Shatter Me

by Tori St. Claire

  She’d tell him everything he never wished to know.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Reagan slid her back porch door open at ten minutes after ten. Her house was quiet, the lights in the front room dim. A mechanical hum filled the silence, and the air held a chill that hadn’t been present in several weeks. Alex had gone ahead with the install. She breathed deeply, accepting that fact. Hours of conversation with Desi, along with several tears, made her accept that she’d overreacted. Unlike Drew, Alex acted out of the kindness of his heart.

  She’d just been too stunned to realize it earlier. Too unprepared for his generosity. And she’d made a complete fool out of herself.

  Time to confess her shame. The wine flowing through her veins offered courage, yet even it didn’t erase the nervous tremble in her legs that intensified with each step closer to home. Her hand shook as she turned around to close the door behind her.

  She took a steady step toward the living room, half hoping Alex wouldn’t be there.

  When she entered and found the couch empty, no sign of his meager things, her heart stopped. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the signs of abandonment.

  So he’d left.

  Regret stormed through her, and her shoulders bowed with the weight of it. She supposed she shouldn’t have expected him to stay, not after the way she’d reacted to something so benign. She’d even prepared herself for him to walk out the door once he knew the secrets she harbored.

  But she hadn’t anticipated the emptiness that would come with his leaving. The absolute, utter, bereft feeling. Life had changed in the few days he occupied her world. For the better. She believed in happiness again, tasted it.

  She’d never imagined his absence could be so…tangible.

  On legs that felt leaden, she crossed to the front door to lock it and pull down the shade. She turned off the solitary lamp on the table, the click ringing out ominously. Like a tumbler on the lock to her life. Encapsulating her in solitude.

  Well. She’d asked for it. She had no one to blame but herself. Desi would tell her that in the morning.

  She climbed the stairs to the bedroom, her steps dogged. Her bed would be just as empty. Barren. She gave herself a mental kick as tears threatened. She would not cry. They were better off this way. Alex could go on, his faith in Drew untainted. She could move forward, find someone who couldn’t be chased away by a ghost.

  But that someone would never be Alex.

  Reagan pushed open the door to her bedroom, her vision fuzzy. She blinked back the rising tears and slipped inside, thankful the darkness cloaked the place where she and Alex had made love so passionately. She didn’t want to see the empty pillow beside hers.

  She pushed the door closed heavily.

  Her sheets rustled. Alex’s gravelly voice rasped, “Reagan?”

  She whirled to face the bed. Oh, God. Her heart jumped to her throat as tears coursed down her cheeks. She rushed to the bed and threw herself on it.

  Alex caught her against his chest. His strong arms held her tight. All the anger she’d felt earlier, the loss of control, the fear, dissolved into meaningless nothing as his warmth enveloped her.

  “I thought you’d left,” she choked out, her nose buried against the side of his neck.

  He smoothed a hand down her hair. “I don’t walk out on arguments,” he murmured, his voice clogged with sleep. “I hope you don’t mind I abandoned the couch.”

  She shook her head, too consumed with emotion to find words, and clung to him more tightly.

  As if sensing the depth of feeling coursing through her, he wrapped her more securely into his arms. They lay that way for several long moments, as Reagan struggled to pull herself together.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered through her tears. “I overreacted.”

  “Shh.” His fingers combed through her hair. “We’ve both had a taxing day. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  “But I—”

  Alex shifted position as he set his fingers beneath her chin and tipped her face to his. In the next instant, his mouth dusted across hers. “In the morning, sweetheart.” His mouth clasped hers again, the tug of his teeth begging for entrance.

  She yielded to his silent request and couldn’t hold in a quiet mewl of pleasure as his tongue tangled with hers. His fingers threaded through her hair, holding her in place, his grip firm but not painful. Slowly, languorously, he possessed her, filling her veins with insatiable craving. She’d thought she’d lost him. Had come so close to creating her own misery.

  Slow and sweet gave way to a hungrier demand, and urgency laced his kiss. Could he, too, have shared the same fear?

  With a low groan, he dragged her atop his body so she straddled his hips. His fingers kneaded her bottom, the same hint of threadbare control in their tight clasp and release. Need swept her into a riptide of yearning, and Reagan tipped forward, stroking herself against the hard length of his cock. Alex’s body twitched beneath her.

  He tore his mouth away, his breath rasping like sandpaper. In the light of the moon, she glimpsed the dark intensity of his gaze. The heat there, the undeniable passion, made her shiver.

  He said nothing as he lifted one hand and cupped her breast through her raggedy T-shirt. The silence added another layer of intimacy that frayed her nerve endings. When he swept a thumb over her hardened nipple, blissful shock coursed through her body. She gasped, then shuddered. “Alex,” she whispered raggedly.

  He dropped his hands to the waistband of her shorts and fumbled at the button with shaking fingers. With a frustrated grunt, he dropped his hands. “Help,” he muttered.

  Any other time, she might have laughed. But the desperation beneath his hoarse request somehow made him more…human. And the evidence of his powerful desire only made hers burn hotter. She hurriedly complied, shimmying out of the shorts and tossing them onto the floor.

  When she climbed over him again, bare skin brushed the inside of her thighs. He’d cast off his boxers, and his hard cock nestled against her sex. The warmth of that rigid length, the promised pleasure his body offered, was a temptation she couldn’t ignore. Driven by sheer instinct, she slid along his length, drawing from him a throaty groan.

  His hands latched onto her hips. He tipped upward, stroking her clit in return, and provoking her into a needy whimper. As she sank against his body, aching for the full-on contact, he denied her. He lifted her up, and in one smooth stroke, impaled her.

  Reagan cried out in ecstasy.

  “God, you feel so damned good,” he ground out through clenched teeth. His fingers held her tight, pressing against her hip bones, rocking her in time to the motion of his body and his deep, possessive thrusts.

  Makeup sex. She’d never known this sort of bliss. But it engulfed her like a wave crashing on a rocky shore. She braced her hands on his shoulders and closed her eyes on another uncontrollable shudder. Levering herself with her bent knees, she countered his strokes, letting sensation consume her. Quiet sounds of pleasure rumbled in the back of Alex’s throat. His teeth sank into his lower lip, and his jaw tensed. Evidence of his faltering control.

  When she slid down him again and twisted her hips, he hissed. Beneath her bottom, his thighs trembled.

  “Fuck,” he exhaled. “Reagan, I…”

  With another hoarse oath, he crushed her to his body and flipped her onto her back. She wound her arms around his neck, curling her nails into his nape and wrapping her ankles around his waist. Their mouths crashed together as his body drove into hers recklessly. She met him thrust for thrust, racing toward a cataclysmic end. The tremor in his arms told her he fought the same futile battle against release.

  She didn’t want him to fight it, though. She wanted him undone, completely exposed, raw and aching like she was, and she bucked beneath him, pushing him into a frenetic pace. He slammed into her, jostling the bed. Again. And again. She cried out each time he hit her most sensitive spot, pleasure saturating her awareness.

  Once more
he slammed home, and Reagan splintered apart with a sharp cry. Distantly, she heard his guttural shout. Felt the way his body stiffened like stone.

  And then she was tumbling down from the high precipice of rapture, sliding her hands down Alex’s sweat-slickened spine, and landing safely, tenderly, in his warm embrace. His mouth caught hers, softer, gentler. Sweeter. Their tongues danced slowly as her heart stumbled into a steadier beat. He stretched out alongside her, carrying her with him, and wrapped her in the protective cocoon of his strong arms. Then, he broke the kiss, releasing her lips as if he despised the thought of separation.

  “You are amazing,” he whispered, rubbing his cheek against hers.

  Through her exhaustion, Reagan smiled. “So are you, Alex,” she murmured. “So are you.”

  He grunted, but offered no other objection. She forced her eyes to stay open, despite the gut-deep longing to let her lashes fall and give over to sleep. After a few silent moments, his breathing leveled off, and the weight of his arm increased. It required every ounce of willpower she possessed to duck from beneath his hold and slip out of the bed. But she didn’t dare tempt fate by sleeping in just the shirt. She slid back into her shorts, tucked the backside of the shirttail in the waistband, and then, finally, crawled back into his heavenly embrace.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When the air-conditioner hummed to life at nine the next morning, Reagan sat up in bed and pushed her hair out of her face. The birds were in full melody, and the sun shone bright. Alex wasn’t beside her, but his side of the bed was still warm. She guessed he was outside, assessing what else he could do with her porch. Strangely, she no longer felt threatened by his involvement. Somewhere in the night, tangled around his warm, hard body, she made peace with it.

  Today was his birthday party, and she was determined to make the best of it. They needed to talk, to have a good long heart-to-heart, and she was ready now. But she’d let him make that move, bring the subject up, since he’d been so adamant to put it to bed last night. Given her irrational behavior last night, she wouldn’t be surprised if he decided not to take her along today.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her all she’d had for dinner the night before was too many glasses of wine. She’d been dying to try a homemade cinnamon roll recipe for months. Now that the air-conditioning was working, she didn’t have to worry about heating up the house with the oven. Or standing over a hot stove, sweating.

  And maybe, just maybe, she could kick off the day doing something nice for Alex. He’d been so considerate, and she so reactive—he deserved a little special treatment.

  Reagan took a deep breath, climbed out of bed, and opened her bedroom door, still dressed in the clothes she’d worn the day before. Wrinkled, rumpled, and likely her hair was a nest of tangles. But her stomach wouldn’t wait for a shower.

  The hallway was cold enough she shivered. She’d definitely have to adjust the thermostat—what had Ron and Alex left it on, fifty?

  No, sixty-eight, she discovered as she stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She moved it up to seventy-three, then stole a glance around the living room. A shadow moved outside her window. Alex. She smiled to herself, continued on to the kitchen, and fished the recipe out of a three-ring binder. The one good thing she could say about Drew—when he did come home, he always managed to create a reason for her to do the one hobby she loved most.

  She placed the book on the counter and paused, her gaze fixed on the doorway. Nerves spiked. What if he was still upset? What if he wanted to talk right now?

  No, she wouldn’t get wound up. She was going to be normal. At whatever cost. Which meant cinnamon rolls. And after that, her sapling in the front yard could probably use a decent watering. If not it, then the flowers.

  Normal. You can do this. You know how.

  …

  Alex finally wrested the last dangerous board free and tossed it aside. He opened the front door and hesitated, a smile pulling at his mouth. The sound of Reagan puttering around in the kitchen, banging pans, clattering bowls, running the sink faucet, was growing on him. That little racket of mundane routine brought a certain peace to the topsy-turvy emotions roiling through him.

  Yesterday had been a doozy. Last night, her tears unwound something balled up tight inside him. He never wanted to hear her cry again. And whatever prompted that stupid argument yesterday—he’d never allow that to happen again, either.

  For whatever reason, Reagan felt oppressed. If she needed wings, then by God, he’d give them to her. Today would be a start, once he brought Shelley back into contact with her.

  A sudden realization made him blink. He’d first met Reagan at the lake where Diane planned the party. What a fitting place for beginnings. Maybe she’d recognize that, too, though he didn’t intend to come off as a sap by pointing it out.

  The nagging voice of reason reminded him Drew’s death might turn her away from him, forever. He shoved it aside. He’d broach that later. When it was absolutely necessary. Right now, whatever she was cooking was a siren’s song to his stomach. It rumbled loudly as the aroma filled his nose. Cinnamon.

  He eased through the entryway to the kitchen, investigating the enticing scent. She stood at the counter, flour dotting her cheeks, still dressed in the comfortable clothes from the day before.

  “That smells delicious,” he murmured, stepping deeper into the room.

  She stopped, cocked her head, and gave him a grin. “We’ll find out together. I’ve never made them before. Happy birthday, by the way.”

  He chuckled as he lowered himself onto a seat at the high counter. “Thanks. We’ll have to leave in about an hour. If that’s not enough time, we can be late.”

  She shook her head. “No, that’s fine. Can you watch these while I hit the shower?”

  “Only if you kiss me.” He caught a flour-covered hand and guided her around the corner of the bar.

  Pressing her other flour-splattered hand to his chest, she grinned and then kissed him swiftly and soundly. “How’s that?”

  Alex grunted. He glanced down where her hand pressed into his pectoral and gave her a false look of annoyance. “Unlike you, I don’t like to wear my food.” He plucked her hand off his body, lifted it to his lips, and drew her index finger into his mouth. Holding her gaze, he swirled his tongue around the elegant digit before slowly sliding it out. “I prefer to eat it.”

  Reagan giggled and nudged her way between his parted knees. He secured his hands on the slope of her hips. With one dip of his head, he captured her mouth and drew her into a slow, sensual kiss that threatened to eradicate his senses. His heart kicked hard. Heat flooded his veins. God, he was so damn hungry for her.

  As his hands moved of their own volition, sliding to the toned muscling of her ass, he forced himself to draw away. They had tonight to indulge—a full, uninterrupted night he intended to make full use of. At the moment, more important things needed to be said.

  Alex held her smoldering gaze. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

  She tensed in his hands.

  He rushed on before she could respond. “You’re right—I knew you’d be annoyed, and I went ahead anyway. I don’t think I really understood how important it was to you. I won’t do it again.”

  Reagan leaned in and relaxed against him. “I’m sorry, too. I overreacted. Drew…was so adamant…so stubborn.” She spoke slowly, as if every word required intense consideration. “I’ve gotten used to…making my own decisions.”

  He tugged her in close and kissed her softly. “Honest miscommunication. Let’s not dwell on it.”

  Nodding, she backed out of his embrace. “I’ll go change.”

  He tipped his head, studying her, knowing she’d choose another loose, comfortable T-shirt and a pair of irresistible shorts. The shorts he liked—a lot. But she had such a gorgeous body it was a shame she didn’t show it off a little. “I really liked that halter top you had in your closet yesterday.”

  “That thing?” Her eyes widened as she let out a t
ight laugh. “It’s so old.”

  “It’s cute.”

  With the same speculative tip of her head, she regarded him thoughtfully. “I guess I could take a sweater if it gets cold.”

  “You could.” He offered nothing more. To do so approached dangerous waters. He didn’t want her thinking he was some sort of control freak who wanted to dictate what she wore and when. It would just be nice to see her not hiding in shapeless shirts for a little bit.

  After another stretched-out moment, she nodded and turned for the stairs. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  Alex blinked, scarcely able to believe she’d agreed to consider it. To Reagan, that amount of skin must be scandalous. Yet she had. And he had the distinct impression she’d done it for him. Emotion tightened his chest. Such a simple thing. Profoundly meaningful all the same. He couldn’t remember when anyone had done anything just for him before this week with Reagan.

  Rising from the high-top stool, he gave in to a smile. Today, he could return that same feeling of appreciation. Diane phoned last night; she’d reached Shelley. After further talking with Jacob, Diane had managed to throw together more or less what amounted to a commemoration for Drew. Nothing formal, just a gathering of friends who’d cared for him. It would do Reagan good to have an opportunity to reconnect with everyone. To see beyond the loss she’d experienced and perhaps stop hiding from reality. Grieving meant living—only it had taken him until last night to realize that truth.

  Now, to get her there and show her just how willing he was to move forward with her. To embrace all the hurdles, all the insecurities, to even risk confessing his ultimate failure with Drew—he didn’t want to keep it secret any longer. To have a chance at this, whatever it was, she deserved the same open honesty he demanded of her. It would tear him to pieces, but at least she’d know the man he was, not the hero she envisioned. If she didn’t want him after, well, he’d cope with the pain. Somehow.

  Chapter Twenty

  As Alex’s pickup rolled to an easy stop before a grassy picnic area in Chain O’Lakes State Park, Reagan took in the lush surroundings with a soft smile. She’d met Alex the first time here. He’d invited Drew and her up on a weekend during leave. In water, splashing and dunking with the guys, she’d been captivated by Alex. His easy laughter, his friendly warmth, held charm she couldn’t ignore. The troubles had only started in her marriage, the abuse just beginning. A shove here and there. Unjustified actions. One open hand across her face. That night…things changed. Her behavior earned her the first meeting with Drew’s belt. This place held memories. Both those she longed to forget, and those she never wanted to let go.