All or Nothing

by Dee Tenorio

  No one ever asked for anything. In fact, nowhere in his memory did anyone say anything at all. Those first kisses simply continued, up her neck to her jaw, when she dipped her head and found his lips with her own petal-soft ones. The kisses never stopped. Not when her tongue reached out to touch his. Not when somehow, sometime later, he lay her down on the grass near the water’s edge and stretched out above her. Their hands touched each other, pulling clothing free, unwrapping layers to the skin beneath.

  Her breasts were so sensitive when he pulled the satin down over them, she moaned. He hadn’t been able to touch them enough or taste them enough. Her fingers had speared into his hair while he sucked them, her legs tight around his waist, her skirt rucked up around her hips. She’d cried out and shuddered against his mouth, gasping through her first shocking orgasm. That was when there was absolutely no going back. She’d needed, and so had he.

  It wasn’t his proudest moment, his inability to be gentle when he took her, but she’d taken him just as much that first time. He slid into her, startled by the hot slickness, shattered by the wet pressure all along his length. Her long legs wound around him, pushing him deeper, past the barrier of her virginity with neither preparation nor tenderness. He’d groaned and so had she. He didn’t know if it made him a bastard that it never occurred to him to stop.

  He pulled back, only to surge in again. And again. And again.

  When she pushed her hips back against him, he grew wild. He slid his arms under her shoulders to hold her tighter, to thrust harder. She answered by widening her legs and arching her back until her breasts were being chafed by his stiff tuxedo shirt pleats. He’d stared down at her curved neck, watching her tiny black ribbon bow tickle her throat with each surge. And when she cried out, he knew he’d given her pleasure. He’d given it and taken it, burned with it. Been branded by it.

  To anyone else, the idea of sex on the ground in a park was probably crude and disrespectful. To him…to him there was nothing more meaningful.

  Which was probably why he’d ruined it.

  Lucas rounded the corner to his street now, whistling to the dog, whose tongue was lolling around happily. He frowned to himself, thinking back as he pulled the keys to the building from his pocket. Belinda had probably thought he’d say something wonderful or kind afterward, but waking out of the spell, the first thing he’d said was the worst thing he could have uttered: “You saved yourself for Kyle, didn’t you?”

  Sometimes, he thought back and pictured himself saying about anything else. “Come with me to Massachusetts” or “I love you” might have been wise. No, his inherent jealousy of her choosing Kyle over him for years reared its ugly head and made him question the gift he’d been given.

  She’d flinched like she’d been slapped. Then her dark eyes turned hard, angry. “In my mind,” she’d said, making sure every word would stab and rip him, her voice steady and clear. “It was Kyle.”

  She rolled away, adjusting her clothes back in place. She refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge his attempts at apology. He didn’t blame her. His attempts then were no better than they were now. In fact, they were probably worse.

  “What if you’re pregnant?” he’d asked, finally getting her attention.

  “Then I’ll get rid of it,” she’d replied, cold as a snake. That was the only thing he’d ever disliked about her. No one said things they should regret like Belinda did. She went right for a guy’s balls and smiled while she did it. “Go away, College Boy. Go to your smart school and your perfect, brilliant coeds. You got what you wanted.”

  “Are you going to tell me if you are?” he’d asked, ignoring her venom.

  But he hadn’t been able to ignore it all. She’d saved one spiteful word for last. “No.”

  That word haunted him for years. Hell, it haunted him now. Made him break out in a sweat. Made him want to hate her as much as he loved her. But he never asked and she never said. Not when he came back from school. Not when Kyle got them reluctantly speaking again. Never, not once in twelve years had he ever asked. And she never told.

  He arrived on his doorstep and found a crushed white box.

  He stopped dead, but the pup sniffed and whined at it, shuffling it with his paw.

  Anger flickered in Lucas’s mind. It felt like fire, a small flame that licked at the back of his brain. Crouching slowly, he lifted the lid and found what he expected. Pieces of lace…shredded. Sliced. Threads everywhere. So was the stain of coffee…all over the pieces. That’s when the flame turned into a conflagration.

  His fists tightened around the leash. His jaw began to ache from pressure. His blood burned like acid as it raced past his temples.

  He’d had it. Enough. Absolutely enough.

  No more begging. No more asking permission. No more apologizing.

  The pup started to whine again.

  “Come on, dog.” Lucas tugged the leash and started down the stairs again. The dog didn’t want to come. He probably thought his master was in the mood to kill someone.

  He was right.

  Only decent people feel guilty, Belinda told herself while she tried to drown in her shower. Face to the hard, hot spray, she hoped the stinging impact would wash the sense of guilt away. The last thing anyone had called her for the past decade was decent. She thrived on being rude, heartless and flat-out bitchy when the occasion called for it. The tugs of conscience were harder to feel that way. Usually. But now, because of a box of scraps, the tugs of guilt were feeling more like whips.

  It’s for his own good.

  He’d move on. Find someone who would love him like he deserved. Love him like he needed. Someone at least slightly less wrecked than herself.

  But being right and being guilt-free were apparently not mutually exclusive.

  Angry, she turned off the water…and heard so loud a clank Michigan could have landed outside. She frowned at the handle, but then there was another crunching clank. Rising on her toes, she tried to look out the small window at the top of the stall, but could only see a piece of metal flying. What the hell was going on out there?

  Then she heard the bark.

  Eyes wide, she lowered herself from the window. Lucas. In her yard. While she was naked.

  That sprang her into action more than anything, despite the fact that he was hucking around heavy metal like it was a discus tournament. She threw back the curtain, grabbing the towel waiting there on her way out. Not wanting to take any more time than necessary, she dried off with only a ragged pat-down. She was too busy trying to rustle up her temper to acknowledge her terror at being cornered. He had no right to be there uninvited. He had no right coming when he knew she didn’t want him there. He simply had no rights at all.

  She stomped into a pair of coveralls, yanked on a worn pink tank top that had seen enough bleach to make it good for summer work and wrapped a bandana over her wet hair to keep it out of her face. By the time she had her work boots secure, she was fantasizing about introducing him to the steel toe. He probably didn’t hear her rumbling down the steps, but he damn sure heard her when she exited the bay doors to the open yard beyond with her hands on her hips and the fire of hell in her lungs.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “You don’t want to be pushing my buttons right now, Belle,” he answered in typical growl mode, not bothering to look at her.

  She scoffed, watching him pick up an abandoned sink from the back of the ancient Mazda flatbed she used for junking and take it to a pile of other midsized items. He was in cut-off gray sweat shorts and tennis shoes. His T-shirt was off, one end tucked into his back waistband, leaving all that warm honey skin open to her viewing pleasure. Mad or not, it was a pleasure to look at him, especially since he was already slick.

  “You’re in my yard, Lonnigan. I can push any button I damn well please.”

  He ignored her. He actually ignored her. A few pieces of pipe got thrown into the small pipe pile, making the puppy yelp as he hopped to avo
id things being lobbed all around. He wasn’t in any danger, but she could tell by his darting eyes and tucked tail, he didn’t know that.

  Against her better judgment, she bit her inwardly cupped lower lip and whistled. “Over here, Sparky, before your daddy kills you.”

  The pup was grateful, running awkwardly on huge paws, but if the suddenly flying wheel rims were any indication, Lucas wasn’t.

  “I didn’t ask you to do this.” Not that she ever did. She had a deal with the local junker to take a truckload of sortables off his hands each month. Lucas always showed up on sort day to load up her truck at the junkyard and unload it in her metal yard. It was just one other thing she’d have to learn to do without him. She hadn’t had the energy to do it since their “date”. Hard to believe it happened less than a week ago.

  She circled the truck, putting her hand on the bed wall while he reached in for another sink. He dragged it toward himself, every muscle in his arms and torso flexing with the effort and all but knocking the wind out of her.

  Huffing, she grabbed the edge of the sink and tugged it her way. “Stop. I don’t want you to do this.”

  “This isn’t about you,” he bit out. He wouldn’t even look at her, but his leather gloves made a loud noise as he tightened his grip.

  “Like hell it isn’t.”

  “What I mean is that I don’t care what you want, Belle.” He yanked the sink out of her grasp, hefted it onto his shoulder and walked away with it.

  She stayed there, her mouth open in shock while he crossed to her piles and dumped it unceremoniously next to the last one. He walked back, his eyes narrow in the morning sunlight but flaring with brilliant color anyway. Rage made him dangerous. She could sense the ripple of power under his control, feel the energy crackling through him. Her response to it felt elemental, like a magnet being drawn to a far more powerful source. She held the truck wall tighter to keep from going to him, despite the fact that he wasn’t even looking at her to beckon her. In fact, he was looking everywhere but at her. Which only angered her more.

  “Lucas!” She felt his attention shift to her even if his eyes didn’t. “What part of go away is hard for you to understand?”

  He flexed his hands inside the work gloves. Open once. Close once. Open again. Then they closed into a knot of flesh and leather. She felt his gaze hit her like a fist, instantly making her regret pushing.

  She took a step back. Not in fear of him, but his intensity. Every emotion seemed to flow like molten energy in his eyes. Pain. Desire. Anger. Need. Hot, hungry need. She took another step as he came towards her.

  “What’s the matter, Belle? You look worried.”

  Because she was. “I don’t want you here.”

  “Why?” She must look defensive, too, if his pleased perusal meant anything.

  “Why what?”

  “Why don’t you want me here?” With each word he came closer and she retreated further to the warehouse. The dog danced around her feet, looking for a place to stay, probably wondering if this was a game. “You never had a problem with me here before.”

  “I have a problem now.” Yeah, brilliant response, dumbass.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” Run for friggin’ Congress, Belinda. Geez.

  “Oh, yes, you do. You never have, but you should.”

  His autocratic remark finally cemented her feet in place. Anger, wonderful, spine-stiffening anger, flooded her. He kept advancing, stopping only when their chests touched with each heaving breath they took. Not that she understood why either of them was breathing so hard. They were only talking…right?

  She poked her finger against his chest. “All I should have to do is tell you to go, Lucas. That’s enough for everyone else.” Well, it would be, if anyone else were allowed on her property.

  “You haven’t told me to go.”

  She thought over their conversation, momentarily befuddled. Hadn’t she told him to leave? She couldn’t remember. “I’m telling you now.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Maybe it was the tremble in her body, having him so close. Or just the power of his gaze drilling into her, but she couldn’t form the words. Any words at all.

  He nodded slowly, understanding—damn him—and their breathing seemed to slow down. She got lost in his gaze, in the fiery touch of his now bare thumb on her jaw.

  “No matter what you do or how you hurt me, you can’t make what’s between us go away. You can’t make me disappear, Belinda. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her body clenched, caught between wanting to defy and wanting to hide. “You were the one who wanted out, Lucas. I’m just holding you to it.”

  “I was wrong.”

  That required blinking. Lucas was never wrong. He didn’t know how to be wrong. She was about to mention that, but his mouth descended on hers. His arm snaked around her at the same time, yanking her against him while his other hand cupped the back of her head.

  She didn’t want to use the word helpless. It didn’t apply. But she did feel powerless—against him, against her own needs—when her hands took hold of his hot shoulders, sliding slightly against the sweat there while his tongue plundered her mouth with devastating accuracy. He didn’t stop the battle until she whimpered, until she was clinging and tears seeped beneath her tightly closed lashes. Then he was gentle, soothing with caresses of his lips…and then he was gone.

  As quickly as the kiss came, it was over. She was released and he looked grimmer than before, arms outstretched wide. To keep himself from touching her?

  “This isn’t over,” he said, a dark promise that locked around her like a vise.

  She touched her mouth, still wet, still possessed by him. Every inch of her felt possessed, owned, by his proprietary gaze.

  “Now get inside and lock the door before I change my mind and take you right here in the dirt.”

  So Belinda did what any woman did when her knees were melted, her heart was confused and the man in front of her was the last man she could afford to love.

  She ran.

  It was official. He was never listening to his brother again.

  Lucas finished sorting the junk truck, but it wasn’t anger he had to work off anymore. He’d gone there to confront her. To pound on her door and yell at her until she listened to him. By the time he reached her yard, he was pretty sure he’d throttle her if they got into it, so he’d opted for emptying the truck.

  He hadn’t expected to touch her. To taste her. He simply hadn’t realized he’d been screwing up for twelve years straight. But he could see it now.

  That long-ago prom night he’d experienced his fantasy of touching her not because he’d won his way into her good graces. Belinda wasn’t going to bend enough to come to him because he said pretty please with sugar on top. The only times he’d ever breached her defenses were when he simply led and did. He took kisses. They weren’t given. He took dances. They weren’t offered. He took her to bed, but she never once asked him to.

  Maybe, if he wanted a chance with her, he had to simply take that, too.

  When the truck was clear, the sun was high and hours had passed. The pup had been loping all over the place, finding interesting smells, barking at insects and Belinda’s larger pieces of art, like the wrought-iron trellis she’d been creating for a new bridal display at some church, the multi-armed…something she made when she first got this place. It was her first attempt at a full-sized fountain, combining modern art and waterworks. Now she was adding glass inlays to the metal-works, creating pieces that captured even his dubious imagination.

  “Here.” She was there nearly the second he lifted the truck bed door. As if she’d been watching for when he finished. He kept his lips from smiling, accepting the bottle of water she thrust at him.

  “Thanks,” he said to her back as she turned away.

  “I don’t want your thanks. I want you to go,” she grumbled over her shoulder. He hid his grin behind the water bottle and sank to
the nearest spot in the shade to sit on that had a good view of her. She’d kick him, but he did enjoy watching her walk in those baggy overalls. It was so much more fun guessing where her sleek body was behind the fabric than himself and every male for a hundred yards being able to count the folds in her skin because her pants were so tight.

  “And take your damn dog with you,” she added, probably well aware he was looking.

  He sighed. “If he’s my damn dog, why did you name him?”

  She spun around, frowning. “I never—”

  “Sparky!” he snapped, to prove it. The dog lifted his head and came bounding. Lucas raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Shithead!” she called and the dog immediately turned her way. She raised her eyebrow right back, making him rise from his seat on the overturned bucket to watch the dog lick happily at her outstretched arm. Her mouth twisted. “Hey, look, it works on both of you.”

  He couldn’t stop the smile that time. No one would ever call her charming, but damn she could get him when she wanted to.

  She smiled back, just as honestly. She avoided true smiles almost as much as he did, but for very different reasons. You could see the sweetness of her when she smiled like that. Light glowed out of her. He figured she hated that.

  He took a gulp of the water and replaced the cap. “Be at Vino’s at seven. We need to talk.”

  There went her smile. It was all right. There would be more.

  “There’s nothing to say, Lucas. It’s over.”

  “Then you can tell me that at Vino’s.”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  He snapped to Sparky, who trotted over obediently and waited for Lucas to pick up the leash.