Long for Me (5 page)

“If we can find a way to make him answer for it, we’re going to.” He cupped her chin, eased her head back so he could study her pale face. The fragile skin under her eyes looked bruised. “You don’t look like you’ve slept, Tink. Can you turn that brain off for a while? Try to sleep?”

“Maybe.” She wiggled out of his grasp, tucked her cheek against his chest.

“Maybe if you soak in the hot tub, it will help. Why don’t you give it a shot, soak a while? Then you can crash in my bed. I’ll bunk on the couch.”

She curled a hand into his shirt and a heavy, taut silence caught between them. Part of him waited. But then she sighed and sat up. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t have my suit though.”

Blood drained down, in a low, liquid glide, to stiffen his cock. A hungry ache settled inside him as he stepped back. Although it pained him to act like it didn’t matter, he just shrugged. “I can be a gentleman. You can have the tub all to yourself if you want.”

* * *

She wanted to tell him to screw that idea.

But she was raw from the past few days and she didn’t know if she was up to another night like the one they’d just had, not if he was going to pull away again.

A few years ago, they’d had a hot, crazy weekend and then she’d told him they needed to be friends—he’d talked about how he didn’t want her to regret being with him, and she hadn’t. Not the way he thought.

What she regretted was not being brave enough to reach for more.

That
was what she regretted.

In some terribly small part of her, though, she
did
regret the nights with him, because on the nights when she was
really
lonely, remembering the times when she’d wrapped herself around him, so tightly not even a wish could separate them, it had made that loneliness that much more painful.

Had made her long for him that much more.

Like now.

But she feared reaching for him. Because if he wasn’t there again …

Stop
. She slid outside and leaned against the door, pressing her head to the wood while need gripped and tore at her. Her legs trembled with the force of it and her heart ached.

Stripping out of her clothes, she folded them and left them in a neat little stack on the bench, eyeing the towels he’d left close to the tub. He’d been planning on coming out here, probably to stare up at the stars and brood.

Which was what she was going to do now.

The stars were hers now, as was the night. Sliding into the bubbling water, she groaned as it closed around her, smooth as silk and already seeping into her tired, aching bones.

Sinking down until the water lapped at her chin, she heaved out a sigh.

If she could just manage to
not think
…

She couldn’t think about the bad stuff.

Like a desperate grab for something safe, her mind latched onto Guy. Stupid, stupid, stupid …

It was one of those things, where you couldn’t quit thinking about it no matter how hard you tried.

That glint of heat in his eyes.

The hot, hard press of his muscles against her chest. The strength of his arms around her.

Hunger heated her belly.

Her nipples went tight.

Her pussy clenched, empty and longing for him to fill her.

Sensory memory slammed into her, the way it had felt as his hands closed around her hips, fingers biting into her skin, demanding and forceful. She craved to feel that again, feel
him
again.

“This is crazy.”

* * *

“Jensen, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Tate when he called. Yes, she’s here. Yes, I’ll take care of her.”

“I want to talk to her,” Jensen said, her voice flat.

“She’s a little indisposed,” Guy said, eyeing the back door.

“Unless she’s asleep or on the toilet, take her the damn phone,” Jensen snapped.

“She’s in the damn hot tub. Can you all leave her alone?” He shoved a hand through his hair and tore his gaze from the door, glaring out the window so he wasn’t obsessing over a wet, naked Chris on the other side of that thin bit of wood. Wet. Naked. In his hot tub.

He was going to come in his jeans, right there.

“If you don’t put her on the fucking phone, I’m calling the station and I’ll have one of them do a drive-by,” Jensen said.

“Oh, kiss ass.” He shoved off the door. Jensen may or may not do it. He’d call out there. Tell them she was fine. Two could play that fucking game. “Look, I’ll take care of her. I always do, right?”

“I want to talk to my sister.” Jensen’s voice was flat and hard. She hid it well, but she was practically a bulldog over her sister and both Tate and Jensen were worried about Chris lately. Frankly, he thought they worried too much, because they were smothering her, but neither of them would want to hear that.

She’d grieve, as she always did, in her own way.

She always kept it trapped inside, unable to let it out, except around him.

He could still hear those heartbroken sobs.

And he realized abruptly if Jensen did manage to talk one of the deputies into coming out here, that was just going to make her come out of her skin. Sighing, he shoved off the counter. “Look, I’ll ask if she wants to talk to you. If she says no, you’re out of luck. Deal?”

“She’ll talk to me.”

Wanna bet?
He kept that behind his teeth, barely, as he opened the door.

His tongue practically glued itself to the roof of his mouth as he saw Chris standing, naked as the day she’d been born, there by the side of the hot tub. The lines, vines, and swirls of her tattoos slid across her flesh, elegant blooms of color that wrapped around her arms, curved around one breast.

Hunger roared through him.

It didn’t matter that he’d all but gorged himself on her just a few short days ago. It could have been hours ago and it would have been hours too long. He wanted to go to his knees and press his mouth to the naughty little naked Tinker Bell that flew over her left hip, wanted to cup her ass in his hands and nudge her legs apart.

A tinny sound echoed in his ear.

He barely heard it, still staring at Chris.

She stared back, the towel in her hand hanging there.

He closed his eyes, absently tightening his fist. Plastic casing cracked and he looked down, saw the phone.

Dimly, he remembered.

He had to clear his throat twice. “Do you want to talk to Jensen?” he asked hoarsely.

A faint smile curved her pretty mouth and she shook her head, taking a step toward him.

Lifting the phone to his ear, he said, “She doesn’t want to talk, Jensen. Sorry.”

Then he disconnected.

“I…”

Chris took another step toward him.

Fuck
.

One of the vines curled around the curve of her breast, a rose blooming just beneath it. So fucking sexy. There was another, swirling down across her hip, a closed bud, refusing to bloom. There were fifteen flowers, mostly roses, but a few daisies. A flower for every year she’d lost her mother. There were other tattoos, and unlike most people, he knew the meaning of damn near every one. Like the weeping, winged skull that spread across her back … another for her mother, done just last year, when she’d finally let herself start to admit that Nichole Bell was probably gone, dead.

And he knew there would be another, soon, some way for Chris to come to grips with what had been done.

She crossed the wooden boards, the soft creak dragging him out of his stupor.

“Chris…” Her name was a rasp on his lips, the most he could manage.

She reached out and laid a hand on his chest. Her skin was scalding, it seemed. Scalding, ready to burn him.

He didn’t care.

“I lied, you know,” she murmured.

“Lied about what?”

“About not regretting it.” She scraped her nails down his chest. “Not because I wish we hadn’t … exactly.”

“Chris?” Fuck, if she said she was sorry, it was going to end him. Plain and simple.

She took a deep breath and the dirty, hungry bastard that he was, he couldn’t help but notice how her nipples were tight and hard and he wanted to bend his head, suck them into his mouth, bite them a little just to hear her gasp. Instead, he forced himself to stare at her face, listen as she spoke. “I regret it because it hurts sometimes, to remember. I lie awake at night and remember that weekend. We agreed we’d done something stupid. We decided we’d forget. But I can’t forget and now there’s another night to remember. Those nights just don’t feel like they’re enough. I don’t
want
to forget anymore.”

* * *

Guy’s arms caught her around the waist and she gasped as he whirled them both around. Her back crashed against the wood of the door and his weight pinned her to it. Then his mouth was a breath above hers. “I remember a weekend where you made me damn near lose my mind. I was still struggling to catch my breath when you started talking.
You
decided we should forget it. I just went along with what you wanted.”

She stared at him.

He slid a hand down her thigh and she shuddered.

“No,” he said, still watching her. “I never forgot. And yes, I still lie awake at night, remembering. I was inside the past thirty minutes trying not to think about you wet and naked out here.”

Then he slid his hand between her legs, cupped her. Wet. So wet.

He could have her, right here, right now.

And if morning came and she wanted to pretend it never happened? Then what? He didn’t know. It would kill a piece of him and he knew it. But he couldn’t think about that now. It was too fucking complicated when his dick, when his heart, hurt like this.

“If you’re not ready to be stupid again, tell me to stop,” he said.

Chris stared at him.

Seconds ticked by.

“Chris?”

“I’m not saying a damn thing.”

His mouth took hers at the same time his finger made a deep, thorough penetration of her body.

She arched up against him, her fingers digging into his arms. The muscles of his biceps were rigid, tight.

“Be sure, Chris,” he whispered.

“You better hurry.”

He laughed.

A second later, her head was spinning as he boosted her up over his shoulder, one big hand curving over her hip to steady her. “No. I’m not going to hurry this.”

Chapter Five

The cabin was basic, but it had what Guy had considered the necessities. A broken-in couch, the hot tub, and one giant bed that fit his massive frame. As he put her down on it, it closed around her like a cloud but she only had a second to enjoy it before he flipped her over onto her belly, a restraining hand at the small of her back.

“Guy—”

His lips touched the flare of her right hip. “I see this. Especially this time of year. This new one, and it drives me nuts.”

She gasped out a breath as he traced the outline of the fairy she’d had inked onto her right hip. The wings spread up onto the small of her back and her belly, even across the curve of her butt, with a naked Tinker Bell sitting defiantly on her hip. There were a handful of people who got away with calling her Tink, short, in fact, for the cocky little fairy from
Peter Pan.

Guy had been the first one to do it and she’d started the tattoo one weekend, just a few months after that interlude with him.

“Tinker Bell,” he muttered. “A dirty little Tinker Bell … she even smirks like you do, baby.”

She tugged against his hand and turned her head, staring at him. “Are you going to play with Tinker Bell or me?”

“Why not both?”

He pulled her up by her hips and she hissed out a startled breath, then whimpered as he stroked his other hand up, cupped one breast, toying with the nipple until it pulsed and throbbed.

Her clit did the same, aching and tight, her hips rocking, desperate for relief.

She brushed against him, felt the thick ridge of his cock against her butt. He was still wearing his jeans. Smiling a little, she reached between them, shifting until she could mold him in her hand. “You play, I play.”

“That…” He groaned, arched into her hand. “Should be fair.”

Should be. But a moment later, she was on her hands and knees while he rasped, “I’m not in the mood to play.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words died in her throat as she felt the head of him at her entrance.

“Last chance, Chris.”

“I don’t want chances. Just please … I’m empty, Guy.”

A long, hard shudder wracked him. And then, slowly, so painfully slowly, he filled her.

Need, painful and desperate, spliced through her and she twisted back against him. One hand tightened on her hip while the other slid up her back, fisted in her hair. “Be still,” he ordered. “Be still.”

As she tried to take him fast and hard, he controlled her body, taking her with slow, deep surges that left her breathless.

“You son of a bitch,” she gasped.

He twisted her head around, easing his hold on her hair. “Years, Chris. I’ve wanted you for years. You’re not going to make me rush this.” He crushed her mouth to his and twisted his hips against her bottom, his cock swelling inside her. She groaned, reaching behind her and locking her arm around his neck.

“Mine,” he muttered, letting go of her hair to cup her cheek. “Mine.”

She shivered as the words rippled across her skin, through her heart, her soul. She wanted to ask, wanted to say more.

But the climax exploded up, grabbed her.

Leaving her breathless.

* * *

Morning came.

No matter how much he wished it wouldn’t, it came anyway.

He hadn’t slept. He was tired, achingly so, but if he slept, he’d miss a moment of this and sooner or later, she’d wake up. That waking-up thing had him worried, because once she woke up, she might start to think and no matter what she’d said last night about the few nights they’d had not feeling like enough.

They
weren’t
enough.

Nothing short of a lifetime was enough for him, and forever was a thought that terrified her. Chris didn’t think past the next few days. She wouldn’t admit it—not even to herself, but it was why she was still running her florist shop out of her home, instead of trying to get a real place. It was why she still worked part time for Adam and why she never chased after her dreams.