Wrecked

by Shiloh Walker

  In a matter of seconds, he was inside the shower and as he came to her through the crisscrossing sprays, her heart jumped up into her throat. “Zach . . .”

  She licked her lips and shifted around so that the water wasn’t constantly running down into her eyes to blind her. That, unfortunately, or fortunately, maybe, had her with her back against the wall. He followed her and caught her around the waist. “You do get wet in these things.” He hauled her close. “Imagine that.”

  “Very wet.” She groaned as she felt the head of his cock nudging her against her belly. “We . . . well, I didn’t exactly bring anything in here. I wasn’t planning on water sports.”

  “I was.” He flashed a packet at her and tore it open. “I heard the water come on and made a detour.”

  She tugged it away from him and tossed the wrapper onto the bench after she’d pulled the condom out. It missed and landed on the floor, but she didn’t care.

  As she started to unroll it, Zach’s chest shuddered. His hands gripped her hips, fingers kneading her flesh restlessly. “Hurry up,” he rasped, dipping his head to rake his teeth down her neck. “Fuck . . . hurry.”

  “Impatient.” She smoothed the thin shield of latex down over him and before she could say another word, think another thought, even blink, Zach had her in his arms. He boosted her up and she caught her breath, staring into his eyes as he wedged the head of his cock against her sex and pressed.

  “Now.” He stared into her eyes, watching her like he sought to see down into her very soul. “Right now.”

  She nodded, sucking in a breath. It wasn’t enough . . . she was still scrambling for oxygen, scrambling to think, to function as he slowly sank inside her.

  “You have no idea.” He stared down into her eyes. “No idea how bad I need this. Need you. I waited . . . I wanted . . .”

  I waited . . .

  Those words burned through her brain and she knew she needed to think that through. But she couldn’t. Not when he pulled back and then surged forward, driving so completely inside her.

  “Tell me you want this,” he demanded. “Tell me you want me.”

  Dazed, she stared at him. He shot a hand into her hair and tangled his fingers in the curls, jerking her head back, forcing her to watch him. She whimpered as his mouth crushed against hers. Hard and desperate, that kiss ripped a response from her and she was all but sobbing when he lifted just enough to peer down into her eyes. “Tell me you want me, damn it.”

  “I want you,” she said, and her voice trembled with the force of that want. “I want you so much I can’t breathe for it. I dream about you and I feel your touch on me even when you’re not there.”

  * * *

  Her eyes, nearly black, stared into his as she spoke and Zach tried to cling to the hope in those words.

  It meant something.

  Had to.

  But just then, all he could do was give in to the madness that had ripped through him when he’d seen her in the shower. One more time, damn it. Before he explained, because if he lost her . . .

  She arched against him, her wet hands sliding down his arms, then back up along his shoulders to tangle in his hair. She swiveled her hips and he moved back a little, changing their angle so that her shoulders rested against the wall and he could stare down, watch as he moved within her.

  Her flesh was pale as cream, unmarred and smooth. And he loved the way his hands looked on her as he guided her hips, lifting her up as he pulled away, dragging her back down over his cock as he sank back in. “Mine.” For that moment, at least. She was his.

  Abby keened, a low, rough sound of female pleasure that had his balls drawing tight and his gut twisting in a blinding knot of need.

  He pushed her harder. Faster. Giving in to the burning edge that had ridden him for so damned long.

  As she clenched down around him and started to come, his own climax tore through him like a tornado, nearly undoing him.

  * * *

  He saw the journal on the long, narrow bench as he went to pull off the condom.

  That journal.

  That wonderful journal.

  That stupid journal.

  Part of him wanted to bronze it while another part of him wanted to rip it apart.

  Except right now, it needed to be dried off.

  After he’d dealt with the condom, he glanced over at Abby and said, “You like the journal so much you brought it into the shower with you?”

  She was still leaning against the wall, her lips curved in a smile of pure, smug female satisfaction. It went straight to his dick and he wanted nothing more than to go back to her and do a repeat of the past five minutes. Except maybe make it last longer than five minutes. Hell. He touched her and lost all control.

  But if he didn’t do this now . . .

  “Abby.” He nodded to the journal again and said, “The journal is getting soaked.”

  She made a face at him and said, “It’s supposed to. Have you looked at what’s inside there? It’s got a page that says take this journal into the shower with you. Or something like that. Okay? It’s in the shower.” A funny little grin curled her lips upward. “I was stressing about it pretty bad before you came in.”

  He moved to block her view of the journal, catching one of the showerheads and wetting his hair down. It wasn’t because he was in any hurry to wash up. He just needed a way to distract himself. To not look at her while he thought this through. “Abby . . . ah. Actually, about the journal . . .”

  She sighed. “I should probably get it out of here before it’s ruined, shouldn’t I?”

  Swallowing the knot in his throat, he turned away and grabbed it. It was dripping wet as he nudged the door open and placed it on the floor. “It should be fine.” His voice sounded like he’d swallowed a frog. Turning around, he looked at her.

  She had her head cocked. “Are you okay?”

  “Ah . . .” Scooping his damp hair back, he glanced around. Then he held out a hand as he settled on the bench near the jets. A fine mist wrapped around them, but it didn’t soak them and that worked. He thought. “I need to tell you something. You’re going to be mad at me. I . . .” He groaned as she hooked an arm around his neck. Slamming his head back against the marbled tile of the wall, he closed his eyes. “I told you, just a few minutes ago. It wasn’t just . . . um. It wasn’t just my dick talking when I said I’ve been waiting to touch you like this. That I wanted you for a while.”

  All my life—

  “Zach . . . ?”

  He opened his eyes and made himself meet her gaze. He figured it would be better to play it down a little. “You just . . . hell, Abby. You were engaged and all. What was I supposed to do?”

  Her hand splayed over his cheek as she stared at him.

  “Ah . . . this . . .” She closed her eyes and dropped her head down on his shoulder. “Well. Um. I’m sort of thrown here, but okay. I figured out the fact that you weren’t exactly oblivious the second or third time you had your tongue down my throat.”

  He cupped a hand over the back of her neck. “No. Not oblivious. I just . . . Don’t be mad at me. Abby, I saw what you had written in that damn journal. I knew you were planning to have an affair with somebody and I wanted it to be me.”

  She stiffened.

  Her hand fell away from his cheek.

  Pain ripped through him as she pulled away and stood up. A few seconds later, she left him alone in the shower and he sat in there, eyes closed.

  Had he just fucked it up for good?

  Please . . . no. Just. No.

  * * *

  “He wanted me. I was engaged. Shit.”

  It was only the fifteenth time she’d muttered that, or some variation over the past twenty minutes. Dressed in her woefully inadequate clothing, a blanket wrapped around her with her damp hair making her even more miserable, Abigale stood on the balcony, freezing her ass off and brooding. She could go inside, dry her hair, lock herself in the bedroom, but just then, she needed the space. So
she stood out there, freezing and cranky and confused.

  “Don’t be mad, he says.”

  Swearing, she dropped down onto the chaise lounge and buried her head in her arms.

  Don’t be mad . . .

  She wasn’t mad, exactly.

  She was . . . embarrassed. Sort of. She’d been so miserable and uncomfortable about the major lust-on she’d developed for her best friend, and he’d been doing the same thing for her. For . . . hell. A while. She’d been engaged for almost two years.

  She was uncomfortable, but with herself. How hadn’t she seen it?

  And she was aggravated, yeah, because he’d been nosing in the journal, but she wasn’t mad, really. That was just typical Zach. If she wanted him to leave something alone, she specifically had to tell him or keep it away from him.

  The door opened and she lifted her head, shooting him a dark look.

  He stood in the doorway, hands jammed in his pockets. His hair was still damp and while he’d tugged on a pair of jeans, he hadn’t buttoned them and he hadn’t bothered with a shirt, either. Lust and desire and all sorts of crazy needs hit her, so hard and fast that she just had to look away from him before she lost it.

  Before she came up off the lounge and just jumped him.

  “So are you done?”

  His voice, hard and flat, was like a slap in the still air and she barely managed to keep from flinching. Shooting him a narrow look, she asked icily, “Am I done what?”

  He averted his head, a muscle pulsing in his cheek.

  Done.

  What, did the jerk think she wasn’t allowed to be irritated? She wasn’t allowed to be confused or pissed? He thought she was out here having a sulk over nothing? Is that what he thought? Surging up off the lounge, she let the blanket fall as she stormed over to him. “Am I done what?” she demanded.

  He turned his head and stared at her, but still didn’t answer.

  She curled her hand into a fist and thumped it on his chest. “You think I don’t have a right to be aggravated, Zach? You think I’m out here sulking and I’m just supposed to stop at a certain—”

  His hands came around her waist and he spun her around. The rough brick of the wall scratched against her spine as he backed her up. “Damn it. Me,” he snarled down into her face. “Are you done with me? Is this it? Did I fuck it up? I’m sorry, damn it. I shouldn’t have been messing with your stuff and if I’d thought I was going to see something like that . . .” He stopped and looked down, a ragged breath escaping him. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I just . . . shit. Maybe I should have come clean or something, but I just had to watch you spend three fucking years with that prick Roger and if I had to see with you somebody else . . .”

  Oh.

  Light dawned as she stared at his bowed head.

  I’ve been waiting . . . I wanted you . . .

  It wasn’t exactly a shining, beautiful declaration of love, but she hadn’t been expecting that. Zach wasn’t in love with her. She knew that. He’d already told her that he’d been in love and it hadn’t worked out.

  “No, Zach. I’m not done.”

  He jerked up his head, staring at her with that intent, focused gaze. It went right to the very heart of her and made her ache. Hell. Whoever that woman was, she was an absolute moron. If Zach had been looking at her like that . . . ?

  “Abby?”

  She reached up and touched his cheek. “I’m not done. I’m irritated as hell over you messing with my stuff, but I’m not done. I’m irritated, and I’m confused . . . but this isn’t anywhere close to done for me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I hear you and Abby went out of town for the weekend.”

  Zach really shouldn’t have answered the damn phone without looking at the caller ID. He never did when he was in the shop, but damn it, he should have. Grimacing, he shoved a hand out of his hair and tried not to think about the fact that his brother Zane already knew how he felt about Abby.

  It wasn’t like he had to explain anything here now, right?

  Zane knew. The twins, Trey and Travis knew. Even his obnoxious and annoying little brother Sebastian knew.

  Mom knew. Dad knew.

  Everybody in the family knew.

  The question was . . .

  “Who in the hell told you about that?”

  Even over the phone, he could hear the sly amusement in Zane’s voice as his older brother said, “Oh, I have my ways.”

  Zach curled his lips. “You probably came over here sniffing around Keelie’s skirts again. Did she plant that combat boot in your face again?”

  “At least I got the balls to make a move on the woman I’m interested in and didn’t sit around mooning over her like a pussy for twenty years,” Zane pointed out.

  Sighing, Zach rubbed the back of his neck and tried to focus on the sketch in front of him. He had a young widow coming in here later that week who wanted a tattoo. Her husband had been killed in Afghanistan and Zach wanted to make sure he had the design right.

  He’d been doing fine up until his brother called, too. Had his focus on the job, had the right sort of vision in mind, and everything. “Listen, man, I don’t know about you, but I actually work during the day. You might sit around jacking off all day and staring at naked models on your screen, but I need to get some designs done so if you didn’t call for a reason—”

  “I did.” Zane’s voice lost some of the amusement. “I guess that answers that. I was hoping you’d finally worked up the courage and did something, but you wouldn’t be so fucking uptight if you’d gotten laid.”

  The pencil he’d been using snapped. “Shut the fuck up, Zane,” he warned.

  “Look, man, I just thought—”

  “I don’t care what you just thought. If I just needed to get fucked, I could get that from plenty of places.” He shoved back from the desk and started to pace.

  “Damn it, that’s not what I’m getting at. Would you . . .” Zane trailed off into a long series of muttered cursing. Then abruptly, he said, “Look. I wasn’t meaning anything by it and definitely not that. I’d be the first one in line if I thought some asshole was chasing after her like she was just a piece of meat. You know I love Abby. She’s like a kid sister to me and that’s the last thing I’d be thinking about. I just . . . look. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to make a move or she’ll end up hooked up with another loser like Roger. Is that what you want?”

  Zach stared at the wall that held some of the work he’d done, but he wasn’t seeing any of the pictures, any of the designs he’d done on his own.

  He was seeing Abby. The way she’d looked as they stayed out on the deck Saturday night, watching the sun set over the mountains. Neither of them had been wearing a damn thing, just laying on the lounge with a blanket pulled over them. He was certain it had been the most perfect moment of his entire life.

  “Let me worry about my love life, Zane,” he said gruffly.

  “That’s the fucking problem. You don’t have one. You just—”

  He hung up on Zane and lowered his head to stare at the worn toes of his boots, trying to think, trying to figure out why he hadn’t just told him. Out of all of his brothers, he was closest to Zane and if he could tell any of them, it should have been Zane.

  But just then, he couldn’t imagine telling anybody.

  And he knew why.

  Once he told people, it would become real.

  And when it became real, it would be too easy to break . . . to see it end, to see it fall apart.

  She hadn’t walked away once he’d owned up to what he’d done. That was the worst thing he could imagine happening . . . at the time. But there was something far worse and he had to face it.

  Abby was already planning for it to end and if he couldn’t get her to fall in love with him, it would end.

  Absently, he reached up and ran his thumb over his heart, wondering if she’d noticed it at all. Nah. If she had, she would have said something.

  “Zach
?”

  Lifting his head, he saw Keelie standing in the doorway. The look on her face was nervous and he sighed, turning away and heading back to his desk. He just didn’t have time for this today. Dumping the phone back in the cradle, he said, “I’m busy, Keelie. I’ve got several custom designs I still need to get done and I’m sure my asshole brother will be calling my other brothers so I’ll have more fun conversations for later on.”

  Bent over the sketch, he tried to block her out, but she didn’t seem to take the hint.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Sighing, he leaned back and met her gaze. She had unusual eyes, one pale gold, almost the shade of whiskey. The other was pale, pale blue . . . almost ice blue. She’d forgone the heavier makeup she often wore and her face looked almost naked. Frowning a little, he sighed and asked, “Are you okay?”

  She shrugged and edged a few feet into his office, turning to stare at the design board. “I shouldn’t have said anything to Zane when he came by. I knew he’d give you a hassle. Dunno why I didn’t think about that.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” The last thing he needed was Keelie feeling all guilty because his brother was acting . . . well. Like himself. No reason for her to feel guilty that Zane was just Zane. When he put his mind to it, Zane could charm a fucking cobra and while Keelie seemed as mean as a damned snake sometimes, she wasn’t. Not really. It was a problem that Zane seemed to have developed a thing for her and Zach figured he needed to step in and make his brother back off.

  He smiled a little. He could do it this weekend. They were all getting together for the twins’ birthday and he could pick a fight with the jerk . . . the mood he was in, it would be fun. He should feel bad, he figured, thinking about picking a fight with one of his brothers at a family get-together, but . . . well. It was going to happen sooner or later anyway and he figured his mom and dad were used to it.

  “Look, Keelie, Zane is just being Zane,” he finally said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She shrugged a little and toyed with the sleeve of the formfitting black shirt she wore. “He wanted me to come to the thing at your folks’ place up in San Diego.”