“Mya, wait,” he called after her, but she was already walking toward the door. In truth, though her words were stern enough, deep disappointment was etched on her heart. She was nearly to the door when Angelo reached out to grasp her arm, his touch scorching a gasp from her. He let go but in his eyes she saw regret deep enough to drown in. He appeared vulnerable, nothing like the man who’d taunted her with blatant sexual suggestion. That man she wanted nothing to do with, but the man standing before her was a different matter entirely. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was out of line. I don’t know what came over me. I truly would appreciate your help. Will you stay?”
Mya considered his request. She ought to leave to prove her point. But she felt that might be an overreaction. He’d apologized. And it had been sincere. “I’m willing to help you, Angelo,” she said. “But there are certain areas you are not allowed to trespass on. You lost that right a long time ago and I don’t see that changing any time soon. Are we clear?”
Angelo’s shoulders sagged minutely, as if her admission was a bleak confirmation of something he’d already suspected, but he nodded with a humble plea that nearly broke her resolve. “Please stay.”
Self-preservation urged her to leave. But in truth, she craved his touch, the smell of his skin, the low timbre of his laughter when it was lodged deep in his chest. She missed him so much sometimes she wondered if she’d ever get past the fact that they weren’t meant for one another. It felt like a physical ache that refused to subside no matter how hard she tried to rub it out.
“I’ll stay,” she said, even though she knew she was making a huge mistake—one that could cost far more than her heart could afford.
Chapter 15
Angelo’s heart thudded painfully and his mouth filled with a bitter taste. He’d been stupid to play mind games with Mya. She’d always been smarter than that and he was ashamed even to have tried it. At some point he’d lost control of the situation, going from the teacher to the student, and Mya had plainly schooled him. Secretly, he was glad she’d called him on it. Again, her strength amazed him.
She settled on the couch and he did the same, only this time, he was all business, which helped him to focus.
“What do you remember about the day Waylon died?” he asked, trying to stay removed from the emotional trauma of losing his little brother by coming at the case as he would that of a stranger.
She seemed to understand his need for distance. “You and I were here when the call came in. You were helping your grandfather outside and I was making a pot of beans for you guys to eat later that night.”
“Papa always loved your beans,” he murmured, remembering. She smiled briefly at that. “And then we went and identified the body because we were worried about Papa’s heart not being able to take the strain.”
She nodded, her eyes sad.
“Waylon and Darrick were going to catch crawdads to go with the beans for dinner. I remember he’d been going to the river a lot with Darrick but I didn’t think much of it, because what kind of trouble could he get into on the river?”
“You couldn’t have known. We’d all spent our childhoods on that river,” she said. “Speaking of, Darrick was brought into the clinic the other night. He was a drunken mess, not that that’s new, but he was really agitated. He kept saying that it was his fault Waylon died. Do you know why he might say that?”
Angelo frowned, shaking his head. “What happened to Darrick? After I left?”
Mya’s mouth turned down in faint distress. “He really went downhill. Alcohol and drugs became his life. He does odd jobs on the reservation, but for the most part he lives down by the river. He has a tent he stays in and people bring him blankets and food at times so he doesn’t freeze or starve.”
“What about his big-shot father?” Angelo asked, remembering Darrick’s father, Randy Willets, was one of the few tribal members who didn’t live from check to check, having made his money in investments off the reservation. “He still around?”
“Oh, yes. Randy is very involved with the flood relocation efforts. He’s taken a special interest in the Hoh River. He monitors the flow and tracks the levels for the tribe.”
“Must be hard to have your only son turn out that way,” he murmured. He had never thought much of Randy Willets. For some reason, he always felt that the man was looking down his nose at Waylon and Angelo because of their parents. Sometimes he wondered if Darrick’s original motivation for befriending Waylon hadn’t sprung from the boy’s desire to thumb his nose at his father in any way he could. “Has he disowned Darrick or something?”
“No. He bails him out of jail sometimes or gives him money for food. But the two have never gotten along. I think Darrick would rather starve than accept much of anything from his father. It’s a sad situation aggravated by some sense of guilt Darrick is carrying over Waylon.”
“But why would Darrick blame himself? As I remember, Darrick loved Waylon like a brother.”
She nodded. “That’s what I remember, too. But you know, something must be eating at Darrick because he was never the same after Waylon died.”
He’d known Darrick had taken Waylon’s death hard, but so had every person who’d known him. His little brother had been loved by everyone. Waylon had had a way about him, charisma, he supposed. Something Angelo apparently hadn’t been blessed with. But it did seem odd that Darrick was blaming himself for something that had clearly not been his fault. Or was there more to the story than they knew?
“Where’s Darrick now?”
“We had to send him to the mental health facility in Forks. He was combative and we don’t have the resources to house someone with Darrick’s specialized needs.”
“Can he have visitors?”
“I suppose. Are you thinking of seeing him?”
“Maybe. I don’t know,” he mused, mulling it over. “Or maybe I’ll pay a visit to his father first. If Darrick’s mind is as compromised as you say it is, it might be a wasted trip. His father might know something, though.”
She agreed. “He’s fairly easy to find. Just pop into the Tribal Center tomorrow, he’ll be there because it’s flooding season.” Mya cracked a yawn as she rubbed her eyes. “I think I’ll call it a night,” she announced. “I hope this helped.”
“It did.”
Mya offered a somber smile as she said, “I miss Waylon. He was a great kid.”
He nodded, no argument there. “As little brothers went he was pretty good, too. I wish I’d been a better older brother.”
“You were a great big brother,” she said, a spark returning to her eyes.
He was flattered that the spark was born of the need to defend him, but he knew the truth. He’d utterly failed as a brother, caring more about himself than what was happening around him, particularly when it concerned his annoying baby brother. “If I’d known that day was going to be the last…I’d have kept him from going to the river. I’d have done a lot of things differently.”
“I don’t think it would’ve mattered. It was his time. Great Spirit collected him for reasons we aren’t privileged to know.”
She was trying to console him, but he didn’t share the tribal beliefs and the words only served to make him uncomfortable. “Well, screw that. I would do anything to bring him back. He deserved a life.”
Mya’s dark eyes filled with sorrow. “White Arrow,” she said, shocking him with the use of his tribal name. “There’s a hole in your soul, punched there by something and left unhealed. Maybe you need to journey. You know, Porter has an extra spot on his team for the canoe journey. I think it’d be good for you to connect with your ancestors.”
He withheld a groan of irritation. But as he started to say something flippant, he saw genuine concern in her eyes and it tempered his tongue. There was a time when he’d had the privilege of her care and concern every day. In deference to those times, he jerked a short nod. “I’ll think about it,” he lied.
“Your grandfather used to take that journey,
didn’t he?” she asked, though she knew the answer. She just wanted him to remember that fact. He supposed Mya wasn’t above emotional manipulation, either.
“Yeah. He always wanted us to do it. Waylon was signed up to participate the year he died. He never got the chance.” Angelo stopped, a memory breaking loose of a newly hulled cedar canoe tipped upside down in the shed out back. Good God, it was probably sawdust by now. “Did Porter carve his own canoe?”
“No, I think he purchased it, but it’s a good one. Solid.”
He didn’t know why he asked. It wasn’t as if he cared, but he didn’t want Mya to leave and talking about canoes seemed a safe enough subject—until he realized it was likely Mya would remember the one Papa had been carving for Waylon. “How is Porter?” he asked, remembering the man from their youth. They were all about the same age though they hadn’t been buddies.
She skirted her gaze away from his and shrugged in answer. “Real good. He works for the tribal office. He does important things for the tribe. He’s a good man,” she added, almost defensively.
It was the odd note in her tone that snagged his attention. That coupled with her body language told a story. “You and him an item?” he asked.
“We dated a short time but it’s over now.”
The wild thrill that arced through him was troublesome enough, but the ribbon of possession that tightened on his feelings about Mya gave him pause. Of course she was free to date whomever she pleased. So why did the idea fill him with misery?
Mya knew she ought to leave. The hour was late and way past the point she’d told herself she’d stay. Except, she couldn’t quite bring herself to go.
The darkness blanketed everything outside, and the sounds of night creatures echoed from the shadows. Mya felt cocooned in a place that wasn’t quite real and she desperately wanted to remain, if only for a little while longer.
She had missed this—talking with a man who’d been her best friend. But it was far more complicated than that, even. Iris was the sister of her soul, but what she’d had with Angelo had transcended friendship and even being lovers. It was a fusion of both relationships and that’s what she’d missed. It was this desperate longing that pushed her to stay when she knew that she ought to leave.
A featherlight touch at her temple startled her but she leaned imperceptibly toward it. Her eyes drifted closed, and she savored the quiet moment between them. It had been a long time since she’d lost herself in the pleasure of a man’s touch. She and Porter had had sex but she’d always kept herself apart at some level. Sometimes, it had felt clinical because her brain never truly shut off to just enjoy the act. For that reason, she’d started to pull away from Porter, using work duties as an easy excuse.
And it had worked. She’d pretty much sealed off the valve controlling her sexual side, which had been a relief.
But now, here with Angelo, all those buried needs and desires rose like a wave inside her, obliterating all the good reasons why it was important to keep her distance.
Don’t say anything, she prayed silently. Just touch me.
Angelo seemed to know her mind and the chaotic place she was caught in. His hands moved to the column of her neck, caressing the heated skin, drawing her to him. The press of his lips against hers nearly broke her. An answering shudder moved through her body and she opened her mouth to receive the touch of his tongue.
Sweetness unfolded from his sure hand, obliterating the fear and uncertainty with the rightness of the moment. He was different from the boy she’d known, but what was familiar in him called to the memory of what they’d once shared and she eagerly followed.
Angelo tried to stop. He knew this was a mistake but his hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they roved Mya’s body, delighting in the silky texture, the dips and curves unique to her. Her breasts fitted perfectly in his palms, and would fit even better in his mouth.
He was still fully clothed, the only remnant of his good judgment, but his erection strained to be free, pressing painfully against his zipper as he ground against her, wanting desperately to feel skin on skin instead of this teenage groping session hampered by fabric. Her breasts, freed from her bra, begged for attention, and he couldn’t resist.
The minute his mouth closed over the pebbled nipple, her gasp sent a thrill down his vertebrae, ringing a bell, pressing a button—whatever you want to call it—it unleashed a fury of barely restrained desire to rip every shred of clothing hiding her treasures from him. He wanted to taste every inch, revel in every discovery.
Was it because at one time they’d been innocent together? Something primal and dangerous growled in his heart at the idea of anyone else doing what he was doing to her. He pushed that feeling away and focused on the physical pleasure of the moment.
She groaned, twisted beneath him, wrapping her legs around his trunk, pulling him tighter to her hot core. He sucked harder, drawing that tight bud into his mouth, swirling the tip with his tongue, laving it with dedicated attention to every detail. Her clever hands darted straight to his erection and rubbed the length, causing sweat to pop along his hairline.
Stop before it’s too late, a voice cautioned, but it was already too late. He’d put a bullet through anyone who came between him and Mya at this moment. His hands, urgent and shaking, divested his body of all clothing while she did the same.
Naked, their bodies collided, rubbing and moving in all the right spots. Spots danced before his eyes as her hands ignited a firestorm everywhere she touched.
He pressed fervent kisses down her trembling stomach, loving the way the dim light illuminated the peach fuzz along her body, giving her curves a soft glow. Her scent called to him, evoking a memory buried deep. It was Mya, everything he remembered about her, all his fantasies. Her hands caressed his head as he bent to taste her in her most secret spot. Mya inhaled sharply as his tongue delved between her folds, seeking and finding the swollen little nub that, when coaxed with a knowing hand, would drive her crazy. He recalled from memory what she liked, driving her mercilessly toward that pinnacle. Her breathing quickened, her whole body tensed as her legs began to shake and a cry erupted from her throat as she went limp. He rained soft kisses along her hipbone as the waves of her climax continued to rock her body. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips red and plump, while her head lolled to the side as she tried to catch her breath. The corners of her mouth tipped in a shy smile but it was the carnal message in her eyes that stole the air from his lungs and froze him in place.
But not for long.
He lunged at her and she flipped onto her belly with a laugh. He was rewarded with the most beautiful view of her heart-shaped behind. He covered her with his body, his rock-hard and aching erection prodding at the cleft of her cheeks as he whispered into her ear the things he wanted to do to her. Playfulness gone, she moaned and arched against him in invitation. “Less talk, more action,” she gasped even as he lifted her hips toward him. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful. The old sofa creaked under their weight, but otherwise the only sounds were soft moans and pants as he teased her with the head of his erection.
When he finally plunged inside her, she was nearly growling at him with frustration.
The tight fit, the overall rightness shot him straight into oblivion and he lost his mind, pumping into her sheath with hard intensity, wrenching another orgasm from her just as his own climax drained him of everything he had and then some. Good God. He’d never known such pleasure.
He collapsed against her, his heart beating so swiftly he feared a heart attack, but he didn’t care. Peace unlike anything he’d ever remembered settled in his bones, turning him to jelly.
He had the wherewithal to pull out of her but they were both spent and not going far. Wordlessly he grabbed the blanket he’d given to Grace that first night and covered them. She snuggled against him like a spoon in a drawer and they both fell into a deep, sexually sated sleep.
But not before Angelo heard that voice again.
There
’s no walking away this time….
Chapter 16
Morning afters were so awkward—and this one was no exception.
Mya awoke alone on the sofa, naked under the blanket she’d shared with Angelo. She wrapped herself up and gathered her clothes from the floor. Angelo appeared from the kitchen, showered and dressed even though it couldn’t have been 6:00 a.m. yet. He held a coffee cup in each hand.
“I figured coffee was a safe bet…” he said, lifting a mug and gesturing to the kitchen. “Or do you want to shower first?”
She felt incredibly awkward standing there naked as a jaybird, nothing but an old blanket covering her while Angelo looked ready to go to work. There was nothing of the sweetness she’d seen last night, and his general air of perfunctory politeness was enough to send her running to her car in shame. But she wouldn’t. She lifted her chin, determined to appear as unaffected as he was. “I think a shower would be best,” she answered.
“First door on your right,” he supplied as if she didn’t remember where the damn bathroom was in a house where she’d spent practically every waking hour of her youth. “Sorry I don’t have any fancy soaps or lotions,” he said, sipping his coffee. “But I didn’t figure I’d be having company aside from Grace, and she’s not big on that sort of thing.”
“Whatever you have will be fine,” she said, turning and making her way to the bathroom, her temper rising with each footfall. Did he really think he was handling the situation with any sort of finesse? They were both adults, they could admit that the situation was awkward without succumbing to cliché behavior. He certainly didn’t need to treat her like some stranger he’d picked up in a bar that he couldn’t wait to get rid of. Her cheeks burned at his dismissive tone. Well, she’d brought it upon herself, hadn’t she? It wasn’t as if he’d started spouting poetry and singing ballads about their lost love. It had been about physical need, nothing more.
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