Witness to Passion (Entangled Ignite) (Guarding Her Body) (16 page)

“No.” Desperation wrenched the denial from him even as he yanked her away and up to her feet. Her eyes were hazy with passion, lips wet and swollen from him riding her mouth. Snarling, he released her button and tore off her jeans and panties. “I want to come in your pussy, not your mouth.”

He shot to his feet, hiked her in his arms, and strode to the nearby table, setting her on it. Hurriedly, he removed his wallet and a condom from the fold. In seconds, he had his jeans shoved down his hips, the condom rolled over his cock, and her legs wrapped around his hips. He fisted the base of his erection, pressed the cockhead against her folds, and was captivated as her small opening stretched to accommodate him, accept him, suck him in. God, it was beautiful. Hot as hell and beautiful. As he pressed forward and slowly became enveloped by her tight, quivering flesh, a stunning revelation nailed him in the back of the skull.

He wanted Fallon to welcome him into her heart the same way her pussy welcomed his cock. Wanted her to allow him into her life just as her flesh allowed his dick entrance. Wanted to create something that didn’t reflect him or her, but
them
. Just like when he was buried so deep inside her, he couldn’t tell where he began and she ended.

“Hold on to me.” The order came out hoarser, harsher than he intended. But the dense ball of emotion knotting his chest, as well as the stranglehold her sex had on his erection, had him hovering on a razor’s edge of need. She slid her arms around his neck, and he tugged her closer to the table’s edge, his hold on her hips keeping her steady.

With a groan, he thrust deep in one long stroke. He waited, his molars probably ground down to the bone with the control he exerted not to withdraw and plunge inside her again. But he remained still as her muscles quivered and spasmed around his cock, adjusting to his penetration. Those moments fluttering around his taut, rigid flesh nearly undid him. Closing his eyes, he dug his fingers into her hips, acknowledging bruises might blot her golden skin later.

Sooner than the previous night, her core relaxed around him. Lowering his head, he took her mouth in a burning kiss even as he pulled free from her wet, tight pussy and drove back in. Oh
damn
, she sucked him in. Liquid heat rushed around him. Her muscular walls rippled over his dick, massaging him even as they squeezed him like a vise. Nothing or no one had ever felt this perfect—this perfectly made for him.

He angled her hips higher, slamming his to hers, fucking her like a man possessed. Consuming her cries, he buried his cock in her over and over, losing himself in her mouth, her arms, and her body. When she stiffened, dropped her head on her shoulders, and erupted with a scream, he followed. Her sex clamped down on his shaft and milked everything from him—his seed, his strength, his sanity.

Panting hard, she fell back on the table, and he covered her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. He couldn’t move—didn’t want to move. Especially when her arms wrapped around him. Content, he started to drift when she whispered his name.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think,” she rasped, “we will ever start out having sex in a bed?”

Chapter Sixteen

Pearly moonbeams streamed through the large bay windows, the glow, unhindered by smog or soaring buildings, almost lighting the bedroom as clearly as the noonday sun. Shane stared out over the cliff and beach, the dark waters of the ocean seeming to meld seamlessly into the vast key. Cool air from the central air-conditioning whispered across his bare shoulders and chest, and the hardwood floor cooled his feet. Behind him, in the big bed with the tousled covers and sheets, warmth and comfort awaited him. Not to mention the beautiful, sexy woman sleeping there. But here, it was the woman—or the jumble of thoughts and emotions she stirred—that had driven him from the bed in the first place. Here, at the window with its view of the calm, smooth as glass waters, he’d hoped to find a sense of calm, some sort of peace to ease the turbulence roiling inside his head and chest.

Not happening.

Memories of the evening—of the past few evenings—scrolled through his head like a movie reel. Amid the attempted murder, explosion, and shoot-outs, he’d made love to the vivacious, confident, impetuous woman he’d known for years. And he’d held and comforted a courageous, driven but insecure and wounded stranger who’d worn Fallon’s face all this time. In spite of a mother’s selfishness and a father’s negligence, Fallon had persevered to stand on her own two feet, to provide and create a life for herself. And she’d done it.

Yeah, the sex had been explosive. But, even more importantly, so had the quiet sharing.

The sex had ripped him open.

But the sharing had ripped him up.

When he’d suggested this “bargain,” he’d been so damn confident. So sure he could keep it strictly sex, and then eventually walk away unscathed and definitely unattached.

Now, after having her, after spending these last few days with her, hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, feeling her arms around him, he realized just how much of an arrogant ass he’d been.

Not only was he scathed, but the marks were permanent.

Still, he rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck, nothing had changed. The two of them together remained a disaster waiting to happen. He wanted family, marriage, a home. She wanted nothing to do with any of it. Not that he could blame her with her parents as a sterling example. Trying to compromise on those basic values would stifle her and one day make him grow to resent her.

An insistent buzz from across the room snatched him out of his dark thoughts. Frowning, he strode to the nightstand and snatched up his cell phone. A voicemail notification blinked up at him as if irritated at being ignored. He swiped his thumb over the screen and pressed the phone to his ear.
Damn. When had a call come in?

“Shane.” A low rumble of impatience. “Where are you?” Tristan’s voice barked. “I need to talk to you.
Now
. I don’t have time—fuck.” The cursing, the frantic, almost panicked edge to his tone… This wasn’t Tristan. What the hell was going on? “Listen, I’ll hit you back, and I hope to God you answer. Don’t contact me on my cell. I don’t know if it’s being traced. I’m calling you from my office phone, but I’m not going to be here…” Another curse. And then nothing. The message abruptly ended.

“What the hell?” Shane repeated. For a long second, he stared at the cell. Then, retracing his steps to the window, he tapped in a number. Waited. One ring. Two.
C’mon, damnit. Answer
.

“Yeah?” Rafe drawled.

“Hey, it’s me. Shane.”

“What’s up?” his friend asked, all remnants of laziness gone, replaced with a hard and alert edge.

“I need you to trace a cell phone for me.” Shane rattled off Tristan’s number. “Can you let me know his location?”

“You got it. Hit you back in a few.”

The line went dead, and he slid the cell into the front pocket of his jeans. What had Tristan wanted? And why had he sounded so paranoid? Almost…unhinged?

“It’s a beautiful view, but somehow I don’t think that’s what has you standing here in the middle of the night.”

He glanced down at Fallon, who stood next to him in one of his T-shirts. Her wild curls appeared almost black in the shadows, the moonlight turning her smooth skin alabaster.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said in lieu of addressing her comment. But he should’ve known Fallon wouldn’t let it go.

“What was the call about? What’s wrong?”

He quickly told her about Tristan’s call and his request for Rafe.

“He’s trying to find you,” she whispered. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” He paused, studied her face, needing to imprint every soft curve and stubborn angle to memory. “But you remember what I promised you, right?”

She nodded. “You won’t let anything or anyone hurt me.” Shaking her head, she chuckled, but the sound was devoid of humor, flat. “My timing has always sucked. But this seems about as good as any. Especially,” she shrugged, “considering.”

She tilted her head back, met his eyes, hers unwavering, steady, and yet incredibly vulnerable. His heart set up a thud against his sternum, and he almost begged her to shut up, to not utter a word. But he was too late.

“I screwed up,” she murmured. “Royally.”

He frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Just what I said. I messed up.” She fixed her gaze on the beach and water beyond the window, shifting closer to the glass until her toes bumped the window. “Somewhere between ‘I just want to be fucked, no strings attached’ and your gunfight at the O.K. Corral, I evidently lost my mind…and heart.”

Shock stretched its icy fingers through his veins.
What the hell? She couldn’t mean…
His gut bottomed out even as his heart set up a thunderous pace. Panic and…and
something
vied for dominance.

“If it’s any consolation,” she continued, “I entered this ‘arrangement’ with no expectations beyond pleasure and multiple orgasms. I promised I could walk away with no regrets, and at the time I meant it. Believed it.” She inhaled a shuddering breath. “But then I almost lost you—almost lost you before I had you. And it hit me that I couldn’t imagine a world that you weren’t in somewhere, breathing. Even if that somewhere isn’t with me. This world needs an honorable, brave, selfless man like you.
I
need you.”

“Fallon,” he whispered, but the quick, hard shake of her head stopped him.

“God knows my parents haven’t been the most protective. But you’ve always watched out for me. Cared for me. And when I needed you most, you put your life on the line for me. Time and again. Now, in this
safe house
, I need protection from you. At least my heart does. The same heart I’ve been so determined to shield, to hold onto so no one else could bruise it. Until you. I guess if I’m honest, it’s always been you.”

“Fallon,” he rasped. “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?” she asked, finally tearing her stare away from the window. Her eyes were dark with the pain he’d tried so damn hard to avoid inflicting. “Tell you I love you?” She laughed, the sound dry, rough. “I considered keeping it to myself, because I knew that if you even suspected my feelings about our ‘bargain’ had changed, it would be over with quicker than I could blink. But no matter how pitiful it makes me look, it’s only fair that you know I love you.”

Silence throbbed in the room. The heaviness of it pulsed within him like another heartbeat. Part of him hungered to palm her head, draw her into his chest, hold her close. But the other half, the half that recognized they would only hurt each other, kept his arms chained to his sides.

“Fallon,” he murmured, surrendering to the need to touch her. Even if it was a graze of the back of his finger over her temple. “Baby, what you want from me, I can’t give it to you.”

“Love?” she demanded. “Are you telling me you can’t love me? I call bullshit.”

His mouth thinned, frustration welling inside him. “Do you want me to lie to you? To tell you we can make it and later have you hate me for not being what you need?”

“No,” she countered. “I want the truth. But not just for me, for you, too. What you mean to say is, you have love to give, just not for me. That’s reserved for that special woman you’re searching for. The one you plan to have that family with in your big house. I hate that nameless, faceless woman you plan on giving your name to. Who will lie in your bed. Be your everything. I hate her with a passion.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said, shifting closer until her head tipped back in order to maintain connection. “You make it sound like I find you unworthy, and I’ve never believed that. I’ve never thought that. You,” he cupped the nape of her neck, “you are amazing. Beautiful. Brilliant—”

“Reckless. Fickle. Irresponsible,” she concluded, her voice low, intense. “Just like your mother.” A small, sad smile flickered over her mouth. “I’ve known you for twelve years. You can deceive yourself, but not me. I remind you of her. Of the flightiness that ended up in the power being shut off and eviction notices. Of the uncertainty. Of the fear. You’re scared that I’m like your mother. You’re scared I won’t be dependable, that I won’t stick. You’re scared to trust me.” Sighing, she stepped back, out of his reach, and in that moment she appeared defeated. “I can’t force you to trust me, to
see
me. I would stand by you, support you. I
am
the woman you need. But if you can’t—won’t—open your eyes and heart to me, I can’t force you. But because I do love you, I’m willing to let you go.”

A roar of denial lodged in his throat. Afraid? His mother. Fuck that, she was way off with that psychobabble shit. No, that’s not why he couldn’t risk getting involved with her past their self-imposed time limit. They were bad for each other. They were different. Addy…

His cell vibrated against his thigh. He dug it out of his pocket in a panic. Anything to stop this conversation, stop her from saying she loved him again. Because if she did, he might do something incredibly stupid…

“Rafe,” he rasped, not missing the rueful twist of her lips. “What do you have?”

“I tracked his phone, and it’s pinging off a cell tower on Cape Cod,” his friend said without preamble. “I’m guessing he’s on his way to you right now. If he is, he could be there in anywhere from ten to thirty minutes. I’m calling Ciaran right now to fill him in. Still, Shane, they’re not going to make it out to there before Tristan reaches you.”

“Copy that,” Shane growled. “After you call Ciaran, contact the Eastham police department and ask them to send backup. No lights or sirens in case Tristan is close.” Shane stalked to the dresser and yanked a shirt free from the drawer.

“On it. Watch yourself.”

“Always. And thanks, Rafe,” Shane said, shrugging into the shirt, but not bothering with the buttons.

“Shut up.” Then the line went dead again.

If alarm wasn’t racing through his veins, he would’ve smiled. But he already headed to the nightstand for his weapon. Hurriedly, he strapped on his shoulder holster, and with economic, practiced movements, checked his gun before securing it under his arm. He didn’t bother with socks or shoes. Picking up his backup piece, he turned to Fallon, who remained frozen at the window, her eyes wide and dark in the shadowed room.

“Do you know how to use a gun?”

She jerked her head
no
. “He’s here?” she asked, the calm in her voice, belying the fine tremor that lightly shook her body.

“He’s on his way. I don’t know how he found us, but… Come here.” She obeyed him, her feet silently skirting over the hardwood until she stood in front of him. His gut twisted as he palmed her face. “I—”

A sonorous
dong
echoed throughout the house.

The doorbell.

Shane jerked his head toward the bedroom door.

Who in the hell could that be?
The police couldn’t have arrived that quickly.

A pounding on the door, followed by a loud shout of his name, answered his question.

“Stay here,” he ordered, already moving toward the bedroom door.

“Not a chance,” she scoffed. “I’m coming with you.”

“Fallon,” he ground out, glaring at the open door as the doorbell pealed again.

“Think about it, Shane,” she said. “If it was Jonah Michaels, would he come up to the front door and ring the bell? Besides, I’m safest with you.”

“Fine,” he snapped, grabbing her wrist as she strode past him. “But you stay behind me. Understand?”

“Of course.”

Cautious, he stole down the hall and steps. At the bottom of the staircase, he paused. Listened. Pointing at the bottom step, he silently demanded Fallon stay put and crept to the window bordering the front door. Before he could peer out, another rap reverberated against the wood.

“Shane,” Tristan’s voice called out to him. “It’s me, Tristan. Open up. Please.”

Fallon emitted a tiny, strangled sound from behind him, mirroring the shock ricocheting inside himself. Tristan had obviously been closer than he assumed, than Rafe believed. How had he arrived so fast? Hell, how had he found them? Shane had been careful to ensure he hadn’t acquired a tail on the way out of Boston. A dark, insidious thought wormed its way into his mind.

Had Jonah Michaels sent a man he believed Shane trusted out here to do his dirty work?

“Shane, please,” Tristan pleaded. “We don’t have much time. I have to talk to you.”

With another glance at Fallon to remain in place, he removed his gun from the holster. And waited.

“Dammit, Shane, I know you’re there. You have to let me in.” More thumping on the door.

Then it went silent.

Moments later, the
crunch
of gravel reached them through the door.

Shane edged to the door, his spine flattened to the wall. With a barely perceptible flip of the blinds, he peeked outside on the porch.

It was empty. And a flicker of brake lights at the end of the drive signaled Tristan had left.

Bullshit.

Whatever Tristan’s intentions had been in showing up here, he wouldn’t have given up so easily. Not for a second did he think Tristan was gone. Shane didn’t trust that apparent retreat for a New York minute. He remained at the door for several more minutes, scanning the driveway and the access road, but didn’t spot a vehicle or lone figure creeping back toward the house.