He hadn’t thought of their bond as love, because in those days, the word love did not figure in his working vocabulary. He’d thought of it more as a monumental pain in the ass, having to look after that feckless little jerk. But in the moments in which Seth allowed himself to consider such things—mercifully few, and usually only when he was drunk off his ass—he knew why he’d hung around. He, like Jesse, needed at least one person to love. A hard, controlling sort of love, but it was the best he had to give. The best he had ever given.
Jesse should never have gone into law enforcement. He was too trusting, too tender-hearted. He should’ve become a pediatric nurse, a goddamn kindergarten teacher. Seth had tried so hard to protect him from the world, but the world was big and sneaky and treacherous, and Jesse had been dead-set on saving it from the bad guys.
If Jesse were here, he would tell him to stop jerking off and cut the pity party. And seeing him parked in the dark outside a woman’s house like a lovesick teenager would have made Jesse laugh his head off. Seth could see him in his mind’s eye, cackling and pointing his finger. Hah. It’s your turn now, bro, and about fucking time, too. Let’s see you act all superior now, sucker.
Seth’s eyes stung, and he scrubbed at them with the back of his hands as he stared up at her bathroom window. He wondered if she were crying again. He’d refrained from watching that part of the show. All twenty-two minutes and twenty-six seconds of it.
Maybe she was taking a bath. He could imagine her stretched out in the tub, her lush curves dripping and gleaming as she sudsed herself up. In a hundred and ten seconds, he could be inside with her.
Helping her bathe.
His hand drifted over onto the door handle. He clutched it until his knuckles ached, and slowly let it go. The guys up in the control tower in his head were armed, dangerous, and not to be fucked with. It was martial law up there, the moralistic bastards.
He slumped down lower. His head pounded, and his gut gnawed. He should have grabbed something to eat. He’d been too keyed up before the meeting, too sex-crazed while Raine had been in his grasp, too upset afterwards. The coffee and doughnuts he’d eaten that morning were a million years ago for a six foot tall, two-hundred-and ten-pound guy with a raging metabolism.
He should have bought the woman lunch before falling on her like a starving wolf, but he’d been so jacked up and frantic. Afraid she would change her mind and slip away from him somehow. He hauled his laptop out, feeling sullen and chastened. No excuse for not getting some work done while he sat there in the dark. He wondered if a violent attack of conscience was a condition that passed relatively quickly, like heartburn, or whether it was a chronic type of thing. Like acne.
In any case, there were limits to his new scruples. Martial law or no martial law, if Raine walked out that door, she was fair game.
If she walked out that door, she was his.
Chapter 8
Bedroom, stairs, kitchen, dining room, living room. She was wearing a groove in the carpeting. She’d tried a hot bath, yoga, herbal tea, relaxing music, but whenever she stopped moving, her body popped up again as if she were on springs. She could only hope this overdose of adrenaline would see her through another grueling day at work.
Work. Her mind raced around in frantic circles. How could she go back to work? How could she put on her makeup and pantyhose and trot off to the office as if it were a normal day—yes, sir, no sir, anything you say, sir—after this crazy night? How could she stick close to Victor Lazar and cultivate his favor if he really had set her up to be seduced and humiliated?
That triggered a fresh bout of reliving every second she’d spent with Seth Mackey. She’d been so wanton, so needy. Thinking of him made her catch her breath and press her shaking thighs together, even though her body was exhausted and sore from his hard use. Even though she was burning with shame. She’d been so stupid.
By the time the clock ticked over to 2:30 A.M., she gave up on sleep, and put on her jogging clothes. She would tear around the block a few times, unload some of this nervous energy.
She did a few stretches on the porch, and broke into a jog, darting between pools of shadow cast by the bushes. The breeze smelled of rain and dead leaves. The darkness was more menacing than usual, but she chalked it up to her mood. She needed to ground herself, and then she could start the process of disguising herself as a normal person.
She heard the muffled pop of a car door opening. Her heart leaped into her throat. She spun around and broke into a dead run.
She heard light, running footsteps behind her. “Raine, hey—”
She recognized his voice, but she’d gone too far down the road to panic to turn back. She gathered her breath for a scream, and Seth clamped his hand over her mouth. “It’s just me, you idiot. Calm down.”
She sank her teeth into his hand. He yanked her braid back, forcing her to release his hand. She lunged for his eyes with her keys.
He blocked her hand and pinioned it behind her back. “Don’t fight me!”
“You scared me!” she hissed. “Let me go!”
He maintained his hard grip on her wrist and braid. “I’m sorry I scared you—”
“Oh, thanks!” She thrashed against him, furious.
“—but there is no good way to get a woman’s attention on a dark street in the middle of the night. Just give me a few seconds.”
Her heart was beating so fast she felt almost faint. “A few seconds for what?”
He lifted her hand up to his face, the one that had the keys clutched in it like a dagger. He brushed the back of her hand across his cheek, an awkward, uncertain gesture. “To apologize,” he mumbled.
She went limp with shock. “Apologize?”
“Yeah.”
She twisted in his arms. He loosened them just enough for her to swivel around and look him in the face. His eyes gleamed in the dim light of the streetlamp. Pirate eyes, dark and watchful. The night shadows made the planes and angles of his beautiful face seem even more inscrutable. “That’s crazy,” she whispered. “After what you said—”
“Yeah, I know. It was terrible, I was wrong, I’m the scum of the earth. What the hell are you doing out here? Jogging? Are you nuts?”
She brushed aside his diversion without even noticing it. “Let me get this straight. You mean you’ve changed your mind? You no longer think that I was paid to sleep with you?”
“Right. Exactly. You got it.”
She was alarmed by the little burst of joy that went through her. It proved beyond all doubt that she had an inexhaustible source of blind, self-destructive stupidity inside her. “What changed your mind?”
He glared at her. “I thought it through.”
“You thought it through,” she repeated, surprise giving way to anger. “Good for you, Seth. How perceptive of you. How sensitive.”
He stiffened. “Lazar set you up, Raine. He offered you to me like a cigar. What was I supposed to think?”
So it was true. Just as she had suspected. She filed that chilling bit of information away for future thought. “And you took what he offered,” she pointed out. “That makes you just as bad.”
He started to say something, and stopped himself. He shook his head, and pulled her against him, hard. “I wanted you.”
“That’s gratifying, I suppose,” she faltered, squashed against the solid wall of his chest. “But it was so amazing, what we shared today. And then—and then you—”
“Yeah, I know,” he broke in. “I was an asshole. I’ll apologize forever if you want. Let me grovel. Here, watch this. Gold medal, Olympic groveling.” He sank to his knees, still clutching her waist.
Raine batted at his head. He ducked, weaving back and forth, but not really trying to evade her blows now that the nervous energy had gone out of them. After a moment, she subsided and just stood quietly in his grasp, staring down into his dark eyes. A hot, trembling sensation was spreading throughout her body. Her fingers had gotten threaded through his hair somehow. She was alm
ost petting him.
He was working his black magic on her already, clouding her mind with his sorcerer’s tricks. Making her forget what a bastard he had been, how much he had hurt her feelings. She dug her fingers into his thick hair and tugged it, hard. He winced, but did not yield. His chin was pressed against her navel, and he gripped her hips, the intense warmth of his big hands sinking through the fabric.
Her throat was vibrating, her whole body was vibrating, as if she were about to shake apart. “Let me go, Seth,” she whispered.
“No. I’m not letting you go until you accept my apology.”
She covered her face with her trembling hands, smelling the scent of his hair upon them. “It doesn’t work that way. You can’t coerce me into accepting your apology.”
“Watch me.” His voice was low and stubborn.
“We’ll freeze out here. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’ll keep you warm.” He pressed his face against her belly. The heat of his breath spread through the zippered sweatshirt.
She was shaking so hard now that his hair sliding between her fingers was her only point of reference, the only way to tell which way gravity was supposed to pull in this shifting universe. Her anger was draining away. It leaked out as if she were a sieve, leaving her hollow and desolate. She just wasn’t designed to hold anger for very long. It was a structural flaw in her basic personality.
Canny as he was, he felt the exact instant that she softened. He rose to his feet, opened the back door of the Chevy and pushed her smoothly inside. He followed her in and shut the door. The lock snapped down. They sat together in the dense darkness, silent but for their ragged breathing.
He pulled her shivering body onto his lap, tucked her head into the curve of his neck, and hugged her hard. She felt his mute, painful apology in the quivering tension of his muscular body.
She also felt the pulse leaping in his throat, the heat of his erection against her thigh. Maybe that was all this was about. He hadn’t gotten enough this afternoon, the insatiable bastard, and he thought he could just apologize and have some more. Anger flickered inside her, but she was too tired to fan the flame. It guttered and died. She was burned out, content to lie against him, exhausted.
He nuzzled her neck with small, soothing kisses, and his heat radiated into her body, making her sigh and stretch, almost purring. What an odd sensation it was to be held like a baby in his strong arms, surrounded by his heat. She felt protected, cuddled. It was an illusion, of course, but a lovely, delicious one. She wanted it to last.
But it was stupid to relax. Seth was a maze of contradictions. Tenderness and cruelty, seductive persuasion and ruthless coercion, wound together so tightly that it was impossible to pull them apart. Every barrier she put up he brushed aside as if it were tissue paper. She didn’t have the strength to construct another one tonight.
“Don’t you make a fool of me again, Seth Mackey.” She pressed her mouth against the hot, velvety skin of his neck and nipped him, hard enough to make him wince. “Don’t you dare.”
His arms tightened until she could barely breathe. “I won’t.”
She wiggled in his arms. “Hey. Ease up,” she protested.
“No.”
“Just let me breathe,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes were doubtful, but he loosened his grip. Very slightly.
She pried herself out from under his chin. “Don’t think that just because I’m letting you hold me means that you’re off the hook.”
His teeth flashed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” There was an infinitesimal purring sound, and her zipper gave way. He shoved her sweatshirt open, and his hands slid inside, moving over her body.
She batted them away. “So that’s what this is about? You just apologized because you want to fuck me again?”
He paused. “That word doesn’t sound right coming out of your mouth.” His tone was vaguely disapproving.
She let out a startled laugh. “Oh, really, Seth? Did I offend you?”
He cuddled her against his chest. Her cheek scraped against the wool of his sweater. “Never mind,” he muttered. “Come back here.”
“How long have you been here?” she asked him.
“Since about twelve-thirty.”
“Two hours?” She struggled into a sitting position, startled.
He shrugged, rubbing the wisps at the end of her braid against his cheek. “Yeah. What of it? God, your hair is soft.”
She tried to pull her braid away from him, but he kept a tight, jealous grip on it. “Why didn’t you just…come to the door?”
He sniffed her braid. “I figured you’d tell me to fuck off again. You were royally pissed with me, and it is the middle of the night, after all.”
“So why?” she persisted. “Why stay out here in the dark?”
“Why not? Why does anybody do anything? Do I have to have a reason? I felt bad. I wanted to be near you. Maybe I wanted to do penance, or something weird like that.”
“Penance,” she repeated. Her lips began to twitch. “If it’s penance, then it’s not enough.”
“What would be enough?”
She pushed at his chest and twisted until she was perched on his lap facing him. “Let me think about it for a while.”
He snorted. “Bad idea. Don’t think, Raine.”
“Yes, it would be awfully convenient for you if I didn’t, wouldn’t it?” she said. “Too bad my brain doesn’t have an off switch.”
He stared at her for a moment, his eyes unreadable pools of shadow. He slid his hands under the hem of her shirt. “Do you know how sexy you are in that jogging stuff?”
“Oh, please,” she snapped. “Don’t even. You can’t distract me with cheap flattery like that, not after you—”
“Yeah, I know,” he cut in. “I’m a rude son-of-a-bitch, we’ve established that. Let’s move on. I’d rather talk about how soft your skin is underneath this shirt. How I want to slide my hand in, and touch your belly…like this. God, so soft. Like flower petals. I’ve never felt anything like it. I could pet you for hours and never get bored.”
The lazy caress made sweet shivers race across her skin. With the rough hunger in his voice and a few simple words, he created images in her head, unleashed sensations in her body; and melded them seamlessly together into a promise of pleasure that was seductive and voluptuous and sweet. She had told him that her brain didn’t have an off switch, but she had lied. It did. He had found it. And he knew it.
“You are dangerous, Seth Mackey,” she whispered.
He pushed a wisp of hair out from her mouth and dropped a light, butterfly kiss on her jaw. “Maybe.” He tasted her lips again, and then deeper and hungrier, his lips seeking and coaxing, then demanding.
She turned her face away from his kiss, her heart pounding. “You’re not a nice man.”
“No,” he agreed calmly. “I never pretended to be.”
“I should have picked somebody tame to experiment with,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I’m out of my depth with you.”
He nuzzled the side of her face. “Too bad, sweetheart,” he muttered. “You picked me, and you hooked me. Now you’ve got to deal with me, whether you like it or not. I’m not easy to get rid of.” He cupped her face in his hand, the rough, callused spots scraping lightly against her skin as he explored the contours of her cheekbone. “How much experimenting have you done?”
“Hmm?” She was muddled and distracted by his caresses.
“You said you should have picked someone tamer than me. What does that mean? How much sexual experimenting have you done?”
He smoothed her hip, and she jerked as his fingers feathered along the cleft of her bottom, tickling and teasing. She forced herself to concentrate. “Um, not a lot,” she admitted.
“How much exactly? Be honest. If you’re lying, I’ll know.”
His fierce attention made her feel hunted. “That’s really none of your business.”
“That’s where
you’re dead wrong. Since yesterday, everything about you is my business.”
She tried to think of a response to that outrageous statement. Nothing forceful came to mind, just a sense that she’d best choose her battles with him very carefully. He had enormous charisma and stamina, and she was too vulnerable and depleted to oppose him.
She might as well let him win this one. At least on this front, she had nothing to hide. Indeed, she had practically nothing to tell.
She let out a long, slow sigh. “Just the one time,” she offered.
His body went extremely still. “One time?”
She winced at the ugly memory. “Yes. In Paris. I was sick of being a virgin, so I decided to—”
“How old were you?”
She lost her train of thought, and flailed for a moment. “Oh, twenty-four, I guess. Almost twenty-five. It was a little over three years ago. I was at the Louvre, and I ran into this man that I knew—”
“Jesus. Twenty-four.” He sounded almost horrified.
“You were the one who said you wanted to hear this,” she snapped.
“Go on, go on. I won’t interrupt you again,” he assured her.
“Anyhow, I ran into this man I knew, and, well, he seemed nice. Kind of dull, but pleasant. And safe, I guess. He was in Paris on business. We had dinner, and I decided it was time. So I let him escort me back to my flat.”
“And?” he prompted.
She winced again. “And what? I let him—well, we, um, did it.”
“And?”
Her face was burning. “God, don’t you ever let up?”
“Never,” he said calmly. “Tell me.”
“Well, it was terrible.” The words burst out of her in an embarrassed little rush.
Seth was eloquently silent. “What constitutes terrible?” he asked. His voice sounded deeply curious.
“Oh, please—”
“Just tell me, so I won’t ever do it to you.”
She laughed, but it felt more like a sob. “You couldn’t. It was over in less than a minute, and it hurt. He—he ran out on me while I was washing up. I came out of the bathroom and he was gone.”
Behind Closed Doors (The Mccloud Series Book 1) Page 12