Witness to Passion (Entangled Ignite) (Guarding Her Body) (15 page)

“Next time you go off to play Spy vs. Spy, make sure you leave me with someone who speaks more than five words. He’s nearly as bad as you.”

He didn’t reply—not that she gave him a chance.

She launched herself through the door and threw herself against him.

And a breath shuddered from between her lips when his strong arms rose and wrapped around her, holding her close. Only then did she permit the shakes to overtake her. He could’ve been killed. And she would’ve never seen him again. Never have heard his exasperated tone again. Never have kissed his mouth, his skin. Never have welcomed him within her body, moved under him, been broken apart in pleasure by him. Her arms tightened, and she burrowed her face into his chest, pressing her lips to the place where his heart beat.

“I’m glad to see you, too,” he murmured against her hair before brushing a kiss across her curls. With an arm still encircling her shoulders, he turned to Khalil, extending a hand to his friend. “Thank you for staying with her. Keeping her safe for me.”

The other man nodded, clasping Shane’s hand. “Of course.” Khalil glanced down and winked, shocking her. “Any time.”

As Shane started giving Khalil instructions, she slipped out from under his arm and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Quietly, she closed the door behind her and slumped against the wood.

Get it together
, she ordered her shaking limbs and racing heart.
He’s fine
.
No need to get all emo. He’s
fine
.

How long she stood there trying to convince herself that the suffocating knot in her chest was due to her concern over his safety and not much, much more, she didn’t know. But when she finally exited the room again and headed toward the stairs, she passed by his bedroom. Through the open door, she heard the shower running in the en suite bathroom. She paused, staring at the empty room. Neat as a pin except for the black jeans and shirt he’d been wearing that were strewn across his military-straight bedcovers.

Jerking her attention to the partially closed bathroom door, she lifted her hand, covering her belly as if the touch could alleviate the widening ache there. A desperation she despised but acknowledged pulsed, transmitting an urgency through her veins she didn’t understand but couldn’t deny—or resist. She entered the room, her feet carrying her across the floor to the bathroom. Steam seeped out of the cracked door, and she pushed it open. And stepped inside.

The enormous glass shower cubicle hid nothing.

Water poured down over his head, plastering his short, black hair to his scalp. Rivulets streamed over golden, taut skin. And as he lifted his arms to flatten his palms against the tile wall, muscle flexed and relaxed along his shoulders and back, creating a sensuous dance that set up a low, hungry throb between her thighs. Her gaze traveled down his spine, over the dip at the base, and lingered over the tight, firm curves of his perfect ass. And those thighs…

Without removing her gaze from him, she drew her shirt over her head, and quickly shed the rest of her clothes. When she slid the door aside, he lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder. Slowly, he straightened, turning as she closed them inside the humid space together. He didn’t speak; he didn’t ask her what she was doing or order her out. Instead, he stood as still as a statue, watching her through hooded eyes that were both hot and cold. Blazing with need and shuttered. She shivered. His gaze beckoned her closer and warned her off. Her stomach twisted. Even now, naked physically and emotionally, she feared his rejection. But she wouldn’t leave. Wouldn’t run.

Picking up the bar of soap and one of the luxuriant bath cloths, she moved closer to him. She lathered up the cloth and rubbed it over his shoulders, down his arms, and then back up to clean his chest and ridged abdomen. Slowly and with dedicated attention to detail, she washed every inch of him, even wrapping his cock in the thick cotton and stroking his flesh until he groaned deep in his throat.

She dropped the cloth to the tiled floor and circled him. Humming in pleasure, she smoothed her palms up his back, loving the strength and power of him. He was a lethal male animal who hunted and fiercely protected those he loved. But who also would allow himself to be petted, stroked. As he did now. And it was a gift, a privilege.

Her gaze dipped to the scars marring his waist and bordering his spine. With his confession from the night before clear in her head, she brushed her fingertips over the puckered skin. Unlike before, he didn’t stiffen or jerk away as she pressed her lips to his damaged flesh. He let her reassure herself that he was whole, alive. That he’d returned to her from war and from earlier today.

Tomorrow he might walk away. Tomorrow he might exist in her life in only the most peripheral manner. Tomorrow she might again be reduced to his little sister’s best friend.

But in this instant, she comforted herself, trailing her mouth up the valley bisecting his back, in this pocket of time, he was hers to touch, to kiss.

And that was enough.

Chapter Fifteen

“Oh my God.” Fallon moaned, tipping her head back on her shoulders. “If you were Rumpelstiltskin, you would have my firstborn child by now. Just as long as you didn’t stop.”

Shane snorted. “I swear, some of the weirdest shit comes out of your mouth,” he drawled, but continued dragging the brush through her damp curls. When Addisyn was younger, he would sit in her bedroom and comb her hair before putting her to bed. But that brotherly duty didn’t compare to the cocoon of intimacy surrounding him and Fallon as he perched on the living room couch with her encased between his legs, performing the same task. Especially when she released another of those groans that conjured thoughts of the sounds she uttered when he sank into the tight, welcoming flesh between her thighs. Relieved but hungry. She shuddered, and inside he did the same.

And not just from the silken slide of her heavy strands over his hands and wrists. Or the intimate embrace of his legs hugging her shoulders and torso. Or the provocative scent of her freshly washed skin as she leaned back against him. Yeah, all of those lit the desire curling in his gut and winding through his veins. But they didn’t make him shake. Make him clench his fingers in the wild delight of her hair. Make his chest tighten like a vise compressed his sternum.

The memory of her stepping into the shower with him assumed that blame. The gentle, attentive way she’d washed him in the shower. The tender brush of her lips over his scars. Those gripped him like a pit bull’s jaws and refused to let go.

“Thank you,” Fallon murmured, breaking into his memories.

“For?”

“This.” She fluttered her fingers toward her hair. “No one’s brushed my hair for me since I was a little girl. It’s…nice.”

He gathered her curls away from her forehead, then threaded the thick strands through his fingers. The cinnamon-and-gold spirals wrapped around his skin, and he resisted the urge to burrow his hands in them, tug her head back, and capture her mouth with his.

“It’s not completely selfless.” He snorted. “I’ve had a thing for your hair for years.”

She stiffened under his hands. “What?”

He huffed out a laugh, lifting a thick lock. “Yeah, I think I may have developed a fetish. Golden, wild, free. You,” he admitted with a wealth of reluctance. Still, he surrendered to his need and tangled his fingers in the mass. “Your hair is gorgeous and reminds me of you.”

He detected her swift, soft intake of breath and frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, tilting her head to the side.

Chagrin and a confusing flash of sadness raced across her face before disappearing behind a mask he was unaccustomed to spying on her expressive, revealing face.

Her lashes lowered, further hiding herself from him.

“When I was eight, Rachel Bowers told me I had ‘nappy’ hair. Up until then I’d never questioned why I had tight curls and both my parents had bone-straight hair, but suddenly, thanks to that little bitch, I did. Even though I was a kid, some sense of self-preservation kept me from asking my mother why. It didn’t matter though, because a year later I overheard my parents arguing, and my mother yelled at my father that I wasn’t his daughter.” Shane’s hand tightened as he went rigid behind her. “At nine, my rose-colored glasses had been ripped off. Suddenly, I understood why I was so different from the people I’d called Mom and Dad. Why my skin was a couple of shades darker than theirs. Why I had gray eyes when my mother’s were green and my father’s were brown. Why I was short and thick while my parents were both tall and slender.”

“Fallon.” Shane breathed. He cupped her chin, tried to turn her more fully toward him, but she resisted.

“Dad never treated me different. Even after he and Mom divorced, he never brought up the fact that I may not be his biological child. Still, I couldn’t help—
can’t
help—believe every time he sees me…my hair, my skin, my appearance…he’s reminded of the possibility, of my mother’s betrayal and lies. And I can’t help but wonder if that’s why he’s so cold and distant. I’ve never mustered up the courage to ask him or Mom. Partly because I don’t want to hear him confirm my suspicions. I don’t think I could stand it.”

“Baby.” His grip on her chin firmed, and this time he wouldn’t allow her to deny him. He cupped her shoulders and shifted her body around until she had no choice but to give him her attention, to lift her stormy gaze to his. “I’m sorry you were hurt by the adults who were supposed to protect you. And I’m sorry you’ve had to doubt your identity all these years. I can’t imagine how painful the uncertainty has been for you. But everything you’ve mentioned—every difference you’ve listed—they’re what make you beautiful.”

He lifted a strand off her shoulder, held the curl up, and studied it in the waning late afternoon light as dusk crept across the sky. After a moment, he released the lock and trailed his hand over her shoulder and down her arm.

“They make you unique,” he murmured, studying the difference between the shades of their flesh. “Your skin reminds me of honey and cinnamon. And for years I’ve obsessed about your taste, driving myself insane wondering if you would be as sweet on my tongue.” His burning gaze flashed upward, crashed into hers. “You are.”

She blinked, again lowered her lashes but not before he caught the moisture glistening in her eyes. Her teeth sank into her lower lip, and he gently tugged it free, grazing his thumb across the abused flesh. Uttering her name, he tugged her to her knees and pulled her into his arms, her legs straddling his legs, her head tucked under his chin. He pressed a kiss to her hair, the sight of this unbreakable woman so vulnerable tearing a gaping hole in his chest.

She lifted her hand to his face, and he stared into the desire deepening her dove-gray eyes. A slow, thick heat sidled through his veins. He’d become well acquainted with that particular shade in the past week—it was the same shade when she’d crossed the floor of his bedroom before taking him deep into her mouth. The same shade when he kissed her. The same shade when he first penetrated her pussy with his cock.

Yeah, well acquainted with that look. And he’d come to crave it.

Tilting his head down, Fallon studied him for several long moments. What did she see? Most likely something he was terrified of her noticing, but it couldn’t be helped. The shield he’d erected between them years ago wore so many fissures, they resembled spider veins. At one time he’d managed to maintain the facade of polite distance, had cemented the pretense of indifference. But now, after several days with her, rebuilding the wall seemed not only impossible but futile.

“It seems for the past three months I’ve known nothing but fear. And now I’m shut up in a safe house, the murderer I’m set to testify against probably looking for me at this very moment. And yet,” she murmured, tracing the lines of his mouth with a fingertip. “And yet, these past few days have been the happiest of my life. Thank you, Shane. Thank you for coming for me, for protecting me, for giving me new memories. No matter what happens after we leave here, I’ll never forget them.”

Then her mouth was on his, drowning out the unease slicing through his chest at her fatalistic tone. Her tongue teased the seam of his lips before demanding entrance—which he conceded. With a hungry growl, he allowed her in and yanked away control of the kiss. Gripping her waist, he lifted her up and dragged her over his lap so she straddled his thighs. He tugged her closer until her lovely breasts were crushed to his chest, her pussy in perfect alignment with his dick. He rocked against her and swallowed the low moan she released. Her hands abandoned his face, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, opening wider under his tongue. He suckled, licked, and consumed, unable to get enough of her even as he took…even as a small part of him acknowledged he’d never be able to get enough of her.

She nipped his bottom lip, raked his chin and neck with her teeth. Clenching his jaw, he tipped his head back, granting her easier access. His fingers tightened on her ass, and he ground harder against her, the primal caress of her teeth on skin arrowing straight to his balls. And when she drew his flesh into her mouth and sucked, his cock jerked in jealousy. He stroked his palms up her spine and into her hair, pressing her close, silently ordering her to continue the delicious pressure. Christ, he could imagine the same action around the head of his dick. Could feel the same suction taking him deeper and deeper into that beautiful, wicked mouth.

Eager fingers gripped the hem of his sweater and jerked the knit up his torso. Obediently, he raised his arms, and she tugged the material off.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Her soft sigh whispered across his skin as she sidled off his lap and knelt on the floor between his thighs. Her words seemed as reverent as the lips she slid down his abdomen and chest. His heart thumped against his rib cage and under her palms. No one had ever called him beautiful; applying the word to him should’ve sounded silly falling off her lips. Instead the compliment humbled him. He’d been with women—lots of them—but none of them had made him feel so wanted, so…cherished. “A part of me thinks I’m going to wake up in my bed and all of this will have been a dream. Like a bad episode of
Dallas
.” She chuckled breathlessly. “I still can’t believe you’re letting me touch you, kiss you.”

He tangled his hands in her hair. “As much as you want, baby. Take whatever you need from me.”

Her gaze lifted to his, and the hunger in the gray depths nearly brought him to his knees.

“I need all of you.” He almost didn’t catch the quiet, murmured confession. And by the swift catch in her breath and immediate lowering of her thick lashes, he had the impression she might not have meant to utter the telling words aloud. Too late, though. He’d heard. And he wouldn’t allow her to retract them or pretend she hadn’t voiced them.

“Then take it, Fallon,” he growled. “It’s yours.”
Me
, he silently amended
. Take me.
The primitive need to claim and be claimed roared inside him like a ferocious lion, but a sudden vulnerability prohibited him from stating the telltale declaration at the last moment.
It
was harmless.
It
meant his body, his cock, the pleasure he offered. But
me
…
me
referred to everything. His body, his heart, his mind, all his faults…his life.

Yeah,
it
was safer.

She lowered her head and opened her mouth over his chest. Her soft, quick tongue flicked his nipple, and he jerked under the erotic lash.

“Damn it.” He lowered a hand to her waist, then trailed it back up her torso and under her sweater until he cupped a breast. “Harder, Fallon,” he rasped, demanded.

With a slightly strangled moan, she closed her lips over his nipple and worried the pebbled tip with her teeth. His hips bucked at the edge of pain mixed with gut-twisting pleasure. He loved that, craved it again, and told her so. As she repeated the caress, he tugged the cups of her bra down and grazed the taut beads with his thumbs. She cried out against his flesh, her fingers digging into his waist. He circled and pinched the peaks, and she reciprocated with hard, pointed stabs of her tongue to his nipples. Every lap and nibble strung him tighter than a quivering guitar string. Her lips and tongue played him as skillfully as any musician.

Panting, she shoved away from him and peeled her sweater off. All those gorgeous honey-and-chocolate curls bounced around her face and shoulders, and an erotic shiver tripped down his spine.

“Come here,” he murmured, reaching for her, but she plucked his fingers and, with a smile that would’ve done a siren proud, slowly released the button on his jeans, lowered the zipper.

“I’m taking what’s mine,” she reminded him. “You promised.”

“Wait, wait.” His heart thumped like an eternally late white rabbit. He whipped his discarded sweater up from the cushion next to him and, bending over, folded the knit and padded the floor. Straightening again, he paused at her stunned, wide stare. “What?” he asked, cradling her head. “What’s wrong?”

She blinked. Shook her head. Cleared her throat. “Nothing. I—” A tremulous smile ghosted across her lips. “Nothing,” she softly repeated. “Absolutely,” she pressed a tender kiss to his abdomen, “nothing.” Another kiss brushed the patch of skin about the band of his boxer briefs. He didn’t know which one trapped the air in his lungs—the gentleness in the sweet caress or having her mouth so close to his dick.

Air wrapped around the tip of his cock seconds before her lips did.

“Oh fuck.” Wet, slick heat. Tight, eye-crossing suction. Her hand fisted the bottom of his shaft, setting up a slow, hard pump while her tongue swirled around and under the rim, hitting a spot that had him almost forgetting his damn name.
Jesus
. She was good. So good he didn’t know whether to yell at her for the erotic knowledge or babble his thanks and praises. She engulfed another couple of inches.
Praises. Son of a bitch, definitely praises
.

He groaned, his head falling back on his shoulders, fingers gripping her bright strands. Then, seconds later, he lifted his head and dropped it forward, damned if he missed a moment of her beautiful mouth taking his dick. He withdrew, then deliberately thrust forward, watching his rigid flesh part her full, sensual lips. Stared as her mouth bumped her fist at the midway point of his cock.

“Damn, that’s pretty,” he whispered. “So pretty. Take your hand away.”

Her eyes flicked up to his, and he detected the flash of uncertainty in them before she complied, curling her fingers into the denim covering his thighs. He held her head steady as he slowly fed her his cock until the head bumped the back of her throat. She shifted, gagged, her nails biting him through his jeans.

“Easy, baby,” he crooned. “Relax your throat. You can do it.” Her muscles loosened, no longer trying to expel him from the slim channel. “God, yes. That’s it,” he growled, pulling free of her mouth and then returning with a slow thrust along her flattened tongue. Her moist heat covered over half his cock.

Lust and hunger swelled in his chest, rippled down his spine, and sizzled in his balls. She swallowed, and he gritted his teeth to force back the orgasm tingling at the small of his back.
Shit, so close. So damn close
. Surrendering to the need clawing at his insides, he fucked her mouth with short, hard strokes, and the fire of release licked at him, the flames burning higher, the wet sounds of sucking his dick stoking the lust, adding kindling to the need.