All Chained Up (13 page)

He was staying. Spending the night.

Every alarm bell in her head should be going off, but she could do nothing but hold herself still against him, her heart beating like a drum in her too tight chest as he wrapped one hard arm around her waist and pulled her back until she fit snug against his chest.

Briar finally found her voice. “What are you doing?”

“Going to sleep.”

She moistened her lips, somehow doubting she would ever be able to fall asleep like this. She had never slept with a man before. She and Beau had always gone to their separate beds. This was alien and strange.
And it was Knox
Callaghan.
At the moment that struck her as the weirdest thing of all. He had been an inmate a short time ago, as off limits as a guy could get, and now they were spooning in her bed.

But it didn't seem to affect him. She listened as his breathing slowed and evened. He was actually going to sleep. She squeezed her eyes shut in a hard, punishing blink, telling herself she would never be able to do the same. Not with his big, delicious body wrapped around hers. It wouldn't be possible. Her hand came up to cover his forearm, enjoying the tight ropes of sinew beneath his skin that made her feel so safe. So protected. That was her last thought before she drifted to sleep.

 

FOURTEEN

K
NOX WOKE WITH
a start in the dark, disorientated . . . feeling like he was back in the prison again. In the hole where everything was darkness and cold. He whimpered, feeling lost, alone. Except there was warmth. Another body beside him. Wrapped up around him. Soft with sweet-­smelling hair and a rounded ass that was rubbing against his dick.
Pears
.

His body knew her. Wanted her. He curled a hand around her hip and dipped down her navel to her beckoning pussy. Thighs parted sweetly at the first foray of his fingers. She was wet. Ready for him.

Briar sighed, moaned his name and rubbed back against his cock. He didn't even hesitate. He removed his hand and positioned himself, sliding inside her, pushing deep. Tight heat surrounded him and he ground down against her, pumping faster, sliding through her slick warmth. Nothing had ever felt this good. So perfect.

Soft cries filled his ears, and his hands found her breasts, molding the plump mounds as he rolled over, pinning her under him and working in and out of her body.

“Knox, yes, yes, yes . . .”

The sound of his name drove him into a frenzy. She grew tighter around him, closing and squeezing him like a fist as he pumped in and out of her, slamming into her hard. He pushed and pulled and came with a groan, spilling himself deep inside all that sweet, milking heat.

He collapsed on the pliant body under him, feeling as warm and satiated as he had ever felt.

“Uh,” a voice said from under him, “you're a little heavy.”

He stiffened and jackknifed into a sitting position.

He fixed wide eyes on Briar as she lifted to a sitting position beside him.

He dragged a hand over his skull, chafing the back of his head where the hair was the shortest. “Oh, God.” He'd just fucked Briar. Half asleep. Without a condom. “A-­Are you okay?”

He inhaled a thin breath, wondering if this was what he had become. It was one of his worst fears. That the Rock had made him into a monster that destroyed those softer than him.

She released a breathy little laugh that didn't exactly scream you-­animal-­get-­the-­hell-­away-­from-­me. “Well, that was one way to wake up, that's for sure.”

“Oh, shit, Briar.” He reached out a hand to touch her and then dropped it at his side. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean—­”

“Why are you apologizing? I wanted it, too. I didn't tell you to stop. I didn't say no.”

I didn't say no.

He tried to take comfort in that. He did, but he wondered . . . would he have heard her if she had? Bile rose in his throat because he wasn't sure. He hated himself right then. How could he be . . .
this
? It became painstakingly clear to him that he needed to get as far as possible from Briar Davis. Before he fucked up her life as much as he had his own. He dragged both hands over his skull.

She sighed then, looking so calm when he was losing his shit. “I guess the whole no condom thing was reckless,” she admitted, and that's when he heard the shakiness in her voice. She wasn't as composed as he thought.

“I'm clean, Briar,” he sought to reassure her—­of at least that one thing he could reassure her. “I don't use drugs . . . I haven't been with anyone in a very long time.” It felt like forever. Because the last time he was with a girl, he had been that other person. A boy. The Knox Callaghan of another life. Another world and time. That Knox Callaghan might have been good enough for the likes of Briar Davis. He could have asked her out and taken her on an actual date. The kind of thing that good ­people did. Guys that didn't kill. Guys that didn't spend the better part of a decade penned up like an animal.

She hesitated. “Really?”

He sucked in a breath and admitted what she needed to hear. What she deserved to hear. “I haven't been with anyone since I went in. When I was twenty. And I didn't have sex while I was in there either.” It was necessary to state. Plenty of guys did. Both willingly and unwillingly.

“Wait . . . so you've been out for almost two months now?”

“Yeah.”

“And you haven't . . .” She couldn't hide the incredulity from her voice or the widening of her eyes in the gloom of her room.

“Why is that such a surprise? I didn't sleep with anyone for eight years. What's another two months?” He detected her shock in the long pause of silence. He reached out and pushed the hair back off her shoulder. “I went a long time without. Figured I might as well wait for something good.” Something other than a quickie with someone he just met. “And you were very good . . . Nurse Davis.”

A dark shadow crept over her cheeks and he knew she was blushing.

His levity slipped, remembering that it had been so good that he didn't even use a condom just now. “But I shouldn't have done that. Not like that.”

“According to my menstruation app, this isn't even the time of the month when I'm most fertile,” she said quickly, like speaking the words fast made it somehow less embarrassing. She reached for the comforter as though recalling her nakedness. He watched hungrily as she pulled the covers over her, hiding her body from his eyes. That would be his last glimpse of all those curves, and that knowledge filled him with an ache. A longing that shot straight to his cock. He felt himself harden all over again and knew he had to get the hell away from her. Fast. Before he lost control again and she was too sweet and obliging to deny him.

“It's not likely . . .” she hedged.

Not likely. He supposed she would know about that better than anyone. She was a nurse and it was her body, but he still wasn't proud of himself, and he
still
wasn't okay with what happened. No matter how much he'd reveled in her . . . bare-­skinned. No matter how much he wanted to lose himself in her again, he couldn't.

She was as bad for him as he was for her. Around her, he lost control. And he needed to be in control. Losing control was what got him in prison. And he had vowed to never make that mistake again.

He stood up from the bed and reached for his clothes. He dressed in the dark, watching her watch him. Emotion flickered over her gaze. She was so transparent. Wore her emotions like a badge on her face. It made her all the more enticing. She wasn't hard to read. He didn't have to wonder what she felt or thought. Unlike everyone else he had been around in the last eight years. Always distrusting them. Always second-­guessing.

She looked wounded. And that only made him feel like a bigger bastard. He pulled his shirt back on and then stood there, his hands hanging at his sides, empty, bereft.

“You're going.” Not a question. Just a simple statement. She lifted her chin as though his leaving her in the middle of the night didn't bother her in the least. As though he hadn't just screwed her and was now running for the door. No, it wasn't a huge fuck-­you at all.

“I should go.”

She nodded stiffly in lieu of a reply.

“You'll let me know,” he added, his words hanging with implication, his gaze sharp on her.
You'll let me know if I messed up your life and knocked you up.

“Of course,” Briar said quickly. Too quickly. And he knew she was lying. She wouldn't let him know. The good, responsible, respectable girl in her wasn't going to reach out to a felon she had a one-­night stand with for anything. For her, this was where it would end. If the possibility of fatherhood wasn't hanging over him, he could let her do that. But she
would
be hearing from him again.

Fatherhood
.

A bolt of panic shot down his spine. Knox never thought he would be a father. Never wanted to be. It was enough for him to take care of Uncle Mac, run Roscoe's, and convince his parole officer that he was walking the straight and narrow. Eventually, North would get out and together they would take care of Uncle Mac and Roscoe's. The bar had been in his family for over seventy years. It was their legacy. Roscoe's had been standing when Sweet Hill was nothing but tumbleweeds. For now it was on him to make sure it kept standing. Fatherhood wasn't supposed to happen. Not to him.

North wasn't like him. He still smiled. Still found things to laugh at—­even in prison. North could be a father someday. Married with a ­couple of kids. Not him. He had ruined enough lives. He wouldn't ruin some innocent kid's life, too. And he sure as hell wasn't going to ruin Briar Davis.

If it wasn't already too late for that. That fate might already be decided. In that case, he would make the best of it. It was the only thing he could do.

“Briar . . .” He hesitated, hating to make any demands on her. Knowing he didn't have that right, but she had to understand. She had to believe she wasn't alone in this. “I want to know.”

“Okay. Fine.” An edge entered her tone. “I'll let you know.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and opened it to his contacts. “What's your number?”

She paused for a moment, and he arched an eyebrow, waiting until she rattled off her number. He punched it in, saving her to his contacts and then sliding his phone into his back jeans pocket. “I'll text you so you have my number.”

“Okay.” Another one word reply. He didn't like it. Her cold acceptance. He wanted her to talk. To say something. To not sit bundled under her covers looking so wounded. But then he would have to be someone else. A guy that would spend the night with her. Take her to breakfast. To church. To dinner at his parents'. Not him.

“All right.” He moved to the door, feeling like a grade A bastard. He hovered in the threshold of her room. Nothing about this was right. Leaving. Staying. “You'll be hearing from me.”

Turning, he walked out of her apartment. And tried to forget the sight of her sitting alone in that bed.

 

FIFTEEN

T
HURSDAY NIGHTS WEREN'T
the busiest at Roscoe's but they still saw a hefty crowd. Bud was closing up tonight, so Knox left just shy of midnight. The crowd had already started to thin by then. Some ­people actually had to get up early for work. Aunt Alice had off tonight and she promised to take dinner to Uncle Mac. Knowing her, she had probably stocked the fridge with fresh groceries, too. At least the old man had a good meal tonight. Knox would get up early and make him some eggs and bacon before he took his run.

He rarely missed a morning run. After eight years locked up he couldn't get enough of jogging in the wide-­open spaces and dragging all that clean fresh air into his lungs. He wasn't in a ten-­by-­eight cell. He wasn't in the yard either. He didn't have to worry about where he could and could not go. There was none of the constant tension. Just freedom.

The back parking lot was empty as he made his way to his pickup. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, checking for messages. He didn't have many contacts. Only a few ­people even bothered to text him. His aunt and uncle. ­Couple of guys from work so they could verify work schedules. His cousin Becky texted him occasionally.

But he wasn't checking for them. He was checking to see if Briar had texted. He knew it was probably too soon for her to know one way or another if she was pregnant, but it had been almost a week since he saw her, and he couldn't get her out of his head. He told himself it was because he'd screwed up and neglected to use a condom, but he knew that wasn't it. That wasn't the only reason. He couldn't stop thinking about
her
. How she felt against him. How she tasted. One night together hadn't purged her from his system. It only made him want her again.

Loose gravel skidded beneath his boots as he came to a hard stop at the sight of his truck. It was the same truck he owned before he went in. He'd saved up a lot of summers for it. It wasn't in the best shape, but it ran smooth, and it definitely looked better before he went in to work tonight. A ­couple of the windows were crashed in and it looked like someone took a baseball bat to the body of the truck.

They'd also written in red spray paint across his door.
KILLER
.

“Shit.” He exhaled a heavy breath. His aunt had mentioned that a ­couple of guys stopped by Roscoe's asking for him. She suggested that they might be old friends, but he knew better. He didn't have any friends left. He hadn't kept in touch with anyone while he was inside.

They were probably friends of Mason Leary. The guy he killed. He'd had friends. Family. ­People who refused to believe that Mason was a brutal rapist. They would care if Knox was out. They would take exception to the fact that he was free to walk the streets. They'd do this to his truck. And maybe it was their right. He'd taken someone from them, after all. Leary might have destroyed Katie and deserved a cold grave . . . but that didn't mean other ­people weren't hurt over losing him. Knox was responsible for that.

Opening the door, he brushed the glass off his seat and climbed in. Starting the engine, he pulled out of Roscoe's parking lot and headed down the street, the word
KILLER
emblazoned across his door.

He clenched his hands around the steering wheel and tried not to let it bother him, tried not to let the sour taste suffusing his mouth spread and sink its teeth into him. Every muscle in his body tightened, squeezing hard, rejecting this even if he knew it to be the truth. It had never mattered in prison if he was a killer. Everyone was guilty of something there.

But out here it did matter. It mattered that he wasn't decent or respectable. No one would ever look at him and see anyone worth a damn. As far as the world was concerned, he was better off in prison. Out here he was just a fucking waste of space.

KNOX DIDN'T CALL
HER
. Well, other than his initial text giving her his contact information. Briar couldn't bring herself to call him even though he was all she thought about. She had no reason to call him. It had only been six days since they were together. He'd asked her to let him know whether she was pregnant or not, but she wouldn't know for certain this soon. She could have bought a home pregnancy kit—­or even tested herself at work—­but it just seemed too soon to yield accurate results. Not to mention she didn't want to attract anyone's attention at the clinic. The last thing she wanted was to start tongues wagging around the water cooler.

Plus, she refused to believe it was possible. The odds were slim. She clung to that.

She stepped out of the shower and didn't even bother with a towel, simply folded herself into her terry-­cloth robe. The sound of the TV carried from the living room, a low rumble on the air. A side effect of living alone. Even when she wasn't watching TV it was always on, so that the silence never got to be too much.

She stood in front of her bathroom mirror and spritzed her hair with the necessary detangler. Breathing in the familiar aroma of pears, she set about brushing out the wet snarls. She almost didn't hear the knock—­at first thinking it was just the TV. She paused mid-­stroke and stuck her head out of the bathroom.

The rap came again and she moved forward, her bare feet padding over the carpet. She peered out of the door's peephole and gasped. The sight of Knox on the other side hit her like a punch to the chest. He propped one arm against the door frame and seemed to be staring right back at her.

She stepped back with a gasp. Running a hand over her wet hair, she gulped down a nervous breath and unlocked the door.

“Hi,” she said, gratified that she managed an even voice.

His gaze traveled over her, not missing the fact that she stood in front of him in a bathrobe. Maybe she should have taken a minute to get dressed.
Maybe she shouldn't have answered the door.
Unease dripped through her. This couldn't be healthy. A guy like him wasn't going to give her the things she needed.
Well, aside from
orgasms. She needed those.
She loved those.

She gave herself a swift mental kick. A relationship was out of the question. He might have proven that he possessed a code . . . that he possessed honor enough to save her life, but he was still a dangerous man. Briar didn't need a doctorate in psychology to know he had his demons. Eight years in prison, who wouldn't? He was unpredictable, damaged, and she needed to steer clear of him. She should just end it now and close the door.

She shifted her weight.

“Hey,” he returned. “Can I come in?”

There was something in his voice that she hadn't heard before, and she thought she had seen him in every incarnation. Scary inmate. Fierce protector. Hungry lover. Apparently there were more layers to him.

Several moments passed and she blinked, realizing she hadn't replied yet. She just stood in her doorway, uncertain what to do, staring at him like she didn't know him. And she didn't.

With a shaky breath, she stepped aside. He strode past her.

She shut the door and locked it. Tightening the belt at her waist, satisfied that it was still in place, she turned, determined to keep her head. Determined to tell him that he couldn't just drop in unannounced. That despite what happened the last time she saw him, she wasn't just going to drop everything and roll over for him like some kind of—­

She didn't get a word out. He grasped the lapels of her robe and hauled her against him. She managed a squeak before his mouth claimed hers. And just like that she was on fire. She stood on her tiptoes, trying to keep up as he devoured her, forcing her lips open. His tongue slicked over hers as his hands slid inside her robe, rough palms gliding over her flesh to splay over her back.

He broke away and spoke against her mouth, his forehead pressed to hers as he inhaled a ragged breath. “I don't even know why I'm here. One minute I was headed home and the next thing I know I'm at your door.” His hot gaze roamed over her features and he shook his head with a sound of disgust. “Fuck. Yeah, I do know.” His hand slid from her back and dove between her legs. She gasped as he touched her there. Mortification burned through her. She was already wet for him. He pushed a finger up inside her and she gasped, grabbing onto his shoulders for leverage. “I'm here for this. You okay with that?”

Her chest squeezed, all the air trapped inside at his declaration. He was asking her if this was okay. Sex. Fucking with no promises. In his rough way, that's what he was doing.

She opened her mouth, ready to tell him to stop. Ready to explain that she wasn't the kind of girl who did this sort of thing. Not with a guy like him. Her brain shouted at her to be careful, to use her head and stop letting her body rule her.

He pushed even deeper inside her, his finger curling and massaging that spot she had never known existed before him and she saw spots. The elusive G-­spot. Not so elusive anymore.

She gave a strangled sound of assent and nodded wildly, her legs starting to shake and buckle as an orgasm welled up on her. Just like that. He knew what to do, how to play her.

“God, yes,” she sobbed.

“Good,” he growled. Then his mouth was on hers again. He wrapped an arm around her and lifted her off her feet, hugging her to him. He broke off kissing her to bury his face in her hair. For a moment he held her like that, his body locked tightly against her own, his face buried in her neck, in all her damp free-­flowing hair, as his hand still worked between her legs. Rubbing. Stroking, Pushing and pulling until she shattered, came apart, shuddering and boneless.

He pressed a kiss into her hair as his fingers slipped out from her. Tenderness washed through her. She smoothed a hand over his dark cropped hair. “Knox,” she whispered, her voice cracking a little, unsure at this side to him.

He lifted his head, and she recognized the stark look in his gaze. The hunger. Still holding her, he started walking, and she nodded as though convincing herself that this was okay just one more time. She still felt shaky inside. Shaky but certain that she wanted him, too.

He carried her into her bedroom and set her down on the bed, pushing her robe off her shoulders so it spread wide beneath her.

Using her elbows, Briar crawled back on the bed. He came over her, his gaze hungry as he examined her like he was committing her to memory. He made her feel beautiful. She'd never had that with another guy. Beau had suggested on more than one occasion that she needed to lose a few pounds.

Knox touched her, skimming a palm down her body, between the valley of her breasts and down the center of her stomach. He palmed her sex like he owned it—­owned her—­and she arched up with a gasp.

He crouched between her thighs, using his big shoulders to push her legs wide apart for him.

“Knox,” she cried out, clutching his skull as his head dipped. His mouth latched onto her and she bucked at the pressure of his lips, the swipe of his tongue along her wet seam. No one had gone down on her before. It wasn't Beau's thing. He had been interested in only receiving.

Knox made a low, satisfied sound, animal-­like, and settled in deeper, one hand splayed wide on the inside of each thigh as he lapped at her like she was a feast to be savored. His mouth found her clit and pulled it between his lips, flaying it with his tongue. Each stroke made her buck and cry out.

He pressed a hand on her abdomen and pushed her down on to the mattress, stopping her from rearing up on the bed. She moaned, all kinds of embarrassing sounds escaping her lips, but she didn't care. In that moment there was only feeling, sensation, Knox's mouth on her sex, his finger plunging inside and hitting that spot until she screamed her release a second time.

Suddenly he was over her, hands braced flat on either side of her head, drinking those sounds of her orgasm from her lips. He kissed her hard and wild and that only got her hotter. She needed him inside her.

She held his face, her palms rasping against his bristly cheeks. “You have entirely too many clothes on,” she panted.

He flashed her a grin that made her belly somersault, and then he was reaching behind his head and pulling his shirt off with one move, tossing it aside and revealing that beautiful chest that looked like it was honed on a battlefield. She sat up, running her hand over his smooth skin, tracing the fierce-­looking dragon.

“When did you get this?”

“Right before I went to prison. My brother and I both got one the night before we went in. We might have been drinking.” A corner of his mouth kicked up. “We picked a dragon since it could fly.” He glanced down, watching her fingers trace one of the dark sharp lines that sat on a hard ridge of flesh. “Like it would be a part of us that was always free.”

“You're free now,” she whispered.

A cloud passed over his face. “Yeah, only sometimes it doesn't feel like it. Sometimes it feels like I'm still in there . . . stuck behind bars.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head and undid the snap of his jeans, clearly not in the mood to say any more. Shoving them down, he distracted her with his nudity. His manhood sprang free, large and hard, curving toward her as though seeking home. He pulled a condom from his discarded jeans and climbed back between her thighs. “Nothing,” he muttered, his mouth claiming hers again.

He kissed her until she forgot the question. Until she was hot and aching and arching under him again.

“Knox,” she pleaded.

“Say it,” he ordered, his eyes gleaming darkly, like a beast emerging from the woods. He rubbed himself against her folds, teasing her, taunting her as his big body hummed, all coiling tension and checked brutality hovering over hers.

She twisted under him, her head tossing on the bed. She thrust her hips up to take him but he still continued to torment her. Fisting his cock, he rubbed harder against her without penetrating.