“No. I’m not married. At least, not anymore.” She cringed, then shook her head at the sting in that admission. “And the end of that marriage is all my fault.”
11
Luke frowned and kept his feet rooted to the ground, even as Agathe turned away, her hurried footsteps taking her to the door. He wanted to be strong, to let her go. But dammit. He couldn’t.
Adrenaline rushed through his veins. He lunged forward. His hand slammed onto the giant glass door a second before she could open it and leave.
“Stop.”
She startled, but he held the door in place.
She stood sandwiched between him and the glass, her pupils wide, black pools and her mouth agape, while he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so unshakably serious.
Her body sagged, and she surrendered her weight to the glass wall behind her, attention cast downward to his belly, the unfocused sheen in her eyes hinting that she probably didn’t see much of anything.
“I don’t understand.” He let his hand fall from the door, trusting that in her seemingly defeated state, she wouldn’t run. How could a woman as young as her have been married, much less divorced? This wasn’t usual for most professional women in Melbourne. Besides, she’d reported being the cause of that divorce. How? “Did you cheat? Lie? Steal? Why would being previously married prevent you from moving on now?”
A backlog of questions warred at the forefront of his mind, but he’d already fired so much at her. He waited, his insides churning with each empty, silent second.
In one breath, he questioned her flippancy toward love, that maybe marriage hadn’t mattered all that much to her, and that was what brought her to his side now. And in another breath, her reluctance to let him know her hid some deeper secret.
Perhaps she feared moving on with someone new.
Perhaps her interest in him wasn’t enough to overcome the legacy of an ex-husband.
Perhaps she was as severely emotionally wounded, and therefore as unavailable, as she claimed.
This served him right for not listening.
“No. No.” She pulled back. “Nothing like that.” Her eyes flared. She’d entered a new level of panic. “Henry and I were an odd match to begin with, but he always treated me well. And I guess I did the best I could, as his wife.”
She continued to frown downwards, signaling that she struggled to explain herself.
An oppressive weight pressed on his chest. Henry. Just hearing her ex-husband’s name, the thought of her sharing a life with some other guy, for some reason, caused him a mountain of real-time pain. He needed answers. He needed a morsel of redeeming truth to pin to this woman. Something to prove his instincts about her weren’t all wrong.
That there was an indefinable goodness within her.
That a spark well and truly existed here.
That his hopes of having her weren’t a complete delusion.
“Then what could you have possibly done that would make you run a mile at the idea of being with someone else?”
She released a strong sigh, like it hurt just to hear his questions, let alone answer them. “I can’t get into this with you. More importantly, I don’t want to. The answer to that question is too personal, and it hurts too much to retell. And let’s be honest, there’ll be no payoff in me retelling it. You and I have no future beyond our professional agreement, remember?”
God, we’re back to that again?
He took her face in his hands and broke his vow not to touch her, or perhaps his vow had been more along the lines of not seducing her, which wasn’t about to happen now.
“Look, I’m interested in you, more than interested. And I know you feel at least something for me, otherwise you wouldn’t have cared about that goddamn teacup or coming out here to apologize.” He tried his best to slow down, the urgency in his delivery, seeming to bring a pink tinge to her cheeks and a wildness to her eyes. “I might not know your story, but I trust my instincts. They tell me you’re someone worth knowing and getting to know. And that starts with learning what your deal is. Don’t make any mistake about this, Agathe, I want to get personal with you. Can you tell me you don’t want that too?”
Her mouth formed a thin line, her pink tinge fading. Her eyelids fluttered at rapid speed, before a breathy creak broke from her throat. “I… I want that too.” Her gaze dropped to his chin, indicating that admission alone stole something from her. “But you won’t stop at just learning about me, will you? You want more than just a confession.”
He remained silent. Still. Despite his attempt at gentlemanly qualities, when it came to Agathe, she was right. He couldn’t hold back. “No. I won’t stop there.”
“No, you won’t.” She slipped out of his hold and pressed a hand over her throat, rubbing as if that might give her comfort. “And you’re right. There is something between us. As much as I try to deny it, I want to act on my feelings too. But act is all I can do, there’s no room for feelings, do you understand?”
Her focus leapt to him, a little startled, a little depleted.
“Agathe.” He meant to say more, but no other words followed.
She lifted a hand, gesturing for him to stop anyway, her eyelids squeezed shut. When her eyes reopened, a renewed strength smoothed out the previously hollow planes of her face. “I have limits, Luke. I… I can’t give you what you’re asking for. I can’t give details, or any true portion of me. I don’t want to talk. Do you understand?”
He nodded, hoping if he stayed silent, if he provided time for her to direct the fragile energy between them, then maybe she’d allow a small glimpse into her world.
“But I…” Her breath shook, and her lips pressed closed.
So, he offered encouragement with finishing her sentence. “Tell me.”
She stepped closer. The familiar scent of sunflowers and rain washed over him. She patted a hand over her chest where her heart was. “I can’t give you this.” She moved the same hand and pressed it gently to his cheek, lifting onto her toes as she did so. “But I can give you this.”
Her lips connected with his, and he understood.
Perfectly.
Even as his hands found a life of their own and captured her waist. Even as he pulled her into him and drove the kiss deeper.
She couldn’t give him her heart. Couldn’t give him her story. But she offered up her body as compromise. Or maybe a remedy for what would otherwise be an unexplored attraction.
But he didn’t plan on stopping at attraction, even though he’d settle for just the physical for now.
In fact, he’d take whatever she gave, as long as that meant not losing her to someone else. Or having nothing of her at all.
12
A shock of electricity ran down Agathe’s spine, her mind and body muddled amid the rash decision she’d just made. Luke’s fingers slid down her back, and his strong and indulgent caresses made her press into him even more. Already she offered herself, a willing sacrifice, despite all her earlier protests—some sex-starved crazy woman because that was exactly what she was—illogical with need. But if she thought about it, nothing about her choice was rash.
This kiss had been three months in the making. For years, she’d let no man touch her, much less initiated any type of touch for herself. The tingle of her skin pointed at how badly she wanted this. The sigh from her lips melted away years of physical captivity. Her body responded with raw and all-encompassing heat, opening her to a new kind of soaring ecstasy.
Oh, but this respite won’t last.
Yes, she knew that as much as she knew her own name, but she couldn’t give away the comfort of Luke’s embrace and the sheer possessiveness in his kiss. Not until she found sweet release. Not until she tasted a moment of her long-dreamed-of oblivion.
His fitted shirt called for her touch, and she ran her hand down his front, testing the firmness of prominent pecs and his flat abdomen. The man was strength incarnate, his lips meshing with hers, while every so often, his tongue would
sweep her mouth and claim this kiss as all his. So vital. So alive. A vivid promise of the delicious escape to come.
He wrenched himself away, and her heart immediately stumbled at the loss. If Luke couldn’t take the edge off her constant heartbreak, nothing else would.
“Let’s take this back to my place.” His stare searched hers, hinting that he fully expected her to say no.
And he was right. She shook her head, unwilling to risk losing her nerve on the drive over to wherever he lived. Besides, taking this interaction to either of their houses might add the kind of personal touch she had no interest in chasing.
He frowned, eyes darkening. “Fine. My office.”
She nodded. His office would do.
He gripped her hand and pulled her along. She jogged in stride with his wide steps, through Tiluma’s corridors with the overly bright lights overhead. He turned his gaze to her, and the heat in his stare sent a shiver of need through her body, as well as an awareness that his office door loomed yards away.
This is it.
He pushed the handle and pressed a palm to her lower back, urging her through to his office. The door soon clicked behind her, and he flicked the lock, sealing the deal. Something about that sharp click jolted her with a sense of finality, even though she had zero desire to run.
He reached for her and padded back a few steps, toward a chocolate leather couch. “I need you.”
But she locked her knees and refused to move. “No. Not there.”
Even the couch seemed too intimate when intimacy was the last thing she wanted or needed. She wouldn’t lie with him. Wouldn’t have him surround her with anything akin to warmth or tenderness. This would have to be raw. Basic. Non-binding. Sex.
For all she cared, he could fuck her till she forgot her own name. In fact, she wanted just that. But at no point could either one of them get attached.
“There.” She jutted her chin toward his desk.
He gave her the same dissatisfied glower as when she’d refused to accompany him home.
“Agathe.” He practically growled her name in a way that affirmed he wanted something beyond a meaningless screw.
Well, too bad.
She leveled a resolute stare his way. His frown deepened, but she refused to let his disapproval sway a decision made to benefit both parties. He was a good man and she wouldn’t lie to him, wouldn’t lead him to believe he was allowed to fall for her. He deserved so much more than the nothingness she had left to offer.
“The desk or nothing.” She crossed her arms and allowed him time to think it over. “And while we’re stopping for air, you better have some protection nearby because—”
His hands crushed her body to his, and her arms sprang open to latch at his shoulders, just as he swept her up and then positioned her legs around his waist. “Is this what you want?”
She nodded, shaking and breathless from the surprise ambush and the fire in his stare.
“And just to be clear” —his lips loomed close to hers— “I have two condoms in my wallet.”
He crashed forth a devouring kiss, drawing her lower lip in until his teeth scraped soft flesh, rougher, needier, more urgent than before.
She moaned, allowing her body to go lax in response to his power, to revel at getting what she wanted and how she wanted it. Harsh passion, with little risk. She’d failed one child already. She wouldn’t fail another, and knowing Luke had come prepared, meant she could let go with less fear that she might get knocked-up anytime this century.
He hoisted her higher, his hands cupping her ass just before it made contact with the desk’s hard surface. Her skin cooled with the sudden chill of polished woodgrain, and only then did she note her skirt hiked above her thighs and her lacy black underwear glaring back up at her.
She lifted her attention to his sly grin, a grin that curled at the corners and darkened his stare. He wasn’t at all an unwilling participant, despite her list of demands. “Happy now?”
She smiled, feeling every bit the vixen. “Oh. Very.”
He groaned and buried his face in her neck, nipping at the tendon just below her ear. “Damn you, Agathe.”
An easy laugh broke free, and she leaned back, raking her fingers through his thick, dark-brown waves, drawing out her growing arousal. “Yes. Damn me to hell.”
His fingers found the ends of her hair, and he tugged back, exposing her throat. Her sensitive skin tingled at the rain of endless kisses, while light blades of awareness spread throughout her body.
Her soft moan seemed to spur him on; he tugged at her underwear, leaving her bare and open to his touch.
A crisp, crinkling sound alerted her to him unrolling a condom. His hard erection pressed to her inner thigh before sliding into her in one solid, smooth glide. That first thrust had her clenching around him, his size battling against her years of sexual deprivation.
He held still, as if he knew. A stinging, burning sensation took her over before it gradually ebbed to nothing.
His thrusts started off slow and then sped up until he rode her with enough urgency to make her cry out. His forceful approach was exactly what she’d asked for, and she leaned back, her torso disconnecting from his until her elbows pressed into the desk.
From this angle, she could see everything. The strain on his face as he pounded into her, trying to hold out and keep it together, the beautiful ripple of muscle as he moved and commanded this hard and unrelenting act.
He took her light years from what the old Agathe would have wanted, sex and Luke fast becoming her remedy for an existence she mostly couldn’t stand.
Oh, but she could stand this.
The feeling of his increasing pace, the intensity of his stare pinned on her and her rising pleasure. She slammed her eyes shut and relished every life-affirming thrust, clenching her thighs around him, lifting her hips to meet him, taking every last inch of his length.
She was equal parts resistant and need. Though her heart screamed for something else. Something intimate… with emotional connection… Who knew how long it would be before she’d experience anything like this again?
Capable fingers dug into her waist, and a fierceness took hold in each of his movements. She cried out to the ceiling, once more blocking out his deep, emerald gaze. That gaze held a pleading promise of something sweet and personal. His fluid movements testified to his ability. To his spirit.
But her broken heart didn’t need any of that. It needed distraction and lust. The temporary bliss of a lover and nothing more.
She surged forward, and he caught her in his arms with the skill of a man who knew how to pay attention—a man who hid tenderness behind all he did to her now.
His strong hand wrapped around her back and he pulled her in. To her relief, he broke eye contact and buried his face against her shoulder.
She bucked against him, urging him to finish. She wanted release and her chance to forget. But all her bucking did was force him back, so his great, green stare came into view, his pupils wide and soft, the stare of a man about to leap into wild, emotional waters.
“No.” She near choked on the word.
His stare confirmed that being with her meant more to him than just going through the motions. It chipped at her denial that, even to her, this was more than mindless fucking.
She liked Luke, genuinely liked him, and everything she’d seen said he was capable of far more than just this.
But this was it. All she could offer. This short burst of passion.
Sex on its own would have to be enough. No matter how much his beseeching gaze awakened the knowledge of what she turned away. Or just how lonely she’d let herself become.
He pressed his forehead to hers, punishing her with his anguished glare, forcing her to see what she did to him. “Too late.”
She didn’t have time to ponder his husky whisper; he increased speed and pumped her with earth-shattering urgency. Her breath rose with each thrust. And those eyes. Those sad and powerful eyes, confirmed wha
t they both knew. He’d succeeded in making her feel.
White hot arousal tore through her body, and she threw back her head, giving way to her desire until her emotions frayed like a row of overly tight stitches, ripping and unraveling her every last restraint.
Pluck. Came the reminder of just how much she missed being loved. And feeling safe. Like maybe she belonged.
She folded against him, savoring his warmth. Another thread tore.
Pluck. The reminder of how much she’d missed having someone hold her. Touch her.
She cried out but didn’t cry, even though the desire was there. Tears were more than she deserved, just as much as she didn’t deserve the ripples of ecstasy running through her body.
Pluck. The sensation of him swelling, his heat spilling within her.
She shuddered and every part of her plunged into limitless bliss right along with him, her body ignited on a cellular level, and pure physical joy smashed a seismic chasm through her long-held control.
That same joy stole at her breath and invaded her every clenched muscle. That same joy shook the ground of who she’d let herself become, while Luke’s arms encased her in a tight embrace. Maybe he knew he’d broken her in some deep way.
She pushed him back, through her staggered breaths and her ebbing trembles, her shattered boundaries began to restore.
She glanced down to the fine-grain lines on his desk, no longer able to hold his gaze. “Thank you.”
Her cold gratitude was designed to slam the door on whatever intimacies he might have glimpsed.
“Agathe.”
She offered no more than her silence.
His resigned sigh filled the expansive room, and he withdrew, all while she battled an unspoken need to have him remain inside her.
Next came a rustling sound and the scratching of a pen over paper, but she kept her gaze low, her forehead throbbing from sustaining a frown.
“Here.” His hands engulfed hers, and something small rasped against her open palm. “Take this.”
The Last Heartbeat Page 10