His face creases in a menacing scowl. “Is this the game you want to play?”
“Yes.” I push open the door and step out into the tall, cool grass, trying to get a handle on the maelstrom of emotion I’ve been drowning in all evening. First Joe, and now Zack. Fear and loss and longing. It’s almost too much to handle.
“Where are you going?”
I lean against the side of the vehicle and look back over my shoulder at his worried face. “I just need to get some air before we go to the hospital. Clear my head so I can be there for Joe when he gets out of surgery.”
The door slams. Shoes crunch on gravel. I fight the urge to run as he rounds the vehicle and cages me against the side.
“Stay back.” I put up a warning hand between us, and Zack frowns.
“You think I would hurt you?”
“You did hurt me.” And yet all I want to do right now is walk into his arms. No matter how bad things were, Zack always made me feel protected and cared for. He could soothe me with just the sound of his voice. When I lay in bed in the circle of his arms, I wanted to stay like that forever.
Zack sighs and leans in to rest his forehead against mine. “What can I do to make things better?”
“Nothing.” I turn away, breaking our contact. “Why are you here? I don’t need you. I have a gun.”
He doesn’t laugh at my stupid comment. Instead, he studies me intently. “I can’t be anywhere else.”
“You make me feel confused, Zack.” I don’t know if my adrenaline is crashing after what happened at Symbian or if it has brought all my emotions to a head, but I can barely contain the anger inside me. “Everything was fine until you got here. Now, I’m an emotional mess. It hurts. Seeing you hurts. Touching you hurts. Kissing you causes me pain.”
“Why?”
One word and my tension erupts, unleashing all the emotions I’ve been trying to suppress—sadness, hate, fear, regret, devastation, and despair. “You know my dad left me. He promised he would be there for me always, and then he died. I wanted him to come back so much I ached inside. He understood me in a way my mother and Matt never did. When he was gone, I felt so scared and alone. And then I met you, and I could breathe again.” My pain pours out, and although he doesn’t touch me, I am safe between the strong arms braced on either side of my trembling body.
“I don’t even have words to describe what it was like to lose that again. To lose you.” I draw in a ragged breath. “It was like a black hole sucking at my chest, and every day, it took over more of me. New York was overwhelming. I felt alone and afraid, and you weren’t there to protect me. I’d never realized how much I relied on you to keep me safe until I was mugged…”
Zack sucks in a sharp breath, but I am already lost in the memory of that terrible night.
“Shayla?”
I recognize Damian’s voice in the studio hallway and curl up in the corner of his office, heart still thudding from the slam of the front door. This is my fault. I should have left with the others. I might be from a small town, but I know better than to walk alone in the dark. I can’t handle New York. I can’t handle being alone and without Zack to protect me.
The door squeaks open, and a sliver of light from the hallway streaks across the room, chasing the shadows away.
“What are you doing here in the dark?” He flicks the switch, and I blink as my eyes adjust to the light, wipe my tears away.
“I was…” A sob rips out of my throat, and he crosses the room to kneel in front of me.
“What happened? Tell me. I came back when you didn’t show up at the bar. Gaby said you were right behind them.”
“There was a guy. Outside.” I draw in a ragged breath. “He was waiting. I was just locking up and he…” I shudder, remembering the press of cold steel against my temple. “He had a gun.”
Damian’s face tightens in alarm. “Did he hurt you?” He smooths his hands down my arms, and I am at once embarrassed and thrilled that this famous artistic director would have even noticed I was missing, much less try to comfort me.
“No. But I thought…” I can’t even voice what I thought when I heard the rough voice behind me, a terror like nothing I had ever known. “He wanted my purse. I threw it as far as I could, and when he went for it, I came back inside and locked the door.”
“Thank God you’re okay.”
He strokes my hair, and I can’t breathe for the wave of longing that surges through my body. I need this. A gentle hand. A soothing voice. A kind touch. Someone to look after me who can fill the emptiness in my heart.
“Did you call the police?” he asks.
“No. I was…too afraid to move in case he came looking for me.”
“Poor baby.” He holds out his arms, and I tremble at the need to be held again.
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “It wouldn’t be right. You’re like…my boss.”
Damian smiles. He is so beautiful, like some kind of golden Greek god. Some of the dancers think his features are too harsh, but I like his raw masculinity. He is at once sensual and powerful, and I can imagine the days before he was injured when he used to dance for Joffrey, one of the top ballet companies in the country.
“No one is here,” he says quietly. “You’ve just been through a traumatic event, and your boss thinks you need a hug. Are you going to disobey him?”
I lean forward, and he wraps his strong arms around me. His body is slim beneath his crisp, white shirt. He is narrow where Zack was broad. Lean where Zack was muscled. But he is warm and safe, and he smells of Tiger Balm and Deep Heat, makeup, and musty costumes—the scents of my second home.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs in my ear.
And I do.
“Damian picked up the pieces,” I continue, pulling myself out of the past. “He made me feel safe and protected. He put me back together again. And then he broke me, too.”
Zack’s arms come around me. I lean into him like I leaned into Damian that day. What is wrong with me? I know better than to trust anyone to look after me. That’s why I learned to fight and why I have a gun.
“I messed up, sweetheart.” He wraps his arms around me, holds me tight. “I was hurt you hadn’t told me about New York, and it made me even more certain I was going to hold you back. We suspected Viv was ill, and although Lily had a job, we didn’t know how we would pay for her medical expenses. The last thing I wanted was to leave you, but I had nothing. I was nothing. And I knew things were just going to get worse. What kind of life was that going to be for you?”
“A life I chose. I would have wanted to be there for you, to help you and Lily out with Viv.”
I adored both Zack’s sisters, who were almost total opposites in both looks and personality. Short, curvy Lily with her curly brown hair was fiercely intelligent, highly organized, and would have been intimidating save for her dry wit and quirky sense of humor. Despite their difficult circumstances, she had excelled in school, racking up the scholarships she needed to pay her way through college. By contrast, Viv was tall and slim with waist-length blond hair and an almost ethereal pallor to her skin. Always optimistic and a bit scatterbrained, she had struggled at school, but she had a good heart and was always there to help out a friend in need.
“That’s why I walked away,” he said. “I knew you would never leave if you found out. I loved you too much for that.”
His voice is thick with regret, and I am tired of carrying this anger in my heart. I have been through hell three times and made it back. I am strong now. I can look after myself. I don’t need him the way I did before, but I miss having someone to lean on. Someone who cares.
I rest my head against his chest, and he holds me close; he holds me like I haven’t been held in forever.
* * *
When we reach the hospital, Zack throws on some clothes from a gym bag in his car and I chang
e out of my uniform into the jeans and T-shirt I wore to work. We wait with Cheryl while Joe is in surgery. Zack doesn’t talk much, but he is there. Officer Morrison joins us, and Cheryl whispers that it is the strangest and best double date she’s ever had.
After a few hours, the doctor gives us the good news. The bullet missed Joe’s heart and major arteries, although it caused a lot of damage to his shoulder. We pay him a quick visit in the ICU and promise to come back tomorrow with lots of unhealthy treats. He smiles, but I see something in his eyes I wish I didn’t see.
I think about Joe on the drive home. Every morning, he gets up feeling the loss of his wife so deeply that it informs every choice he makes—from the sandwiches he eats against his doctor’s orders to the bulletproof vest he refused to wear tonight. Every day, I wake up and make my choices, too. I’ve chosen anger over forgiveness. I’ve blamed Zack for setting me on the path that led to the end of my dreams. A different path was open to me, and I chose not to take it.
“We’re here.” Zack’s voice startles me, and I realize that the car must have stopped moving some time ago, because Zack already has the key in his hand.
“Sorry. It’s been a long night.”
We walk up the sidewalk in the still of the night. Only a few lights shine from the windows of the condos around us. The streets are empty. The air is cool and damp, fragrant with the scent of freshly watered grass.
“Thanks for staying with me and taking me home.” I stop in front of my door, look up at his handsome face. Even after a long night, he doesn’t look tired. Just thoughtful. Intense.
“Pleasure.”
I take a step toward him. And then another. I am so close now, I can feel the heat of his body, smell a trace of his cologne. So familiar. Comforting. Alive.
This is the man who taught me how to live after my father died. He made me feel safe. He filled the emptiness in my chest that I felt so fiercely again tonight when I thought Joe might die.
My hand slides around his neck, and I can’t stop myself. I want him. I need him, although I’m not ready to forgive him. Seven years of anger does not just disappear in a couple of days. But I am ready to let him into my life, if only for the comfort of his arms. “Zack.” I whisper his name, pull him down until his lips meet mine.
With a groan, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me tight against his body. Our tongues tangle, teeth clash, lips mash together. It is not a pretty kiss or a soft kiss. It is not the gentle kiss of a lover or the chaste kiss of a friend. Raw passion infuses our kiss. Pain and longing, sorrow and even hate.
I pull away, panting. “I need you.”
“I’m here, sweetheart.”
“I’m not promising anything,” I say. “I don’t want you to misunderstand.”
“I get it, Shay.”
“Inside.” My chest heaves as I pull away.
We make it into the lobby, and then we are drawn together again like two powerful magnets. We kiss and paw at each other’s clothes. Zack cups my ass in his hands and lifts me against him as he strides toward the elevator. I nuzzle his neck, inhale his delicious scent, grind against the bulge in his jeans. The elevator door opens, and Zack steps in and slams me against the wall so hard, my teeth clack together, but God, it feels good, and I am safe with Zack. He may be rough, but I know in my heart he would never harm me.
When the elevator door slides open, he carries me down the hall. Moments later, we are in my apartment. Zack kicks the door closed, pushing me backward as our mouths find each other again.
I nip his bottom lip. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to send a message about what I want from this encounter that is so different from any intimacy we have ever shared.
“Jesus.” Zack spins me around to face the door, one hand around my waist and one hand at my throat as he pulls me back against his chest. His cock presses against the cleft of my ass, and his fingers rest at the pulse on my neck.
“Is this what you want?” His voice drops husky and low. “I want you so badly, I won’t be gentle.”
“I almost lost a friend tonight. I don’t want gentle. I want to feel. I want to live. I want you to know the fighter side of me because that is what saved me when I lost everything.”
Heart pounding, I step back and jab my heel into his instep, then I shove my elbow into his ribs in a move I’ve used countless times in the ring. He releases me, and I scoot away, clearing the kitchen counter as I back into the small living room decorated in cool gray and teal. Zack’s head snaps around, and I run, laughing, fleeing from the predator in my house.
He catches me just as I reach the bedroom. Momentum carries us to the bed, and he flips me over, then straddles my hips. The softness is gone from his face. Instead, his jaw is set, his eyes hard and focused as he gives a satisfied growl. He grabs the neck of my shirt and tears it off me like it was made of paper. For a second, I wonder if I can really handle what I’ve unleashed.
“This is so unfair. You have a weight advantage.” I buck my hips, try to throw him forward.
Zack snorts a laugh and shifts his weight, moving into an MMA full mount position with his thighs clamped tight around me. He grabs my wrists and slams them over my head, transferring them both to one hand so he can tease and torture me with the other.
“Submit.”
“Go to hell.” I arch and wiggle, but the bed is too soft to give me the kind of leverage I need to use my MMA skills to escape.
“This is what I wanted to do to you in Redemption when I had you pinned to the mat in this position.” Zack shoves up my bra and cups my breast in his warm palm, kneading it with firm strokes until my nipple is tight and peaked and aching for his touch.
“You have beautiful breasts.”
“You wouldn’t be touching them if my hands were free.” I twist to the side like I did in class, jamming my hip into his groin, but this just seems to inflame him even more. He shifts his weight, forcing me back down, and draws my nipple between his teeth, nipping so hard, I gasp.
With a grunt of pleasure, he turns his attention to my other breast, biting and tugging until I’m writhing on the bed beneath him, so wet, I ache inside.
“Yield.”
“No.” Our gazes lock in a battle that I know I’m going to lose, because I want him inside me so badly, I’ll do anything to have him, including throwing the fight.
Still holding my wrists, he leans back and unbuttons my jeans, shoving them roughly over my hips and down my thighs.
My cheeks heat when he stares and licks his lips like a predator about to feast.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, running a gentle finger over my mons.
“Guess who isn’t getting some of that?”
“Every other guy on the planet except me.” Zack cups my sex and thrusts two fingers deep inside me. His rough, brutal action takes my breath away, but it feels so good.
“Christ, you’re wet.” He withdraws his fingers and wipes my moisture along my inner thigh. “You want me bad.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
Laughing, he tears open his jeans with one hand and fists his cock. “Too late.”
I swallow hard as I watch him stroke. Although we didn’t have sex until I was eighteen, we did everything else. But I don’t remember his cock being quite so big and thick.
“You always were a bit of a show-off. No wonder you had sponsors beating down your door.” I cringe inwardly at the inelegant reminder of what he lost, but curiously, he grins and reaches into his back pocket for a condom. I try not to think about the fact that he had the condom on hand, how it was within easy reach, or how practiced he is as he rips it open smoothly with his teeth.
“I did enjoy the show aspect of it. Almost as much as the fight.” He rolls the condom over his shaft. His body is tense, his thighs rock-hard around me.
I reach out to touch him. I want to kn
ow if he feels the same. I want to stroke him until he loses control.
But Zack has his own ideas. He flips me over and grabs my hips, pulling me to my hands and knees. “This isn’t how I ever imagined it would be if we got together again.”
“Me neither,” I mumble with my cheek pressed against the bright red cover that pops a little color into my white and gray room. But this is exactly what I want. Sex, and none of the confusing intimacy that tied us together so long ago.
“Are you okay with this, Shay?”
“Well…” I launch myself forward, making one last mock attempt at getting away, my jeans catching around my knees.
With a low, warning growl, Zack grabs me around the waist and hauls me back. I’ve never done foreplay like this. Raw, primal, incendiary. I’ll be ruined for beta males for life.
“Answer.”
“Yes.” I look back over my shoulder and grin. “Thanks for asking.” When being mauled by a ferocious beast on your bed, always be polite.
Zack tangles one hand in my hair and yanks my head back. His other hand digs into my hip. When he has me immobilized, he pushes me down on the bed, holding me in place with one hand on my lower back. He knows exactly what he wants and how he wants it. After years of looking after myself, it feels good to let someone else be in control.
“Don’t move until I tell you to move.” He smacks my ass with a firm hand, and I cry out in surprise.
“What the hell?”
“Open those pretty thighs, or I’ll do it for you,” he demands.
And suddenly I realize I’m not the only one who has changed over the last seven years. The Zack I knew was never rough or demanding in bed. He was always very careful, gentle, as if he was afraid I might break with anything more than a caress. This new Zack has none of those hang-ups. Or maybe he feels different around the new me. All I know is that this isn’t the boy who handled me like the most delicate of treasures. Instead, I get Slayer. The beast.
“I’d like to see you try,” I challenge, because I know he won’t push me too far. The protector in him would never really hurt me.
Strong Hold Page 13