by Pam Godwin
“I want police records.” I grip Raina’s hand and pull her inside. “Death records. Autopsy reports. Anything you can pull up on Tiana Benally.”
His eyes flit to Raina and harden. “I don’t have access to that, and even if I did—”
“Fletcher?” His wife, Mary, pads into the foyer, wrapping a robe around herself. “Everything okay?”
She looks us over, and the soft wrinkles around her eyes deepen. She’s known us our whole lives. She also knows what the papers printed about me, but I doubt she knows the corruption her husband’s involved in.
“It’s just business, sweetheart.” He steps toward her and kisses her on the forehead. “Go on back to bed.”
“Okay. It’s good to see you boys.” She gives Raina a concerned look and leaves.
Fletcher turns back to us. “Why are you digging up information on a dead girl?”
I explain what happened at the restaurant and the threats John made. His brows knit together, his expression otherwise unreadable.
“Have you heard from John?” I lead Raina to a chair in the office and help her sit.
“No, I told you I’d call if—”
“Pull up the damn police records.” I don’t believe a word out of his mouth. I need to see records loaded from secure databases.
More than that, Raina needs to see them.
He could fight me on this. It’s a risk to his job. But I’m a scarier risk, and he knows it.
With a grunt, he charges toward his desk and powers on the computer. I don’t even know if he has access to this kind of information, but his dirty fingers seem to always find a way.
It doesn’t take long before he shoves back from the desk and points at the screen. “Here it is.”
Raina stands and approaches the computer, her eyes stark with dread.
“Move.” I motion at him to surrender the chair.
He rises, his scowl bending beneath his gray mustache.
As she lowers into the seat, I push her forward and lean over her, eyes on the screen.
Documents line up side by side—a death certificate, a police report about unclaimed remains, and even a testimony by the doctor who was treating Tiana in the hospital. It’s all there.
Tiana died with her doctor as a witness.
“The video he showed me…” Raina touches the screen, her voice brittle.
I crouch beside her and hold her quivering jawline in my palm. “It must’ve been old footage.”
She covers her mouth with a hand, her soundless cry dominated by profound grief. Her eyes shine with deceived pain and the reflection of the screen that inflicts it.
I hear her deeply. I feel every hurt and broken dream as my own.
She wanted so badly to believe John’s lie. He couldn’t have dealt a more agonizing blow. But he underestimates her. She’ll come back from this, because she’s a force unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.
Sliding my arms beneath her, I scoop her out of the chair and carry her to the door.
“If you see John Holsten…” Jarret leans into Fletcher. “If you hear him, smell him, or so much as get a sense that he’s in town, you’ll call us immediately.”
Fletcher sets his jaw and gives a stiff nod.
It’s only a matter of time before he’s slithering behind my back to suck John Holsten’s dick. The day he does will be the worst day of his life.
“Whatever he threatens you with,” I say, “just remember my threat is bigger.” I lower my voice to a harsh whisper. “He doesn’t have what it takes to break your wife into pieces.”
“Don’t you dare threaten me, boy.”
I just did.
Sadness is a river of splintered glass that cuts between the soul and body. Being alone in this pain is the same as being no one at all. That’s the true sadness.
Whenever I hurt, I’ve always been alone.
Until now.
Lorne leads me through the estate and into his suite. The austerity of the space is a stark reminder that I’ve never moved in.
Neither has he.
With his hand clamped around mine, he escorts me into the master bathroom and flicks on the light. Only then does he release me for the first time since we left the sheriff’s house.
I miss his touch instantly.
Digging under the sink, he gathers gauze, mild solution, and antibiotic cream—the things leftover from my first two days here. Before I stole his truck and ran.
That feels like ages ago.
After he treats the cut on the back of my head, he checks my abdomen. The soreness lingers, but it doesn’t compare to the initial shock of the punch.
“Do you want a shower?” He stands close enough to infuse my breaths with his clean masculine scent.
A shower… Is that what a person needs on the night her dead sister resurrects and dies again?
“No.” I want to stay right here with him.
His hand slides beneath my hair, gently combing and lifting. As he slowly releases the strands, he watches them fall, his eyes a velvety green shade of contentment.
I know how much he loves the softness, the sedation in the strokes. It calms us both in a way I never expected.
His touch moves across my cheekbone to my lips, his demeanor a world away from the man who chased after John. That Lorne was chillingly cold and deadly. Had he caught John, Lorne would’ve been hauled away from a murder scene in handcuffs.
He would be sitting in a jail cell right now, awaiting sentencing.
I could’ve lost him.
“There’s so much we need to talk about.” I drop my hands to the counter, my body sagging beneath the weight of it all.
He brushes the hair from my face, waiting for me to elaborate.
“The past.” I swallow.
“Tiana’s death.”
I nod. “The future.”
“Our relationship.” He steps into me and in one gentle pull, he intertwines our bodies in a tight embrace.
I can’t pretend there’s no relationship. It’s wrapped around me, holding me as I fall.
“The present.” I rest my head against his strong chest.
“John Holsten.”
There aren’t enough hours left in the evening to discuss how we’re going to proceed with that.
As he continues to touch my face and hair, I lose the will to talk at all.
Angling my head back, I dive into his eyes. “I want to go to the water.”
His dark brows form a V. “Water?”
“The pond on the east side of the property. The one enclosed by a cliff and—”
“I know the one. I used to swim there.” He doesn’t move to take me.
“John won’t come here tonight.”
“Or ever. But if he did…” His eyes darken with bloodshed.
Then he blinks, straightens. His hand laces mine, and he tugs me into the bedroom. From the closet, he removes the shotgun, confirms it’s loaded, and straps it onto my back.
He moves toward the door, but his gaze stays with me, fastened like the fingers around my heart. If he wants it, he only needs to pull. I won’t fight. I won’t shut him out.
Because I ache for another dance under the stars.
Maybe he’ll hurt me in the end. It’s possible he’ll never love me. But he’s worth the pain, the heartbreak.
He’s worth the fall.
“I hear you thinking.” A long-legged step brings him back to me, and he releases my hand to cup my face.
I’ve made so many mistakes in my life. Every time I ignored my gut and the messages of universal energy, I suffered greatly.
The silence urged me not to sell my body. The wind begged me not to climb into John’s truck. I dismissed it all for my sister, and I lost her.
Then I went out tonight, against the protests of the man trying to protect me, and I lost her all over again.
Tiana’s death is a wound I will carry forever, and John Holsten just ripped it open. But sometimes, what seems to be the hardest thi
ng to bear is the universe’s attempt to wake me up.
Tonight forced me to accept two things. One, Tiana isn’t coming back. Two, Lorne feels deeply and fiercely for me.
The moment he realized I was attacked, he turned into an indomitable predator, both beautiful and terrifying, mercurial and logical. He’s a courageous man in his essence, who loves as passionately as he fights.
Leaning into me, he touches my neck and zings a frenzy of static across my skin. His mouth moves closer, holding me in transitory paralysis.
Is he going to kiss me? My pulse thunders for it, but his lips veer off to my ear.
He doesn’t whisper, just breathes, and my insides shiver in an intoxicated dance of energy.
“The universe is speaking.” I marvel out loud.
“Are you listening?”
I nod my head against his.
With a chuckle, he lifts me off my feet, shotgun and all, and carries me over his shoulder and out of the house. In the stable, he puts me in the saddle. Then he rides me out to the water.
The swimming hole stretches about fifty feet in diameter. A steep rocky cliff forms a horseshoe around it and slants into the starry sky. The reflection of the moon on black water floats like a milky spotlight. I’m drawn to it.
Sliding off the boots and socks, I walk barefoot to the shoreline. My toes dig into earth and wet grass, my senses attuned to the buzzing of nocturnal life.
Behind me, Lorne ties Captain to a tree. “Why are we here?”
“My ancestors believed that water is sacred.”
“You want to swim?”
“I want to cleanse.”
There are no pastures here. Livestock doesn’t use this pond. So I set the shotgun on the ground and remove my shirt, shorts, and undergarments. Muggy air kisses my nude skin, and I lift my face, soaking in the moonlight.
It’s refreshing, liberating, to be so exposed and close to nature.
Focusing all thought and energy on the water, I enter east, into a pond that is silk and shadow.
My feet slip over the muddy bottom, and gentle ripples lap at my toes, my ankles, then my calves. The water is neither cold nor flowing as it should be. I was never a very good student in the sacred ceremonies, but I remember the basics of this tradition from my grandmother.
I walk forward until the surface rises to my chest. Then I dip seven times, once in each direction—east, north, west, south, above, below, and here in the center—while being mindful of the spirits in all directions.
Each plunge beneath the water purifies, renews, and nourishes. I release my guilt and failures, my resentments and griefs, while concentrating on my blessings.
Tiana’s very short life left a huge impact on me. She gave me the experience of sisterhood and showed me the purity in unconditional love.
She instilled in me the desire to be a mother someday. The kind of mother she deserved.
By the time I finish, I feel lighter, brighter, and at peace.
I’m not a committed believer in the old ways, but I’m not a non-believer, either. I’m open to what feels right deep in my center.
Tonight, this felt right.
I turn and wade my way back to the shore. Halfway there, I pause, stirring the knee-deep water.
Lorne hasn’t moved from where I left him. He stands twenty feet away, hands at his sides and posture stiff. The Stetson angles down, concealing his expression, but I don’t need to see his face to sense his tension.
He’s looking at me. At the glow of my bare skin in the moonlight.
When he put his mouth between my legs last night, he didn’t remove my shirt or panties. He’s never seen me naked.
He takes his time staring. I assume he’s been staring this whole time.
I hold still and wait. The passing seconds bring a trickle of tremors. The lingering of his gaze hardens my nipples. My pulse quickens. My skin heats. My entire body anticipates.
Slowly, he removes his hat. His hands reach behind him to pull his shirt over his head, back to front, in that strange way that men strip. Then those confident fingers unbuckle the belt.
His boots go off next. Followed by his jeans and briefs.
The sight of his hard, long cock sends me backward, seeking the cover of the water. It’s not fear. Though part of me will always fear the strength of his hands around my heart.
What I feel is inevitability, and it’s coming for me in the form of a proud, naked, very hungry cowboy.
He prowls into the water, eating up the distance with powerful strides, sinews twitching with intent, and eyes hunting.
I’ve never had sex for pleasure. I’ve never chosen a man simply because I want him. I revel in the freedom of this choice, though it isn’t a choice at all. It’s an imperative. I need him beside me. With me. Around me. In me.
Submerged to his waist, he dives, spearing his body like an arrow and sluicing beneath the surface.
He’s coming.
My heart pounds as I kick against the muddy floor of the pond, splashing and spinning at a depth that reaches my chest. Lorne’s under there somewhere, but the water’s too dark.
I tremble in a ring of ripples. Where is he?
A current of movement swirls around my legs, and he comes up for air with his face inches from mine.
Sweet mercy, he’s arresting. Wet black hair sticks to his forehead and spikes in chaotic perfection on his head. Beads of water cling to thick lashes, and a faint row of freckles dots across his nose.
No single feature defines his beauty, but his eyes come close. It’s not the color. Though the vibrant hue of green deserves its own enchanting name. Amid those irises glows a raw intensity, an unapologetic bluntness, that rivals the inflexible angles of his square jaw.
He looks at me like I’m the only star in his sky, and that’s a pretty high expectation to bestow on someone. He hasn’t been with a woman in years. How does he know there isn’t a brighter, better one out there?
I’ll offer him all that I am and everything I hope to be, but after… What if the starlight dims and he decides I’m not what he’s searching for?
In the end, it would hurt both of us.
“You have options.” I float backwards and let the water wash over my shoulders.
He stays with me. “I only see one.”
“Cora likes you. She has the prettiest gray eyes, and her smile—”
“I don’t want Cora.” He swims forward with determined strokes.
I kick away, splashing water while drowning in hope. “There are a lot of single women in Sandbank. Docile, well-behaved women.”
“I don’t want that shit.” He captures my ankle, then my thigh, and drags me against him. “I know who I want.” His lips lower to the corner of mine. “But I need to matter to her the way she matters to me.”
“You want her without barriers.” I grip his shoulders and wrap my legs around his waist. “You need her without shields.” With a press of hips, I grind against his swollen length. “You already have me without demanding.”
He leans back and hears me with his eyes. In that suspended moment between stillness and movement, our souls lace together. The air and water churn, hugging us in sultry warmth as our skin fuses in a glide of heated wet satin.
It’s hard to hold back, to draw it out and make it last. My body craves him without fear. My mind trusts him without questioning.
My heart loves him, freely, openly, and he hears that, too.
“You’re my whiskey.” He takes my mouth, groaning into the kiss. “My addiction.” His tongue traces mine. “My freedom.”
Molding together, tasting each other, we sink into a rolling swim of entwined arms and legs, mouths and tongues, moans and thrashing breaths.
Our lips fit impeccably, every curve and dip made to connect and sizzle, meant to fall into incinerating harmony. I whimper beneath the intensity and match his hunger, breathing fast, heart rate faster. Then he’s moving, slicing us through the water and scattering moonlight across the surface.
Near the cliff, he hoists me up and sets my butt on the ledge of a massive rock. The smooth surface floats just above the pond, and water laps beneath my thighs as he moves to stand between my knees.
Since it’s not deep here, he’s able to position me on the edge and hook my legs around his hips. His balls hang heavily in the water, and his erection juts between us, a trajectory of masculine need and strength.
My nerve endings thrill, and my pussy aches. Breathless and empty between my legs, I reach for his thick, full, beautiful cock.
He catches my arm. “If you wrap those succubus fingers around me, I won’t last two seconds.”
Our eyes lock, and I see the urgency in his, the tenuous restraint.
“I bet you recover with impressive speed.” I cup the back of his neck.
He grips mine, mirroring me. “Even without your magic tea.”
My mouth curves, stretching my cheeks.
He kisses my grin. Then he kisses me with his whole body. Arms and lips, heart and breath, we explore at a pace that’s soft, hard, slow, urgent, and everything in between.
Our hands roam, lightly and assertively. Mine slide over his wide shoulders and into his hair. His fall around my ribs and wander to my back.
Every fingertip leaves an imprint on my skin as they coast upward to trace the shape of my shoulder blades. His touch splays on either side of my spine, engulfing my back with tingling heat, and his gaze ambles a sinful caress along my bare breasts, paying homage to every detail.
Considering how long he’s gone without sex, I expect him to hold me down, shove himself inside me, and deliver an unholy pounding.
But that’s not his method of torture.
He’s calculating and wicked, holding me on the edge with only his eyes and the tease of his touch. There’s no sanctuary from the need he kindles inside me, no reprieve from the force of his eyes. This is meaner than the hardest, cruelest fuck.
“Lorne.” I tremble and squirm beneath the torment of his fingers as they rove down my back and linger on my tailbone. “Stop delaying.”
“Quiet.”
“Just put it in me.”
I’m perched on the rock at just the right height to line us up and pull him inside. I wriggle closer, until the hand on my hip stops my movements.