“What are you—?” She looked as if she expected him to whip out some chains. Not that he minded introducing a pair of handcuffs now and then, but that wasn’t his intent.
“So the bedposts don’t hit the wall,” he explained.
“Oh.” She actually blushed and looked at the door, as if she’d just remembered Lucas.
Oh, hell, she wasn’t going to stop now, was she?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
She wasn’t.
“Good idea,” she said. A laugh caught in Sky’s throat, a mixture of pleasure and relief. She wasn’t going to stop this. Even the possibility was a hardship beyond imagining.
He stretched out beside her and pulled her closer. Shala’s blend of seductress and innocent enthralled him. Staring into her eyes, he moved his fingers over her lips. She opened her mouth and took one finger inside. She nursed the digit, as if reminding him what she might be doing to his throbbing shaft, but the warm wetness of her mouth reminded him of another place—a place he had to be, or explode.
Rolling her onto her back, he positioned himself between her legs and eased inside her. Pleasure spiraled low in his abdomen as he pushed deeper. Shala’s slick, tight opening welcomed him. Holding back the urge to slam against her, to take her all at once, he eased himself out and then slowly back in. Their gazes met. Held. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and they began to move together.
He felt his world shift. Suddenly, he was on his back and she straddled him. But while she moved, it wasn’t fast enough. He needed speed. Depth. Now. But when he opened his eyes and saw her riding him—up and down, her breasts jiggling with every motion, and lower, where her soft sex gripped him like velvet—the visual took his pleasure to new heights.
She placed her uninjured hand on his abs, bracing herself and rising up to the point that his swollen sex almost slipped out of her. There she paused, and then she lowered herself again. Somehow, in the downward swoop, she managed to take him deeper than ever before. And then she did it again.
He grabbed her hips to encourage a faster pace. She didn’t seem to mind, even let him guide her. In. Out. Up. Down. It was fast and furious, and everything he wanted. She closed her eyes and her head fell back, and as he watched, he heard those soft sounds again: she stood on the cusp of another orgasm. He stood there with her.
Flipping her onto her back, he pumped inside her, hard. A moment later, he felt himself take flight, and every nerve ending in his body focused on that shattering pleasure—pure, awesome pleasure. His orgasm hung on longer and took him higher than ever before. And when he passed its peak, he fell atop her, all two hundred pounds of his dead weight.
Remembering himself at the last moment, he rolled to the side, taking her with him. That’s when it hit him that he wasn’t altogether sure she’d finished. He recalled thinking she was almost there, but…Still unable to catch his breath, he attuned every ounce of his being to her body. He heard her short, deep breaths, felt the spasms of her slick flesh where his sex was still buried inside her. She’d come. He hadn’t let her down.
Relief and then happiness filled his chest. Drawing her closer, he held her. He felt her cheek against his shoulder, felt the air leaving her lips brush against his chest. “Was that not…fu…fabulous?” he breathed into her hair.
“It was,” she gasped. “But do you think Lucas heard?”
He didn’t give a flying fuck. Of course, she probably did. He looked up at the bedpost. Both the pillows had fallen. Remembering how hard he’d pumped into her, he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d need to repair the Sheetrock. He drew back for a moment to take care of the condom; then he lay down beside her again.
“Were we loud?” She raised her head just a bit to look at him. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks.
“You mean, the bed? I don’t remember,” he answered honestly, shifting a little closer. With a smile he added, “I’ll try to listen next time. Of course, I’m not sure I’ll be able to hear. Not with you screaming like that.”
She giggled. He rolled on top of her again, almost forgetting her bandaged hand as he grabbed her wrists and held them over her head. When he looked down, her eyes lit up and he found himself wondering about the men who’d been lucky enough to be in this place, the men lucky enough to know her body, her smiles, and the sounds she made when she orgasmed. A new feeling—jealousy, an emotion he didn’t do—took up residence in his chest. He recalled Shala talking about her ex during one of her jabbering sessions, and damn if he didn’t wish he’d listened.
“What did he do to you?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Who?”
“Your ex.” When she didn’t answer right away, he got a terrible feeling. “Please tell me he never hit you.”
She shook her head. “No. It wasn’t…Should we be talking about this now?”
“No,” he admitted, but then he couldn’t let it go. “Yes. What did he do?” He released her hands and settled beside her.
She released another deep breath. “It’s just…you love someone and then they’re gone.” The words were cryptic, but he saw the hurt in her eyes. He wondered if she meant her ex, or her parents and grandparents.
“You left him?” he guessed. He couldn’t freaking believe he wanted to know. He’d never wanted to know a girl’s past before. Not seriously.
“He cheated with a friend of mine. He actually thought that would make it okay. He wanted us to become this big happy family…”
Sky almost laughed and told her that was every guy’s dream, but her ex was an ass for hurting her as he had. He wondered if the ex regretted it—and if he’d ever tried to get her back. “Does he ever contact you?” he asked.
“Some. Less now. It’s been almost two years. I don’t answer his calls.”
“You’re better off without him,” Sky said.
“I know.”
He held her close, savoring her warmth. Her sudden bout of laughter caught him by surprise, and he asked, “What’s so funny?”
She bit down on her lip. “I just remembered your expression when I accused you of having erectile dysfunction the other morning.”
“A total error on your part, as now you well know. Admit it!” he teased.
Her grin was shy and sweet. “I guess I’ll have to give you that.”
That wasn’t all she’d give him, Sky thought. He lowered his mouth to hers.
The leg sprawled atop his thighs shifted, and Sky came awake. He didn’t have to stop and wonder whom it belonged to; memories of last night brought a smile to his lips. They’d had sex twice, but with his dick saluting the ceiling in its early morning ritual, he wasn’t above going for number three with Shala. Or even four. Did he have anything pressing this morning that would prevent them from—? A whistling began in the next room, and Sky’s mood took a downward turn. Somehow he sensed Shala would be disinclined to get down and dirty with “Yankee Doodle Dandy” being belted out nearby.
The 911 emergency he’d handled last night popped into his mind. Candy Peterson had brought back a barrel of unwanted memories. After all this time, he couldn’t understand why the memory still tore him up inside, but it did. Sex with Shala had chased those thoughts away.
The idea that he might have used her just to cope tugged at his conscience, but he pushed that aside. Last night had been about more than just forgetting. It had been about pleasure and sex. Hell, it had been about more than just sex, it had been—
That’s when his mood took another nosedive. Sex had never been about anything else for him. He always kept his emotions disengaged; he always kept himself free and clear. But the memory of last night tiptoed through his mind and, son of a bitch, if he didn’t feel emotional footprints all over it. Last night hadn’t been just about sex. It had been about Shala—about making her smile, about making her happy. It had been about making her forget her demons. He’d wanted her to forget that her parents were dead, that her husband had hurt her, that some freak was after her for God only knew what
reason. Last night had been about protecting and caring for her. It had been about much more than just sex.
Her hand resting against his chest suddenly felt as if it weighed ten pounds. Shala’s leg over his felt confining. Her sweet smell filled his nose and he couldn’t breathe. He wanted away, now.
He forced himself not to leap out of bed. Instead, he slid slowly free, grabbed his jeans, had them on in record time, and hurried out of the bedroom.
“Hey,” Lucas said.
Sky didn’t answer. He went straight outside. Trying to breathe, he leaned both palms on the porch railing and fought a claustrophobic feeling that had nothing to do with small spaces and everything to do with the small blonde he’d just left in bed. He heard the front door open behind him.
“You okay?” Lucas asked.
“Fine,” Sky said without turning.
“You two have an argument?” Lucas asked.
“No.” Sky felt in his pockets to see if his keys were there. They were. He could run to his house for another shirt. Glancing down, he saw he needed shoes, too. He didn’t have to stay here. “I need to…go to my place. Could you bring Shala in to talk to Phillip around ten?” He’d have Phillip tell her he’d gone to revisit the crime scene. “Stay to bring her back afterward. I probably won’t be there.”
Turning, he saw his friend frown and nod. Lucas started to go back inside, then said, “Oh, fuck it. Do you know what I do for a living, Sky?”
Confused, Sky said, “Train special-ops?”
Lucas nodded. “Yeah, I do that sometimes, but mostly I make sure innocent people don’t get hurt.”
“So?”
Lucas pointed at the cabin. “Shala Winters is about as innocent as they come. Don’t hurt her.”
Sky took a few steps forward, reacting without thinking. “You hot for her yourself? Is that what this is about?”
Lucas looked taken aback. “No, damn it. It’s nothing like that.”
“Then stay out of it,” Sky snapped. A moment later, he wished he hadn’t.
Lucas’s eyes were hard. “I normally do,” he said. “I’m good at staying out of other people’s business. But you brought her here. You got me involved. And yes, I know you didn’t ask for advice, but I’m just saying she’s different than the gals you usually go for. Remember that.”
He slammed inside, leaving Sky feeling like an ass.
Jose stood in the doorway of the kitchen, still dressed in his thin pajama bottoms and T-shirt, watching Maria move from counter to counter. Her tired eyes told him she hadn’t slept well. When he and Redfoot had gotten home from jail, she’d been in her room. He’d almost knocked on her door to check on her, but Redfoot had stopped him with a question: “Do you love pain?” Jose hadn’t understood, and he’d gone to bed worried.
“You okay?” he asked her now.
His foster sister swung around, coffeepot in hand. “Fine,” she lied. Her eyes told the truth.
“You offering?” He nodded to the pot. When she motioned to the cabinet, he pulled himself out a cup. Looking around the room, he asked, “Where’s Redfoot?”
Maria shrugged. “I think he went to see the tribal council. He told me it was ‘about another horse.’”
Jose shook his head. “You know, they might try to force him into marrying Veronica.”
Maria scoffed. “I can’t see anyone forcing Redfoot into something he doesn’t want.”
“Perhaps.” Jose edged closer. “Is it really over between you and Matt?” he forced himself to ask.
Her chin lifted a notch. “He’s married. What do you think?”
“If it makes you feel any better…” Jose made a fist and gave it a swing. “I did get in one good punch.”
“Hitting people doesn’t fix things.”
“I don’t know, sometimes it feels good.” Seeing her frown, he added, “Guess it’s a man thing.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s a stupid thing.”
Jose nodded. “Women make us stupid.” He stepped closer and found himself looking into her eyes, longing for the look of adoration she’d always worn before. “You make me do stupid things. You make me crazy.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open as if his words perplexed her.
Jose took the final step, which brought him right in front of her. He stood so close he could smell the shampoo she used. He held his cup out. She stared at it and then started pouring. Steam rose and swirled between them.
“I think I’m still in love with you, Maria.”
Her eyes snapped up, confusion swirling in their cinnamon depths. “What?”
Unfortunately, she didn’t stop pouring. Jose yelped as hot coffee overflowed his cup and burned his fingers. He dropped the cup, which hit his abdomen, and scalding liquid soaked the front of his T-shirt and thin cotton pants, practically burning the skin off everything in its path. Groaning with pain, he yanked the elastic waistband, pulled back his pants, and started blowing.
Maria swung around to the fridge. The next thing Jose knew, she stood in front of him, had his pants pulled out a good six inches or more, and she was squirting an entire bottle of mustard down them. The cool liquid was soothing, but his mind couldn’t quite wrap around what she was doing.
He grabbed her hand. “I’m not a damn hotdog!”
The beginning of a smile tickled her lips. “Mustard is good for burns.”
“Don’t you dare laugh,” he hissed—but he didn’t mean it. He’d much rather see laughter in her eyes than pain, even if he was in pain himself.
She released his pants, slapped a hand over her mouth, and giggled. It became a chortle, and even with his balls burnt clean off, he forced himself to say, “Give me another chance, Maria.”
The laughter in her eyes faded. She pressed a finger over his lips. “I can’t.”
“Why?” Jose asked.
“Because she loves me,” a voice stated from behind them.
Jose and Maria both swung around. Matt and Redfoot crowded the kitchen doorway. Jose stood frozen, his nether bits still burnt and swimming in the yellow mustard that was now oozing down his legs. His dad shrugged as if in apology.
Maria approached Matt. Jose’s gut tightened, and he prepared himself to see her embrace the white boy. Instead, she drew her fist back and coldcocked him.
“Damn,” Jose said.
“Damn!” Matt grabbed his nose.
“Damn,” Maria said, and shook her wrist.
Matt caught her hand. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Scowling, Maria jumped away from him. Looking over her shoulder at Jose she said, “Maybe it isn’t just a man thing.” Then she grabbed her purse and keys from the table and ran for it.
The back door swung open, halting her, and Veronica Cloud stormed in. “You!” She pointed at Redfoot, her gaze filled with all kinds of lethal intent. “Don’t you dare go before that tribal council. I’d rather be branded as a whore than forced into another godforsaken marriage.” And without another word, she swung back around and walked out with Maria.
“Damn,” Redfoot said.
Jose’s balls still burned. Mustard oozed down his ankles. “Excuse me,” he said. And fighting the temptation to throw any punches, he headed to the bathroom, leaving yellow footprints in his wake. One thought echoed in his mind: welcome to fucking Precious.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sky didn’t budge as Lucas left; his emotions held him paralyzed. Standing frozen, he stared out into the woods at nothing. Absolutely nothing. Even when the front door opened again he stood frozen, though he was scared shitless it was Shala.
At last he overcame his paralysis and turned. His friend stood in the doorway. “The fact that you haven’t run yet is pretty telling, friend.” Lucas brought a coffee cup to his lips and studied Sky over its rim. “Damn. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Sky wanted to deny it, but he didn’t quite know what he’d be denying. All he knew was that Shala Winters had him tied in knots.
&nb
sp; Lucas lowered his mug. “Here’s my advice. Pour her a cup of coffee. She takes it with cream. There are some croissants on the counter. Put a slab of butter on the plate and then some preserves. She likes the peach better than the raspberry. Oh, and try to get that ‘I’m fucked’ look off your face before you do.” He chuckled and headed back inside.
Sky gave his truck one more glance. He could still run, could still get the hell out of there. Lucas would take care of Shala. But then Sky realized Lucas knew what type of preserves Shala liked, and he himself didn’t. That disturbed the hell out of him.
His gaze shot back to the cabin door. He didn’t have to leave. He could take Shala a cup of coffee and a croissant, just as his friend suggested. But the claustrophobia with which he’d woken up that morning was playing scary music in his head—something like “Here Comes the Bride” mixed with the theme from Jaws. He took a step toward his truck.
What the hell was wrong with him? Stopping, he raked a hand over his face. Shit. They’d had sex. Yes, it had been good sex, maybe even great sex. It probably had been more intimate than any he’d ever experienced…and yet it was still just sex. Which meant that this next step…? It was just breakfast. Hell, it wouldn’t even be a full breakfast, simply a cup of coffee and a piece of bread—good bread, like it had been good sex, but still just bread. He’d personally cooked a three-course breakfast for almost every woman he’d ever slept with, so why in the heck was he behaving like this? What made this so different? Nothing, damn it.
He shot inside and got the coffee. Got the croissants. And the preserves. But the moment Sky walked into the bedroom and saw Shala sitting with the sheet wrapped around her naked body, he knew what was so different: everything. Shala was different. The sex was different. With her, he was different.
She smiled up at him, and he had flashbacks of hearing her moaning little half sighs, recalled with pleasure how it had felt to enter her that first time: tight, awesome, and so damn right. And just like that, he decided the differences didn’t mean crap. They didn’t change a thing. She lived over two hundred miles away—she couldn’t smother him with talk of relationships or commitments. What the hell was wrong with just enjoying this? Whatever “this” was, it would play its course and eventually be over. Long-distance relationships didn’t work. He knew that.
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