Bring Me to Life

by Kira Sinclair

  Until he was gone and she couldn’t pretend anymore.

  It felt good, finally being able to give the fear words, to share the burden.

  And Evan accepted it, taking it on himself without a single complaint.

  Tatum had no idea how long they lay there entwined. There was something...profound about the moment. They’d always been close—how could they not be, with everything they’d gone through together?

  But this was more.

  And eventually, her body became restless, wanting the physical connection as much as the emotional one they’d just shared.

  She shifted, feeling the hard ridge of his erection snuggled tight against her hip. And wanted it deep inside her. Needed it more than her next breath.

  The room crackled. Or maybe that was the tingle of need flickering beneath her skin.

  His mouth found hers. She wanted the heat, the blaze of need to burn through her. Instead, the kiss was soft and sweet with an edge of vulnerability that was nearly her undoing.

  He coaxed, teased, gently persuaded her to let him in. With nothing more than the sweep of his enticing tongue, he tore through the defenses she’d been erecting for years.

  How had she ever thought to hold him at bay? This was Evan, her best friend long before he’d become her husband. Her rock. The one person who’d always known her better than anyone else—including herself.

  Of course, he’d know how to get deep inside.

  Tatum sighed, the burst of sound and breath disappearing into the abyss of their shared kiss.

  The room tilted and she was on her back. Evan rose above her, somewhere along the way managing to make the shirt he’d been wearing disappear.

  She wanted to touch him, to run her fingers along every warm, tanned inch of skin. Her gaze traveled along the ink marking his chest and she couldn’t stop the tiny thrill that coursed through her at the memory of its meaning.

  Her eyes lowered, drinking in the puckered flesh tucked between two of his ribs. She knew every scar that had marred his beautiful body before leaving for Colombia and this one was definitely new.

  Tatum brushed her fingers across his smooth skin, stopping at the jagged proof that something dangerous had ripped through his skin.

  Her stomach flipped and a sharp pain stabbed through her own ribs.

  “What happened?” she whispered, craning sideways so she could see better.

  “Knife,” was his terse answer, even as he shifted to block her study.

  Tatum sucked in a harsh breath. Jesus, it was so close to his heart.

  “How bad?”

  “Bad enough.”

  He might have cut off her view, but he hadn’t prevented her from touching. So she continued to let her fingers memorize this new mark on his flesh.

  Until he grasped her wrists and locked her hands high above her head with one of his own, holding her immobile beneath him.

  “Don’t, Tatum. Don’t let it ruin this. Don’t let it in. Not now. Not tonight.”

  His deep, dark eyes pleaded with her even as his hips pulsed against hers, driving tiny thrills that curled deliciously through her belly. She heard the need filling his words, not just for her, but for her to let the past go.

  She’d never been able to deny him anything. Why had she ever thought she could start now?

  Her hands slipped up his skin to rest on the rounded bulges of his shoulders. Tatum nodded, swallowing the rest of the questions her instincts had raised to her tongue.

  Just as well, Evan had other uses for it anyway.

  Keeping a hold on her wrists, he leaned down and took her mouth. The kiss was soft and subtle, filled with just the right amount of heat and promise. He teased her, exploring her mouth only to pull back and leave her desperate for more.

  She chased him, straining against his hold on her and trying to bring their lips back together.

  When she couldn’t, Tatum settled for whatever else she could touch. His biceps, bulging against the weight of holding his body steady above hers. The ridge of a rib. The flat disk of a nipple.

  She relished the way his body contracted as she grazed her tongue along his skin. She loved the groan that fell from his parted lips. The way his hips, already tight against hers, surged harder, connecting the ridge of his sex with her mound.

  Tatum dropped her head, arched her back and undulated against him. She needed more. Was desperate for more. For him.

  He finally freed her, trailing his palm down her body, from wrist to shoulder to waist. The caress wasn’t gentle, the pressure of his touch demanding. Possessive. As though he was reminding himself just what was his.

  And she was stupid to ever think her body was hers. Not when with one touch he could make her yearn and ache.

  He braced a palm against the small of her back and lifted her up so he could pull her panties off. Kneeling at her feet, he stared up her body, his eyes full of reverence, joy and worship.

  What woman didn’t want her husband to look at her that way? As if she was the next best thing to the sun.

  But the pressure of her longing quickly became unbearable. “Evan, I need you.” Not just her need for him now, but always.

  “I know.”

  No, she didn’t think he did, but when his mouth found the inside of her thigh and brushed hot, wet kisses across her skin, her thoughts scattered and she no longer had the capacity to explain.

  Not now.

  He was shattering her. And her defenses.

  Without a word of argument, he was systematically stripping her bare. Taking away every defense and rationalization she’d tried to use to protect herself and her heart.

  They were useless. As she’d known, deep down somewhere, they would be. But she’d had to try.

  Her fingertips played across his skin, touching every inch she could reach. Reclaiming it as surely as he was. Their marriage had been an equal partnership and she refused to let it be anything else tonight.

  Coaxing him higher, Tatum spread her thighs wide in an invitation they both recognized. Evan didn’t hesitate to accept it.

  With one quick surge, he entered her, sliding all the way home.

  Heaven. Tatum’s eyelids fluttered against the overwhelming sensation. Perfect. He was perfect. They were absolutely perfect together.

  She wanted him to let the fever and madness take over, surrender to the passion. But he didn’t do that. Instead, he stilled, wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her tight into his embrace.

  He surrounded her. Was everywhere. His scent and skin and strength. She wasn’t exactly sure where he stopped and she began. Not anymore.

  He simply held her, long enough so she could feel the subtle throb of his pulse, in his sex buried inside her, at the arch of his throat and in his wrists planted heavy against her back. Or maybe that was the beat of her own need she felt.

  Either way, it was maddening, beautiful and soul destroying.

  The vulnerability of the moment welled up inside her, making her restless. She shifted, trying to find a release. Relief. But he wouldn’t let her move.

  Instead, he whispered in her ear, “Shh, I’ve got you, Tatum. I promise, I’ll always be here.”

  “Oh, God,” she moaned, unable to hide or fight the tide of emotion crashing through her.

  And that was the moment he finally started to move, adding a searing pleasure to the mix. It was more than she could fight. More than she could handle.

  More than she’d ever experienced in her life, which was saying a lot considering how close they’d been before he was gone.

  How could something so devastating bring them closer together?

  But Tatum didn’t have the time or mental capacity to figure out the answer.

  Not when the tension in her body was building quickly to the point of explosion. She could feel it, that edge racing toward her, like the exhilaration and joy of opening her Mustang wide and screaming into the wind. Only better. So much better.

  Because she wasn’t alone.

>   Evan was right there with her, stroke for delicious stroke. She could feel his body winding tighter and tighter. Hear the ragged exhalation of his breath, feel the gush of it against her overheated skin. The pressure of his hands held her steady and grounded her even as her body prepared to soar.

  And then it was there, too powerful to hold back.

  The orgasm broke over her, but in the middle of that vortex of unbelievable pleasure, Evan experienced it with her.

  Everything else faded away, but he was there. The gush of her name streaming from his lips, reverence filling the single word. The jagged pulse of his hips against hers as he took every last speck of pleasure for himself and gave it back to her tenfold.

  His fingers clenched, pressing her hard against his chest. It should have hurt, but didn’t. She wanted to be that close. Would have crawled inside his skin if it had been physically possible. She’d never felt so connected.

  His lips brushed across her skin, raining butterfly kisses wherever he could touch. A shudder rocked her. He rolled, pulling out, but somehow managed to keep their bodies tangled.

  They lay together for a while; Tatum wasn’t entirely certain how long. She traced random patterns on his skin, her head tucked protectively beneath his chin. His hands played in her hair, sifting through it and spreading the strands across the pillow.

  They were quiet. Content. At least she thought so until he asked, “Where’s your ring?”

  Tatum’s body went hard with tension. It wasn’t necessarily the question, just the unexpected nature of it blasting in and obliterating the soft comfort she’d been basking in.

  “I have it.”

  “Where?”

  Without looking, Tatum pointed across the room to the jewelry box sitting atop her dresser.

  Tucked as she was against him, she felt the stuttered rise and fall of his chest as he pulled in a deep breath. Was he building courage or preparing for some pain?

  “When did you take it off?”

  Maybe a little bit of both.

  “When I came to Sweetheart. It felt...like the right time. I was building a new life. No one here knew I was married and it was easier that way. Here there were no looks of pity or reminders of our life together.”

  Although that wasn’t precisely true. She could tell herself that none of the restaurants, businesses or furniture in her house carried reminders of Evan, but she hadn’t needed him to share those places and things for him to leave an imprint.

  She’d imagined him at the pub, watching a game with her and her friends on a Saturday night. Or sharing a meal over candlelight at the Speckled Hen. She’d purposely bought a new bed when she’d moved into this house, but that hadn’t stopped the midnight fantasies of him sharing it with her.

  Reaching behind him, Evan grasped the hand that had been playing across his back, her left one, and brought it between them. Bending his head, he let his lips trail across her ring finger, right where her wedding ring should have been.

  He didn’t pressure her. Didn’t ask her to get out of bed, retrieve the reminder of their life together, and place it back where it belonged.

  She knew he wanted to. Wanted the obvious symbol that she was taken back on her finger.

  But he didn’t demand.

  He simply said, “I hope one day you’ll let me put it back.”

  Her heart melted. A part of her was ready to vault up, grab the ring and ask him to do just that. But something held her back.

  Caution. Fear. She wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it kept her silent and still, burying the fantasy of what that might mean—a future she didn’t truly believe they could ever share.

  Finally opening herself up to him had only increased her potential for heartache when it all went wrong.

  12

  THE NEXT DAY crept past, completely uneventful and yet somehow...wrong. Tatum was restless, an uncomfortable sensation chipping away at the base of her spine.

  All the muscles in her body were useless. As if they were falling down on a job none of them were aware they were supposed to be doing.

  Evan walked to the front door of her store, flipped the sign to Closed and bolted the lock. He shut off the small lamps in the display area, which highlighted the pottery and glass vases from local artists. He double-checked that the cooler was shut and all the arrangements inside were fresh enough for another day.

  Tatum watched his movements. He barely made a sound as he slipped through her space, almost as if he didn’t disturb the air. She wondered if he was actually a ghost. The panic she kept fighting off surfaced, stronger than ever. But she shook the thought away. A ghost couldn’t touch her the way Evan did.

  It was a little scary how quickly they’d fallen into a routine. And how easily he’d taken over some of her normal, everyday responsibilities.

  They moved together, around each other, communicating with nothing more than a look or raised eyebrow.

  It was comfortable. And comforting.

  But wrong. As much as her heart screamed at her to accept what she had while she had it, Tatum couldn’t let the encroaching unease go.

  Turning away, she disappeared into the back of the store to clean up her worktable. She was in the middle of sweeping little bits of leaves, stems and ribbon from the floor when a loud clatter sounded from the other side of her back door.

  Dropping the broom and dustpan with a sharp bang, Tatum bolted toward the noise. There were voices—clear, loud and distressed.

  The alley at the back of Petals ran the entire length of Main Street. Businesses and homes on either side backed onto it. It was where she parked her delivery van for easy loading and unloading.

  Before she could stop and think, Tatum was out the door, racing for whoever was in trouble.

  She hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten—during the last fifteen minutes she’d been in the back room, every last speck of daylight had faded. It was the one thing she hated about winter, even if South Carolina didn’t often suffer the other effects she was used to—such as piles and piles of snow.

  She could barely make out silhouettes at the end of the alley. At least two people. No, maybe three. They were huddled together over something.

  One of them sprang back, letting out a yell that Tatum didn’t quite understand.

  Was the shadow on the ground another person? Someone hurt? Were they hollering for help?

  Sprinting as quickly as her legs would carry her, Tatum barreled headlong for the cluster. But her strides faltered when the group scattered, at least two of them running in her direction.

  They waved their hands. It took Tatum several moments, as they moved steadily closer, to realize the figures belonged to a group of teenage boys. And they were hotfooting it away from where they’d been standing.

  And then the world exploded with loud pops and bangs, bright colors that forced her eyes shut, although she could still see the starbursts across her closed lids.

  Something sizzled across her calf. She yelped in surprise and pain, dropping to the ground, clutching her leg. What the hell! Had she been shot?

  No, guns didn’t make bright colors.

  Something heavy slammed onto her back, driving her into a crumpled ball on the ground. All the air whooshed from her lungs.

  “Stay down,” a voice commanded in her ear before the weight disappeared.

  Tatum glanced up quickly to see Evan disappearing into the melee in front of her. Smoke. Chaos. Noise.

  Her brain scrambled to fit together the pieces of the picture in front of her.

  Fireworks. That’s what the bursts of color were, but they definitely hadn’t been aimed at the sky. Or maybe they had been at one point, but they sure hadn’t ended up there.

  Her leg throbbed. Tatum took in the black streak scorched through the leg of her jeans. The material around it smoldered. Wrapping her hand in the sleeve of her shirt, Tatum slammed it down over the curling wisps, smothering whatever heat was left. She hissed at the pain, but she didn’t move her hand.<
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  When she was certain her jeans weren’t about to burst into flame, Tatum tried to orient herself in the smoky alley. To her right another figure lay crumpled on the ground.

  The artificial screams and whistles were slowing, but Tatum still didn’t want to stand up. Knowing her luck, as soon as she did the fireworks’ finale would hit...her.

  Pushing up to her elbows, she crawled—staying as low as possible—the few feet over to check on whoever had hit the ground beside her.

  Both arms crossed protectively over his head, the boy lay with his face buried deep in the gravel and grass. Had he passed out? Was he injured? Breathing? It was so dark she couldn’t tell, and the occasional bursts of light weren’t helping. In fact, each time her eyes started to adjust to the low light, another rocket would go off and blind her all over again.

  Placing a hand on the middle of his back, Tatum sighed in relief when she felt the boy’s ribs expand and contract. He shifted, rolling up onto his hip, and she got a partial look at his face.

  “Will Marshall, what were you guys thinking?” Tatum pushed at his raised shoulder, silently telling him to roll onto his back so she could look for hidden injuries. “Your mother is going to kill you.”

  His face crumpled and she thought he might start crying. She couldn’t remember how old he was, maybe thirteen or fourteen. Stuck between a kid and a man. And his reaction proved it, although Tatum had to give him credit for fighting back the tears. He bit down on his trembling bottom lip. As she watched, his expression hardened.

  “Yes, ma’am, she is. But I guess I deserve it.”

  Oh, hell. “We’ll see. As long as none of you are hurt...” Tatum’s voice trailed off, unwilling to make promises she couldn’t keep. She’d certainly pulled enough crap of her own growing up. At least until she’d had to take on the responsibility of holding her family together.

  There was a part of her that wanted these boys to keep their childhood, even if that sometimes included pulling boneheaded and dangerous pranks. It wasn’t as if this town didn’t have plenty of stories like that to go around, probably half of them featuring one or all of these boys’ fathers.