by Debra Webb
Josh was hidden safely away, and Sloan had Rachel. Angel would be irate. The bastard. Sloan took another long drink. The urge to kill the man was overwhelming. Then Rachel would be free. Free to raise Josh. To live her life. To marry and have more children.
For that reason Sloan would not touch her again. Even if she begged him, he would not touch her again. He hadn’t meant for that one kiss today to turn so passionate. He had intended to stay in control. Too much was riding on this to make a mistake. He would not fail Rachel where Angel was concerned. And he would not allow this thing between them to go any further.
Rachel deserved a lifetime commitment and he had no life to offer. He stared at the bottle in his hand. Everything he was or dreamed of being died seven years ago. Even a woman as sweet and giving as Rachel couldn’t resurrect the dead.
Chapter Eleven
A long hot soak in the tub had been just the ticket to relieve Rachel’s aching muscles. Even with today’s respite from Sloan’s rigorous workout demands, the adventures of the last two days were tattooed onto every muscle of her body. Especially her feminine muscles. Her fingers stilled in their efforts to loosen her braided hair. Her heart quickened at the images that flashed before her eyes. Sloan’s powerful body moving over hers, his skilled hands, the delicious torture of his equally skilled mouth.
She sighed. She shouldn’t be feeling this way. Sloan didn’t want her to want him, she knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. He’d made that point crystal clear yesterday. Then today, he’d been more than a little reticent.
Except for that kiss. Heat shimmered through her at the memory. She had sneaked that one in on him. That stolen kiss. The beginnings of a smile teased her lips. He had held back at first, then he’d returned her kiss with the same fervor she felt. For just one fleeting instant afterward she had seen in his eyes what he wanted to hide, then it had been gone. Banished like the rest of the emotions he refused to feel.
He’d quickly reverted to the brooding man who confused and annoyed her so thoroughly. Rachel combed her fingers through her loosened hair. He didn’t want this relationship. Why couldn’t she get that concept through her thick skull? He didn’t even want her, not really. He took what she offered, when she pushed the issue, but he didn’t ask.
Exasperated, Rachel swore and stormed to her bedroom. Well, she couldn’t help the way she felt. And she wasn’t about to back off. She intended to show Sloan that it was okay to feel something, anything for another human being. Somehow she would make him see. He had lost so much, he should have a future with a woman who would appreciate the kind of man he was. A rush of jealousy zapped her. She didn’t want another woman to make him happy. She wanted to do it herself.
“Optimistic fool,” she muttered. She glared at the new dress and the art supplies he had bought for her. Why did he do that? Was it his way of trying to be nice? Payback for what he obviously considered as nothing more than a sexual favor? She stared down at the short, silk gown she wore. He had picked it out too. The way he’d caressed the fabric made her ache to feel his hands on her skin. Surely what they had shared touched him in some way. There had to be some reason why he spent the day so frivolously with her. The stuffed parrot and maracas he’d gotten for Josh waited on the dresser for his return. Josh would love them.
Rachel closed her eyes and resisted the urge to cry. She needed Josh back in her arms. She needed Pablo here to run interference. Then these out-of-control feelings would never have happened. She wouldn’t have gotten caught up in this crazy need to make Sloan feel what he clearly did not want to.
Enough, she told herself. She’d started this, she would finish it. Sloan would not prevent her from reaching out to him. He didn’t have to take what she offered, but she would offer just the same. She couldn’t help herself. She cared too much to leave it this way. Her attempts, successful or not, might make all the difference. Decision made, she strode determinedly through the gigantic house looking for him. She would thank him again for his generosity and she would say good-night. It was the courteous thing to do. He might not care whether she was civil to him or not, but she did.
It didn’t take her long to find him. An outside shower, open on three sides and designed for spraying off before or after swimming, had been built on the far end of the pool. Sloan stood beneath the spray of water, naked from the waist up. His shirt and holstered gun lay on a nearby bush. An almost empty tequila bottle hung from his right hand.
The water slid over his wet hair and down his chest to absorb into his already soaked jeans. While she watched he turned up the bottle and finished it off. He tossed it aside, it shattered where it fell. Rachel jerked at the sound. She moistened her lips and wondered if it would be wise to approach him in his present mood. She wasn’t afraid of him, she reminded herself. He would never hurt her.
She moved closer, her eyes reveling in the way the wet jeans clung to his taut body. Her heart skipped a beat, then pounded in reaction. His broad shoulders and muscular chest drew her gaze upward. The water stopped and he pushed his hands over his face and hair, sweeping the wet length back. She thought of how few words he had spoken to her since that stolen kiss. Watching him now she recognized the thing most people missed when they looked at this fierce, almost hostile man, the pain. So very much pain.
He suffered in silence, with only the tequila for relief. It seemed impossible that such a strong and seemingly unfeeling man could be vulnerable to anything at all. But he definitely was. And somehow she intended to heal that deep hurt…just a little bit.
She moved closer still. His eyes opened as if he sensed her presence. Instinctively she knew he did. The pain in those clear blue depths made her breath catch, but he masked his feelings in an instant. The defiant set of his chin warned her not to waste her time.
“Are you all right?” she asked tentatively, venturing a step closer.
Ignoring her question, he banged his fist against the chrome control and the water showered over him once more. He shifted and lifted his face to the cold spray, and Rachel had no choice but to admire the perfect body displayed so enticingly in that wet denim. Lean, hard, and breath-stealingly male. When he turned back to her, his eyes still closed, she acknowledged the chiseled features of his face, and the blond stubble that glistened on his jaw. As handsome as sin, and every bit as seductive…and dangerous to her heart.
The water stopped and his eyes opened. His relaxed expression transformed into a glower with the realization that she hadn’t left as he had silently ordered.
“What do you want?” The raspy growl skittered along her nerve endings.
“I…I wanted to say good night,” she stammered, suddenly uncertain of herself beneath his fierce glare, “but then I found you like…like this and I was worried that maybe something was wrong.”
“I’m just dandy,” he said with a grimace. “Now go to bed.” His gaze swept over her, and she didn’t miss the glint of male hunger there.
Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. She should have worn something else. She was about as subtle as a sledgehammer between the eyes.
“I’m not going to bed,” she informed him, defying his command, “until you tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been acting strangely all afternoon.” Though it was well past afternoon now, he knew what she meant.
He leaned against the shower wall and rubbed one wide palm over his tanned chest. “Coming out here dressed like that,” he nodded at her slinky attire, “is risky business, Rachel.” He made a speculative sound in his throat. “It makes a guy wonder if you’re really worried about him or not. Maybe there’s something else you’re looking for.”
Ire prickled her. “You bought it for me—didn’t you want me to wear it?”
He held her gaze for two beats before looking away. “Yeah.” He plowed his fingers through his wet hair. “I did.”
Resisting the urge to run back inside the house and lock the door behind her, she walked straight up to him. He watched, gauging her intent.
&nb
sp; “What’s going on, Sloan? Yesterday you had nothing to say to me other than to order me around. Today suddenly you take me shopping.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.” She swallowed the lump of emotion rising in her throat. “We made love—” he flinched as if she’d slapped him, her heart sank, he didn’t want to talk about it, but she went on anyway “—and suddenly we’re back to barely speaking.”
He leveled his unreadable gaze on hers for emphasis. “Today had nothing to do with…the sex.”
She trembled with the anger mounting inside her. Sex. Was that all it was to him? Of course it was. She blinked twice, three times. She would not cry.
“Then what was today all about?” she demanded, erasing as much hurt as she could from her voice.
“Today was for Angel’s benefit,” he said bluntly, those emotionless eyes still fixed firmly on hers.
Dread pooled in her stomach, temporarily slowing her outrage. “What do you mean it was for Angel’s benefit?”
He cocked his head belligerently. “What you want me to do, draw you a picture?”
Another surge of fury stiffened her spine. “I want you to answer the damned question.”
“I wanted to make him jealous, so I escorted you around town like we were—” a humorless smile hitched up one corner of his mouth “—a couple. I’m sure his little friend couldn’t get word to him fast enough.”
He straightened, too close now. She held her ground in spite of the pulse-pounding adrenaline roaring through her. She would not back off. She needed to understand what he was getting at. Instinct warned that she wasn’t going to like it.
He heaved a disinterested breath. “To Angel’s way of thinking, you and the kid belong to him. So if I were you, I’d go back in the house and stay there, cause when he gets here he’s gonna be pissed.”
Rage more deadly than she had ever experienced before exploded inside her. None of the attention he had spared her was real. The gifts, the kisses, the lovemaking. It was all about revenge. Baiting the enemy. Drawing a line in the sand. She struggled to maintain her composure as she demanded calmly, “It was all about antagonizing Angel?” She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say the words. “Everything?” she pressed.
“Today was about Angel,” he said flatly. “The sex was about giving you what you thought you wanted.”
Tears welled in her eyes, betraying her. She wanted to rant at him. She was furious. She didn’t want to cry. “I wasn’t the only one who wanted it.”
“I warned you to stay away.” He captured a handful of her hair and allowed it to slip through his fingers. “What did you expect from a guy like me?”
One lone tear trickled past her hold. “I needed you,” she said softly, her voice trembling.
Her words slammed into Sloan’s middle like a sucker punch. This was the one thing he had wanted to avoid at all cost. Another tear rolled down her cheek, his gut clenched. He didn’t want to hurt her. But she needed him to be something he just couldn’t be, not for her, not for anyone.
“I told you in the beginning that I wasn’t the man you think I am.” I’m nothing, he didn’t add. He shoved the damp hair back from his face. Dammit, why didn’t she just go to bed and leave him be?
She moistened those full lips and let go a heavy breath. “And I told you,” she argued, then paused as another shudder trembled through her, “that you’re the man I need.”
His desire kindling already, there was no way to ignore the desperation filling those big brown eyes. He swore softly. “You don’t need me,” he repeated, his voice losing some of its conviction.
She shook her head in denial, then whispered, “More than you can know.”
His need to hold her overrode his caution. He pulled her against him, his arms going around her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She trembled in his hold. Sloan blocked any response to the hurt he knew would come next, but he couldn’t let this happen.
He tipped her chin up so that he could look directly into her eyes. “What you need right now has nothing to do with me.” Before she could protest, he shifted, pressing her back against the damp wall. He turned on the water. She gasped as the cool water sprinkled over her heated skin. The silk gown plastered to her skin, outlining her breasts, her thighs and that sweet place that lay between them. He devoured her with his eyes, every muscle in his body hardening so fast that his breath stalled in his chest. The spray of water stopped. He watched the rivulets slip down her bare skin, then disappear into the green silk.
Her nipples pebbled before his eyes. He licked his lips, restraining the urge to taste them. The only sound around them was that of their uneven breath, hers as ragged as his.
“Please,” she urged, reaching for him, drawing him nearer. “I know you need me, too.”
She lifted her mouth for him to take. He wanted her more than she could imagine. More than even he had dreamed possible. She had to understand that he couldn’t be what she needed him to be. “That may be,” he murmured, his lips so close to hers that he could feel their pull. Electricity fairly crackled between them. “But you don’t need me.”
He held her desire-clouded gaze in a kind of trance. He couldn’t look away anymore than he could let her. He braced his right arm against the wall above her head, trapping her with his body in the same way he imprisoned her eyes with his own. A tiny hitch in her breathing signaled her approval. Determined to prove his point, he encircled her wrist with the fingers of his left hand and drew it up to her breast. She gasped when he placed her hand over the sensitive swell. He squeezed and kneaded using her fingers. She closed her eyes and shook her head, denying the pleasure.
“Look at me, Rachel.” The softly uttered command was more guttural than he’d intended, but his own need was rushing toward desperation. “Look at me.” He pinched her nipple between her thumb and forefinger, rolling the tight peak, then tugging the way he would do with his mouth.
Her lids fluttered open on a startled moan. “Stop,” she insisted.
“Shh,” he soothed. He would make her see if it killed him.
She strained toward his mouth, pleading for his possession. He squeezed her breast again, then moved to the other, kneading, squeezing. Her breath came faster. He struggled to slow his. It would be a miracle if he didn’t come before she did. Her hips began to undulate, arching toward his aching arousal. He dragged her hand down her delicate rib cage to that part of her that pleaded for attention. Her eyes went wide when he pressed her hand firmly against her mound. She gasped. He stroked her harder. The fingers of her free hand found their way to his waistband and tugged. He placed those needy fingers on her breast and squeezed.
“No,” she resisted, her eyes closing again in the pleasure she could no longer deny.
He stroked her harder, faster, knowing she was close now. She fought it, but he knew just how to make her surrender. She tensed, her body quivering. She cried out, the sound a combination of agony and ecstasy. His groin jerked in response.
Her eyes slowly opened, her breath coming in short pants. He peered down at her shuttered gaze. “See,” he rasped, “you don’t need me at all.” Releasing her before he lost the last flimsy remnants of his control, he turned, snagged up his weapon and walked away. His whole body throbbed. Need ached savagely in his loins.
“Maybe you’re right,” she called after him, her voice still unsteady.
He hesitated, and turned around slowly to face her as he tugged the holster over his shoulder. The sight of her threatened his composure. Wet, her hair wild, her skin flushed from her recent climax, he wanted her like nothing or no one he had ever wanted before.
She lifted her chin and stared at him in magnificent defiance. She was gorgeous. “Maybe I don’t need you,” she agreed, her voice still husky. “But I want you.” Her bare feet soundless on the tile, she moved toward him, a sensual vision in exotic green silk.
His pulse tripped. “Then you’re a fool.”
“Probably.” She pushed
the damp tendrils of hair from her cheek and met his gaze with steel in her own. “But I’m not a coward.”
Uneasiness slid through him. “I see,” he said with sudden clarity. “The big, brave protector you came all this way to find is really a coward. Is that it?” He squashed the little voice screaming for his attention. He wasn’t a coward. He wasn’t afraid of anything, certainly not death.
“You’re not brave,” she said quietly. “You’re hiding from the world.” She flung her arms outward, her palms flared. “Look around you, Sloan,” she ordered, her voice rising to match her anger. “Do you think these walls or your fancy security system is going to stop men like Angel?” She stabbed at his chest with her forefinger.
He flinched, not at her jab, but a delayed reaction to her words.
“Is all that bitterness and indifference you hide behind going to change the past?” She shook her head. “No. It won’t bring your wife or your little boy back.”
He swallowed, hard. Tears stung his eyes. “Just shut up,” he said tightly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Losing your family wasn’t enough,” she continued, hammering at his defenses, “you had to lose yourself, too.”
“You don’t know anything about how I feel.” Trembling inside, he turned away from her. He had to get out of here. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to feel any of this.
“You are a coward, Sloan.”
He closed his eyes and struggled for control. The hurt, the need was almost more than he could bear. It swelled inside him, threatening to burst from him. She didn’t understand. He couldn’t take that chance again. Not ever again.
“You’re afraid to take what you want—what you need—because you’re afraid of losing again. So you pretend you don’t care about anything or anyone. You pretend,” she added, driving the last nail in the coffin of his restraint, “that you don’t care or want, but you do.”