Dangerously Broken (10 page)

He’d been watching her very carefully as she spoke, his dark brows drawing together as he tried to understand what she was saying. She knew the words had come out in a tumble of confusion.

“Okay. Okay. It
is
everything, Summer Grace. It’s intense and a little insane. It’s loaded. Brandon’s presence will always be in both our lives, and losing him the way we did will always affect us. We have that in common, our losses, our brothers. Ian. Brandon. Even my brother Allister sort of withdrew into himself. And we both lost our parents in a way, when losing a child was too much for them to handle. We had to take care of things, take care of ourselves and grow up fast. Don’t think I didn’t see that, that I don’t get it, because out of anyone else in the world, I recognize it. Yeah, it’s all of that. It is important. It will be no matter how this turns out. But how we do this is by existing, being in the moment. That’s how I
have
to do this. Because projecting into the future has kept me from being with you long enough. Far too fucking long. And now we have this connection that’s powerful and rare, in my experience. Desires we can’t express with just anyone. It feels right, doesn’t it? It’s fucking complicated and insane and beautiful at the same time. It feels so right to me.”

The tears pooled, hot behind her eyelids. She did not want to cry. She couldn’t stand it if he saw her tears right now.

“Yes, Jamie, but it’s still a little Goddamn overwhelming.”

He cracked a smile. “You must be coming back to yourself if you’re cussing at me.”

“I’m always cussing at you.”

His face sobered. “Not tonight, you didn’t.”

“No,” she agreed. “Not tonight.”

He stroked her hair from her cheek, pushed his fingers into the long strands and held on tight. Her body went loose and she leaned into him. When he released her hair, she looked down into her blanket-covered lap.

“Jamie, I’ll be honest with you. This is scary. I don’t like that I’m not in control. Of anything. Of myself, most of all.”

“What did you think submission meant, sweetheart? You have to give yourself over to it or it doesn’t work. And you did. I felt your compliance. Your release.”

“So did I. I felt it with Maîtresse Renee, but nothing like this—like it is with you.”

He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her in tight, until she could feel the hard planes of his chest against her side. He felt so solid and warm and safe. And yet
nothing
felt safe.

She shook her head, unable to figure it all out. “Jamie, please don’t.”

“Don’t what, sugar? You’re safe with me.”

God, and now the man was reading her mind. “Am I?”

“Hey,” he said, his tone gentle. “You know you are, Summer Grace. I’ll take care of you.”

“No.” She pushed away from him and got to her feet. It didn’t matter that she was naked other than the blanket, which she held around her like a shield. Her heart was hammering out of her chest. And all she knew was the need to
run.
She caught Jamie’s confused expression as he rose to his feet before she turned and did just that, her bare feet echoing on the metal stairs.

*   *   *

H
E HADN’T BEEN
expecting her to jump up and run off like some frightened deer. Hell, maybe that’s what she was right now. And he’d put her in that vulnerable place.

Fuck.

He got to his feet and went after her. The lithe Summer Grace had reached the far end of the shop by the time he made it to the bottom of the stairs, but as she darted between the pieces of heavy equipment, steel pillars and work bays, he was able to catch up to her in a few strides, his longer legs serving him well. She’d reached the door to the office, her hand on the doorknob when he caught up to her, closing his hand over hers. Christ, he could feel her shaking. He tried to take her in his arms but she pulled away.

“No, Jamie! Let me go.”

Yeah—exactly like a frightened deer.

He kept his voice low. “Come on, Summer Grace. Stop a moment. Take a breath. Sit down with me and talk it out. Or we can just sit and be quiet together. It doesn’t matter. But I am not letting you leave here like this.”

She dashed a tear from her eye with the back of one hand, her full lower lip trembling in a pout he would have found adorable if he didn’t know how upset she was.

“I’m not very good at keeping quiet, Jamie,” she said sullenly. “Neither are you.”

“Good point. So we’ll just have to put up with each other yammering on whether we like it or not. Either that or you’re going to run out into the street without your clothes—not that I’d imagine you’d much care about that—or, more’s the pity, I’ll have to turn in my Dom card for being irresponsible about your aftercare.”

One corner of her mouth quirked, even though her tone was still moody. “It’s not just about aftercare.”

“Like hell it’s not. What we did was intense. It kicked up a hornet’s nest of emotion along with all those lovely endorphins and dopamine. But it
is
part of the equation, and something you can’t ask me to ignore. I want to take care of you. And right now you’re tempting me to chain you down in order to do my job, which would piss you off even if you liked it—and you would.”

“Says you,” she muttered.

“Yeah, I do. Now stop being so damn stubborn.”

She seemed to be thinking that over for several long moments while his heart raced. He understood what she’d said earlier—this was important, all of what was between them. Which sure as hell didn’t always make it comfortable, but he was done denying it. He had to be. There was no place to hide anymore—not after they’d been together. Played together. Slept together.

No turning back.

No. All they could do now was forge ahead.

“Summer Grace.” He let a warning tone seep into his voice.

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to go all super-Dom on me.”

“Apparently I do.”

She sighed. “All right. You can cuddle me and we’ll talk.”

He moved in closer and kissed her cheek. “You make it sound so sweet and romantic-like. Come on. I’m taking you home.”

A few minutes later he’d found her clothes, had helped her into the company truck with the blanket still wrapped around her naked body, and they were driving through town toward her little house in the Gentilly district. She was quiet on the drive home—stubbornly so, he thought, which was fine for the moment. He turned on some music and let the rhythm carry them over the streets as a light rain began to fall. There was something almost magical about the two of them in his truck, the inky sky lit here and there by the silvery clouds covering the moon. The mood the night always brought. Or maybe that was just him being poetic again. Occupational hazard for a Scotsman. He glanced over to find her gaze on the wet street. But he saw the lovely curve of her cheekbone, her long, long lashes, the tumble of golden hair over her slim shoulders.

Jesus, but she’s lovely.

Damn poetic Scottish blood again, but there was no denying it. If he wasn’t careful he’d find himself falling in love with the girl. Or falling for her, at the very least. But hadn’t that already happened a long time ago, no matter how hard he’d fought it?

He ran a hand back over his head, scrubbing at the short stubble. He sighed out a long breath—and almost passed her place, too lost in thought.

“Jamie, this is it.”

“What? Yeah, of course. Hang on.” He pulled to the curb and put the truck into reverse, grinding the gears a bit too hard, then backed up and stopped right in front of her blue cottage. “Hang on and I’ll come around. You can use my jacket to keep the rain off you.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m a New Orleans native. A little rain won’t hurt me.” She went for the door handle but he reached across and stopped her. “Fine, no jacket. But you
will
wait for me to open your door.”

She bit her lip. “Okay.”

Glad she knew better than to argue with a Southern gentleman—despite that he’d been born in Edinburgh—he got out and went around to the passenger side. As he helped her from the truck, the sky opened up and the rain fell in a sudden torrential downpour that made them sputter as they ran to her door, her hand held fast in his.

“Keys,” he demanded—and was pleased when she shoved her damp hair out of her eyes, dug in her small bag and handed the key chain to him.

By the dim light of the amber streetlamps, he was able to get the key in the door, and they both wiped their feet on the doormat before she led him into the house. Inside, the air was warm and a bit still. She turned on a light in the entry hall, then went to turn on a lamp in the small living room.

“Leave it,” he commanded. She stopped in her tracks, straightening up and turning to him. “Get a towel, sweetheart.”

She nodded and left the room, returning with one of her thick bathroom towels in a pale shade of lilac. He took it from her and stepped closer, looking down at her as he gently toweled the rain from her bare shoulders, smoothing the soft terrycloth over her graceful collarbones. Then, when she didn’t struggle, he began to dry her hair, taking lengths of it between his fingers and carefully running the towel over the long strands. While he dried her he watched her. He really couldn’t stop looking at her. Observing her stunning beauty. Her submission even now, when there was no play going on, no purposeful roles. Well, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true. Now that they’d gone there he imagined there would always be an undercurrent of power exchange between them.

His chest went tight as he turned the idea over in his mind—his chest and his stomach. There was excitement there. Oh yes. It was a definite thrill. But there was powerful emotion, too.

She blinked up at him. “Are you finished, Jamie? I think I’m dry enough.”

Hell. “Yeah, all done.”

He used the towel to roughly dry his own head, his shoulders and chest. Stepping away, he draped the towel over the back of the ivory-colored chair that matched the sofa, then moved back to her, slipping an arm around her shoulder.

“Sit down, sugar.”

She did, surprising him that all the wind seemed to have gone out of her sails. He loved her sassiness, but it seemed they had some important talking to do, so maybe it was good that she was no longer fighting him on everything. Except that she’d sat on the sofa a good two feet from him.

He patted his denim-clad thigh. “Lap. Now.”

“I’m fine, Jamie.”

He caught her pixie-like chin in his hand, his voice firm. “Summer Grace. Lap.”

She rolled her eyes, but she climbed onto his lap and burrowed in, laying her head on his shoulder, leaning into his body with hers. He draped his arms around her, and when he heard her small sigh he held her tighter. It felt good.

She ran a nail over the collar of his shirt. “Is this when we talk?” she asked.

“Yeah. This is when we talk. And I know you’re still in subspace, but I don’t know that you’d open up the way I think you need to in order for us to really communicate about some things we need to. And I don’t know if I can, either, without feeling a little raw, the way I do after play. With you, anyway.”

“You’re probably right. But I don’t know where to start.”

He sat quietly for a few long moments, thinking. Finally he said, “I think we start at the point that joins us.”

“What point is that? Do you mean when we met?”

“Even before that. We have to go back to the things that connect us, I think. The things we have in common that we don’t like to talk to anyone else about.”

There was a short pause. “Oh,” she said quietly.

“I’ll start. Okay?” He didn’t want to do this. But it was for her. For them.

“Yes, please.”

He took a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. But they were too jumbled, so he decided to simply begin.

Like pulling off a Band-Aid. Just do it.

Only for her. Only for Summer Grace would he be willing to open up the old wounds that never went away.

She wasn’t the only one who would feel pain tonight.

“S
O
,”
HE
STARTED
,
“you know I came to this country just before my eighth birthday. My family was . . . Well, they were never the same after Ian died. Neither was I. Maybe especially me. Seven is too damn young to experience that kind of loss, and the fact that I . . .” He trailed off, his fingers flexing on her waist as a hard buzzing began inside his head. “Look, I’ve never told you—fuck, I’ve never spoken about this to anyone. Not anyone. But I saw him die, you know. And all that shit they say about twins, it’s true. I was playing in the yard while Ian was climbing that tree, and I swear to all the gods I
felt
him falling even before I heard him scream. And then he was just limp on the ground and there was . . . Well, it was messy, as you can imagine. And Jesus, I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t be saying all of this right after you’ve been played. What am I thinking? Fuck.”

She raised her head and laid a soft hand on his cheek. “You’re just telling me the truth. All of it. For the first time, Jamie. It’s important. I didn’t want to talk, but you were right. We need this. And if we don’t do it now, while I’m still open enough, then I don’t know when I can. You were right about that, too. Maybe that’s part of why I need to submit—because apparently it’s the only way I can open myself up to anyone, other than Dennie, and maybe only to a certain extent even with her. And forgive me for saying so, but maybe it’s the only way you can, too. Would you be doing this under any other circumstances?”

He looked up to find her blue eyes on him, real concern there. Real understanding. Of course she’d understand. Which made telling this old story—the one he always tried to think of as ancient history—a little easier to tell.

“With anyone else? No. And over a beer or dinner? No.”

“Then tell me now.”

He nodded and she laid her head back on his shoulder, guessing that maybe it would be easier for him if she wasn’t looking at him.

“Well. My parents, they had a hard time after losing Ian. My brother Allister did, too, but he’d always been the toughest one of us, maybe because he was the oldest. But my mum and dad, they couldn’t stand to be in the house where Ian had died. Neither could I. I never went out into the garden again after that. It was less than a year later that we came to the U.S. But no matter where you go, your memories follow and none of us was ever able to forget him. To forget that our family was broken. My parents just sort of disappeared. They’ve never come back. It was almost a relief when they moved to England a few years ago, and I feel like an absolute shit for saying so. But they just keep running. And Allister was a lot older and pretty independent, but that only left me more alone. Not to sound pathetic, but I felt fucking orphaned, if you want to know the truth.”

She shifted in his lap and took his face in her small, warm hands. There were tears in her blue eyes. “I’m so sorry, Jamie. So sorry. It was exactly the same with me. It was as if I ceased to exist when Brandon died. Like he was their only child and I didn’t count anymore. They just retreated into themselves. And then there was the divorce, and they were both farther away from me than ever. I’ve only seen my dad maybe four times a year since then. It was like he couldn’t stand to look at my mom or me anymore. My family was gone, and I’ve never quite been able to understand exactly how it happened. How can you ever understand something like that? If it weren’t for Dennie and her grandmother I would have been totally alone.”

“That’s why I spent so much time with your family once Brandon and I met each other. Why I went on every camping trip with you guys, ate dinner at your house every week, spent Christmas Eve over there. I imagine your family got pretty sick of me, but they never turned me away.”

But in their grief they’d turned away from Summer Grace. He knew what that felt like. Too well. And damn it, he should have been there for her. His stomach clenched. He’d do better now. It already felt like an oath.

“I was never sick of you, Jamie,” she said quietly.

He took one of her hands and kissed her soft palm. “Not until last year, anyway.”

One corner of her lush, lovely mouth lifted. “This is the second time you’ve said that. I thought you understood.”

“I did. I do. But I didn’t say I liked it. I didn’t say there wasn’t a bit of stomping and brooding because you’d given up on me. But I deserved it.”

She shrugged. “You did—I can’t argue with that. But it wasn’t an easy decision. I think in a way you were the only thing that held me together for a long time. You have to have something to hang on to, you know, Jamie?”

“Fuck, Summer Grace. And I let you down. I was supposed to look after you—”

“And you
did
. You were so there for me right after he died. It was you at the hospital letting me cry all over you, letting my mom do the same. And my father, that first night out in the hall. I couldn’t let either of you know I was there, but I’ll never forget that. I saw his tears. I saw you pat him on the shoulder, which was the only comfort he ever allowed, I think. From anyone. And then when I was in high school you chased off all the bad boys I would have dated—oh yes, don’t think I didn’t know the whole time it was you. But that only made you seem more like a hero to me. And then . . .” She paused, sniffed. “You used the Rae name when you branded your shop, which has always felt like it was as much for me as it was to honor Brandon’s memory, and I don’t care if I’m wrong about that. It’s comforted me. But I’ve come to understand things, Jamie. We were both grieving. We were surviving. If I’d slept with you before now, before you really wanted to, it wouldn’t have been good for me in the end, either.”

It broke his heart a little to hear the words come out of her mouth—the way she’d put him on a pedestal, when he was so fucking fallible. To hear the pain beneath the words as she remembered those awful days after losing her brother. And to know he’d let her think he didn’t want her. For years. He’d
had
to—or he’d thought so until recently—but still, it left a dark, burning hole in his heart. “Ah, sweetheart. If you only knew how badly I wanted you the entire time.”

“You did?”

She gazed at him with wonder and trust in her eyes, in the softness of her features. So damn pretty, this girl. Prettiest girl he’d ever seen. It had been true back when she was only fourteen—in his reprehensibly perverted mind—and it was even more true now. But he could let it be. Because Summer Grace was no longer forbidden. How had it taken him so long to come to this place? How had it even happened that they were there together, finally? Talking in a way they should have a long time ago.

He understood how vulnerable she’d allowed herself to be with him just now—maybe even more than when they’d played, when they’d had sex. So had he. It was the connection between them that had allowed him to open up to her. But he didn’t want to think of what they’d discussed—not right now. No, now he wanted to touch her. Take care of her. Because something in those beautiful blue eyes told him she was as raw as he was.

He swept her hair back from her cheek, loving the way she blushed when he did it. When had Summer Grace Rae ever blushed? Only once or twice in all the years he’d known her, and both times recently, with him. But it spoke even more deeply about the space she was in at that moment.

“Hey, sugar,” he said softly. “You know what I want to do? I want to run a bath for you and let you soak in the hot water. Maybe get in with you. Then I want us to order some food and feed my growling belly. Then I’m taking you to bed.”

Her eyes widened. “What happens then?”

He grinned at her. “Baby, if you need to ask then you don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do.”

Her face sobered. “I think I know you better than anyone.”

“Yeah, you do. Come on.”

He picked her up and she was like a doll in his arms—that small, that delicate. He carried her to the bathroom, where he set her carefully on her feet. She started to move toward the big, old-fashioned claw-foot tub, but he put a hand on her arm.

“I’m running this bath, sugar.”

“Bossy, bossy.”

“Damn right.” He turned the knobs, adjusting the temperature. “Bath salts?” he asked.

“If you’re asking my preference, yes, but unless you want to smell like a girl we’d better skip it.”

“I won’t mind smelling like you. It’ll be like wearing you all over me.”

She laughed. “That was a little
Silence of the Lambs
.”

He shook his head. “Stop sassing me, girl. Get your bath salts.”

She grabbed a jar from a standing shelf next to the tub, opened the top and held the jar out. “Have it your way. Smell like a girl.”

He took the jar and whipped her blanket off in one deft move, smacking her bare bottom.

“Hey!”

“Are you complaining, Summer Grace?”

She smiled, batted her lashes, then she turned around and bent over a little, making him laugh. “Only at your insistence on using my middle name.”

“You are really asking for it.”

“Yes, but you like that about me.”

“I do, indeed.” Opening the jar, he discovered where that scent of violets came from. He dumped a handful of the salts in the running water, then picked her up. “In you go.”

*   *   *

S
UMMER HUNG ON
to his hand as she lowered herself into the filling tub, the hot water feeling wonderful on her bare skin. “What about you? Aren’t you coming in?”

He smiled and began to unbutton his shirt, and she found her entire system aching with need as his beautifully muscled body was revealed inch by inch. He took off the shirt and she nearly sighed over the breadth of his shoulders, the light gold of his skin, the way his pierced nipples hardened as they met the damp evening air. Even the simple line of Latin script tattooed down his right side was like some sort of fetish to her. He kicked off his boots, then unbuttoned his jeans and she sat back to watch her private strip show with the hottest man ever born. The only man she’d ever felt this driving, burning
need
for.

He pulled the worn denim down over his strong thighs, his thick, half-hard cock springing free. She had to swallow another sigh. He really had the most beautiful cock she’d ever seen, so long and thick, the flesh such a lovely pale golden color, the head so perfectly shaped. She squeezed her thighs together beneath the warm water. He moved toward the bathtub, then knelt down on the bath mat beside it.

“Aren’t you getting in?” she asked, disappointed.

“In a bit. But I need to take care of my girl first.”

Her stomach knotted, partly with barely restrained joy and partly in stark fear.
His
girl? That had come out of his mouth all too easily. Or maybe she was reading too much into it.

Relax. Just enjoy this.

She leaned back in the tub, watching him as he took the giant sea sponge she’d hung over the spout on its attached cord and dunked it in the water. He picked up the bottle of liquid soap and sniffed it.

“Violets, too.”

“Is that good?”

“Oh, it’s very good.”

He squeezed the soap onto the sponge and lifted one of her feet out of the water. And ever so gently he began to wash her. His face was a study in concentration as he smoothed the sponge over her toes, up her leg, and she couldn’t remember any man focusing so purely on her. It made her heart beat faster, the desire simmering with some emotion she couldn’t find a name for. It was some exotic blend of comfort and excitement. And some part of her could barely believe this was happening to her—it was like something out of a foreign film, with the bathroom light touching the hair on his forearms, the muscled curve of his shoulder, and all of it softened by the steamy air. She wanted to cry. She wanted to come. She must be losing her mind.

He lowered her foot into the water, lifting the other. His tender ministrations began again, and once more she was in a state of awe at the way he handled her. When he lowered her foot, she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Jamie. Please get in with me?”

He grinned, his dimples flashing, then he stood and climbed in facing her. His legs were so long he barely fit, but the old tub was enormous—she’d always felt a little lost in it by herself—and with his knees bent, he managed. He pulled her to him, turning her body so her back rested against his chest, and she let her head fall back against his strong shoulder. He remained quiet as he washed her, one arm around her waist possessively while with the other he ran the sponge over her arms, then her neck, his touch slow and sensual. When he slipped the sponge over her breasts, she moaned.

“Feel good, sugar?”

“Oh yes.”

He moved the sponge down over her ribs, her stomach, then lower.

“Spread for me,” he whispered next to her ear, his cock growing hard behind her, pressing into her back.

“Mmm, yes, Jamie.”

She did as he asked, and was rewarded by the silky slide of the sponge over her mound. Desire was a sharp ache deep in her body—where she wanted
him
to be—but his slow, lovely assault continued. He moved the sponge down, then up again, over and over her aching clitoris. Sensation was something soft and sultry, undulating like the bathwater through her body. His other hand came up to cup her breast, his wet fingers slipping over her nipple. She arched into his touch, and he palmed her breast, squeezing, releasing, then squeezing harder.

“Ah, yes, Jamie.”

“So beautiful, my sugar girl,” he murmured.

The sponge kept moving over her needy sex, stroking her pussy lips, pressing against her tight clit. She sighed as pleasure spiraled inside her. When he added his fingers around the edges of the sponge, catching her clit between them, she groaned. He pressed her nipple between his fingertips and she arched into him—her breast, her body—and he rubbed the sponge and his fingers over her clit, harder and harder.

“Come,”
he whispered.

Just that one word, and her body shattered. She cried out, shaking in his arms, her body convulsing, sensation hot and liquid.