“Okay.” Phin moved, denim rustling as he shifted against the crate. Before she could argue—and she knew that he knew she’d argue—he slid an arm under her bent knees, another behind her back. Her eyes snapped open, but by the time her sluggish brain caught up, he’d repositioned her in his lap.
Now, with her legs over his hip and her cheek pillowed by his chest, he ordered, “Sleep. I’ll stay here and keep a lookout.”
Her elbow dug into his ribs as she propped herself upright. “Phin, you’re as tired as I am.”
His teeth gleamed very white in the glow cast by the scattered lanterns. “I’ll win.”
“Only because I let you,” she retorted.
His arm folded around her shoulders, tugged her back down to his chest. “Whatever helps you sleep, my love.”
Maybe a few minutes. Naomi was used to long hours, she’d spent her life in the Mission. The extra draw this witch-healing crap pulled out of her, though, that was something else.
Muffling a yawn, she wriggled into place. Smiled as she heard him hiss out a careful, not-quite-silent breath.
“Why, Mr. Clarke,” she murmured, fingers easing up around the side of his neck. The warm skin there tensed. “I do believe you’re not all that tired.”
He laughed softly. “Body is willing,” he admitted against her hair, “spirit is thinking a nap sounds like heaven. Sleep, Naomi. I promise to be here.”
Her heart shimmered. There wasn’t any other word for it. As lights flickered behind her eyelids, she took a deep breath, let it out on a murmured, “I love you.”
Phin rested his chin against the top of her head. His heart beat steadily beneath her ear. “I know.”
Her mouth quirked. “Ass.”
He said nothing, only hummed a sound that was as much acknowledgment as humor. As the generators thrummed loudly, voices rising and falling in arrhythmic patterns of the makeshift camp, Naomi nestled into Phin’s embrace and let herself sleep.
How long was Shawn going to torture himself?
A good question. Danny’s intervention—a clipped, “You are a complete tool, you know that?”—hadn’t done anything but tell Shawn everything he already knew.
So here he was, standing outside the small tarp-covered tent Kayleigh had turned into her own lab, fingers clenched around metal and nylon. Rain pounded the street, seeping into all the places it hadn’t used to. The newly formed canyons carved into the overhead tiers made for a hell of a lot of scrabbling as people hurried to get supplies out of the wet.
Shawn had done everything to keep tabs on her but visit himself. Danny’s additional, “Just go talk to her. Please?” hadn’t so much made up his mind as goaded it.
Now he didn’t know what to say.
“Hi, I’m a complete tool,” while accurate, didn’t seem the right tone.
There was nothing to knock on, so he settled for a tap against the tarp. Rain jumped from the surface, splattered over him. He barely noticed. He’d been soaked through for an hour now.
“Come in.”
Kayleigh’s voice slipped out from under the flap, wrapped around Shawn’s throat. Slid into his heart.
I need time.
How much time? How long before he could reach out again, see her smile? Watch intelligence spark to life in her eyes as she puzzled over a project.
Anything, God, but this silence.
Seizing his courage in both hands, Shawn took a deep breath and ducked under the tarp flap.
The light inside blazed, blinding all on its own. The small area was stacked with crates, many placed just to get out of the rain, while an improvised worktable held an old microscope, three plastic trays, and a small refrigerator dug out from God knew where. Cords intersected the crates, powering the appliances.
In the farthest corner, Kayleigh looked up from a small notebook, pen falling still. A radio peppered the silence, the voice—not one of the polished big media anchors; he’d bet one of Jonas’s feeds—quiet and serious.
For a long moment, all Shawn could do was stare. Drink her in. Stand in the entrance to this cluttered, makeshift space and think of all the things he wanted to say.
And all the horrible ways he could fuck it up.
Rain dripped from his hair, slid down his jaw. He wiped it away with an impatient hand.
Her face carefully went blank. “Shawn.”
This was a bad idea. Guts roiling, he took a step back. “I can come back—”
“No.” She put the notebook down, rising from her perch on one of the crates. “Stay. We . . . I think we should talk.”
Talk. Fear gripped Shawn’s heart. What was left of it, anyway. He hadn’t felt all that whole for days. He looked down, studied the crates, the single chair propped against the table. Anywhere but at her.
Just looking at her made him want. All the things he never let himself dream of, all those soft and warm things he’d sworn to abandon in his search for vengeance.
Obviously uncertain, she rounded the first barrier. The sleeves of her red sweater nearly covered her fingers, and the baggy quality hid the body he knew waited underneath.
His gaze snagged on matte black. “Are you wearing synth-leather again?”
Kayleigh looked down at her own legs, at the bare feet peeping from beneath the too-long hem. “Naomi.” As an explanation went, it was enough.
Abruptly, Shawn felt a chuckle well up. It made it half out of his mouth before he strangled it, clearing his throat. “You look nice.”
But she knew. Somehow, she knew what he thought, what he felt, because red climbed her cheeks and she ran an uncertain hand through her hair, rumpling it even more.
An innocent gesture. One that shot straight to his gut in a completely different way.
He’d wrapped that hair around his fist. Held her as he’d kissed her. As he’d claimed her.
Shawn’s fingers curled into fists, amusement dying. Metal spikes jammed into his palm. “Kayleigh, I came for a reason.”
“I know.” Her own fingers clasped together. “I’m glad you did.”
That stopped him. Glad?
Achingly aware of the narrow distance between them—of how easy it would be to step over the crates, the stacked supplies; of how much easier it would be to turn around and walk away—Shawn held his breath.
She didn’t look at him. “The world’s a mess. Everything’s different.”
That was as true as anything he’d ever heard in his life. Everything would be different forever. In so many ways.
He nodded once, but didn’t dare say anything.
“In less than a week, I’ve lost everything I ever cared about.” Her fingers twisted, now wringing together. Ink stained her index and middle fingers in faded blue. “My home, my work, my . . . my parents. Both of them.”
Oh, Jesus. “Kayleigh, I’m—”
“Don’t.” An often-enough refrain between them, tight with pain and barely repressed anger.
Shawn’s jaw locked.
She didn’t look at him. He wanted her to look at him.
“I’m not a complete fool, despite what people think,” she continued after a moment. Her voice, husky with emotion, all but vibrated with the effort locking in her fingers together so tight, they gleamed white and yellow. “I know what my dad did. I can deduce the rest. I know exactly how much I helped him and how much damage I—” Her mouth flattened. “We caused.”
Oh, for God’s sake. He couldn’t take this.
Chest tight, a vise of anger and impatience and the fragile threads of a love so unsure that he didn’t dare name it, Shawn jumped over the first pile of crates. His shoulder tweaked a warning; he ignored it,
Kayleigh’s head came up, eyes wide as he vaulted the second.
She took a step back, he didn’t let her take another. Closing the distance in a matter of seconds, he wrapped both hands around her upper arms—metal pinged as it clattered off plastic siding—and dragged her to her toes, nose to nose. “Stop it.”
Shock warred
with anger. “Let me go.”
“No.” Never again. He shook her once for emphasis. “If we’re taking responsibility, then we’re both going to take the fucking responsibility,” he growled. “I knew who you were when I kissed you in that car.”
She flinched.
“I knew who you were when I cozied up to you topside, and I sure as shit knew what I planned to do even as you straddled my lap and I watched you come apart around my fingers.”
Her cheeks reddened, eyes turning smoky blue as she sucked in a sharp breath.
Shawn refused to let it sit there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Kayleigh, for everything. Up until a few days ago, you weren’t anything but a name.”
He let her go as she pulled, steadied her when she stumbled. But he didn’t let her turn away, backing her against the farthest pile of stacked containers when she tried.
She raised her chin.
He wanted nothing more than to seize her face between his hands and kiss every last thought out of her head; out of his.
That wouldn’t fix anything.
Instead, he grabbed the edge of the crate behind her head. Trapped her between his forearms.
“We’re going to have this out,” he said roughly. “We need to have this out, and if you hate me afterwards . . .”
“I have never hated you!”
“Well, I hated you,” he shot back. Rain slammed into the tarp overhead, pattered loudly as his declaration filled the narrow divide between them.
Kayleigh, suddenly still, searched his eyes.
“A coalition of witches have banded together to help rescue efforts,” said the quiet radio voice. “With the Church in turmoil—”
“I hated you,” Shawn repeated, dragging the words out as his pulse slammed in his ears, “before I met you. For years, I hated everything that had anything to do with the name Lauderdale. It wasn’t—” He stopped abruptly.
“Personal?” The way she framed the question told him how much bullshit that really was.
His head dropped, eyes closing. “It was beyond personal,” he admitted. “It became . . . a poison. Something I kept eating because . . . because it was all I had—Christ.” His hands fisted by her head, arms tensing. “You got under my skin, Kayleigh. I don’t even know how it happened. One minute, I was planning how to get you out of that lab, and the next, I caught myself laughing.”
She swallowed, a flex of her throat in his peripheral vision. Her hands, pressed against the crate behind her, spasmed.
Shawn took a deep breath, smelled that acrid tang of New Seattle’s rain, the whisper of antiseptic and whatever chemicals she used.
And her. Somehow, it always came down to her.
Her fragrance filled his nose, that clean scent he’d thought was soap, the warm reminder of her body as she’d wrapped around his in the car. In that hospital room.
So close now.
His cock stirred; he gritted his teeth. This was not about sex. It wasn’t about red-blooded attraction. He needed her to understand that.
He didn’t know how to say it.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Her chest jumped beneath her sweater. The sound accompanying the sudden, jerking motion strangled.
Shawn’s head rose slowly.
Amusement, caught somewhere between all her doubt and solemnity, turned her eyes to polished glass. Gray and blue laughter; a flicker of it at her lips. Slowly, so slowly that he could have turned away if he wanted, her hand rose.
Cupped his roughened jaw.
Shawn swallowed a groan. “God, Kayleigh.” He turned his face into her hand, squeezing his eyes shut. “Tell me you don’t hate me, still.”
Her steadying breath shook. “We’re going to have to start over.” Though the tension didn’t completely leave her body, her balance shifted. She stopped trying to meld with the plastic crates. “We’re going to have to redo every conversation, every gesture. Our whole history is built on lies and mistrust, Shawn.”
“I’m prepared,” he swore, opening his eyes. He searched her features, her own stare, willing her to see his sincerity. Feel it in every word. “I’ll start over right now. My name is Shawn Lowe. I—”
Her hand slid to his nape, pulled him forward so quickly that his words tangled on his own lips. On hers.
If this was a prank, Shawn was an easy mark.
His fingers slid into her hair, cupped the back of her head as he took over the kiss; slanted his mouth across hers and groaned out loud when her lips opened.
Her tongue touched his bottom lip. Slid inside his mouth to dart against his, and he nearly fell out of his skin.
Suddenly, it wasn’t about words. There weren’t enough words to show her, to tell her, to make her understand. Her hand slid under his wet shirt. Where it touched, he felt branded; where her fingers skimmed, he burned.
This. This was what mattered.
He raised his head, panting for breath. Her breathing mimicked his, eyes hazy, rainwater trailing down her cheek from his hair.
Shawn let her go, trailed his fingers through the strands of her hair that streamed like silk between them. He stepped back.
Her hand fell to her side.
Shaking in his skin, Shawn pulled his wet shirt over his head. It hit the tent floor with a damp splat.
Kayleigh’s lips parted. Her eyes pinned to his chest, lit to a diamond flame that did as much to stoke his own need as broadcast hers.
His fingers stalled at the button to his jeans. “Are you sure?”
When she shook her head, it was a knife to his gut. Very carefully, he forced his hands back down to his sides.
“Maybe,” Kayleigh murmured, fingers toying with the hem of her sweater, “we don’t have to redo every conversation.”
He tilted his head, not daring to breathe.
As her lips curved, she tugged the sweater up over her belly. Her ribs. A flash of blue beneath turned into a T-shirt she stripped off with a single tug. As the light blazed with stark clarity, Shawn stared at the most perfect, beautiful woman he’d ever seen and forgot how to think. Even how to breathe.
Kayleigh Lauderdale in nothing but skin-tight black synth-leather was every man’s wet dream.
But he wasn’t dreaming now, was he?
The zipper hissed down. Matte black parted to reveal lavender satin, too damned delicate to belong down here.
He sucked in a hard, throttled breath.
Rain dripped from his hair, traced his shoulder, his pectorals. Kayleigh watched a drop slide down to his abs, licked her lips.
“Say it,” Shawn rasped.
Her cheeks darkened. “How—?”
“Your eyes just went electric.” He spread his arms wide. “I’ve seen that look twice. I never thought I’d—” Crave it. “Say it, Kayleigh.”
“I . . .” Her fingers curled into her waistband. “I want to lick you.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Every nerve in his skin went nova-hot. Her jaw shifted; he clenched his teeth, clenched every muscle into lockdown. His erection strained at his zipper, so hard, it hurt.
I want to lick you.
Any damned day of the week. “Do it.”
Her lashes flared. “Really?”
He was going to die. “Really,” he repeated through his teeth.
The hem of her pants scraped against the floor as she approached. One hand curved over his chest, fingertips just stroking his nipple. He let out a hard breath from his nose.
When she leaned forward, weight braced on that hand, her breath painted a hot brand against his shoulder. Her tongue darted out. Once, twice.
Her teeth closed over the ridge of one muscle, and he nearly jolted right out of his mind. His fists clenched so tight, joints cracked. “Jesus.”
Her mouth licked, kissed, nibbled across his chest. He couldn’t stand there and watch her blond head tucked so close to his skin, couldn’t watch her feast at his flesh and not grab her, so he tipped his head back and stared fixedly at the tent roof.
It rippled beneath the rain.
He didn’t give a good fucking damn about the rain.
Kayleigh licked a path down his abdomen, and his cock jumped greedily. She found the vee of muscle between his hipbones and made a wild, hungry sound, and he started counting backward.
When her fingers dipped into his waistband, he forgot the numbers.
The fabric gave too easily. As his dick pulsed in the colder air of the tent, as Kayleigh’s breath ghosted across the sensitive skin, Shawn gave up entirely.
“I am not man enough for this,” he growled, jamming his hands under her arms and forcibly lifting her.
She yelped, surprised. “But I want—”
“Later,” he promised roughly, and planted her ass on the nearest crate. Guiding her legs around his waist, he caught her by the nape, dragged her closer until there was no room for anything between them but skin and sweat and all-consuming need.
He kissed her like he was starving. Slanted his mouth over hers and drank in her moan as he ground himself into the leather-clad vee of her legs. Her back arched, forcing her breasts against his chest. Lips catching, tongues sliding wetly, he feasted at her mouth and rubbed his aching cock against the material covering what he really wanted.
The sensation sent fireworks through his body. A spring coiled tightly at the base of his spine.
Too damned soon.
He cupped her face in both hands. “Kayleigh.”
She shuddered.
“Kayleigh,” he whispered, sliding his hands from her cheeks, skating across her shoulders. Her arms. Her chest jumped as she sucked in a breath; his erection did the same as he cupped her breasts in his palms, ran a thumb over both nipples. She threw her head back, eyebrows knitted tightly in fierce concentration.
He chuckled. He couldn’t help himself. “Relax,” he whispered. “Remember?”
Her eyes opened, wild blue. “No.” She dug her fingers into her waistband, peeled the synth-leather down her hips. Every rock of her body brought him that much closer to her, made him that much hungrier.
Shawn hissed as she curled her fingers around his cock. “This is where,” she told him brokenly, “you get the job done.”
This time, his laughter fractured on a groan.
He seized her hips, pulled her to the edge of the crate. Her body opened for him, aroused and swollen and so wet, he could smell their mingled fragrance: rain and musk, sweat and need.
Karina Cooper - [Dark Mission 05] Page 27