He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. He wasn’t a man of words, but he needed to find the right ones to tell her what he felt inside. Shit, he should have talked to Sam first. Sam could charm the birds from the trees. Tracker took a breath. It didn’t make it easier. He’d rather be staked out on a cactus than do this. There was nothing to do but blurt it out. She’d probably laugh at him anyway.
“Do you know, sweets, until you touched me, I never knew what it was like to have a woman touch me with caring?”
She didn’t look up. He pushed on.
“I’ve had them touch me out of greed, out of passion, out of manipulation, but until you, being touched like that was just a cruel fairy tale someone fed me as a kid.”
Still no response. He took another breath and went for broke. “I liked it.”
That got a start. He tipped up her chin. She wasn’t laughing. Tears filled her eyes. For her? For him? For them? Hell, what did it matter? It was all fucked up. He trailed his fingers to her cheek, trying to give her softness. “So much, I don’t want to go back to being used.”
Her lips worked. No words came out.
Sliding his hand back until he cupped her head, he rubbed his thumb over her mouth. “There’s always been pleasure between us. Nothing’s happened in the last two days that makes me want anything else.”
Vague thumps announced the arrival of the hot water. Leaning forward, he replaced his thumb with his lips. He gave her a gentle kiss before reaching over to pull the coverlet off the foot of the bed and drape it around her. “That’s all I want between us, sweets. Softness.”
Her eyes searched his, but nothing in her expression gave away her thoughts.
“I’ve got five days of trail clinging to me. I’m going to take a bath.”
She sat there, lips sealed, eyes screaming. Cupping her cheek in his hand, he again touched his thumb to her lips. “While I’m doing that, you can do whatever you want.”
12
The hot water felt good against his aching muscles. The steam from the bath blended with the humidity of the air. Traces of clove from when he’d washed up before stepping into the tub rode the steam, covering the staleness of the air. Tia’s doing. She knew how the scent made him think of hope. He’d told her that once. Right after the first time he’d gotten his heart broken, he believed. The talk she’d given him was bracing—that things happen for a reason, that when happiness came his way, he should enjoy it, because no one ever knew how long it would last. She’d likely been thinking about her husband then, dead along with her baby. When she was done, Tracker hadn’t had much energy left for moping, but ever since then, whenever he was upset, he found clove soap next to his bath.
The small, cherishing act made him smile. For a man thinking he was about at the end of his rope, he had a lot of people who cared for him. So maybe he’d best get off his self-pity roll and just enjoy what was, rather than worrying about what would be. Tracker slid down into the large tub, feeling guilty for the griping he’d put up when they’d had to haul it up the mountain to Hell’s Eight. After a long, difficult time on the trail, it was a godsend to be able to sink into a tubful of hot, soothing water. He closed his eyes and let the heat work at the tension inside him.
He didn’t know what to do with Ari. He didn’t know how to get through to her. She wore that pain like armor, afraid of letting it go because what was on the other side might be worse. There just might be a black, yawning pit that would swallow her whole.
He’d felt that way after his town had been wiped out. For his parents he hadn’t grieved much, because they hadn’t been much. But for Caine’s parents, who’d given him and Shadow the only love they’d ever known, he’d wanted to tear open the graves, call down the grim reaper and make a deal. His life for theirs. Yeah, he knew how Ari felt, but he couldn’t put a gun in her hand and give her vengeance in place of love. She wasn’t cut from the same cloth. She hadn’t been weaned on anger and hate. Hadn’t had the softness beaten out of her, though the Comancheros had tried. Beneath the water, he clenched his hand on his thigh. Good people like them didn’t deserve to die. Good women like Desi and Ari didn’t deserve to be used. And men like Tracker shouldn’t be put in charge of saving them. Not when his honor was stretched thin.
Damn, no matter what Desi said, what Ari needed was an Eastern man with Eastern manners. Someone who understood what passed for good in the world she came from. Here, the muscle a man carried on his body backed up the weight of his word. Tracker had encountered enough Easterners over the years to know their power came from money and political machinations. They might smile to a person’s face, but worked behind his back as soon as he left. Rarely was anything handled directly.
Tracker wasn’t good at that kind of smooth talking. He didn’t know how to mince around what had happened to Ari, yet leave the core of it untouched. The pain of her memories grew like an ugly, festering boil, throbbing too viciously to be ignored. Instinct said lance the boil, release the poison. He’d tried that kind of direct confrontation in the bedroom. All he’d done was make her cry. Shit. He sank under the water, wetting his hair, releasing his frustration by uttering a water-logged “Fuck.”
When he came to the surface, the hairs on the back of his neck stood in warning. He wasn’t alone. Reaching into the water for the knife down by his foot, he sneaked a peek through his lashes. Ari stood by the tub, the wrap clutched around her, looking down at him. Shit again. Moving slowly so as not to scare her, he traded the knife for a washcloth on the table beside the tub.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the weapon. “You had that in the bath?”
Draping the washcloth over his privates, he shrugged. “Habit.”
He wasn’t sure how much good the cloth was going to do if his cock reacted with its normal attentiveness to her presence, but at least he made the effort.
Reaching out, she touched the knife, rocking it back and forth. “I remembered.” She said it as though he didn’t know.
“I’m sorry.”
Not meeting his eyes, she said, “Me, too.”
She looked like an angel standing there. An improbably sweet angel with broken wings. Just in case she had thoughts of doing something with that knife, he removed it from beneath her fingers. When she looked up, he motioned to his nakedness.
“You have me at a disadvantage.”
“Good.”
There was still no discerning her mood from her expression. He cocked an eyebrow. “Care to explain that?”
She held up her hand, her thumb and forefinger a short space apart. “You’re always so big, so…invulnerable. I sometimes feel insignificant.”
“Sweets, I’m the one who’s not worth shit.”
“You always say that.”
“Because compared to what you’re used to, I’m not.”
“I’m used to men who fucked me however they wanted, whenever they wanted, regardless of what I wanted.”
He hated hearing that word on her lips. More than that, he hated that she thought she was now the kind of woman who could use it. Of course, he might not be sending that message too clearly, since he was carrying on a conversation with her while naked. He was reasonably sure Eastern men considered that vulgar.
He pointed to the white cotton towel draped over the back of a chair. “If you pass me that towel and turn your back, I’ll be happy to talk about whatever you want.”
“No.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re telling me no?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll give you a hint, sweets. You’d be more convincing if you weren’t standing there wringing your hands, avoiding my gaze.”
“Don’t, Tracker.”
Shit. She looked as if she was about to cry. “I’m sorry.”
She let the wrap fall to the floor. He couldn’t take his eyes away from her body—the high, pert breasts that fit so perfectly into his hand, the slender waist that flowed to those surprisingly full hips. Her skin shone so white in
the dim interior, looked so soft. He curved his fingers at the memory of how her nipple had pressed into his palm.
She took a step toward the tub. It was his turn to say “don’t.” If she had her mind on a pity fuck, he didn’t want that, either. When she looked at him and that full bottom lip slipped between her teeth, he explained.
“You don’t owe me anything, Ari. What I did for you, I would have done for anyone.”
She shook her head and took a small step. “Please.”
“What?”
She reached the side of the tub. “Shut up.”
Her fingers slid over the rim to touch his shoulder. A butterfly caress that could have meant anything. At the moment, he was too stunned at the novelty of being told to shut up to figure it out.
“What did you say?” It came out a low growl. She merely frowned at him and waved aside his question.
“I told you to shut up. I can’t think with you always throwing new obstacles at me.”
He stalled. “You need to think?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
She cut him a look. He raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll be quiet.”
A half step was all it took for her to flatten her hand against his shoulder. She’d said he couldn’t talk, but she didn’t say he couldn’t touch. He reached across his body and curved his fingers around hers, bringing them to his lips before placing her hand back on his shoulder and holding it there.
She stared at their hands as if the words she searched for hid there. “I’ve always trusted you.”
What did a man say to that? “Good.”
“I want to trust you now.”
“But you can’t?”
She shook her head. “Everyone looks at me. I know what they’re thinking, what they see.”
“Honey, not only are you a twin, you’re a legend. Not many women get returned after being stolen by the Comancheros.”
“But they know.”
He couldn’t blunt that truth. “Yes. But what you don’t understand is, they don’t care.”
“They look at me and they imagine—”
He cut her off. “They imagine how much they’d like to cut the balls off the men who hurt you and Desi.”
She shook her head. “You don’t see—”
“Cover your eyes, I’m standing up.”
He needed to hold her. Her hand on his shoulder kept him where he was. “Please, don’t.”
“Why?”
“You scare me.”
That settled him back down in the tub. “How the he—heck am I doing that?”
“You look like them, but you feel like my Tracker.”
My Tracker.
He had to stop holding tight to those things she said that implied this was more than for now. “I’ll stay seated then.”
She picked up the soap and lathered it in her hands. She slowly rubbed the lather across the skin on his shoulder above the waterline. The scent of cloves filled the air even as his cock filled with desire.
“What are you doing?”
“Touching you with love.”
“You don’t love me.”
“You may be able to make me do a lot of things, Tracker, but you can’t tell me how to feel.”
“You love me?”
“I think so.”
“Think?” He shrugged his shoulder away. “Am I supposed to be flattered?”
She removed her hand. “I know I’m not the kind of woman a man like you—”
Shit.
He grabbed her hand and tugged her into the tub. Ari shrieked and tumbled. It was easy to catch her, easier to direct her body to slide down his. He moaned as the plump cheek of her ass cushioned his cock in a different heat. Water sloshed over the sides as she struggled for balance.
He let her wiggle about until she ended up splayed across his chest, cradled in his arms. He could feel her blush against his skin. Putting his arms around her, he held her close. As always when he did so, she seemed to relax. Her breath expelled in a small sigh as the last of the tension left her muscles.
He rested his chin on top of her head. “Comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Good, because I’m about to tear a strip off your hide.”
She hummed in her throat.
“You don’t seem nervous.”
“I’m pretending.”
“What?”
“That this is real.”
Running his hand down her side, he enjoyed the slick glide of her skin under the roughness skin of his palm. The rise of her hip caught his attention. Placing his palm there, he stretched his fingers over her ass. The full flesh welcomed the pressure he applied. “Feels pretty damn real to me.”
Was she not fighting because she was scared, or because she’d given up?
“But it won’t last.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I heard you and Desi talking. She’s forcing you to be nice to me.”
It hurt his brain, just trying to think about how to deal with that. “Ari?”
“What?”
“Shut up.”
“Why?”
He leaned his head back against the rim and closed his eyes. “Because I’m in a tub full of water, which constitutes the first real bath I’ve had in two weeks. I’ve got a gorgeous, sexy woman in my arms, and finally the time to just enjoy the way she feels there.”
Ari sighed and nodded, understanding. “You don’t want to fight.”
“Sweets, I’m so tired, I don’t even want to think.”
Her hand crept up his chest. She pulled herself up until her head rested against his shoulder. His cock flexed, touching her hip briefly. God, he loved the way she made him feel inside, calm where he was usually restless, peaceful where he was usually looking for a fight.
“Me, neither,” she murmured.
“Then can we just sit here and feel good?” he asked, his body aching with exhaustion. “Just for a while?”
Just for a while, so he could store the memory.
She leaned forward, trying to see over the tub side. “The floor…”
Damn the floor. “If I promise to cherish the water stains, can we forget about it?”
He could have sworn that was almost a chuckle she gave as she settled back in. The scent of cloves intensified, mixing with the subtle scent of her skin. “I’ll think about it.”
“Take a long time thinking.” He rubbed his chin along her hair. “Have I mentioned I do like your sass?”
“That’s because you’re contrary.”
He tentatively stroked her hair. “You’re not feeling scared?”
She shook her head. “You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so tired, too, Tracker. Way down deep, where I just can’t get rest. I’m so tired I can’t feel…anything.”
He kissed her head. There wasn’t a good response for that, so he murmured, “All right.”
“I just want to lie here with you and…float.”
“So that’s what we’ll do.”
She didn’t answer, just rested against him until he thought she was asleep. And he held her, giving her the peace she wanted. There’d be time enough later to deal with the demons. Right now they were both tired.
The water was cold. Ari woke up to the knowledge that she was, too, despite the warmth against her side. A warmth that was moving steadily up and down. Tracker. She’d fallen asleep on Tracker’s lap.
Water sloshed as she moved. Fallen asleep in the tub! Who would have thought it was even possible?
Tilting her head back, she looked up. Tracker was sleeping, too, his thick, black lashes lying like shadows on his cheeks. She’d never seen him asleep before and couldn’t really see him now, the room was so dark. Very carefully, she hitched herself up. A hint of the child he’d been ghosted his face in repose, softening the harsh planes, providing a glimpse into his past, when he’d been vulnerable. She reached up and rested her fingertips against the edge o
f his cheekbone, where that little boy lingered.
I’ve never been touched with love.
What a sad statement. For all the awful things that had happened to her, for all the shame heaped on her soul, she’d been a cherished child. Constantly hugged and kissed. Her days had been filled with fond touches and smiles. She had that foundation to lean on, to hope for again. She knew what it felt like to be valued. She might not feel as if she had any value left outside of Tracker’s arms, but she knew what it was like to be special. Whereas Tracker… She dropped her thumb to the scar on his cheek, a legacy of his lifestyle, a warning to those who would challenge him. A vicious badge of honor, it was wider than her thumb, much lighter than his dark complexion, and pressed against her skin in a reprimand.
“I have no feeling there,” Tracker murmured.
Ari jumped. His hand on her back steadied her. Or was it keeping her put? She tried to remember the first loving touch she’d ever received, how it’d felt in her heart. She couldn’t. There’d been so many, starting so young, and she’d taken them for granted. But what if she’d never experienced one? Lived a childhood devoid of that security? How would that feel? She couldn’t imagine it, but she could imagine how it would sound to someone when people talked of it. Tracker was right—it would be like a cruel fairy tale. She opened her palm across his cheek, cradling it, caressing him gently with her fingertips.
“Can you feel that?”
“Yes.” His cock rose against her behind.
Beneath her ear, his heartbeat accelerated. He wanted her.
“Good.” She did it again, shifting position so that his cock pressed between her thighs, before settling delicately over him. Tracker had known enough aggression. He needed someone to bring him softness. Love.
“What are you doing, woman?”
The growl in his drawl was just for show.
She rocked her pussy on his cock. “Touching you with love.”
He moaned. She liked how he didn’t hide how she made him feel. It wasn’t as easy for her to be so open, but she tried.
“Now, that is an idea.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he stood. There was an awkward moment when their bodies separated, skin clinging until the last moment, and then she was lifted up into his arms and they were once more skin to skin.
Tracker’s Sin Page 18