Cold Midnight

by Joyce Lamb

  She resisted, biting into her bottom lip as she fought against what her body so desperately wanted. “Stop.”

  Shifting, he slid his hands up her ribs to her breasts, where he massaged and kneaded, his thumbs stroking repeatedly over aching, ultrasensitive nipples. “Stop this?” he asked, then lowered his head and sucked one between his lips, his tongue pressing it against his teeth then letting it go with a small, back-bowing pop. “Stop this?”

  His mouth settled on hers again, his tongue gentle but insistent as his fingers danced over her ribs and belly, caressing and wearing down her resistance, clouding her mind with a need so intense she couldn’t remember why she tried to defy it. This was good. This was Chase.

  Her legs drifted open, and in the next instant, his hand was there, touching her, worshipping her with his fingers. She arched into the spear of sensation, a small cry escaping before she could suppress it.

  “That’s it,” he murmured, firming his caress. “That’s it. Just let me in.”

  His teeth nipped at her earlobe, then the muscles that corded along the side of her neck. The whole time, his fingers stroked, caressed, probed.

  At the first involuntary buck of her hips, he withdrew his fingers, and she thought, yes, yes, ready for the next part, always ready for that. But instead of stripping off his jeans, he began kissing his way down, over her breasts, down her flat belly, until his mouth hovered above the aching, throbbing part of her that wept for him. He used his hands to nudge her legs farther apart, blew gently against her sensitized flesh. As she arched her head back against the pillow, surrendering to him with a helpless moan, he lowered his mouth. And became merciless.

  She dug her fingers into the sheets, biting her lip to try to stop the whimpers catching in her throat as she strained against the stroke and dart of his tongue, the caress of his lips, the gentle bite of his teeth, while the building passion tensed her muscles to the point of pain. Her breathing grew harsh and ragged, and he sank his fingers into her hips, lifted them to still her restless movements. Oh, God, right there, right there.

  Her body snapped taut as pleasure burst inside her, waves and waves of it rolling through her like convulsions. Then he braced over her on one hand, kissing her again, using his tongue on her mouth the way he had between her thighs moments before, his free hand caressing her breasts until pleasure spun through her all over again.

  “Tell me what you want,” he whispered, tenderly kissing her jaw, the side of her neck, his tongue glancing off the frantic pulse in her throat.

  She tried to breathe, to think. Every nerve in her body throbbed, and there was more. She knew there was so much more, and she wanted it. She wanted it all. With Chase. Forever.

  “Tell me,” he said, his lips barely touching the corner of her mouth.

  She swallowed, her body humming, vibrating as his hand stroked down her ribs in a feathery caress. “I want you,” she breathed. “I want you inside me.”

  His lips curved, and he moved to shed his clothes then settled against her so that he rested hot and hard at her entrance. He stroked her first, and she lifted her hips, inviting, wanting, and sighed as he guided himself to her. Braced above her, with only one thrust separating them from being joined, he paused and breathed deeply, then kissed her, his tongue stroking against hers and retreating, all the while holding himself back from her.

  She grasped his hips, tried to take him in on her own, but he angled his hips back, denying her what she so desperately wanted.

  “Please,” she whispered, mindless and not caring that she was begging. “Please. I need you.”

  He looked into her eyes. “Say my name.”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Chase,” she said. “Chase.”

  He smiled and rewarded her with a long, slow thrust. Her breath hitched at how good it felt, how good he felt. Her answering moan turned into a strangled gasp as he eased almost entirely out and slid back in, maddeningly slow.

  “Oh, Christ, you’re so tight, so hot,” he growled.

  She sank her nails into his lower back, arching under him, trying to quicken the pace. She was already . . . so . . . close.

  But he seemed intent on tormenting her with slow, easy strokes, each thrust grinding his hard length against flesh so sensitive that a mini flare of fireworks went off inside her. She dropped her head back, her breath fast and desperate. Another orgasm was building in glorious waves, and she felt her body tense around him in preparation. Oh, yes.

  But then, abruptly, he stopped moving, his breathing rough as he pinned her hips to the mattress, stilling her restless, frantic movement with his superior weight. Drawing her hands from around his waist, he trapped her wrists on either side of her head and kissed the corner of her mouth, her temple, her forehead.

  She strained against him, nearly sobbing with frustration. She was so close, and yet he refused to move, to shoot her to the stars. “Please, Chase. I can’t take it.”

  His breath, his lips, caressed her face. “Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes, focused on his glittering green gaze. What more could he want? She was giving him everything she had, letting him destroy her with every mind-blowing stroke.

  His mouth curved, and she heard him swallow. She tugged at her wrists, wanting to run her hands over the muscles bunched in his back, over his smooth, tight butt. If he didn’t let her come soon, she was going to scream.

  “I love you, Ky.”

  She stopped breathing, stared up into his eyes. Her racing heart skipped several beats before continuing at an even faster pace. What? What?

  He dropped his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged and uneven. He shifted a little, kissing her gently at the same moment that the movement wrung a small gasp from her. “I love you. More than anything, Ky, more than life.” He gave another mind-spinning, neck-arching thrust only to stop again, to pin her motionless. “But you can’t live like life’s a tennis match you have to win at all costs. It’s okay to lose, Ky. And it’s okay to lose control.” He swallowed hard, obviously struggling against his own body’s demands. “Right now, you’re out of control, and it feels good. It feels right. That’s how it’s going to be with us. I’m going to make sure of it. Because I love you.”

  He began to move again, more firmly now, gathering her against him and holding her as he pumped into her, again and again, faster and harder, until the world exploded into fractured prisms of light. He followed immediately, his body jerking against hers as a long, harsh groan escaped through his clenched teeth.

  He collapsed against her and rolled so that she lay across his chest. They were both panting, gasping. Every so often, she felt a small, breath-stealing jolt where he was still inside her. As her senses returned, the lump in her throat caught her off guard, and she swallowed against it. Like the orgasm, uncontrollable emotion was building in a wave.

  Chase loved her. Chase loved her.

  Oh, God, she was going to lose it.

  She pushed at his chest but was dismayed to realize that he had his arms wrapped securely around her, his fingers idly stroking the damp skin of her back. His touch was so reverent, so loving, that it tipped her world the rest of the way on its side.

  “Let go,” she said, appalled at the jagged-glass sound of her own voice.

  His hands stilled. “Ky—”

  He broke off as she scrambled away from him—giving him no choice but to release her—and off the bed. Her wobbly knees almost buckled, and she caught herself with a hand on the mattress before bending to grab her shirt off the floor. She needed to get out, get away. Now.

  She jammed her arms into it and looked around for her underwear. Finding it, she jerked it on while he shifted onto his side and propped his head in his hand, watching her with a speculative expression, as if this were exactly what he’d expected.

  Seizing her jeans, she ignored him and pulled them on. She was done with these mind games, done with everything. As soon as Quinn was cleared, she’d move back to LA, pick up where she left o
ff. Blessed peace. That’s all she wanted. Peace.

  “I love you,” Chase said softly.

  Her heart banged against her ribs like a wild, frightened animal, and she closed her eyes. “Stop it.”

  “Stop loving you? Not going to happen. I tried that. It didn’t work.”

  She shook her head, fought for balance. “This is . . . this is . . .”

  “What? Come on, Ky, spit it out. Tell me what this is. Tell me how I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t love me. Tell me to fuck the hell off.”

  Whatever control she’d managed to regain spun out of her grasp as she grabbed a pillow that had ended up on the floor and hurled it at his head. “Fuck the hell off!”

  He caught the pillow, a huge smile curving his lips. “Excellent.”

  She stared at him in open-mouthed shock. He was smiling, beyond pleased with himself. “Are you seriously enjoying fucking with my head?”

  His smile scaled back, and he cocked his head. “No, actually. I’m not. But if this is what it takes to get to you, I’ll do it. Because I love you.”

  A hard surge of helpless anger and despair surged into her throat. “You know we won’t work.”

  “And why the hell not?” He snapped it out, his easygoing smile gone as he shoved off the bed and took a step toward her. When she flinched almost violently back, he backed off, hurt softening his features. But then they hardened again, with anger, with frustration, and he turned away to snag his jeans from the foot of the bed.

  “This is about you, Kylie,” he said as he yanked them on. “What you want. What you’re doing. You’re the only one saying it won’t work. Why? Why are you fighting me? Fighting this?”

  “I can’t be who you want me to be!” she shouted at him, shocking them both. “I can’t be this person, this . . . this emotional person. I can’t do it. I can’t.” Sinking down onto the bed, she covered her face with her hands, horrified when a dry sob burst out of her throat. “I’m not worth all this . . . effort. You’re wasting your time.”

  “Oh, God, baby, that’s not true.” He knelt at her feet, grasped her head in both of his large hands and urged her to raise her chin, to look at him. She kept her eyes closed, unable to bear seeing herself reflected in his eyes.

  “I love you,” he said, his guttural voice fracturing with emotion.

  She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed. “I don’t know how to do this. I never did.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just let it out.” He tightened his grip on her head, leaning forward to nuzzle her cheek with the tip of his nose, then the line of her brow before pressing whisper-soft kisses on her eyelids. And then his lips settled on hers, tentative at first, then growing more demanding, more aggressive, until she opened her mouth on a helpless moan, powerless to resist him. His tongue met hers, stealing her breath, her heart.

  “I love you,” he murmured against her lips, drawing her off the bed and gathering her onto his lap on the floor, holding her close, secure.

  He loved her. God, he loved her. And it made her feel so full, full to bursting. She’d missed him, missed this, and now she couldn’t remember why she’d tried so hard to deny it, deny him. Always so stupid and stubborn and . . . determined to not let anyone in. But this, his arms around her, holding her together as she fell apart, this felt right. Maybe she could do this. As long as Chase was there.

  Except Quinn . . . oh, God, Quinn. Chase had a job to do, and her brother would pay the price. How could she . . . how could she . . . it was too much, too much.

  As she began to shudder, she felt a single tear trickle down her cheek only to be stopped by Chase’s warm lips. His thumb, warm and gentle, grazed the shell of her ear, her jaw, the side of her neck, and settled into a steady caress over the throbbing pulse in her throat. More tears began to fall, tears she’d held back for so long and could no longer suppress.

  He rested his forehead against hers, and she felt his warm, moist breath against her cheek, followed by the feather brush of his lips. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can let go.”

  39

  CHASE TIGHTENED HIS ARMS AROUND HER AS SHE began to weep, the violent hitches in her breath clawing at him. She cried the way she played tennis, all-out, go-for-broke fury, as ten years of grief and frustration poured out of her in a hot, gasping rush. He stroked her hair, her arm, her hip, his cheek pressed to the top of her head while her tears drenched his skin. And the whole time, relief hummed through him. She’d surrendered. Everything would be okay now. They would be okay.

  She quieted after only a few minutes, too soon in his opinion, considering everything she’d been suppressing for so long. He kept holding her, stroking her, until she eased away from him and wiped at the moisture on her reddened cheeks. She avoided his eyes, but that was okay, he thought. Baby steps. He could wait for her to tell him what she needed. No matter what it was, he vowed, he’d give it to her.

  When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “I think someone else should protect me.”

  He went still. No way in hell was he giving her that, not when the thought of losing her made everything inside him go black and silent.

  “That’s not an option,” he croaked. No fucking way was it an option.

  Fresh tears welled into her eyes, making them bluer than Caribbean ocean water. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t handle . . . this . . . with you at the same time that Quinn . . . I just . . . can’t.” She closed her eyes, and a lone tear dropped down her right cheek. “I’m tired. I’m so tired.”

  His heart wrenched inside his chest. Love, his love, should have made her stronger, not weaker. Why couldn’t she see that?

  She opened her eyes, looked into his. “I can’t choose, Chase. I can’t choose between you and Quinn.”

  His throat clogged, and he clenched his fists at his sides. He wanted to grab her, shake her, make her understand that without her, he was nothing. And, without him, she was empty. He could fill her up, make her whole, if only she’d let him.

  “I’m not asking you to choose,” he replied, fighting to keep his tone steady.

  “If Quinn goes to trial, you’ll be gathering evidence. You might even get on the stand and testify about how you think he’s a monster. And if I’m with you . . .” She trailed off, as if for a moment she couldn’t make herself say the words. “If we’re together,” she continued, stronger now, “it will look like I believe it, too.”

  He curled his hands into fists, desperate to reach out to her, to pull her to him and hold her until this insanity went away. “I don’t understand, Kylie. Make me understand.”

  Her eyes were still damp, but her tears had stopped falling, and her gaze had become unwavering. “He’s my brother.”

  The twisting in his chest returned, only this time it was accompanied by anger. She said she couldn’t choose, but she had.

  She got to her feet, and he rose, too, unable to stop himself from advancing on her. He ignored her surprised expression, the way she backed away, and grabbed her by the arms, hauling her forward until her fists were pressed against his chest and her red-rimmed eyes were wide with surprise. He wanted to hurl angry words at her like stones, wanted to kiss her until she was pliant and yielding, until she surrendered to him all over again. He wanted her weeping and broken in his arms, not stoic and unflinching, denying his love and begging him to let her go.

  But he couldn’t, damn it. He couldn’t let her go, not again, not when they’d been so close, when she’d been so open.

  And then her faint wince, the flicker of her eyes, broke through his fury, and he realized how tightly he held her, realized his fingers would leave bruises. He released her and backed off. Turning away, he jammed a hand through his hair while shame merged with his frustration. It would take years for a trial to play out, years before Quinn would be declared innocent or guilty. Fucking years.

  “Chase, please,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t.” He faced her, and his features felt stiff, not his. He tried
to give her the game face, the one she used so well on him, but he wasn’t certain he managed it, not when everything inside him burned. Love hurts? Yeah, it hurt like hell. He felt like an idiot at how much it hurt, how much he wanted her to hurt right along with him.

  “I thought you were strong,” he said. “But you’re not. You’re a fool.”

  She took a startled step back, as if he’d raised a hand to strike her.

  Unable to look at her, to watch the wounds his words caused, he snatched his shirt off the floor. “Weak people run away from love,” he said, shoving his arms into the sleeves and shooting the first button through its tiny hole. “Weak people. You did it ten years ago, and you’re doing it again now.”

  He looked at her then, strong enough now in his self-righteous anger to see the effects of his arrow-tipped words. All the emotion, and color, had drained out of her face. Her eyes, her lovely, blue gray eyes, so big and vulnerable and damp earlier, had gone flat, as expressionless as cool steel.

  He wanted to take it all back, hold her until all the hurt went away. He moved toward her, ready to babble out an apology. He’d say anything to bring the shining light back into her eyes. But she edged back.

  “You’re right,” she said, her voice low and trembling. “I should have been stronger.”

  He closed his eyes, lowered his chin. God, he was a dick. And he couldn’t take it, couldn’t stand having her look at him with that blank expression. He’d thought earlier that he’d finally won, that she’d surrendered to him, to love. But he’d been wrong. Match fucking point. She’d won again.

  He walked out of the bedroom without looking back.

  40

  AS RAIN CONTINUED ITS DELUGE OUTSIDE THE kitchen window above the sink, Chase jerkily washed up the dishes from the night before. He didn’t realize how violent his actions were until the stem of the wineglass he was washing snapped in two in his hands. As he watched his blood swirl down the drain—just like everything he wanted with the woman he loved—his cell phone started to ring on the counter beside him.