His hands darted out and grabbed her wrists before she could jerk out of range. He pulled them forward to examine. The scars from the cuffs were still angry red. In time, they would fade.
But she would always bear the marks.
“Do they hurt?” he asked softly.
She yanked them back. “They’re fine. Please, Nick. I’ve got a garden party this afternoon, and I’ve got to finish my prep, so—”
“I’ve had enough chitchat too. I’ve figured out that catching a bullet for you hasn’t earned me enough points for you to take me back. But it sure as hell ought to earn me a fucking private conversation.”
Becca’s eyes fell. She bit her lip. The blond girl’s eyes got big.
“I’ll say what I need to say in front of an audience if I have to,” he went on grimly. “But you’re the one who’ll be embarrassed. Not me.”
“Manipulative bastard,” she whispered.
“Um, Becca? Should I, like, go?” the girl faltered.
“No, Cheryl Ann. Mind the desk,” Becca said. “You,” she jerked her chin at Nick. “Come on in here. If you must.”
She would be calm. She was strong now, she told herself. She’d been through the fire, and she’d emerged hardened, tempered. Tough.
For awhile, after that awful night, she thought she might never feel again. Anything, good or bad. She’d been relieved at the time. She hadn’t cried since then. Hadn’t crumbled once. She’d kept it together.
She was glad he was behind her on the stairs so he couldn’t see her face. Glad, too, that she was wearing this gauzy blue sundress. Not that she wanted to attract him. But looking nice gave a woman a slight advantage, and she needed every advantage she could get.
He was so…oh, there was no word for how he was. No defense against it. It wasn’t fair, for him to come here and flaunt his mojo at her. Throbbing all those intense male vibes at her on purpose to muddle her and scramble her. Looking at her with his trademark gaze of smoldering volcanic desire. Making her weak with longing.
She couldn’t give in. He was too hard for her. He was a rock that she would break herself on, and she was shipwrecked already. Still in salvage mode, trying to find all the chunks of herself.
She led him into the shabby accounting office above the kitchen space. It was sparsely furnished, just a desk heaped with paperwork and a folding chair. She shut the door.
Nick opened his mouth. She held up her hand to forestall him. “Before we say anything, let’s just get one thing straight. Thank you.”
He frowned. “Huh?”
“Thank you,” she repeated, her voice stiff and mechanical. “I have a lot to be thankful for. What you did on the island, to begin with. Saving Josh and Carrie, and those others. Coming back for me, getting shot for me. It was very brave and noble. Very heroic.”
He waited. “And?”
She threw up her hands. “Isn’t that enough for you?”
“I sense there’s more,” he said. “Let me have it.”
“No,” she said. “There isn’t. That’s the point, Nick. It ends right there. Thank you. Period. Stop.”
He shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “It can’t end there.”
“Oh, yes it can,” she said. “I will be the first to admit that you deserve a medal for what you did—”
“But I don’t deserve you?”
Doubt gripped her, anxious, sucking, awful. Oh, God, why did it hurt so much? How could it be so painful just to do the right thing?
She forced herself to remember the dense darkness of the warehouse. The pit of despair she was still trying to climb out of.
Some things could not be forgiven. Ever.
She would always have that darkness in the back of her mind now. She would always be hearing the rustling of the rats, feeling that shrinking helplessness, the rage, the hurt, the horrible fear.
She shook her head. “No, Nick. I can’t do it,” she whispered. “I cannot risk you. You are too dangerous for me.”
“No, I’m not,” he said. “I would die for you. I tried to.”
Her belly contracted in pain. “Oh, God. Stop. Don’t do this to me.”
“I know you’re angry.” His voice was low, careful. “Try to see it from my point of view.”
“No.” She took her hands away from her wet eyes and glared at him. “I’ve given that up. This isn’t about me being angry. This is about me surviving. I have to put my own damn point of view first for that. My point of view wasn’t pretty. I still feel the rats nibbling my shoes.”
A muscle pulsed in his tight jaw. “Jesus, Becca. I’m sorry.”
“You should be.” She turned her back on him.
She didn’t hear him move, but she felt that hot force field buzzing around her, making her hyperaware of his nearness.
“A very wise, kind person gave me a lecture once,” he said quietly. “She told me that deceiving and betraying are sins, but that being deceived and being betrayed were mistakes. Bad breaks.”
“Maybe. I was the one who was betrayed, though,” she said.
“Not by me,” he said. “I did the best I could with the information I had. But like you said yourself. I’m not God. And I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sure you did do the best you could, Nick,” she said stiffly. “It’s not your fault your best just wasn’t good enough.”
She could feel the silent hurt she’d caused radiating off him.
He stepped back. The silence yawned, creating a distance that widened, deepened, making her heart burn, ache. Break.
“OK,” he said flatly. “I hear you. I won’t bother you again.”
The warped door scraped open, and clicked shut after him. She heard his boots descending on the creaking stairs.
Grief roared up, and morphed unexpectedly into fury. Why her? Why should she suffer like this? What had she done to deserve it?
Ping, something pulled too tight and snapped inside her like piano wire. She lunged for the door and yanked it open.
“Goddamn you, Nick Ward,” she yelled.
He turned at the foot of the stairs, and stared up, startled. “Huh?”
“Do I mean so little to you? Is it that easy to walk away?” she raged. “Say ‘I’m sorry’ and slink off, telling me you won’t bother me again. Hah! Bother me? To hell with you! Sniveling goddamn coward!”
“Uh, whoa.” He looked nervous, but intrigued. “I thought you wanted me to…well, shit, Becca. What do you want me to do?”
“Use your tiny, shriveled pea brain, and figure it out!” she yelled. “Can you handle how pissed off I am at you, Nick? Because I am so pissed. I am royally, severely pissed, and that won’t just go away just because you say you’re sorry! So forget it!”
His lips twitched, but he wisely suppressed the smile. “I’m one tough son of a bitch,” he said. He took a step up the stairs. “I can take a whole lot of abuse.”
“Oh yeah? But can you take me, Nick?” Her voice shook with emotion. “Do you have the guts for that?”
He climbed the stairs, staring intently into her face. “I can take you,” he said. “Hell yes. It’s giving you up that I can’t take.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, let’s just see.” She gestured imperiously for him to get back into the office. She slammed the door shut, crossed her arms over her chest and barred the exit with her body. No way was he getting away from her before she got her ya-yas out.
“What’s with the screaming harpy act?” His eyes were wary.
“News flash, Nick,” she said. “It’s not an act. I am a screaming harpy. What you see is what you get. So cope.”
An appreciative grin spread over his face. “You’re hot when you’re feisty,” he said. “I fucking love that.”
She shoved at his hard midriff, but did not succeed in budging him. “Only an idiot would say that to a woman as pissed as me.”
“I never claimed to be a rocket scientist,” Nick admitted. “You know me. Mouth opens, truth falls out. Plop. Whether it’s in my best i
nterests or not.”
“Then I suggest you keep your big mouth shut,” she snapped. “Let me see your scar.”
He looked startled, but pulled up his navy T-shirt over his lean torso obligingly enough. She kept her face impassive as she looked at the long, jagged, angry weal, the marks of the clamps and the stitches. It made her heart hurt. She wanted to press her lips against it.
But he wasn’t getting off that easy. She brushed her fingertips over it. He sucked in a harsh breath.
She whipped her hand back, alarmed. “Did I hurt you?”
He shook his head. That hot glow in his eyes was all too familiar. She let her eyes roam over his body, lingering on the thick bulge in his jeans. His eyes followed her gaze. With one swift gesture, he peeled the T-shirt right off, letting it drop from his wrist to the scarred linoleum.
Showoff. Doing a double whammy on her, flaunting his gorgeous bod and his heroic bullet wound at the same time.
It shamed her to her bones that it was working so well.
“Put that back on,” she said breathlessly. “Exhibitionist jerk.”
He shook his head, grabbed her hand and placed it on his scar again, trapping it under his own. “Do that again,” he said. “I liked it.”
She tugged, in vain, on her hand. “You think I give a damn what you like, Nick Ward?”
“I know that you do,” he said.
She wrenched her hand away with a growl of rage, and hauled off, as if she were going to hit him. She stopped herself, muscles locked.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Hit me. Whale on me, if you want.”
“I can’t,” she said crabbily. “You’re wounded, goddamnit.”
“That’s OK. I’m tough. I can take it.”
Oh, God. Something about the stoic acceptance in his voice just broke her heart all over again. That was the heart of the problem with Nick. He was always expecting a blow. Always braced for it. Never surprised when it landed.
She wouldn’t be the one to deal him that blow.
Tears were sliding down her face, her throat melting into a shimmering hot coal. “I don’t care if you can take it or not,” she said shakily. “You’ve taken enough, goddamnit.”
Of all times for the big thaw to come crashing down on her. Damn, damn, damn. This was so undignified. She grabbed tissues from the desk and hid her face in the fluffy wad of paper.
Nick pulled her against his hard, naked chest, wrapping her in the steely strength of his arms. His skin was feverishly hot.
It took a while for the backed-up tears to move through her. There was a lot to cry about: that awful night, that day that she’d steeled herself to leave him at the hospital. All the times she hadn’t let herself call to see how he was. The sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling.
She’d tried so hard to let him go. But she couldn’t.
And she wouldn’t. The relief of giving in was so sweet, such a liberating rush of emotion, she thought for a moment that she might swoon, like a Victorian maiden. But Nick held her up. He didn’t get bored with her protracted crying jag, either. He seemed glad for the excuse to touch her. He buried his face in her hair. Rubbed her back as if trying to memorize every bump of her spine, every muscle, every rib.
The tears moved through her and trailed away, leaving her limp and soft. Very light, as if she might float up and away if he didn’t keep a tight grip. Never one to waste an advantage, Nick tilted her head back and started kissing her wet, closed eyelids, her flushed red cheeks.
“Stop that,” she whispered. “We haven’t made it that far yet.”
“No? How about this, then?” He sank to his knees, staring up at her body. “I love this view. Your gorgeous tits, from below.” His hands swept up the outside of her thighs under her skirt. He hooked her panties with his thumbs and yanked them down around her ankles.
She sucked in a breath. Oh, whoa. No way. Not a chance.
She stumbled back, her bottom fetching up against the desk as he tossed up her skirt and pressed his hot face to her muff. He parted her labia gently with his fingers and his eager tongue licked and probed.
Her knees almost gave way and dumped her on the floor as the sensations swirled in her lower body, a liquid shimmer of heat, of light.
She panicked. She couldn’t bear it, as raw and emotional as she felt. She pushed his face away. “No. Please. Don’t, Nick.”
“No?” He wiped his mouth, looked up at her. “Pretty please?”
“Can’t take it,” she said, unevenly. “It’s too much. I’ll come apart.”
He stood up, standing between her parted legs so the length of their bodies was flush, touching at every point. “Sorry,” he said. “Oh, wait. It pisses you off when I say I’m sorry. Everything pisses you off.”
“Don’t you dare get mouthy on me.”
He shrugged, and stared into her eyes, waiting patiently for her to tell him what he could do. Vibrating sexual eagerness at her.
And now she wanted it, too. The bastard had gotten her whipped up into a state. Restless and anxious and hungry for him.
Well, and why not? She lifted her chin, and pointed to the bulge at his crotch. “Stop talking, Nick. And whip that thing out. Right now.”
He hesitated, looking alarmed. “What do you intend to do to it?”
“That’s for me to know and for you to worry about,” she said.
He unbuckled his belt. “You’re making me nervous, babe,” he complained.
“Oh, yeah? Well, guess what, buddy? You’ve made me nervous from the moment I met you. It’s about time you knew how it felt!”
Nick shrugged, fatalistically, and jerked the jeans down. His cock sprang up to attention.
She petted it, testing its hardness, the ropy thickness. This was improvised madness. She had no idea what she was doing. Only that it was a really bad idea. And that she couldn’t stop herself to save her life.
The words leaped out, rash and crazy. “Make love to me.”
His eyes flashed. “Hell yes, babe. I live to serve. Just let me go down on you first, so you can—”
“No.” She shook her head frantically. “I want you inside me. Now.”
His brows knitted. “You’re not ready. I’ll hurt you.”
“I don’t care,” she said wildly. “Just do it.”
He shoved papers off the desk to make space, sending stuff tumbling and fluttering to the floor, and set her bottom on the desk, lifting her skirt. “I care,” he said, his tone steely. “I know you’re in a crazy mood, but you’ll wait till you’re ready, and that is fucking final.”
“Damn it, Nick—” She shut up with a gasp as he slid his hand between her thighs and thrust his finger inside her.
She was already slick and hot, writhing around his hand, but he persisted, caressing her and spreading her slick hot juice where it was needed most. “I don’t have a condom,” he told her.
“Oh, what a shame.” Her voice shook. “Then I guess you just can’t come. Too bad for you. But that’s your problem, not mine.”
His grin flashed as he pressed her legs wide. “Cruel Becca.”
She clutched his shoulders, panting. They pressed their damp foreheads together for that magic moment of connection, when he eased his thick, blunt bulb inside her and slowly, slowly started to push.
Every tiny delicious stroke, every rocking movement made her want to writhe and moan, but for some reason she fought it, biting her lip. Still afraid to give in to pleasure, to him. Walls within walls.
He stopped. “What’s this all about, Becca? What does it mean?”
“Nothing,” she said, defiantly. “It means nothing. Just that I want this, and you’re handy, so I’m taking it. No promises. No strings.”
He narrowed his eyes and slowly withdrew, leaving only the tip of himself inside her, caressing her. “So this is part of my punishment?”
She reached down to grip his butt, pulling on him. “Just get to it, damn it!”
Her ferocity made her grin. “I’m just y
our boy toy thug, then? Your tattooed lowlife? Use me for sex, and then kick me to the curb?”
“You talk too much,” she snapped, breathless. “Just…fuck me.”
“You’re so tough,” he whispered. He thrust deep, staring into her eyes. “But you will melt for me,” he said, his voice caressing, as if he were putting a spell on her. “And you will come for me, too. You love me.”
“Arrogant bastard,” she gasped, staring at the sight of his thick shaft disappearing inside her, pulling out again, shiny with her juice.
“If I’m going to be your boy toy, I ought to live with you full time,” he said. “So that I’m available to service you night and day.”
She couldn’t think of a comeback to that, not while he was rotating his thumb around her clit as he pumped and thrust.
“And if I’m fucking you night and day, you might as well just marry me,” he pointed out. “So the children we have will be legitimate.”
She choked back the urge to laugh. “Watch out, buddy. You’re getting all masterful again.”
His grin was wicked. “That’s how you like me,” he said. “I know what you like. I’m going to give it to you hard. So brace yourself.”
He settled into a sensual rhythm that made her whimper and gasp. She wrapped her arms around his neck and yielded to it, her body softening, blooming brighter and hotter as their bodies merged.
She felt his orgasm gathering, felt him clench, and start to pull away from her—
No. She gripped his butt, sank her nails in, trapping him inside her. Letting his scalding heat pump through her, fill her, like healing balm. Melting that stiff, frozen place inside her, melting her anger and doubt. Opening her up to hope again.
To everything. Life, the future, her dreams and longings. Love.
After, her head rested against his damp chest. She lifted it, and kissed his scar, as she’d been longing to do. Tender, smooching kisses.
They swayed together, damp and clinging, for a timeless interval.
Nick tilted her chin up. “So this is the deal, babe,” he said. “You could punish me by keeping me in suspense if you want, but it’s a big waste of time. I love you. And I’m never going to let you go.”
Extreme Danger Page 47