Emergency Attraction (Love Emergency)

by Samanthe Beck

  He took her hand and led her along a grassy expanse toward the willow. “Remember?”

  How could she forget? The lantern light glowed, telling her he’d not only planned to bring her here, he’d taken time to set the scene, but suddenly, she didn’t want to move. This spot held a special place in her heart, but it wasn’t theirs. It never had been. And coming back now, weaving through property markers and signs, only underscored the fact. “This is beautiful”—she gestured toward the tree—“but we can’t. There are laws. We don’t belong here.”

  He turned to face her, but continued an unhurried backward walk toward the tree, pulling her with him. “We do. It’s mine.”

  His words careened around in her head like bats, fast and hard to get a lock on. It’s mine. It’s. Mine. “What?”

  “I bought the lot,” he said and held a curtain of willow aside to usher her into the cloistered space beneath. A red-and-black plaid blanket covered the ground, and an insulated backpack anchored one corner.

  Her ribs shrank, forming a painfully tight cage around her heart. “Why?”

  For the first time all night, he looked uncomfortable. “The day before yesterday, I was out here for a meeting. While Campbell and I looked over the map of parcels for sale in the subdivision, I realized this lot was up for grabs. Somebody would buy it. Build a spec house, or their dream house, or whatever. Maybe they’d remove the tree. Maybe not. It was none of my business. I spent half a second trying to bullshit myself into believing I didn’t care. I don’t have deep roots anywhere—and most of the time I’m okay with that—but not this time.” He looked down at the blanket, and she followed his gaze, practically seeing the ghosts of their former selves tangled together under the same encompassing limbs. “This place is important me. I needed to protect it.”

  She braced a hand on the tree trunk and immediately remembered leaning against it, raising her lips for his kiss. “I… Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

  He took a step toward her. “Say you forgive me, for not protecting you.”

  Warning sirens blared in her head. He was merging past and present again, and it made a risky combination. Savannah’s words came back to haunt her. You haven’t given your heart to anyone else because the best parts are already spoken for.

  All the parts of her heart she still held a claim to raced—trying to make a getaway. Instead she sagged against the tree. “Don’t…”

  “Don’t what?” He stopped his slow advance. “We talked about what happened, now let’s settle it. You won’t trust me with your future until you forgive me for the past, and I’m not satisfied calling this a nostalgia fuck, and nothing more. Screw that, Sinclair. I want more. So do you. Trust me enough to forgive me for letting you go.”

  She didn’t consider herself a cowardly person, but she battled a flight instinct so strong she actually visualized herself turning and running. Nothing lurking in the woods could be nearly as dangerous as the man in front of her, giving life to all her hopes, while at the same time embodying all her doubts. “I’m not the same girl I was ten years ago.”

  He didn’t so much as blink. “And I’m not the same guy. Congratulations, we’ve both grown up. You were brave enough to take on the boy. Are you brave enough to take on the man?”

  His sharp eyes dared her to respond. Silence was her only option, because there was no good answer.

  He stepped closer, trapping her between the tree and his body. A smug little smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You know you want to. We wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

  “You haven’t changed so much, Shane. You’re still a cocky motherf—” His tongue swept the curse off her lips. Another few seconds and he’d stolen her breath. By the time he raised his head, she had one leg wrapped around his hip and both arms clinging to his shoulders. She blinked her eyes open to find the smug smile firmly in place and wondered why her body still responded to it like a hormonal teenager after all this time.

  “That’s no way to express your forgiveness.”

  She gritted her teeth and willed herself not to give in to the urge to grind her hips against his. “I didn’t say I forgave you.”

  “You do.” His expression went serious. “What’s it going to take to convince you to say it, Sinclair? Need me to say it first? No problem. I—”

  “I didn’t do a damn thing requiring your forgiveness.” A little voice in the back of her mind whispered except…into the silence that followed, but she felt sure he wouldn’t call her on it. He wouldn’t dare

  “Did you give me the benefit of the doubt? When you didn’t hear from me that summer, did you believe there was a reason I couldn’t get in touch, or did you lose faith in me?”

  “I…you…” Her ability to construct a counterargument fled in the face of his quiet accusation, and bone-deep panic set in. The only thing more frightening than saying the words he wanted to hear was what might come streaming out of her mouth next. If she relinquished such a crucial stone in the wall of her defenses, would she be able to hold anything back, including feelings she’d banished for years? Feelings she’d have chosen not to have, if emotions worked that way. But here he was, slowly, surely stripping the choice away from her and asking her to trust him while he did it. She fought back the only way she could. She took a step back and shoved him away. “I don’t need this.”

  Big hands caught her shoulders, stopping her retreat. A flex of muscles and she ended up plastered against his chest. “Yeah, you do,” he muttered and kissed her. Not hard. Not forceful. He simply brought her mouth to his, moved his lips over hers like he had all the patience in the world, and let her do the rest—as if he knew she would—and, God help her, she did. She drank deep, like a horse led to water.

  Need immediately spiked, but her anxiety receded. Volatile as the chemistry was, it nonetheless felt safe. She knew what to do with physical needs—even ones this powerful. She embraced the power. Wanted the urgency. Wanted a driving desire so all-consuming it allowed for nothing else. No examination of feelings, and definitely no conversation beyond the occasional demand, curse, or plea. But when she gathered up a handful of his shirt and tore her mouth from his to pull it over his head, he broke her unstated rules.

  “I forgive—”

  “Shut up.” She reclaimed his mouth and shoved his shirt up his chest. The lure of his bare skin called to her, but she couldn’t abandon her post. She made do with her hands, touching every part of him she could reach—smooth shoulders, broad back, the hard planes of his chest, and the enticing little gulley chiseled down the center. She trailed her fingers lower, and his breaths turned fast and harsh in her mouth.

  Her head went light from the forced synchronization. Luckily, there was more than one way to render a man speechless. She hooked fingers into the waist of his pants, popped the button, and lowered the zipper. He sprang right into her hand, hot, thick, and heavy. A groan rumbled in his chest, then another as she gripped his shaft and rubbed her palm over his wide, blunt head. A couple circles—not too hard, not too soft, exactly as he’d showed her all those years ago—and she coaxed forth enough fluid to make her palm glide.

  She slid her other hand up his length, gripped the base with her lubricated hand, and began long, alternating pulls, adding a little twist at the end just the way he’d always liked.

  He still did. His mouth crashed over hers, again and again, the kisses wet and reckless. Whiskers abraded her sensitive lips. Every other sensitive part of her body tingled in response, anxious to experience the same rough treatment.

  Switching to a one-handed hold on his cock, she lifted him and cupped his balls. His shudder vibrated through her so deeply it might as well have been her own. No, he wasn’t a teenager anymore, but a man could only take so much. She wasn’t a teenager, either. She’d picked up a few skills of her own. Another hard pull—he groaned as she administered it—a feather-light brush along the nerve-packed zone behind his balls, and conversation would cease to be an option for him. Victory h
overed within reach, so close she could practically taste it.

  Which only left her all the more stunned when she suddenly found her arms dragged above her head and pinned there by a big, domineering hand.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shane made sure his hold on her wrists was firm, but not bruising. He walked that fine line to convince Sinclair she was well and truly caught—because he couldn’t let her touch him again—but he didn’t want her scratching the backs of her hands against tree bark in an effort to twist out of his grip. To increase his odds of success, he returned the unrelenting assault she’d made on his mouth and did his level best to kiss her into compliance. Only when her arms went limp and her body rubbed restlessly against his did he lift his head.

  Desire and anger warred in her eyes. A combination he couldn’t resist. “I’m not going to come in your hands, Sinclair, or your mouth. I’m coming inside you, and you’re going to say the words right before you take my cock.”

  She made a small, negative noise, but he swallowed it and then drowned out her moan with the rasp of the zipper running down the front of her vest. When it hung open, he pushed the padded fabric aside and palmed her breast through her thermal shirt. Whatever she had on underneath strapped her tight and denied him the feel of her soft, giving flesh. Frustrated, he tunneled beneath her shirt, all the way to the thick band of elastic under her breasts. It gave barely at all. He felt around for a clasp and came up empty. Finally, he just shoved it out of his way, manhandling her tits in the process. What might have started as a little cry of shock turned into a grateful sigh when those warm, soft globes sprang free from the unforgiving spandex confines. He soothed them in his hands. “Jesus Christ. How’d you get into that thing?”

  “It wasn’t easy.”

  Nothing about tonight would be, apparently, but he’d persevere because she wanted this, too, even if she wished she didn’t. As if reading his mind, she arched into his touch and pled, “Don’t stop.”

  “Don’t make me stop.” He pinched one tight nipple. “Say it.”

  She shook her head and wriggled her wrists out of his hold. Like a boxer readying for a fight, she shrugged her vest off. “I’ve never punched anyone before, but you keep this up, and trust me”—she broke off to pull her shirt and the torture device of an undergarment over her head—“you’ll be the first.”

  Had he called her stubborn? She was downright ornery. He shed his shirt and then toed his boots off while she watched him with a defiant expression. With more calm than he felt, he got rid of his pants, straightened, and waited while her hot gaze raked his cock like a brutal touch before making its way back to his face. “You’re going to say it, baby girl. If I have to take a punch or two in the process, so be it, but you’re going to get down on your knees and say it like you mean it. The words are going to ring in your ears as I slide inside you.”

  Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. Satisfied with the game plan, he dropped to his knees and turned his attention to getting her naked, first tugging off one shoe, then the other, and then the leggings. His whole body pulsed at the sight of her wearing nothing but lamplight. Memories didn’t do her justice. How could they? He leaned in and kissed her just below her navel.

  “Is this your twisted idea of a challenge?”

  He tipped his head back and looked at her. “It’s a promise.”

  “We both want this. Why complicate things?”

  He got to his feet. Well aware he was risking his balls, he replied, “You know why,” and kissed her again.

  Her groan tasted sweet on his tongue. Fingernails trailed from his shoulders all the way down his back, stopping at his ass to dig in and urge him forward. She rose onto her toes and twined a leg around his thigh. “Dammit, Shane, I didn’t ask for any promises—”

  “Yes, you did.” Sliding an arm around her waist, he pulled her away from the tree. A pivot, a drop he controlled, and he had her on her back on the blanket. He planted a palm next to her head and braced himself on his arm. He used the other arm to hitch her leg over his shoulder. “You gave one, and you accepted one in this very spot.” Then he dragged the head of his cock through her center. “Does that stir any memories?”

  She gasped. Her hands fisted in the blanket, and her spine bowed until her chin pointed to the sky. “That was a lifetime ago.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He did it again, drawing a lazy figure eight this time, hitting her clit solidly and then circling her entrance while she writhed under him. “There’s no statute of limitations on forgiveness.”

  Her chest heaved as he increased the pressure and pace of the stroke. Her cheeks flushed. She rocked her hips and let out a tortured moan. He sympathized, because making his case hurt him as much as it hurt her. Sweat stung his eyes. His muscles burned from the strain of holding back. And his cock…his cock pounded like a second heart. But he didn’t let up. “Why did you follow through on the tours, Sinclair?”

  “Because…because we had a deal.”

  He slowed his stroke and lingered at her threshold, circling, circling. Killing himself. “Try again. I had no way of enforcing the deal, and we both know it. You didn’t have to be there. Not even once, but you were. Every time. Why?”

  “Fuck it, Shane, I was curious.”

  “Uh-uh. The night at the wedding was more than enough to satisfy any casual curiosity and put to rest any doubt in your mind that something still sparked between us.” Those sparks were a raging fire right now, but he just kept fanning the flames—moving fast as he stroked upward, and slow as he navigated the downward curve. “By the end of the first tour at the high school, you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I wanted you.” He angled up and whipped her clit again. “Why’d you keep coming? Why wade through painful memories to get some truth between us?”

  Her head whipped back and forth. “I don’t know…closure.”

  If he wasn’t already in such a world of hurt, he would have laughed. Instead he parked the head of his cock right at the tight, wet entrance quivering for a good, hard thrust. He flexed his hips and tested the resistance—and his own sanity. “Does this feel like closure?”

  “Oh, God.” Her eyelids fluttered down. Her heel dug into his back. “No.”

  “Why are you here with me, right now?” He eased back—had to—before instincts took the decision out of his hands. The retreat earned a sob from Sinclair.

  “You know why,” she whispered.

  Game over, thank Christ. He reared up, pulling her with him until he had her on her knees straddling his lap, his hands under her ass to keep her from jumping the gun. “Tell me. Say it like you mean it.”

  “I—” Slender arms encircled his head, and her breath hitched. “I forgive you.” As soon as the last word passed her lips, he was inside her—home, a voice in his mind insisted—and then thought ceased as pleasure so intense it qualified as pain shot through him. From a universe away, he heard her cry his name and fought his way back to her.

  “Thank you,” he murmured and started moving her on him with some attention and skill, because as unforgettable as their first time had been, he’d just as soon not fuck her like an eighteen-year-old amateur. Deliberately setting the rhythm a little slower than she wanted, he lifted her and brought her down hard enough to force a gasp out of her before he took her up again.

  He wanted to kiss her, but she clung to him tightly, her chin digging into his skull with every move, and he wanted that, too, so he settled for pressing his face to the side of her throat. He quickened the rhythm. “I know that wasn’t easy for you. I’m going to make you another promise, Sinclair,”

  “Don’t—”

  Her word dissolved into breathless whimpers that meant only one thing. He picked up the pace. Suddenly, she arched up, her body strung so tight she trembled in his arms…and that was it for him. The ground slid away under his feet. He was falling. Fighting it, but falling. He forced once last burst of obedience from his muscles and thrust, rocking her hard.

  Throu
gh a descending fog of oblivion, he managed to say, “I will never let you down again.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  If walls could talk, Sinclair mused as she pulled up to the curb in front of the Oglethorpe Inn. The last time she’d been here, she’d been resolutely single, attending the Daughters of Magnolia Grove’s annual Christmas Eve dinner with her family, watching Beau and Savannah crack apart when Mrs. Pinkerton had congratulated them on the new baby Beau hadn’t yet known they were expecting. Little oops. Beau hadn’t taken it well, to say the least. He’d let fear left over from a tragedy in his past dictate his reaction.

  At the time, she’d been furious on her sister’s behalf, and not especially concerned with the reasons behind his ugly accusations or hasty retreat. She understood fear and distrust better now than she had at Christmas—or at least understood she shouldn’t hurl stones while standing in the middle of her own house of glass. Fear and distrust had been invisible copilots of her life since the summer when letting her heart take the controls had crash-landed her in a truly awful place. She and Beau actually had a lot in common when it came to coping mechanisms.

  But people changed. Beau had. Shane definitely had. Maybe she could, too?

  She cut the engine and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Maybe she already was changing? Not bravely, or particularly gracefully, she had to admit, but then again, if someone had told her last Christmas that the very near future would find her on her knees under the willow tree where she’d surrendered her virginity, telling Shane Maguire she forgave him, she would have laughed her ass off. A week after putting her feelings for Shane into words—and accepting the words from him—and nothing disastrous had happened. Fate wasn’t using them as chew toys, so far. She’d survived his version of a tour of downtown Magnolia Grove, the highlight of which had involved some very sinful acts in the parking lot behind the Presbyterian Church—yes, they could still do it in a car. He’d survived another Sunday dinner at her parents’ house before catching a red-eye to Los Angeles for a client in need. When she’d walked him out, he’d seemed a little tense and unsettled. Mind already on his work, she’d assumed, and then he’d thanked her for dinner and kissed her senseless, and she’d let it go. It wasn’t until a day later, when she’d driven downtown and passed the inn that she’d realized he was essentially living like a visitor in his own hometown—hotel, suitcase, rental car, laptop. Other than the view out the window, was it really so different than being in Los Angeles, or Virginia, or wherever?