Wrecked

by Shiloh Walker

  The venom in Keelie’s voice was like a slap in the face and the fury in her eyes was almost palpable. Keelie opened her mouth to say something else, but then she snapped her jaws together and shook her head. “You know what? Fuck this.”

  She turned on her heel and stormed away, while Abigale stood there and tried to figure out what in the world had just happened.

  Just what in the world . . .

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You going to tell me what had you so upset earlier?”

  Zach put the empty plate on the coffee table as Abby stood up.

  It was late, almost nine and it had been a long, tense hour. Hell, it had been a long, tense day and not just because the two of them had almost had their first fight as . . . whatever the hell they were.

  “What?” She gave him a distracted glance and then shrugged. “Oh, nothing. Here, let me . . .”

  He caught her wrist before she could take the plate. “Leave it for a few minutes.”

  She resisted at first but as he continued to tug on her wrist, she sighed and placed her plate with his and went to sit down next to him. He caught her hips and tumbled her onto his lap, shifting her so she didn’t bump against his ribs.

  “Zach, damn it,” she said, trying to pull away. “You need to be careful. Did you forget about your ribs?”

  “I was.” He combed a hand through her hair and leaned in, pressing his brow to hers. “Besides, they’re my ribs. If I do something stupid, it’s my own fault. Now . . . what’s bothering you?”

  She squirmed again. “Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  She slid him a look out of the corner of her eye and then just shrugged. “I . . .” She stopped and sighed, leaning in to rest her head on his shoulder.

  Closing his eyes, he curled an arm around her. How many nights . . .

  “We’ve done this a lot,” she murmured in an eerie echo of his thoughts. “Just this, you know that?”

  Opening his eyes, he glanced down at her and saw that she was looking up at him. And unless he was mistaken, there was a look in her eyes that held both satisfaction and sadness.

  “Yeah. I know.” Brushing her hair back, he leaned in and touched his brow to hers. “Abby . . . what’s wrong? I know you too well to buy the nothing bit.”

  “Do you know me?”

  Alarm stirred inside him. “Yeah, sugar. I know you. Hell, how could I not? We’re best friends.” Tracing his finger down her neck, determined to make sure she hadn’t forgotten, he added, “And more . . . now. I’m pretty damned pleased with that more bit, let me tell you.”

  She curled a hand around his wrist and some of the tension knotting his gut eased a little as she added quietly, “So am I.” Then she shifted her gaze away from him. “I do think you know me. Better than anybody else. But . . .” She cleared her throat and paused, her mouth opening, then closing like she was trying to find the words. “Lately, I’m wondering . . . hell. I wasn’t but then people keep saying . . .”

  People.

  His mind shot back to earlier in the day. He’d seen Keelie standing there, seen her storm down the hall and the woman had been in a mood all damn day. But Keelie was a brat and a half most of the time anyway. Now, though? Not to mention the conversation he’d interrupted between Abby and Sebastian.

  Stroking his thumb over her skin, he said quietly, “People keep saying what, Abby?”

  Pink crept up her cheeks and she shook her head, leaned back in against him. “This is stupid, Zach. Hell, you’ve had the worst couple of days and I’m sitting here griping.” Once more she tucked her head against his chest and seconds ticked by, but he knew her too well to trust that it was done. The odd tension in her body, the way her hand fisted his shirt, knotting the fabric up, then smoothing it out, over and over. Yeah. She wasn’t done, not by a long shot.

  “Sebastian and Keelie are both mouthing off about how I don’t know you,” she finally said. “Are . . . are they right? Do I know you?”

  He was going to kick his little brother’s ass. Screw being considerate and not messing up his brother’s pretty face. If the idiot wanted to make sure he wasn’t messed up for his job, maybe he shouldn’t have been messing with Zach’s woman.

  His hand tightened on her waist as those words rolled through him. My woman . . . damn. He’d only been waiting half his life to be able to say that. Think that.

  And . . . she’d never known.

  Do I know you?

  The sadness, the uncertainty in her voice ripped at him. Yeah, there were things she didn’t know, but those were things he’d kept from her. Things he hadn’t let her see. That was his issue, not hers. And fuck Sebastian, fuck Keelie, for putting that pain in her eyes.

  Shifting around on the couch, he tumbled her down onto her back, ignoring the screaming pain that went through him as he did it. He didn’t care how much it hurt just then, because he needed to touch her, needed to hold her, and he needed to see her and have her see him. Tucking her body under his, he pressed his face against her neck as he waited for the pain to fade a little before he spoke.

  “How old was I when I decided I should start smoking?” he whispered against her neck.

  She skimmed a hand up his back and sighed. “You were fifteen. And I laughed my ass off when you got sick on set and puked your guts up because you were trying to finish the damn cigarette with that cute extra you were trying to impress.”

  He’d been trying to make Abby jealous, but that was beside the point. It hadn’t worked and that was because the feelings just hadn’t been there on her side.

  “Yeah. And Mom thought I had the flu . . . right up until she smelled the smoke on my clothes. I had her convinced somebody else had been smoking around me but then you went and tattled on me.” He lifted his head and brushed her hair back from her face. “You remember how long I went without speaking to you?”

  She laid a hand on his cheek. “A week. It was one of the longest weeks of my life.”

  “Mine, too.” He rubbed his cheek against her palm and then dipped his head so he could kiss her mouth. That mouth, damn it. He’d only been waiting years to kiss her. “Although I did manage to get most of the scenes done in one take that week.”

  She made a face at him. “Yeah, one week out of how many years? I always nailed things in one take.”

  “You didn’t that week.” He stroked a thumb down her cheek.

  “You probably had fun watching me screw up.” She pushed a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t help it. You were mad at me and I was miserable. I couldn’t concentrate.”

  “I didn’t have fun watching you screw up.” Turning his face, he pressed a kiss to her wrist. “I missed talking to you, teasing you while we went through our lines. And I kept trying to think about how I could fix things.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes solemn, dark . . . and still sad.

  “When did I first start talking about opening a place of my own?”

  “After your first tattoo. Zach . . . I know I know stuff about you, but lots of people know stuff.” Then she averted her face and sighed. “Damn it, I sound like an idiot. Look, forget I said anything—”

  “Have I ever cried during a movie?”

  She blinked and then started to laugh. “Okay, now Zach . . . that’s bad. You cry every damn time you watch Old Yeller.”

  “I don’t.” He pressed a kiss to her collarbone. “I wouldn’t dare let myself do that if my brothers were around. Or anybody else, really. With you . . . it’s different.”

  She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Geez, thanks.”

  He skimmed his lips along the delicate line of her collarbone, along her neck, up until he reached her ear. Then he caught her earlobe in between his teeth. “What’s one place I’ve always wanted to go, and haven’t been?”

  She lapsed into silence and when he lifted up, she stared at him. A slow, faint smile tugged at her lips. “Alaska. We were watching Into the Wild. Both decided we had to go.”

  “Y
ou were going there. The honeymoon.” The word was like acid on his tongue even though the wedding wasn’t happening. “Now it’s off. Maybe one day we can try for it together.”

  “I’d love that.” Then she bit her lip and caught his shirt in her hands. “Who was she, Zach?”

  Distracted, he rubbed his lips over hers. That thing she did, when she was just a little nervous, biting her lip like that . . . she didn’t do it often, just around him really. It drove him nuts, though, and made him want to do all sorts of crazy things. Like bite her. In the same spot she was biting. Then he’d . . .

  “Zach.”

  Her hand tangled in his hair and tugged a little just when he was getting ready to do just that.

  Blinking, he focused on her face. “What?”

  “I was asking you a question.” Then she muttered, “I can see where your mind is.”

  He grinned at her and then swore as the cut in his lip split. “Shit.” He shifted his weight to his elbow and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. A spot of blood appeared and he sighed. “I really want to beat on those punks even harder sometimes.”

  Her eyes glinted. “Can I take a swing or two?” Her fingers were gentle as she touched his cheek. “I’m still having some bad moments here. But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “What was it?” he asked, catching her finger between his teeth and biting gently.

  “Who was she?”

  It would have been easier if he could pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about. He took his time, though, formulating his answer, debating on whether or not to answer. Levering his weight off of her, he headed to the bar that separated his kitchen from the living room. “Why are you asking?” Stall. That was the way to go.

  “Because I want to know. I want to know who she was, how much she mattered. I want to know what happened and if you still love her.”

  Reaching for a bottle of whiskey, he splashed some into a glass and tried to figure which of those questions he could answer without lying. “Sometimes, sugar, people come into your life and they mean everything,” he said slowly, staring down into the amber liquid.

  He heard the soft pad of her footsteps on the floor and looked up to see her crossing over to him. “So she means a lot to you,” she whispered, her eyes dark.

  A voice in the back of his mind insisted, Just tell her.

  But, hell, what if she wasn’t ready for this? They’d just gotten together and things were going good, damn it. He knew she felt something. Finally. What if he told her and it scared her and she took off running from him?

  She reached out and touched a finger to the glass. “You know, if you’re going to take any of the pain medicine, you can’t drink that.”

  “This works better than pain medicine,” he said absently. “And I don’t make an ass of myself.”

  Sighing, he tossed half of it back and let it burn its way down his throat before he lowered the glass and then focused on Abby. The sadness was back in her eyes and he had to get it out, had to do something.

  Catching her hand in his, he studied her face. He knew that face so well: every expression, every line of it, every curve, the way a smile would show in her eyes even if it didn’t show anywhere else. And the same for pain. The same for sadness. Right now, there was sadness.

  “People come and go all the time. But there’s only been one woman who came and stayed and mattered . . . it’s you,” he said quietly. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say, but he wasn’t entirely ready to say that, just yet.

  She flicked him a look. “That’s not what I was asking, Zach. I know I’m important to you. I just—”

  He came out from behind the bar and tugged her toward him, hard. She landed against him with enough force to make his bruised ribs scream but he didn’t care. Cradling the back of her head in his hand, he lowered his mouth to hers. “Important . . . Abby. Important describes what I have to do by April 14. Important describes getting my license renewed, my bills paid, payroll . . . Abby. You’re not important. You’re everything.”

  * * *

  Her breath froze in her lungs and for a moment, she was even convinced her heart had stopped. As Zach lowered his mouth to hers, she was afraid to even move. She felt the rough edge of the wound on his mouth and for fear of hurting him, she didn’t even kiss him back, but the gentleness of that kiss just about stole the strength out of her.

  He pulled back and reached up. He was still holding her gaze as he freed the top button of the simple black blouse she’d worn for work today. Unable to look away, she just watched him as he stripped her blouse away, then her bra, letting them fall to the floor.

  Her skirt and panties followed and then he caught her hands, guided them to his shirt. “Zach, are you . . .”

  “I’m fine,” he muttered. “Hell, I was fine this morning when you gave me a little peck on the cheek like I was a schoolboy or something. It’s not like I’ve never had a few bruises or anything.”

  A few bruises, she thought weakly as she drew his shirt up. Ribs bruised, his eye swollen, knuckles ragged and torn, not to mention his mouth. But any argument she might have had faded away as he helped her pull his shirt away, throwing it to the ground.

  The muscles in his chest and arms flexed and her mouth went dry at the sight. Then fury and concern, a fascinating mix, twisted through her as she stared at the dizzying array of colors that had bloomed across his torso.

  She leaned in and pressed her lips to his ribs, traced a path along his flesh until she’d gone from one side to the other.

  “I think there’s some bruising down lower,” Zach teased, cupping his hand over her head.

  She laughed, blushing a little as she straightened. Placing her hands flat against his chest, she tried to stop thinking about the bruises and focused just on him. Under her hand, she saw the edge of the dagger piercing the heart. The scrollwork around it was stylized, some of it all but lost in the color, and the dim light made it even harder to see, but she still took her time, tracing the line of the dagger down to where the blade pierced the heart. Leaning in, she pressed her lips to it and reached for the snap of his jeans.

  “Bruising down here, huh?” She dragged the zipper down and grinned as she felt him jump against her fingers. Laughing a little, she said, “Well, I can tell you’re definitely up for this.”

  “I’d have to be dead not to be up for you.”

  She shoved the jeans down his hips and he nudged her back to finish the job but when she went to move back in, he caught her around the waist and spun them around, backing her up until she found herself against his dining room table. The long, solid length of mahogany felt cool against her naked butt as he lifted her up and set her on the edge.

  “Lay down,” he said, staring down into her face.

  Licking her lips, she eased herself backward, first to her elbows, then going flat, watching his face.

  His eyes remained locked on hers for a long, long moment, but instead of touching her, he moved away.

  Abigale frowned, watching his naked back as he disappeared around a corner.

  When he came back in, he had a long wooden box under his arm. Eyeing it nervously, Abigale went to push up on her elbow. “Ah . . . what’s that? If this is your way of telling me that you’ve got some kinky sex secrets . . .”

  He laughed a little. “Oh, there might be a few kinky fantasies, but anything you don’t want to do can remain a fantasy as long as I’ve got you in my bed.” He put the box on the table and opened it. She blinked at what she saw inside.

  Paint.

  Cocking a brow, she said, “I dunno . . . being into finger painting and sex might be called kinky.”

  He snorted and put his hand on the middle of her chest, nudging her back down. “Do you trust me?” he asked, leaning over her and staring down at her.

  Golden brown hair fell into his face, and against the stark bruising and swelling around his left eye, his blue eyes looked even more blue, even more compelling. Licking her
lips, she caught his face in her hands and tugged him down. “Like I never trusted anybody else.”

  “Then close your eyes and let me do something . . .” He quirked a grin at her. “Call it a kinky sex thing if it makes you happy.”

  Nerves fluttered in her belly, but she hadn’t lied about trusting him.

  Slowly, she pulled her hands from his hair and lowered them to her sides. Then, after one last look at him, she closed her eyes.

  The familiar scent of rubbing alcohol filled the air and she wrinkled her nose. “That’s not exactly a comforting smell, Zach.”

  He laughed and swiped something down her breasts, along each curve, her nipples. She hissed as she felt the flesh pucker and draw tight. He continued down and as whatever it was dried out, he swapped it out for another. As the alcohol dried on her skin, she said, “If I feel another tattoo needle, I’m going to beat you. I wanted one tattoo. Just one.”

  “Relax,” he said easily. “Not like I can do anything permanent here anyway. And you know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  She pursed her lips and tried to relax.

  Then she felt him swabbing her skin again, followed by the press of something that felt an awful lot like paper. He’d done something like that when he’d done her tattoo back at his office. “Zach—”

  “Shhh. Give me a second to do this first thing and I’ll grab you a drink.”

  “Who said I wanted a drink?”

  “Does that mean you don’t?”

  She stuck her tongue out. That resulted in him crushing his mouth to hers and she groaned, reaching for him, but he was pulling away before she had a chance.

  Frustrated, she went to put a hand behind her head and he caught her wrist. “Can’t do that. You’ll mess up the lines. I’ll get you a pillow.”