Race the Darkness (20 page)

“I got some work to do.”
Liar, liar, tighty-whities on fire
. He walked to the front door. “I'll have Hopkins walk you back to the main house.” He opened the door and peered out at the BCI guy stationed on his porch. “Hopkins, see that she gets back to the main house.”

“Will do.” The guy nodded one of those professionally curt nods, then looked beyond Xander to the interior of the cabin. Hopkins' eyes softened, his facial features melting into a soft, slightly girlish look of pure compassion and sympathy. He glanced at Xander and his expression went terminal, as if Xander were a hot, steaming pile of fresh dog shit mashed into the grooves of his brand-new tennis shoes. What the fuck was that about?

Xander flipped on the listening switch. From habit, he tensed, waiting for the first thump from the frequency connection opening, but Hopkins thoughts glided into his ears on a wave of no-pain.

After everything she's been through, you do this. Dick.

“Do what?” Xander asked, more than a little attitude in his tone. What was it with every guy—except his father and Matt—always acting like he wasn't treating Isleen right? He'd never hurt her.

Hopkins ignored him and held out his hand. “Miss Isleen, don't worry. I'll see that you get there safe. No one will hurt you. I promise. There's no need to cry.”

She was crying? Xander whipped around so fast he nearly ass-planted on the floor. She stood in front of the couch, chin quivering, tears slicking her cheeks. “I can't go there, yet. Gran… It was the last place… I don't think I can face it. Is there someplace else I can go? Someplace that's not here or there.” She might be crying, but her words were strong, spoken in a quiet voice that carried latent power and neatly sliced through his bullshit. Jesus fucking Christ.

Hopkins was right. After everything she'd been through, Xander had been about to abandon her on Dad's doorstep. Total dick move.

He slammed the door without even looking at Hopkins and started across the room, but she held up her hand in the universal sign for stop. He obeyed.

She stood up straighter, lifted her chin, and looked him square in the eye. “I am tired of being the victim. I'm tired of feeling like everything happens to me and I don't have control over any of it. I can take care of myself. You don't have to feel obligated to take care of me.” She used the palms of her hands to wipe the residual wetness off her cheeks. “I
am
going to cry. I can't seem to help it. But that doesn't mean I can't handle things or that I'm weak. It just means I need to feel things.”

“I know you're not weak. A weak person wouldn't have survived what you did. A weak person wouldn't be telling me to step off for wanting to baby her too much.”

“I'm not telling you to step off. I enjoy—” She looked straight ahead at where his heart resided in his chest. The organ seemed to sense her gaze and pumped a little harder as if flexing and showing off its muscularity. “It's just that I don't want you to feel forced to take care of poor wittle Isween.” She spoke her last words in a pouty-child tone.

“Baby, I don't look at you like poor wittle Isleen.” He mimicked her tone. Her lips twitched and ticked up by degrees until a full-on smile blazed out at him. “I look at you like a woman who's been through shit and then got shit on again, and has just walked out of the shit pile, but some of the stink is lingering.”

She giggled, the sound a symphony to his ears. “Are you saying I stink?”

“I'm saying it might be awhile until you find your new normal. I know what it's like to have normal destroyed. After the lightning strike, I was lost and adrift and desperate to adapt.”

She came to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tight. Holy fuck, she felt so perfect, so destined, so inevitable. There was no resisting her. That's what scared the shit out of him.

“Why did you really want me to leave?” She spoke against the fabric of his shirt, the heat of her breath a caress. “What do you feel about the Fearless and Bear thing? About us? And what about Camille?”

And damn. She'd just shoved the elephant in the room into his arms. His choices were to keep quiet and lug the bastard around or answer her questions and set it down. He stepped back from her, needing the distance to formulate coherent thought. He ran a hand through his hair, then scratched the top of his head—pure delay tactic. Jesus. Was he really this much of a coward? Not normally.

The temperature seemed to be ratcheting higher and higher until it felt like he stood on the outer ring of hell—only it wasn't his AC suddenly taking a dump, it was his own damned wimpiness at having to talk about his feelings.

Might as well answer the easiest question first. “Camille is a non-issue. We fucked. That's it. There was never a relationship. No matter what she or her fucktard of a brother say.”

Isleen narrowed her eyes at him, like he might not be telling her the truth. “Kent said you've been with her a decade.”

“We've fucked for a decade. She never made any relationship demands. On the surface, she seemed fine with our arrangement, but I heard her thoughts—knew she wanted more, and I knew I'd never give it to her. It makes me an asshole for not stopping it when she wanted more. I own that.”

“Is that what you're doing with me? Just wanting a fuck? How do I know you're not going to get tired of me at some point, dump me like a dirty diaper, and move on to someone else?”

The wrongness of her words knocked him back a step. “I would never do that to you.”

“Did you say the same thing to Camille? That you'd never do that to her?” Her face wore an odd expression of both suspicion and longing to trust him.

“With my history, you've got no reason to believe me, but I would never do that to you. With you, everything is different. I'm different.” And here his feelings were, lining up and getting ready to shoot out of his mouth. “The Fearless and Bear thing feels right in a way that isn't based on logic but resides somewhere on the level of gut feeling and instinct. I don't know how I feel about that. I enjoy touching you. I want to be close to you. I feel something for you that I've never felt for another woman. I want more of you. I want all of you.” He hoped she got what he meant. “But if it means, in the end, that I'll turn out like Dad? No way. I'd rather walk away right now while I am still me.”

She listened to every word he said, never blinking, never looking away, just focusing all her attention on him. Wasn't being the object of her focus sexy as hell? She made him feel seen and heard in a way he'd never experienced.

“So you'd rather hurt me than be hurt.” Her voice carried a concrete certainty.

“No.” Her very words were abhorrent to his ears. “God, no. I'd never hurt you.”

“What do you think is going to happen to me if you walk away and leave me like Gran left your Dad?”

“Hadn't thought about it like that.” The idea of her being like his dad had been—and it being his fault—made his heart almost rupture.

“Maybe we need to think about it like that. If we both have the power to kill each other's souls, then we need to figure out how to trust each other.”

Trust. When had he ever trusted anyone besides Roweena? She'd been the only person in his life who'd never let him down or cast him off like yesterday's dirty underwear.

“Xander, I already trust you. I know that you'd never intentionally hurt me. I know who you are. I know because I've spent time with you. I have history with you from my dreams.”

His heart went all warm and fuzzy, but his mind doubted and questioned. “Trust doesn't just
poof
magically appear.”

She reached for his hand and placed it over her heart. Under his palm, the swell of her breast had his dick doing some swelling of its own. She settled her other palm against his scarred cheek. Energy surged through him.

Her gaze locked with his—locked so hard the entire world vanished and all that existed were her and him and his hand feeling the steady beat of her heart. Whatever the fuck she was about to say, he was gonna believe her. She could tell him he was a two-headed, purple squirrel, and he'd go out, find a nut, and climb a tree.

“Xander. I vow to protect you from pain. I vow never to leave you unless you want me to leave. I vow never to hurt you the way Gran hurt your father. Because hurting you would be hurting myself. Your pain is my pain. And my pain is yours. But together we are strong and invincible. Don't you feel it when we touch? It's all I can feel. All I want to feel. You and me. Us. Together.”

Her words did more than enter his ears; they melded into him as bone-deep truth. He'd never do anything to hurt her and—damn—he trusted that she wouldn't hurt him. As sick as it sounded, maybe his faith in her was born from the suffering she'd endured. She
understood
pain. Understood the depth and damage pain caused in a way few others ever would. That kind of knowledge made her incapable of wounding anyone else.

“Say something. You're looking at me funny.” Her voice trembled just a bit. He could practically hear her doubting whether she should've spoken the words of her heart.

“What you said… Those words…” Christ. He didn't have experience talking about his feelings. “Everything.”

She cocked her head to the side, questions wrinkling her forehead.

He was screwing this up. “Your words mean everything to me.” He could show her easier than he could tell her. He slid his hands up her neck, framing her face, staring at her, absorbing every detail. “You're my…”
Fearless
. He caught himself before he said the word. To base how he felt on a story wasn't real. She was real. And the emotions warming him were real. “Everything.”

He lowered his mouth to hers. She tasted sweet, of cinnamon and sugar, and for some reason, his heart ached with a fullness of feeling it had never experienced before.

He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her to his chest, his mind flashing back to the day he found her—and to holding her this same way. God, she had weighed so little, had seemed so fragile, but she was strong. Stronger than he'd ever be. Knowing what she'd gone through, what she'd survived—yeah.
Strong
was too weak a word to describe her.

He carried her up the stairs to his bedroom, his mouth never leaving hers. With a gentleness born of reverence, he settled her on the bed. He broke the kiss to stare at her once more. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed, her lips deliciously puffy and pink from a good kissing. He fucking loved pink.

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, finding him. A lazy smile stretched across her mouth, full of sweet, ornery secrets he longed to discover. He was gonna spend the rest of his life learning all those hidden thoughts tumbling around inside her head.

“You keep looking at me funny.” She reached up and settled her palm against his scarred cheek. Something hot and primal zinged through his scars and then settled heavily in his groin. Jesus Christ.

“That's just my I'm-in-awe-of-you face.”

“In awe of me?”

“Yeah, you.” He nipped the end of her nose, pecked a kiss on her mouth, and then moved lower to her shoulder. Her skin was cool and soft against his lips and tasted of his favorite flavor. Her. “I want you bare,” he whispered against the fabric covering her chest.

She sat up and lifted her arms over her head. He pulled the somber black dress over her head and let it drop on the floor. Later, he'd toss that wad of material in the trash. That was the last time she was ever going to wear the color of mourning. He'd make sure her wardrobe was full of sunshine, sky, and flower colors. Nothing but happy shades for her.

She leaned back against the pillow, her pert breasts snagging all his attention, and he changed his mind. She didn't need clothes. He preferred her like this. Naked, except for a delicate pair of lace panties. And those would be coming off in about thirty seconds. He shucked his clothes while she watched—her gaze hungry, devouring every inch he revealed. She licked her lips as if he were her favorite meal. She could eat him up whenever she wanted.

He crawled back onto the bed and skimmed his hands down her ribs. The ripples and ridges of bone were still too prominent against her skin, but time and Row's cooking would take care of that. He bent down, kissed her belly button, and tugged her panties down. She shifted her weight, allowing him to sweep them off and toss them over his shoulder.

Bare to him, the light blond curls between her thighs were caught by a ray of sunshine slanting across the bed, glinting shades of gold. She was perfect. Not in the way of supermodels or porn stars, but in a way that she was everything—that word again—he'd never known he needed. She filled in his hollow places, rounded his sharp edges, and made him feel something other than anger for the first time in twenty-five years. “Baby.” He almost forgot how to speak beyond the endearment. “You're so lovely. Let me see all of you. Open for me.”

Without hesitation, she spread her legs for him. She had no fear in bed. She'd said she'd dreamed of them together. Maybe that was why. The reason didn't matter. He loved her lack of inhibitions.

He moved between her legs, slid his hands underneath her ass, and lifted her to his face. She was pink and glistening with her desire for him. His already-hard dick went to steel, wanting her so badly he ached. But it was an agony he'd gratefully endure. He bent, inhaling the primitive scent of her desire just before he licked her. She tasted warm like sunshine on a salty sea. She tasted of promise. She tasted of good things to come. Together, they were going to make something spectacular.

“Xander…” She breathed his name, the sound as powerful as a physical caress to his dick. He moaned against her opening and then suckled her clit, laving the bud until she writhed against his face with uninhibited exuberance, wanting and needing what only he could give her. He couldn't wait a moment more.