Sweeter Than Sin (18 page)

Shaken, she tried to grab some of it back, hold it inside even as she held his gaze.

She didn’t want to share that much of herself. Her body was one thing.… Everything she’d held trapped inside was something else.

*   *   *

She scrambled to pull back from him. Adam could see it.

He might not ever have anything else, but he’d have this. Hunkering down over her, he canted her hips higher and watched her, holding her gaze captive with his as he took her mouth.

A shaken, broken noise fell from her lips and he swallowed it, groaned as she wrapped one arm around his neck and sank her nails into his flesh.

Her legs wrapped around him and it wasn’t enough.

Shoving upright onto his knees, he reached for the hem of her shirt.

Her eyes widened and she resisted.

This time, he ignored her and stripped it away.

For one second, just one—the scar on her ribs was all he saw.

Old and faded. Laying his hand over it, he shifted his eyes up, met hers.

She stared at him, the heat fading from her eyes, the color in her cheeks bleeding away until she was just pale.

Feeling a little sick, he pulled out and went to his knees, shifting until he could press his lips to the long, thin mark.

Adam had taken more than his fair share of cuts, scrapes and bruises in his life. When you made it your life’s mission to fuck as many women as you could, fights tended to happen. Especially when you didn’t care if the women were married or not. Guys took offense to that sort of thing. One of the worst moments of his life, one that had actually
almost
made him get his act together, had been when Little Tom Naughton had come after him when he realized that Adam had been sleeping with his wife, Judy, while Tom was out on the road. Tom had been sleeping with a lady up in Seymour, Indiana, and everybody knew it, except Judy. But Little Tom hadn’t much liked it when Judy decided to turn things around on him and he’d come after them both with a knife. Adam had taken the knife instead, pushing Judy behind him.

The knife had just grazed him and he hadn’t need stitches, just a few butterfly bandages to hold it closed. It had left a scar … sort of like Lana’s.

Only the scar on Lana’s torso was much, much bigger.

This one was so faded, he knew she’d had it a good long while.

Pressing his lips to it, he told himself he wouldn’t ask.

Yet.

But she’d damn well tell him.

Her hands lay fisted next to her hips, her face averted.

Settling between her thighs, he caught one small, tight fist in his hand and drew it up beside her head as he pressed against her. Rubbing his lips against her cheek, he whispered, “Kiss me, Lana.”

She said nothing, still staring off to the side.

He sighed and kissed his way down her neck, across her shoulder. “I’ll just kiss you, then. Everywhere.”

The smooth slope of her pale shoulders. Her breasts, small but full and firm. He opened the front catch of her bra and groaned as he caught sight of her nipples, plump and pink and practically begging for him.

Dipping his head, he caught one between his teeth and tugged on it, listened to her breath catch. “You like being kissed there, I think.” So he did it, again, and again, and watched as her breathing grew ragged once more.

He spent several minutes doing nothing but playing with those pretty, pink nipples, but a man had to keep his word, when and if he gave it. And Adam had promised to kiss her everywhere. He slid his lips back up over her collarbone and started down her biceps. Her muscles tensed. He barely noticed as he scraped his teeth along toned, sleek skin. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he muttered. “You don’t…”

His lips brushed over a ridge.

He might not have noticed except there wasn’t just one.

There were several of them, on her right forearm.

And as he lifted his head, he felt the tension radiating off her body. Her face was flaming red, but she stared at him, her gaze all but challenging him, her chin up, daring him.

She shoved the other forearm at him. “You’re in bed with a fucking junkie. Am I
still
gorgeous?”

His heart broke a little at the pain he saw hiding in the backs of her eyes.

And he thought of all the tokens he had thrown in the back of the drawer of his desk. Thought of the tattoos she’d been kissing on his chest, the links on his arms. She thought she had cornered the market on demons, huh?

He could give her lessons, he’d bet.

Pressing his lips to each scar, he whispered, “Gorgeous.”

And then he covered her body with his and cupped her face in his hands. “You said I could have this … you backing out now?”

Her eyes, shocked and wide, locked on his.

Her throat worked as she swallowed. Then she jutted her chin up. “You that fucking hard up you’ll screw a junkie, Adam?” she jeered.

He laughed and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “When was the last time you used, Lana?” Wrapping his arms around her, he turned, stopping when he had her sprawled on top of him. For a second, one sweet, blissful second, he let himself enjoy the hot, wet pleasure of having her wet, hot pussy rubbing against his aching dick and then he focused on her face, on the insanity of the situation. She was still glaring at him, even though her gaze had gone a little unfocused. He arched his hips and smiled a little as she whimpered, her teeth catching her lower lip in an effort to silence the sound.

“No answer?”

He eased her into an upright position and slid his hand down, sought out her clit. “I’ll tell you what … you think about it and I’ll just get you off. I’ll watch.”

Her lids drooped, her head falling back. It lifted her breasts and his mouth watered. He wanted to taste her again, wrap his mouth around those tight, pink nipples and lick her, suck her, until she sobbed out his name and gasped for breath.

“You…” She rocked against his hand as he stroked her clit. “What are you…”

He plunged two fingers inside the slick, wet well of her pussy and twisted. “I’m going to make you come. I’m going to be either fucking you or doing it like this, but I’m going to make you come. If you want to think about the answer to that question while I’m doing this, fine … or you can just ride me and fuck the answer. I think we both know you’re not using now. So stop using it as an excuse.”

It was damn hard, he decided, to carry on any sort of conversation when he had her naked on top of him. Naked, and she was tight and hot and wet around his fingers.

And then she was shifting, pulling back and grabbing his hand.

“You’re an asshole, Adam. When did you turn into an asshole?”

If she pulled away from him, he was going to cry, he thought. He knew it.

But she closed her hand around his cock and held him steady, started to sink down on him.

“Oh, I’ve been an ass for a while,” he muttered.
Twenty years … give or take.
He reached up and gripped her hips. “Ride me, Lana. I want to watch you come. And then I want to do it again. And again…”

*   *   *

Morning came slow and easy.

Adam kept his face buried in her hair and refused to think about the fact that he shouldn’t have spent the night in her bed.

He rarely spent the night with a woman. He couldn’t say
never
.

But he tried to avoid it.

And he hadn’t ever had a woman sleep in his home. This was one thing he should have avoided. Lana was his weakness, his drug, his cure, his strength. His poison.

His everything.

She always had been.

A soft grumpy sound left her and she snuggled back against him, her ass firm and soft and perfect against his dick.

His dick approved.

He didn’t need to note the approval of his dick, though.

What he needed to do was get out of bed and go shower, maybe try to grab another hour of sleep or two in his own bed and then figure out how to handle this.

He’d slept with Lana.

That wasn’t
exactly
a problem.

Adam had slept with … well. More women than he could really count.

The problem was Lana herself.

The scar on her side. The scars on her arms were just as big a concern to him, although probably not for the reason she thought.

His gut told him that he knew where the knife scar had come from. Or at least
when
. She’d been hurt that night. Was that why she’d called him? Instead of letting him help, why had she lied and why had she run?

Where had she been all these years?

And
fuck,
Lana had been using drugs. Just what had pushed her to that? She’d been the straightest, most level person he’d ever known, but something had pushed her over.

If he was smart, maybe he should worry about whether or not she was clean, but that was the least of his worries. Just like he wasn’t worried about whether or not she was using anymore.

The woman he’d spoken with over the past day or so was sober and clean.

He knew addicts. Nobody knew an addict quite the way another addict did.

She wasn’t still using. He knew users. He’d known Layla was using when he hired her, but as long as she wasn’t high when she worked he was willing to give her a chance. It had set him off, though, when she had drugs in the same house where her kid lived.

Lana, though, he hadn’t caught that vibe off her. It had been years since she’d used; he’d bet his life on it.

She made another one of those grumpy sounds and then she sighed. “You think awful damn loud. How in the hell did you get to be a Lothario if you’re like this in the morning?”

That startled something of a laugh out of him.

An embarrassed laugh, but a laugh none the same.

She rolled onto her back and glared at him.

“You think it’s funny. I’m trying to sleep and you’re laughing.”

He stroked a finger down her cheek. “Lothario?”

“Yeah. A man-whore. You went and turned into an asshole and a man-whore.”

He winced, and this time there was no denying the embarrassment. Sighing, he pulled away and sat up, staring out the window, although the curtains kept him from seeing much of anything.

Behind him, Lana sighed.

“That was mean. I’m sorry.”

He glanced back over his shoulder at her. “Why? It’s the truth. Just like the fact that at some point you went from being a goody two-shoes to using drugs. I turned into an asshole and I fuck my way through town. Although I’m kind of curious how you figured that out.
You
haven’t been around.”

“I keep tabs on things,” she said vaguely, shrugging.

You kept tabs on things.
He ran his tongue across his teeth and tried to keep a grip on the edge of fury that sliced through him. Tried to control the hurt. “You kept tabs on things … but you couldn’t find a way to let me know you weren’t dead. To let your dad know. Noah. Didn’t we deserve that courtesy?”

She sighed and the bed shifted as she rolled onto her back. “It’s not about courtesy, Adam. I couldn’t let anybody know. There were reasons.”

“Yeah? I asked last night for you to share some of the reasons with me.”

He turned on the bed, bracing one hand on the other side of her, staring down into her face. Her hair, dark and dense, spread out on the pillow. He knew now, for a fact, that it was definitely a dye job. The curls between her thighs were a dark red and he found himself missing all the things that she’d forced herself to change.

He had to know why, had to understand.

“What are you hiding from, Lana?” he asked quietly. “How much of this has to do with that fucking Cronus Club?”

Her lashes flickered. That was the only sign she gave.

But she said nothing, turning her head to stare at the wall.

“His dad was one of them … wasn’t he?”

A sigh gusted out of her and she shut her eyes.

Then, even as he told himself that she wouldn’t tell him, she swung her head around and met his gaze. “This isn’t my secret to tell,” she said, her voice low, while misery turned her eyes to smoke.

“Maybe it’s not your secret to tell, but it’s time the truth came out,” he said, shaking his head. He laid a hand on her face, sighing. “If the truth had come out all those years ago, think about how many kids could have been spared hell.”

“You think I don’t
know
that?” She averted her face, staring at the wall. “I thought it had stopped. It was the only reason I stayed gone. I thought it had stopped.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“You look like you’re doing well, Caleb.”

Caleb shrugged and looked around, his expression that patented bored look that so many teenagers excelled at.

But he looked … almost happy.

Noah hadn’t been sure if this was the place for Caleb, but it was hard trying to
find
the right place for him.

When Jensen had suggested they put Caleb with her dad, Noah hadn’t known what to think.

They needed somebody who was definitely
not
part of the evil that seemed to stain the town, and Jensen trusted her father, completely.

They needed somebody whom the boy could connect with.

Family was out of the question in this case.

Too many of the families connected to Cronus had actually
known
what was going on … or they’d just been willfully blind—wives, sons, cousins, grandparents. It was a poisoned web, stretching back so many years.

Fury punched at Noah and he had to work to hide it. Hide it until he could work it out, because that fury wouldn’t help this boy. But a calm hand, acceptance and love …

It seemed he’d found it with Doug Bell.

Out in the driveway, Doug listened to Tate argue with Jensen. No, they were
discussing
the proper way to grill up some steaks. And off to the side, Chris and Dean were watching. Dean looked amused by it all. So did Doug.

“If she lets Tate do it, you’ll be eating a steak that’s tough as rubber,” Noah said, watching as Tate lifted a bottle of beer to his lips, smirking at his younger sister.

“She won’t let Tate do it. She just likes to let him think he’ll win.” Caleb had something in his voice that sounded just this side of adoration, and he watched Jensen with the hot, intense focus of a boy in the throes of young love.