by AJ Nuest
He exhaled into her ear, nipping the lobe, ran his thumb over the full arc of her breast and then muttered a curse as the nipple tightened and beaded. “Make no mistake, Chuck. The second that woman in the mirror gives me the green light, I’m comin’ at her like a train on rails.”
Her lashes fluttered, lips parted, and his low chuckle warmed her skin as he tasted the crest of her shoulder.
Easing her forward with his chest, he reached down and clasped her inner thigh. Her breathing increased as he straightened. The fringe of her dress split over his wrist. Heat tightened the nerves at the base of his spine as he swept his fingers past the lacy edge of her thigh high stocking to the slippery strip of silk between her legs.
Fuck, she was soaked. His cock jerked, and he drove against her from behind, taking a slow, penetrating ride along the seam of her ass. She panted, shifting her hips as he stroked the tender crease between her sex and her thigh. “But the truth is, as desperate as she was to run away, the woman you see never really left that house.”
Curling his fingers under the elastic, he yanked the material aside. Her spine bowed, head falling back to his shoulder as he brushed a slow circle over the hard nub jutting from her folds. “You’re the only one who can unlock the door.”
He slid his middle finger deep, dipped and swayed as she writhed against the heel of his hand. Teasing her entrance with short, quick strokes, he tapped and rubbed with his thumb.
His balls hitched as her hips took up the rhythm. Blood pounded in his ears as the head of his cock sank and nestled between her spread legs. “I’m begging you. For the sweet love of Christ, let her out.”
One of her hands left the sink and clamped around the back of his neck. The other seized his wrist, forcing him deeper as she wriggled along his length. Bending his knees, he thrust up again and again, meeting her each time she rammed against him.
A whimper caught in her throat. He thrummed faster and she convulsed in his arms, going rigid along his chest. Shivers wracked her body as her warm cream doused his palm. Her hand slipped from his neck as she pitched forward, chest heaving, her arms braced on the sink.
Shit, she was incredible. He circled that pulsing nub with his thumb and she gasped, her muscles grasping and squeezing his finger. But he’d always suspected she’d be just as giving in her orgasms as she was in every other aspect of her life.
Coasting his palm up her back, he leaned over her and brought his lips to ear. Filled his lungs and then hesitated.
Fuck it.
Slowly exhaling, he uttered the three words he’d never said to another living soul. “I love you, Charlie. I’ve always been in love with you and I always will be.”
She snapped her head up and he met her gaze in the mirror.
“Don’t tell me what’s beautiful and what’s not.” Pushing up from the vanity, he pulled his hand from between her legs. “We’ve both witnessed enough ugliness to spot the difference and, right now, the only one standing in the way is you.”
Pain filled her eyes, maybe a hint of anger, and she spun to face him as he backed toward the door. “And don’t think for one second I expect anything will go away. The past will always be there, waiting for you. But, dammit, so will I.”
Some of the sadness leaked from her eyes. Replaced by hope. The jamb bumped his shoulder, and he stopped. “And don’t come to me unless you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere, but if and when you give me the go-ahead I can’t promise I’ll be gentle. Ten years is a long time for any man to wait.”
Not that the gap was Charlie’s fault. Guilt had kept him away. The stupid, fucking lies he’d fed himself that he’d be smarter to wait until he had the wealth and resources to take care of her the way she deserved.
But this moment wasn’t about easing his conscience.
This was about doing what was best for her.
Her focus flicked to the rock-hard boner tenting the front of his slacks, but he didn’t do a damn thing to hide it. Hell, if that didn’t convince her how he felt, nothing would.
For now, he’d done all he could. Said everything that mattered.
The next move was hers.
“I’ll be in my old room if you need me.” Pivoting for the doorway, he left.
Chapter 11
What, in all the ultimate, holy shit climaxes had just happened?
Charlie whirled back to the sink and blinked at the disheveled, weak-kneed woman in the mirror. Had Xander seriously dropped an L-bomb on her?
She clamped a shaking hand over her mouth, the grip so tight her jaw bones rattled her ear drums. Okay, okay. Before she suffered some sort of psychotic—joygasmic—break, she needed to slow the hell down. Breathe.
Yes, she’d picked up on his signals. A visual of the two of them swaying in front of the mirror screamed into her head, and she slammed her knees together as her core pulsed, clenched. To miss the growing heat in his eyes every time she looked at the man, she’d have to be one of the walking dead.
But love? He was in love with her?
The warm friction caused by his fingers slipping up her inner thigh jolted through her body. The memory of his hard chest riding her back shot a thrill into her stomach, and moisture drenched her panties over the way he’d driven into her from behind.
Did the man even know what that meant? Screw that, did she?
Squeezing her eyes tight, she turned away from the mirror. Her entire life, only two other people had said those words to her, and one of them didn’t count. No mother expressed love for her child by consistently turning a blind eye to the kind of abuse Charlie had suffered as a kid. By vomiting a list of excuses that didn’t add up to shit against the wide-eyed innocence of a five-year-old nursing a dislocated shoulder. A broken wrist. A black eye.
Long before she’d witnessed the way Lydia doted on Mina and Ellis, Charlie had understood her mother’s love came at too high a price.
But Xander?
Her stomach vaulted and flipped as the past few days streamed past her eyelids like some made-for-TV romance. Everything he’d done since the second she’d spotted him on her doorstep showed how much he cared for her.
Always being right by her side unless he was positive she was safe. Picking up on her discomfort and reassuring her in front of everyone after that ridiculous snafu with Molly.
And Ellis. She placed her hand on her chest. Dear God, did the man have any clue how much his support meant to her? How he’d become the miracle she’d been praying for ever since she’d found out Ellis was sick?
Was that love? Her fingers curled into a fist, crumpling the collar of her dress. Was it?
If not, well then hell. Someone had better phone Webster’s and explain to her what was. And like the greedy thief she’d always been, she craved more. More of Xander’s generous lips stimulating every part of her body. More of his talented hands stroking her to the best damn orgasm of her life. More of his words, telling her she was exactly what he’d wanted for ten long years.
Dammit. Slapping her palms to the sink, she stared down at the dry basin. Then cranked the tap and splashed some cold water on her face. Whatever worries she’d had about trampling past the boundaries of friendship, he’d just pulled the pin on a live grenade and blown those to smithereens. And she’d followed right along, hadn’t she? Regardless of the landmines buried in her path, she’d run at that barbed-wire topped fence with an AK-47 strapped to her back.
Booyah. There was no coming back from the nine-point-five magnitude earthquake she’d shuddered in his hands.
Ripping the hand towel off the stand on her left, she turned off the water and dried her face. Damn lucky letters on his laptop. They didn’t have the first clue the kind of explosion he could provoke by running his fingertips over the keys. One nibble of her throat, one whisper in her ear and she’d let him tap out whatever response he’d wanted.
But, seriously. Like, hands-down, swear-on-a-stack-of-Bibles seriously, how was she supposed to resist? From the top of his thick blond hair t
o the heels of his black, alligator loafers, Xander Dade was the complete package. Any woman in the known—shit, even the unknown—universe would be lucky to have him.
Peeking over the edge of the towel, she eyed her reflection in the glass. Wonderful. This was a fabulous look. Black mascara drippy around the edges. The back of her hair matted to a rat’s nest from schlepping up and down Xander’s broad shoulder. Dress hitched around her hips and underwear sagging in a full-out walk of shame.
But that was just it. She set the towel aside and stepped back from the sink to wriggle her panties back in place. She wasn’t ashamed. Not in the least. To act embarrassed or slap down a bunch of regret after the commitment Xander had displayed for her would be downright rude.
She couldn’t do that to him. The man was her best friend.
A quick shimmy to work her dress down her thighs, and she cleared the smudges from around her eyes before finger-combing her hair. Even after she’d stupidly blurted her worst fears, he’d stood up for her, told her the truth and made her listen regardless of whether or not the words would be difficult for her to hear.
Leaving the sink, she crossed the bathroom and flicked off the lights near the door. A short trip across Malcolm’s office, and she stooped down to gather one of her heels from where Xander had kicked it near the fireplace, then collected the other from the top of Malcolm’s desk.
Before he’d walked back into her life, the only person who’d ever defended her like that was her brother, Danny.
Swinging the door closed behind her, she left Malcolm’s office. He’d never hesitated to jump right in the mix whenever things got crazy. Always trying to protect her even though he was no more than a kid, himself. Consistently encouraging her to leave when they both knew damn well her disappearing would make things harder on him.
The only other love ya she’d ever gotten had been from Danny, and so what if he tugged her hair and knuckled a playful noogie over her scalp right after. She’d still believed him. Hell, if it hadn’t been for his insistence she get and stay lost, she never would’ve had the strength to follow through.
His sacrifice had saved her. In more ways than one. She harbored absolutely no doubts if she’d stayed in that house, she would’ve been six feet under by now. Or locked in a facility somewhere, unable to feed herself with a plastic spork.
Her foot hit the bottom riser of the front hallway stairs, and she froze.
Holy shit.
Fingers gripping the banister, she snapped her head up and stared at the empty landing to the second-floor balcony.
How could she have been so dumb?
Pressure condensed in her chest. A rage so thick she could barely breathe as sadness and guilt boiled up from the pit of her stomach and washed through her body in a mushroom cloud of toxic waste.
Of all the ungrateful, self-absorbed excuses, what was she doing? She slapped her hand to her forehead, eyes squeezed tight. Xander had been right. About everything. A part of her was still locked in that house. And like a complete idiot, she’d let it stay there. At Danny’s expense. At her and Xander’s expense. Rotting away, day after day, despite how far or fast she’d run.
For the sweet love of God. Talk about taking her decisions for granted. The way she’d squandered her freedom made her sick.
Nice legacy she was leaving her brother. Too weak to look her insecurities in the face. To choose for herself who and what she was. Too bound up in the past when Danny had given up everything to make sure she never had to experience those hurts again.
Her shoulders fell, and she rolled her face toward the polished beams of the second-floor ceiling. Too selfish… She tightened her jaw against a groan. Too damn afraid to let Xander love her when that was all her brother had ever wanted.
For her to have the chance at a good life. A fulfilling life.
A life he’d offered her only to have his stolen in return.
Goddamn it, no. White-knuckling the railing, she gritted her teeth. Xander offered her happiness and she hesitated? Got tied up in what ifs and borrowed trouble as if giving herself to the one man who’d always had her back was the wrong move?
He said he loved her. That he’d always loved her and he always would. Xander’s heart was the most precious, valuable commodity she could ever dream of owning and, when he presented it to her, she shoved it away?
Not. A. Chance.
Pushing off from the banister, she sprinted up the stairs, the weight of her hair bouncing against her back. Yes, there were risks. A ton of stuff she still hadn’t confessed. And yes, worst case scenario, once she did, the whole thing would fall apart and she’d never see him again. But she’d rather fry from now until the end of eternity than to look back on this moment and know she’d never even tried.
Tight fist swinging at her side, she hit the landing and marched straight down the hall for Xander’s bedroom door. The man was a gift. Her oldest and dearest friend.
Her protector. Confidante. The one person in the world who could still read her mind with a single glance. Twisting the knob, she shouldered the door and entered. And for as long as she could make it last, she was going to add lover to that list moving forward.
Three steps inside, and she stumbled to a stop into the middle of his room.
Empty.
Wait, empty? She spun a slow circle and her gaze landed on his discarded clothes, draped across the over-stuffed chair in the corner. The hiss of running water, an occasional splash hitting the tile, drew her attention to the closed bathroom door, and she propped her hand on her hip.
So. Xander had felt the need for a shower, huh? She smirked. And based on the state he’d been in when he’d left Malcolm’s office, she’d place bets that water was the temperature of an Arctic lake.
Dumping her shoes on the dresser, she padded across the carpet and pressed her ear against the wood. God, they’d been ecstatic. After months of doing their business in subway stations and the occasional construction site port-o-john, to find each room in the manor contained a private bath had made their cast of grubby stragglers want to bust out in the score from Annie.
Add in the new clothes, the regular meals and unlimited resources geared toward each kids’ area of expertise, and Daddy Warbucks had nothing on Malcolm Smith.
She cracked the door and then paused. By a gaping margin—like one that shrank the width of the Grand Canyon to a hair—a naked, wet Xander Dade topped her list of Things She Most Wanted to See.
Lips pursed, Charlie squinted. But stripping down to a freezing shower? Not so much. No matter how fast the temp got adjusted, she wouldn’t be able to return the favor. Two seconds in, and her nipples were liable to poke Xander’s eyes out.
She silently swung the door closed. Nope. That visual didn’t come anywhere close to making the grade for their first time together. If she was doing this, then she was doing it right.
Striding for the bed, she stripped, discarding her clothes like a trail of bread crumbs along the floor. Every inch of her torso sent up a praise Jesus, hallelujah as she peeled off her girdle, shoving her nylons down and kicking the confining lycra spandex off her feet.
Naked and trembling, she tore the comforter away from the headboard and climbed between the sheets.
The inviting texture of crisp, cream Egyptian cotton cooled her shoulder blades as she reclined against the pillows, folding the blankets and tucking them around her boobs.
The water shut off and nerves jabbed her stomach as she quickly parted her hair and swung each side over her shoulders.
Okay. She settled in. One leg bent with her hands laced behind her head? No, too casual. Why not just turn on the TV and flip around until she found a football game?
Hand on her hip as she lay on her side? Nah, too campy porn star. Xander would probably end up searching the room for a hidden video camera.
The bathroom door swung open, and she tensed like a board, clamping her hands on her stomach.
He stepped over the threshold, his hair a tousled me
ss as if he’d tried to scrub the follicles right off his head, the thick five o’clock shadow framing his mouth a subtle shade darker. Without a shirt, his corded neck was a testament to all things American Ninja Warrior, book-ended by two dense mounds that sloped toward his wide shoulders.
But what really revved her motor were the glistening droplets that ran down the cut ridges of his pecs, the defined dip of each tendon encasing his ribcage, all damp and clean and trickling toward a white towel he’d cinched around the dense vee of muscle bunched along his hips.
Good God. She slurped her tongue off the floor. This was the man who’d just said he loved her. She blinked. This was him.
He jerked to a stop as their eyes met across the room, and even from that distance, it would’ve been hard to miss the way his pupils dilated so fast they nearly swallowed his irises whole. The front of his towel tented, and she rolled her lips to hide a smile as he dragged a long, slow perusal down the blankets, back up her legs and chest to her face.
“Are you naked in my bed?” Holy hotness wrapped in white terrycloth, his voice. Rough. Low. Laced with something raw and carnal she’d never heard from him before.
And how awesome was that? She internally wagged her brows. Talk about a confidence booster. Apparently, his cold shower had been a horrible waste of good water. “I thought about what you said.”
His brow twitched. And something about the razor-sharp awareness in his gaze—or the blatant, ravenous hunger—made her nipples peak and bead against the sheet. “That was fast.”
“I’m quick on the uptake.” She dipped her chin. “And you did an excellent job of convincing me to hurry up and decide.”
He squinted. “And?”
Um, and what? Her pulse spiked and about a billion butterflies cart-wheeled through her stomach as he crossed to the chair and ransacked his pants for his wallet. He pulled a condom from one of the slots, glanced at her with those blown irises and pulled out two more.