If she was awake, he was going to make sure she ate something before he left.
“Are you back on the medicine?” he asked, settling her on one of the bar stools.
She grimaced at him. “No. I don’t need it right now. Well, maybe it would be useful, but I don’t want it. Why?”
“Because you’re not eating.” She’d lost probably five pounds, easy.
“I never eat when I’m miserable.” She sighed and shrugged. “The ADHD drugs aren’t the only thing that kills my appetite. Finding out what happened to Mom. The memorial. Nosy bitches who don’t need to be at Mom’s memorial anyway. All of those things will make me not want to eat.”
“You’re going to eat.”
She slid him a look. “Am I now?”
He came back over to the island and planted one hand in front of her, the other on the back of her chair. “You are. You’re wasting away.” Then, because he knew she might ignore him if he bossed her around, but she’d never ignore him if he asked, he softened his voice and said, “Please, Tink.”
She sighed.
Reaching up, he cupped her cheek, wished he had the right to stroke his thumb over the full curve of her lower lip, maybe press his lips to hers and see if he couldn’t find some way to stir her appetite and make her forget some of her misery for a while.
She covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “You need a wife, Guy. You just love taking care of people.”
“Not all wives want to be taken care of.” He shrugged and turned away. He wasn’t about to tell her that the only woman he wanted to take care of was her, that the only woman he wanted was the woman he’d never have.
“So get a dog.”
“Funny.”
“Oh. Oh, shit.” The chair screeched against the floor as she shoved it back and he looked over his shoulder to see her coming across the floor to him. “I’m sorry. That was stupid and thoughtless. Guy, I’m sorry. I—”
Confused, he caught her arms in his hands, staring at the blush spreading across her face. “Chris, what…” Then he realized, understanding hitting him like a ton of bricks. “Baby, stop. I’m not going to get a dog because I’m never home to take care of one.”
“That was mean, and stupid,” she said, the words rushing out of her. “I don’t know why I said it. I’m never going to learn to think—”
He’d like to think he did it just to make her stop kicking herself.
But Guy would have given his left arm to have the chance to kiss her again. And there she was, tears blurring her beautiful green-gold eyes, while the self-doubt and self-anger built inside her.
Because he hated seeing it, he caught her face in his hands and cut off her words by pressing his lips to hers. “No,” he murmured as she stumbled to a halt, her lips still moving slightly against his as she sucked in a breath. “Just no, Tink, okay?”
He went to pull away.
Her hands came up, fisted in the lapels of his suit.
“Do that again,” she said.
He stared at her.
“Chris…”
She licked her lips, her gaze locked on his mouth. “There’s been nothing but noise in my head most of the day. I’ve told you what it’s like. Usually I can turn it down or tune it out better than this, but not today. When you’re touching me, it’s better.”
She eased back in and pressed her lips to his again. “Do it again. But really kiss me.”
He tangled his fist in her hair. “Chris, we said we weren’t doing this anymore.”
“Does that mean you don’t want me?” she whispered, easing back just enough to touch her fingers to his lips.
That light touch was a torturous pleasure, one that went flying through him, straight down to his cock, drawing his balls tight while he fought the urge to grab her dress, pull it up, and just bury himself inside her.
“Not want you…” He closed his eyes, struggled to think for just a blessed minute. Chris complained that she had noise in her head and he could believe it. She lived her life like she was running at high speed and only had so much time to do the million things she had firing inside her head. Guy had something in his head, too.
Her.
Just her.
Always her.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked back at her.
He tugged her up against him, her body flush with his. His erection pulsed against her belly and her breath shuddered out of her. “Oh,” she whispered, a smile lighting up her face. “You do want—”
“Want has nothing on how I feel. But you need to be sure this is what you want. What you really want.” He dipped his head but instead of pressing his mouth to hers, he angled her head back and pressed his mouth to the delicate notch between her collarbone, felt the soft gasp fall from her. “It’s not just something you’re doing to kill the hours before you can sleep. It’s not something you’ll regret in the morning. You regretted it last time.”
“I didn’t.” She slid her hands up, her fingers biting into his shoulders through the layers of clothes. “I didn’t regret it. It was just…” She shook her head. “You’re making me think too much but it wasn’t regret. Anything but that. And I won’t regret this. Give me tonight, Guy. Please.”
* * *
Please. Don’t make me beg—
Those words hovered on the tip of her tongue, but then, words and thought lost all meaning as the hand he’d tangled in her hair moved, bringing her in closer to him.
Hunger, anticipation, vied inside her and she rose up onto her toes to meet his kiss.
But he didn’t kiss her.
His lips feathered across her cheekbone, brushed down her jawline to her neck. She whimpered as he tugged her head to the side, exposing her neck, but before she could even think about complaining, he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her neck.
At the same time, his other hand pulled her skirt up.
She gasped as cool air kissed her flesh.
His hand, rough and warm, palmed her flesh and he muttered, “Damn. Here I was getting all worked up and you had to go and decide to wear panties.”
It surprised a laugh out of her.
“I always wear panties when I’m wearing a dress. And how do you know that I tend…”
She lifted her head to meet his eyes and the words stuck in her throat. His eyes, those dark gray eyes, burned hot. “I’ve got a fascination with how your ass fills out a pair of jeans, Tink. I can tell you how many times you’ve worn panties every day this past week.”
She made a face at him. “If I’m wearing jeans, I don’t usually wear them at all. I like my jeans tight.” She shrugged. “Panties ride up.”
“We can’t have that.” He let her skirt fall down and then his hands were on her hips, turning her around.
He dipped his head, pressed a kiss to her nape. “Naked. I want to see you naked.”
She didn’t say a word. She was too busy processing what he’d just told her. I’ve got a fascination …
Just thinking about it made her belly jump around. It also made her nervous.
“Stop thinking,” he whispered. The rasp of her zipper seemed terribly loud as he dragged it down. The red dress would have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t caught it and draped it over the back of one of her bar stools. “If you have to think at all, think about what I’m doing. What I’m going to do.”
One hand nudged her forward and she closed her eyes, automatically bracing her hands on the island in front of her.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, her breath hitching in her chest. “Right now you’re just talkin’—oh!”
Her panties fell in scraps to the floor and he whispered, “I like you better without them.” And then he slid a hand up the inside of her thigh. “Open for me, Tink.”
He didn’t give her a chance to brace herself, or even breathe as he pushed two fingers inside her, twisted.
His other hand smoothed up her back, freed the catch on her bra, and she hurriedly stripped it away, hating the
feel of it against her all of a sudden. The only thing she wanted against her was him—just him.
She pushed back against his hand, riding him, half desperate for the release that was already burning inside her. “More?” he asked.
“Yes.” She had to force the word out of her tight throat, her hands clutching at the island.
“What do you want?” He used his hand on her hair to tug her up, his lips pressed to her temple.
“You, damn it. Just you.”
“Hmm.” He angled her head back around, his mouth coming down on hers, hungry, demanding, and she met that bruising, rough kiss as he twisted his fingers inside her cunt.
A climax splintered through her and she would have screamed if he hadn’t caught the sound and swallowed it down. “That’s it,” he muttered as she strained against him, desperate for the kiss, desperate for his touch, desperate for everything. “Come. Come…”
When it ended, the strength, and tension, drained out of her and if it wasn’t for his hands, she might have puddled on the floor at his feet.
He swept her up in his arms. “Not done with you yet.”
“I sure as hell hope not.”
Chapter Two
But he was gone in the morning.
Her body felt bruised from the hours they’d spent climbing over each other and her mouth was swollen.
Instead of sobbing into her pillow all night, she’d spent the night with him and she’d hoped she’d wake up with him, instead of the noise in her head.
He had to work.
“That’s probably it,” she muttered to herself.
But then she thought, mentally checking his schedule.
Unless he was picking up an extra shift, he ought to be off.
Maybe he needed some time to think. Or even deal with shit going on with—her lip curled—his father.
Rising from the bed, she eyed her reflection in the mirror, the faint outline of bruises on her hips, the marks on her breasts. She’d left more than a few marks on him, too, she’d bet.
She’d thought maybe they could …
“Could what?” Turning away from the mirror, she pushed a hand through her hair and grabbed the robe hanging from the hook by the bed.
Her room was meticulously neat and organized, almost brutally so, as was the rest of the house, and her workshop. Her head was sheer chaos and once upon a time, her natural inclination had been to just dump everything in a heap by the door as she came inside.
In the months before Mom had died, she’d started to see what was going on in Chris’s head so she’d started making … changes. Rules, lots of them. A place for everything and everything in its place.
Chris had coped with the loss of her mother by clinging to those rules, that structure. Over-coped was probably the right word and she sometimes spent hours pacing the house as she checked to make sure everything was where it needed to be.
The only time she didn’t spaz out about it was when her mind was otherwise occupied.
Like with Guy.
He had been a good distraction.
But now …
She made her way into the kitchen, hoping to find a note, or something.
No note.
No sign that he’d run out to grab some breakfast or anything.
Padding over to the window, she peeked outside, looking across the street to the little apartment where he’d lived the last four years.
If he was home, he’d probably be on the little balcony, either with a book or his laptop or with coffee.
But the balcony was silent and the windows were dark.
Melancholy, she leaned her head against the window frame.
* * *
He’d stayed until he knew her nightmares wouldn’t wake her.
That had kept him there until nearly dawn.
Now, as he pounded out his own nightmares on the pavement, he no longer had to fight to forget the night because something else had forced its way into his brain.
His fucking father had called.
Three times yesterday.
Guy hadn’t been home, but that hadn’t stopped the son of a bitch from leaving messages.
“Need to talk to you, boy. Get your ass out here.”
The next two messages weren’t quite so polite.
He’d deleted all three messages.
Go out there.
Like hell.
But now, memories chased him.
Those words, so similar to words Theo Miller had spoken one night, years ago.
“Get your ass out here. You hear me, boy? Get the fuck out of that bed!”
The summer sun, brutally hot, shone down, reflecting off the water, all but blinding him.
Sweat gleamed along his neck, his arms, soaked the battered gray shirt he’d pulled on. He was going on five miles now and the voices were still chasing him, the memories still haunting him. It fucking pissed him off. If he had to have memories eating him up right now, couldn’t it be the night he’d just spent with Chris?
But no.
“You son of a bitch,” he muttered, rage twisting at his gut as the memories battered him.
* * *
“You hear me, boy? Get your ass up.”
A hand, open and hard, striking him along the face. He stood with his head down because lately, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he could see the hate burning in his eyes and he knew if the old man saw it, he’d be ready to beat it out of him. Or worse, take it out on Mama.
“’Bout fucking time. Lazy ass piece of trash. Here.”
Guy stared at the wrapped bundle on the floor, not following. Blood trickled down his face.
“That fucking dog of yours bit me for the last time.” Theo Miller stared at him, his eyes overbright, gleaming with something that looked like madness to the fourteen-year-old boy in front of him. “I killed him. He’s dead. You’re gonna bury him.”
“He ain’t my dog,” Guy said sullenly.
“The fuck he ain’t!” Theo’s voice was a roar that all but shattered glass.
Bracing for the blow he thought for sure would come, Guy just stood there, his breath held.
But there was no blow.
When he finally looked up, Theo was panting, staring at nothing. Finally, he jerked his head. “Come on. We’ll take him out by the park. Bury him out there. Get moving.”
* * *
Stumbling to a halt, Guy bent over, his hands on his knees, a bellow of denial tearing up his throat.
He bit it back, swallowed it down.
But he couldn’t keep from sinking to his knees when he looked up and realized where he was.
It was here.
This was the spot where they’d pulled that car out of the river.
Numb, he looked at the torn-up piece of earth, searching for some other sign, but all he could see was the mud that had rolled off the car and the ripped-up bits of earth. In a few weeks, nobody would be able to tell just by looking.
Nobody would be able to tell that this was the spot where the sheriff’s department had helped pull out the car that had held the body of one Nichole Bell, missing for fifteen years.
Guy’s father had put her into the river.
Guy had unwittingly helped bury the evidence all those years ago.
Yesterday, he’d sat with the family, listened as Chris actually defended him in front of what felt like half the town.
But he wasn’t so sure she’d been right.
He hadn’t belonged there. He kept expecting to look at them, see the fury, the hate coming from any of them and they’d be right.
Chris had needed him there. He’d known it, and that was why he went.
She’d needed him, needed a friend—
“Fuck!” He straightened and spun around, driving the heels of his hands against his eyes, his shoulders straining against the shirt he wore, sweat dripping down his back. She’d needed him and what the fuck had he done? Taken the first chance he had to get her naked.
“You’re just a
s bad as he is,” he told himself.
“Son of a bitch.” He sagged against the metal railing, staring dully at the river. But this time, he didn’t know if he was talking to himself, or to his father.
He guessed it didn’t really matter.
The two of them had managed to destroy an entire family.
The family of the woman Guy had been in love with, for what felt like forever.
* * *
Tap-tap-tap.
Chris drilled her nails on the surface of the table, checked her watch.
It was coming up on nine.
So he hadn’t been home, not that she had seen, all damn day, and she’d been watching, too.
No reason for him not to be here.
Tap-tap-tap.
She checked her phone.
Nope.
No messages.
She looked around the table. Her sister was there, Dean at her side. Tate and Ali were there, too. It was Friday. Only person missing was Guy. She didn’t have to check the location—it was Madison. Only place to really get plastered around here, unless you went up on the hill, was Shakers, so it’s not like he could have gotten confused. They’d been doing this for years. Fridays in the summers were spent at Shakers, especially when it was close to …
Now.
Close to Mom, and the time she’d disappeared.
He ought to be here. He always was. But where was he now?
Tap-tap-tap.
A hand reached out, covered hers.
She looked up, met Tate’s dark brown eyes. “Settle down a bit, Chrissie,” he said softly. “You’re about to come out of your skin.”
“Where the hell is he?”
Tate’s gaze slid away and he sighed, reaching up to shove his hair back from his face. “Maybe he needs to get away from…” He shrugged and looked around. “This.”
“This?” She shook her head. “This what?”
“People who look at him like Louise did.” Tate said the words without flinching and he met her gaze directly. “We love him and we know where his hard head ought to be.” He shrugged and looked away. “Maybe he needs to get away from it for a while.”
“But…” She bit it back, the words fading before she even understood just what she wanted to say. Emotion, confusion, anger, it built inside her, built and built and built.
Long For Me Page 2