The Token (#10): Shepard (11 page)

Shepard smiles. “Then we can be splendid together for a time.”

“How much time?” I ask as the first tear falls.

His face goes tender, and he strides back to my side. “For as long a time as you would give me. Have me.”

I don't say no when he kisses my tears away. Or when he kneels between my legs and kisses me there too.

I give in.

Because I want to. But also because, deep down, we feel right.

As if we always were meant to be. And will always be.

Thorn

“I'm sorry, baby. Damn, you
know
I don't want to drag you into this.”

Juliette cradles her head in her hands, glaring at him.

“He's taken another girl. Early twenties, part African-American, French speaker.”

Her brows come together, her expression clearly struggling to decide what emotion to own and finally morphing to bewildered. “I do not know why
la famille
would acquire an American. And one so”—her throat convulses with a hard swallow—“old.”

Thorn laughs. Can't help it. “Old? Fuck, babe—she's an
infant
.”

Juliette shows him her back, her hand coming to rest on the molding that surrounds the large window facing the backyard. He takes in the same view that she does. Coneflowers suffer under the early autumn heat still lingering from summer, their strange, china-dome heads a hard center in the fiery hot pink of the petals. Every one planted by Juliette.

She loves flowers. Because she can tend them, and they're hers.

Thorn knows the flower beds are another tangible reminder that Juliette has the choice to surround herself with living beauty. Beauty
she
cultivates.

It's different for him, simpler. Thorn just wants to make her happy. That's his reminder that he's lucky. That he found happiness.

Juliette turns, her gorgeous skin a darker
caf
é
au lait
at the end of summer. “
La famille
does not acquire women—they acquire girls.”

Her tone is one of disgust, and Thorn's exhale is harsh, his head low. “Well, they're changing their MO, babe. Now it's whatever's easy, I guess. And Shepard's
in
the game.”

She turns, giving a stubborn shake of her head. “Shep wouldn't go back to that life. Not after he set me free. He has money, he has anonymity. He would not
choose
to go back.” She purses her lips. A mouth Thorn's kissed a thousand times. God willing, there will be a million more.

Thorn strides to her position by the window, and she tenses. He stops in his tracks. “Fuck, I'd never hurt you, Juliette.” He leans forward, cupping her face, and she nestles against his palm.

“I know, but as they say so often in this country, old habits die hard.”

Thorn nods. No shit.

“
Shep
”—Thorn feels his lips become a grim line—“
is
involved.”

“
Oui
,” Juliette replies instantly, slipping into French.

“I don't know how—but he's at the heart of this thing, I feel it.” Thorn fists his hand. “If he killed those two French mobsters, he's definitely got their full attention.”

She nods rapidly, pressing her palms to her cheeks. “Yes. I agree with you. Shepard is involved. However”—her luminous green eyes look into his, her hands falling to her sides—“not in the way you expect.”

Thorn grasps Juliette's hands, threading their fingers together. “Give me something—anything. If Shepard was running, where would he go?” He searches her eyes, hating to press her. “If Tag's team can get to him before something happens to Marissa Augustine, we could save her. Once she's in the game, she'll be missed. We can arrest Shepard, stop this pathway from him.”

Her face sets into familiar, stubborn lines. “I do not desire Shepard's arrest. I've forgiven him. He has forgiven me. Let him go, Thorn. Like he let me go.”

“
Non
,” Thorn replies in barking French, continuing in the same language, “you are not safe until that bastard is caught.”

Juliette tears her hands from his. “Do you not think I would already be dead if he wanted it?”

Thorn's jaw slides back and forth. He hates her words. But he's man enough to admit the truth. “Maybe. I can't be here twenty-four hours a day to protect you.”

“
Précisément
,” Juliette says with quiet gravity. “Shepard would have already been here and done away with me if that was his intent. But it is not.” Juliette takes his hands once more, squeezing them. “Please, Thorn, don't poke at this snake. Let us own our happiness.” Tears fill her eyes.

Duty fills his soul. Justice.

“Tell me, Juliette. Don't protect this fucker. I don't care if he gave you a pass. What about the next woman? What about Marissa?”

Juliette's eyes flutter shut, and she covers her face with a hand.

When they open, he sees the hurt he put there, and his hand moves to her swollen belly. “Please, baby. I need to have peace of mind—protect my family.”

A minute of quiet drenches them. Thorn feels her heart pulsing.

Her sudden answer in the stillness momentarily startles him. “Shepard is part Norwegian. I mean…” She smooths her curly hair behind her ears, and Thorn watches a stray tendril spring stubbornly forward. He tucks it behind one ear. The gesture earns him a small smile. “His mother's family was American. But many years ago, her ancestors came from Norway.”

Thorn fights impatience. This is a history lesson he doesn't need. He waits.

“Anyway, there was a death in the family—after
la famille
had”—she inhales sharply—“
groomed
him.”

“How does this—” She puts two fingers against his mouth, and he kisses them.

“Norwegian law demands that all ancestors, regardless of how far flung, proximity, or other considerations, reap the benefits of their deceased relative.” She looks at him then glances at their laced fingers. “In his case, he was one of only two descendants still living. Had his parents not died when he was eight years old, they would have been the beneficiaries.”

Thorn sighs.

Juliette's eyes narrow on him. “So Shepard signed off on the monies but kept one asset.”

Thorn's breathing quickens. The answer is at his fingertips.

“He inherited a cabin in South Dakota.”

“What town, Juliette?” Thorn's palms sweat with excitement, and he drops her hands.

She flexes her fingers, taking him in. “I do not know. It's why I never brought it up. Shepard has financial resources, and when he mentioned the cabin, it was only in passing. He made the place seem so run-down. Shepard must be worth millions now. I can't believe he'd voluntarily use it. I got the feeling he kept it out of sentiment.”

“Uh-huh. Where? Did he say?”

Juliette smirks. “So patient.” Her face goes pensive for a moment, and she rolls her lower lip between her teeth. “Somewhere in the middle eastern part of the state.” She lifts one shoulder.

Thorn grabs her shoulders, and she gasps. He hugs her as tightly as someone can hug a nine-months-pregnant woman.

“Thorn!” She laughs, and her sudden joy breaks the solemn revelations.

“Thank you,” he says fiercely against her temple.

“Don't thank me yet. Shepard is dangerous. He will not respond well to a welcoming committee.”

He pulls away, looking down into the face of the woman he loves. One he'd give his life for. Has. “Oh”—his mouth quirks—“Thorn doesn't think there's going to be any
welcoming
where Shepard is involved.”

Juliette's tense expression tells Thorn that was exactly what she was afraid of.

*

Shepard

I stroke the long blond hair away from her flushed cheeks.

Mine.

The word springs unbidden inside my thick skull, and no matter how much I attempt to beat the unbidden ownership into submission, it whispers the truth of my growing attachment.

Our new hotel is in Wyoming. I am so close to the cabin located in Spearfish Canyon, I can taste the fragrance of pine trees.

My fingers trail a path from Marissa's shoulder to the valley where her hip swells. I cross the geography of her belly, teasing the tip of my finger inside the divot of the button.

The finger I use flows downward, and her smoky eyes open, a smile lighting on her features.

The lazy happiness she receives from the touch causes my chest to swell with an emotion I did not think I was capable of.
Love?

Non
. Surely it is too soon for that. Besides, Marissa and I share too many awful circumstances to complement each other.

She captures my finger just as I begin to pierce her entrance.

“
Non
?” My eyebrows rise.

She shakes her head. “If I make love to you one more time, I think my lady bits will tumble off.”

I grin. Her American slang is quite endearing. Fresh. Like her. My smile fades like a dying bloom.

“And where will they go?” I ask, bending over her.

“Somewhere,” she breathes, and I capture her lower lip in my own, sucking at the honey of her mouth.

“Shepard.” Her palms flatten against my chest, and I take her hands in one of mine and pin them above her body. Her eyes wide, she spreads her legs, and I seat my cock between them.

I feel her wetness with the tip of my dick. “You are ready. Again.”

She nods but bites the lip I was just kissing. “I'm sore.”

“You are wet—wet for me—ready.
Non
?”

Marissa smiles, and the expression seizes me in place. I do not rock forward into her warmth but freeze, waiting like a dog for her command. Wondering how it came to this.

She giggles, and still I wait. She is brevity while I am solemn. Ying and yang.

“Go slow.”

Merci Dieu.

Though I have never believed in God, I thank him now.

Inch by painful inch, I restrain myself inside her tightness, one made even tighter by the orgasm my tongue gave her pussy moments before. Finally, through sheer willpower, I finally come to the end of her, my one hand still wrapped around the wrists of both of hers.

I throb for release. Still, unmoving.

She hugs me inside her body, and I feel as if I have returned home. I press my forehead against hers and utter vulnerable words. “Do not leave me.”

Tears run sideways from the corners of her eyes as she looks deeply into mine. Her sadness dampens my biceps. Her smile is tremulous. “Never.”

I move then.

Deep, powerful, slow thrusts, meant to connect us, marry our bodies. I have always fucked before Marissa.

Now, I am free to make love. It is new, and I fear the novelty will not wear off—that it might prove to be something more powerful. Too powerful to bear, to hold on to.

“Look at me, Shepard.” She tries to squirm out of my hold.

I tighten my grip. I do not want to look into those eyes. The eyes that make me fall deeper with each glance. Each gaze.

Each moment.

“Please.” Her voice is a raw hush of breath.

And I look. Drown.

“Fuck me,” she says, forgetting her soreness.

I do not forget.

I shake my head, and for the first time, I feel tears threaten to fall. Instead of crying, I make love to her.

Marissa will not be fucked but be loved by my body. It's what I can do. I press deep, withdraw. Her fingers flex within the hold of my hand.

“Yes,” she says, arching into my chest.

I let go, my hands traveling to the small of her back. I lift her, and her legs wrap my torso, my cock embedded deep.

Our eyes are inches away from each other. The contact is more intimate than any I've ever had with another human being.

Even with my former wife, Juliette.

My hands palm her hips, and I lift her off. Slam her down, impaling her again, and she groans, her head thrown back. One finger moves between our bodies, and I find her clit, rubbing the erect greedy nub.

“Shepard,” Marissa moans, gripping my shoulders.

I pump my hips up, driving myself inside her in a controlled thrust at the same time I feel her pussy walls cinch around me.

I grit my teeth.

“I cannot. You undo me.” My release slams out, causing my vision to blacken at the edges, pleasure swamping my body as I grow minutely harder, pouring myself into her.

“Me, either,” she whispers, and then she's coming around me.

Our bodies pulse in synchronicity. Locked together, I wrap my larger body around her, still releasing inside this woman I sink into—body and soul.

After a few minutes, I say, “I believe I make sperm only for you.” My lips twitch.

She laughs, and I must admit, I adore the way her eyes twinkle when she looks at me.

“I think you'd make it, anyway.” A cloud passes over her face. “I'm not on birth control. No reason to be.”

Her eyes pass over mine then away.

I press a finger to her chin and force her to look at me. Slowly I extract my spent cock from her. “I do not have sex with a condom.”