by Jodi Henley
“That’s a fucking understatement,” he gritted out, pushing her away.
She dug in her heels. “Stop fighting me.”
“Anything to get in my pants, huh, Jen?”
She stayed put and sent him a level look. “I don’t understand how sometimes you can be so...nice. And at other times you’re such a jerk.”
Nice, him? “Honey, I’m not nice.”
Chapter Sixteen
Fallon had never been in a police trailer before, but it turned out to be no different from a police station. Same puke smell, same crappy metal chairs. Apparently the Volcano substation was in the process of being built, or rebuilt, or what the hell—he didn’t much care. He had a phobia, although phobia was a small word for stranglehold on his throat.
He’d spent months chained to a wall. The physical scars were faded, but sometimes he still woke to find his arms stretched out overhead. He shrugged to take some of the pressure from his back and shoulders, and tried to get his legs into a comfortable position. Corlis gave him a long, narrow-eyed look and returned her attention to the tiny window centering the door. Like the flex-cuffs around his wrists, the holding cell was a joke. Flimsy walls covered in some kind of fake wooden veneer, a piece of it curled up near the floor, and wall to wall carpet in flattened down beige.
Obviously the biggest problem Volcano PD faced was felony snoring. The two drunks sharing the floor of their holding cell were ball-shakers.
The wall jumped. The Aina were one cell over, and pissed off mad. One of them demanded his lawyer while the others took turns calling for Daddy and threatening vile bodily harm on the assholes that’d locked them up.
Jail was too good for them. Fallon closed his eyes. They needed something smaller. Like a hamster cage. Corlis brushed past him. Even after stripping her of weapons, they’d treated her like a Southern peach, taking the ties off her long before the plastic had a chance to bruise her delicate skin.
He heard the quick slide of window glass, and the sharper rattle of steel mesh. It wasn’t coming out. The room was a joke, but the bars and locks were serious business. The only exit was through the door, and escape wasn’t a viable option. Corlis stuck out like a sore thumb.
Her hip pressed against his. He moved over to make room for her and she nodded. She didn’t look upset or uncomfortable, didn’t look like much of anything, as if she’d turned off everything but the autopilot. She pulled off her shoe and picked at the lining.
“I never told you about prison. About being chained up,” he said, softly, so they couldn’t hear him out in the squad room.
She stopped working her shoe.
He risked a quick look at her before turning away again. Her mouth was tight, like he’d said something wrong. Hell, he always said the wrong thing, nothing new there. When it came to her, he was the king of fucked-up.
“Nick gave me pictures,” she said.
Fallon struggled to say something that wouldn’t start another war between them. Please don’t let him start another war. “You shouldn’t have looked,” he blurted out.
“Why?”
Fallon shook his head. The words stuck in his throat, all jumbled and clotted.
Corlis pulled a thin gutting knife from under her insole, grabbed him by the arm and pushed him forward. A brief pressure and his arms came free.
“There’s a lawyer up at the front desk,” she said, all business now. “Gray suit, red tie. He’s got Kate with him. She’s posting bond for the Aina, and I’ll give you odds the first place they’ll go is back to the Project.”
Fallon could see the guy through the window, a flash of white hair and expensive wool. He stood, reached down to help her up and she let him.
She put her shoe back on and straightened, already moving away from him. “The cops aren’t going to stop Kate. And Keegan’s still out there.”
“Babe, I ain’t going nowhere without my Glock.”
Her grin played over her face like summer lightning. A retina-flash. He’d come back for that smile, all the way from Hell. Her hand flickered. Follow?
Fallon nodded. Follow.
****
The truck rattled by and Jen left, walking away toward the center of the hill with a serious case of attitude. Keegan grunted to his feet and followed her. It wasn’t much of a hill, just a mound of heaped up dirt and shattered rocks studded with a few wind-bent trees. The air looked warm and golden, but he could already feel a bite to the growing breeze. He shoved through the branches, and followed Jen to where she sat in a small clearing, hunched over on a slab of weathered black lava with her arms tucked around her knees. She gave him a hostile look and said something—probably nasty—under her breath. Her ladylike demeanor was chipping and he liked the quirky, sarcastic woman underneath. Maybe too much. He reached out to touch her hair and she flinched back.
“Leave me alone,” she said, flipping her tangled hair back over her shoulders, away from him.
“I don’t get paid to take chances with your life.”
“And that applies to your messed up comments, how?”
He sat on the rock beside her and awkwardly straightened his knee. “I’m a guy, sometimes I make stupid comments.”
She kept her face turned from him. What was she thinking? Keegan pressed his knuckles down into his thigh. “Talk to me, Jen.”
He tried again. More professional now that he knew she didn’t want to hear him. “When we don’t show up, someone will come looking.” He had to force himself to smile. It didn’t look like she was going to return the favor. “It’ll be warmer if we share body heat.”
“Please respect my feelings and leave me alone.”
“I can’t! We’re running out of time and I...can’t. Seeing you over there fucking kills me. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you...and yeah, I freaked." He rubbed a hand over his friend, scrubbing away his growing frown. "Commitment scares me.”
Jen stuck her fingers in her ears.
Keegan felt the last of his hopes drop down through his stomach. He stumbled to his feet and turned away. “I’ll let you know when it’s safe to leave.”
****
The sun beat down on the back of Jen's head, pounding her into a crumpled mess. Keegan hadn't left, but she missed him already. He’d come back to save her and it’d be so easy to slip into the trap of thinking he cared, but everyone had ulterior motives. Everyone wanted something. And he needed her to collect. Protect her. Identify the threat. Eliminate it if they could. Corlis had spelled it out for her.
Jen had no doubt DalCon was under orders to call for backup if they couldn't contain the situation. Anything too big for Keegan was probably too big to contain. Her fingers curled under, digging at her palms. Red-black crescents stood out under her nails—Makena's blood, solid proof that he cared.
A blaze of purple edged the ground, outlining the rocks and grass with sharp-edged shadows. She turned in the direction Keegan had gone, hands rubbing up and down her arms. She’d trusted her father once. Could she trust him again? Keegan was the man her father believed could save her. It all came back to that contract. One Guinevere. Neatly wrapped. There was no way she was going back to StallingCo. The world kept expanding, and to her surprise, she kept expanding right along with it. She’d tasted freedom and had the chance to make her own choices.
She followed the crushed grass to where Keegan sat in a tiny patch of sunlight. The incipient breeze had died away and tiny motes of dust drifted on the still air. Her breath formed a cloud in the rapidly cooling air. Big as he was, it had to be worse for Keegan. Even his hair looked tired. Her family was hell on strangers.
She lifted her chin up as high as she could and told him, “I’m fat. I can’t cook. I’ve been disinherited, and I smell really bad right now. Is it a wonder I don’t believe you?”
The thin line of his mouth compressed until she thought his face would break. She put her hand on his shoulder and he jackknifed away.
“You want me to respect your boundaries?”
he snarled. “Back off and respect mine.”
She glared at him. “Don’t do that, damn it! You’re bigger than me, and I’m tired.” She sat down beside him and leaned her head against his knee.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said after a long, drawn out second.
Jen felt her mouth move. It wasn’t much of a smile, but it was all she had to give. “My cousin, Tris, says all Stallings are born with issues. Mine are small compared to his. At least my father doesn’t want me dead.”
“I don’t know who my father is,” said Keegan, surprising her. “Sometimes I remember a guy with eyes like Connor.”
His hand touched hers, and she laid her fingers across his palm.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not looking at him.
“Water under the bridge, princess.”
“Do you really want me?”
His hand closed. “Yes,” he breathed.
“I...like touching you.” She risked a sidelong look.
His eyes were dark and shuttered. “You’re touching me now.”
“Yes. I am.” Her gaze met his.
She pushed him over and he fell back, eyes on hers, pulling her down after him. Her hair slipped over her shoulders to puddle on his chest, but when she brushed her fingers over the line of his throat, he swallowed and turned his face away.
She put a hand down in the grass on the other side of him and looked down at his lips. “Are you...uncomfortable?” she asked.
“No,” he whispered.
“Look at me?”
“I can’t,” he said, fists clenched down at his sides.
She brushed her lips over his, and traced the line of his mouth with her tongue. His eyes closed. Her tongue probed to find his teeth were also clenched against her.
“You can...touch me back,” she said, a little uncertainly.
“I can’t!” He took her hand and placed it right there on him. “Jesus, Jen! Feel what you do to me. I can’t touch you without losing all control. I don’t want to scare you.”
She explored him through the stiff material of his jeans. “Very scary.”
Jen’s eyes were wide open and shining with, if not love, at least something recognizably close. Keegan pulled her down over him, one hand cupped at the nape of her neck and moved to kiss her, but she was already there, arms around his neck, mouth against his.
He didn’t want to move too fast, but it was over the minute his tongue touched hers. Instant meltdown. They were joined so tight he’d need a pry-bar to separate them.
“You get off on torturing me,” he said.
“Mutual torture?” she whispered. “I can work with it.” They both looked down to where she was rubbing her breasts against his bare chest and her grin turned into a full-fledged smirk.
She reached up, undid the little pearl buttons on her sleeves, and yanked her still soggy dress over her head. Her nipples were hard and easy to see through the satiny fabric of her bra.
It could have been the cold, but she smiled and he knew it wasn’t.
He flipped her over on her back and dumped her out of her panties. She squealed and laughed, grabbing for the tiny scrap of lingerie. He held it just out of reach. The glitter in her eyes should have warned him. She reached down, undid his top button and damned if he wasn’t doing the Happy Peeper. Right. Two could play that game. He stroked his palms up the delicate skin of her outer thighs and reached down to cup her ass. She was breathing hard, not as nonchalant as she seemed. Her thighs fell open. And all of a sudden her grin was gone.
“Keegan? Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
Her curls were soft and dark, and she glistened like pink jade. “You’re wet for me,” he growled softly.
“I want an egg. Would you like an egg? I need to lose weight, this is so—”
Keegan parted her curls with his thumbs and gave her a long, probing lick. Jen screamed into her cupped hands, eyes wide. He was so startled, he dropped her.
“Don’t do that again! You stuck your tongue...” her face went splotchy, “...there. God, I don’t need your pity!”
“It’s not pity.”
“You tongued me! Did your...you know, thing, go down?”
She pushed him over to inspect his crotch. No help there, princess. His thing was hard enough to hammer nails.
He caught her hands. “Stop that. I’ve touched you before. What happened?”
“That is so none of your business.”
He released her. “Don’t judge me on the basis of the last guy you were with.”
“I’m so messed up,” she moaned.
“Honey, I’m messed up. You’re just slightly fucked.”
She took a deep breath. “Isn't this where you give me the sales pitch?”
Keegan leaned back and tucked one arm up under his head. “Why? I’m not out to sell myself.” He let his gaze drop to her breasts. “You wouldn’t want to...ah, inch on over here and dangle say...about here?”
He held his finger over his lips with a hopeful look. She didn’t answer.
“We have time to talk,” he said, feeling awkward again. “You know...ah, if you want to talk. About the guy—the bastard, who hurt you.”
She leaned forward. “I don’t want to talk about—oh! You stinker!”
Keegan sucked leisurely, eyes slitted.
Her shoulders twisted in a long-drawn out shudder. “That feels really good.”
He rolled her nipple between his teeth and flicked it with his tongue, stroking the smooth fabric of her bra over her soft flesh. Her eyes went all glassy.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s try that again.”
He rolled her under him and slipped down the luxurious curve of her belly, his mouth tracing her delicate skin to the dusky curls between her thighs. She pushed at his face, thrashing wildly.
“You’re going to do that…thing, again!”
“That’s me,” said Keegan. “Terminally persistent.”
“You don’t have to...I mean, I can’t imagine why—”
Keegan gave her a long, swirling lick. Her folds parted for him, giving off a musky perfume that got right up in his nose and head. He held her hips so he could taste her more deeply and slipped a finger into her.
“Don’t tense up, Jen. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
She moaned and began to shake, teeth chattering. “Hurt,” she whispered, breathing hard. “Don't…hurt me. Please,” she moaned hands up over her face, “don't hurt me.” She jerked, eyes fixed on something he couldn't see. “I can't do this!” she screamed. “I c-can't do this….”
Jesus, she was having a flashback. He tried to remember what to do and came up with a blank. Cold worms exploded in his gut as he watched Jen relive her…rape? He wrapped both arms around her, but she pushed at him, pummeling him with her hands as the rest of her body curled into a tight ball. She was so small. When she talked, he forgot she barely came up to the middle of his chest. A big man could overwhelm her easily. Like he was doing now—Jesus, he'd never seen anything like the expression in her eyes. Totally beaten and helpless, like mercy wasn't part of her vocabulary—only endurance and an infinite capacity for pain.
“Jen,” he whispered, “sweetheart.” He buried his face in her hair, holding her while she shook. “Come back to me.”
“K-Keegan…” Her arms unfolded in a rush and locked around him, holding him like he was the only thing keeping her sane. “I think I'm going c-crazy. I-I—“
“You're having a flashback,” growled Keegan. “You're not fucking crazy. Jesus. Kualani didn't do near enough, I'd have given the guy a Columbian necktie.”
Her laugh was small and strangled, but genuine. Slowly, her arms relaxed until she was leaning against him, arms looped up around his neck.
He looked into her eyes as his head lowered and his lips covered hers. “Don't look away,” he breathed. “I want you to know who I am.”
Her lips parted. “You're incredibly egotistical.”
“If t
hat's what you want to think.”
Her eyes closed slowly as they kissed, tongues sliding together gently. “No,” she whispered finally. “That's not what I think. It's…it's a defense.”
“I know.”
Her eyes flew open and she giggled abruptly. “Damn it, Keegan. Stop making me laugh.”
His smile lit his eyes. “Want to try again?”
“This?” she whispered, bringing his hand to her. “Or this?” she asked, licking her way into his mouth.
He pulled her up over him, meeting her kiss for kiss, wild and out of control. She loved it that she could do that to him. Make him go out of control.
“Hell, this isn’t—” He tugged at his pants. “Goddamnit! My zipper—”
“Hand me your knife.”
“No knives.”
She cupped him through the cotton, stroking down his length with both hands. His eyes closed slowly. The zipper came free and she pushed his pants down to where the thick flannel bandage stopped her from going any farther. He wasn’t wearing underwear, and she stroked down over the smooth curve of his ass with her fingers.
“Condoms,” he said thickly, “front pocket.”
She pulled the condoms out, ripped one open and stared at the tiny circle. “This isn’t going to work.”
His hand closed over hers. “Take it...like this.”
“It’s colorful,” she said finally.
“What the hell were you thinking? Japanese condoms?”
“Penguins are cute, and they’re peach-flavored” she said, pushing up against him.
“Kittens are cute. Penguins are just wrong.”
He stroked a hand down over her shoulder and stopped. His expression turned hard and angry. “Did I do that?”
“No.” She knew exactly what he was talking about.
Keegan measured his fingers against the bruises on her breasts. “Who?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it. Not now—”