been, and then this man had thrown her a lifeline. And she didn’t know what to do. “Oh, God, I wish so much. . .”
“Stop wishing, start doing. This town has lasted over a hundred and twenty-five years on toughness and grit and sheer stubbornness. Learn that from them, Hope.”
Something sharp jabbed her deep inside, and she felt the bitterness and self-blame she always carried within her start to drain away. When enough of it had receded to let her think without it coloring every thought, when she was able to look at him and see the man he truly was, not just the man who had thrown her that lifeline, she nearly shook with the wonder that he had asked her to stay.
She didn’t kid herself. The love he’d had with Amanda had been perfect, because it had never had a chance to change. It was frozen at that perfect stage, and if it would have someday changed, he would never know.
She couldn’t compete with a perfect memory.
But it didn’t matter. She might not be sure exactly what it meant, what, in his mind her staying would entail, but she knew one thing with absolute certainty: it would be more than she’d ever had. More than she’d ever hoped to have.
It would be enough.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“My scanner was an hour late this morning,” Zee said, looking at her brother over a mug of coffee.
True froze in the act of filling his own mug. His sister had come through the adjoining door this morning with barely a knock, declaring a caffeine emergency.
“She also doesn’t seem to be in quite the rush she was to finish the job,” she added.
He smiled as he finished pouring.
“And you,” she went on casually, “look a bit smug.”
He paused in putting the pot back on the coffeemaker. He gave her a disbelieving glance. “Smug?”
“And happy,” she added softly. “It’s good to see, Bro.”
“I. . .” He didn’t know what to say.
“About time, too,” Zee said with a sudden grin. “I mean come on, I’ve felt like I was living with a Tesla coil for days, the electricity between you two.”
One look at his sister’s face told him there was no use dissembling; she knew exactly what had happened last night. Somehow telling Zee about them hadn’t popped into his head yet. He didn’t even know if Hope wanted anyone to know. At least Zee wouldn’t blab. If they wanted all of Whiskey River to know all they had to do was tell Martha and the job would be done before noon.
“And for what it’s worth, brother mine, she’s also looking rather smug. And. . .content. You haven’t lost your touch in bed, if you were worried.”
True blinked. Damn near blushed. Zee had never been one to beat around the bush, but that was blunt even for her. And yet something in her eyes removed any snark from it; she truly was happy for him. She’d come to care for Amanda like a sister, but she’d always and ever loved him.
“I was,” he answered frankly. Then he gave her the fully smug look she’d teased him about. “But not now. Hope made it pretty clear along about the third time.”
Zee coughed on a swallow of coffee. “Okay, we may have strayed into too much information here.”
A laugh burst from him; she’d started this, after all. And to his surprise, he saw his sister’s eyes glisten with moisture. “Zee?”
“God, True, that’s the first real, genuine, from the gut laugh I’ve heard from you in almost six years.” She set down her coffee mug, crossed the six feet between them, and threw her arms around him. “It’s a beautiful sound and I’ve missed it. Remind me to thank her.”
He drew back slightly. Looked down at her, although not nearly as far down as with Hope, since his sister was a willowy five-eight. “Does she. . .know you know?”
“I didn’t say anything to her, but she’d have to think I was blind not to notice.”
“She knows you’re not blind. She knows how smart you are, too.”
Zee’s brows rose. She went back to her coffee before saying, “She does, does she?”
He finally got a sip of his own brew, teasingly waiting befo
re saying, “She said she’d never met a woman who had quite so much of everything in one package, brains, character, energy and looks.”
Zee blinked, clearly taken aback. “She said that?”
“She did.” He gave her a crooked grin. “In that order, which I’m guessing is order of importance in her mind.”
His sister was smiling now. “I knew I liked her.”
“Good,” True said. More coffee, and he thought he just might make it through the day. Maybe. He hadn’t gotten much sleep. Not that he was complaining. Oh, no, not at all.
Zee looked at him once more over the rim of her mug. “Does that mean she’s. . .staying?”
And there it was. He set down his mug. Jammed a hand through his hair. Finally spoke. “Yes.”
“Uh-huh. That sounded about as convincing as you telling Mom you didn’t break that vase of hers. And you always do that hand through your hair thing when you’re edgy.”
“Staying for now,” he amended. “And I do not.”
“Well then,” Zee said in that overly sweet tone again, “I guess you just do it to draw attention to that gorgeous hair of yours, huh?”
He scowled at her. “Did she pick up that saccharine tone from you?”
To his surprise Zee laughed. “Did she use it on you? Good for her. Glad to see she’s getting a little gumption back.”
He hadn’t thought of that. He hoped it was true. “But she’s still scared.”
“Still think she might run? After. . .?”
And that was the thing that had been niggling at him all morning, ever since Hope had given him a last kiss and reluctantly gone next door. If what they’d found together last night couldn’t hold her, he wasn’t sure anything could.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But she won’t do the only thing to end it, which is go back and face it.”
Whiskey River Runaway (Whiskey River Series Book 2) Page 16