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Her breath hitches, and her shoulders shake, a slight tremor that cuts through me, through my fury like a razor blade.
Dammit. I take her arm and lower it, then pull her to me.
“Why are you crying?” I whisper, my chest tight. “What’s going on?”
She doesn’t speak for a while, but lets me hold her to my chest, so it can’t be that bad, right? I hate to admit it, but I’m glad she’s feeling something, that she’s showing me how she feels, because I’m shaken. Her slight body trembles in my arms, and it’s fucking crazy that I came back, that I brought her back with me, that I made her promises I intend to keep no matter the cost. That I’d do anything for her.
That I need her as if my life depends on her.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I say. “I’ll keep you safe, Ray. I swear I’ll do all that’s in my ability to protect you.”
A joke.
Fucking Christ, Storm. Even if you pay her debt, you’re the last thing she needs. She doesn’t need your dark secrets and the danger that follows you.
“Can’t.” Her small fist hits my pec with a small thud. “Can’t believe in fairytales and a prince charming. Never have.”
“That what’s bothering you? You’ve seen me. You know me.”
“Do I?” she asks softly. “Do I call you Troy now?”
“There is no Troy,” I explain to her patiently, because I know this sounds nuts, and if this is what’s scaring her… “He’s just a name. Storm is real. Troy is a ghost. Do you understand?”
She’s clutching the front of my shirt, saying nothing, and I wrack my mind, trying to figure this out.
Then she pushes off me, wiping at her cheeks, face closing off again.
Fuck. This. Shit.
The sting I feel in my chest can’t be fear, fear that I’m losing her already, before I even get a chance to really be with her… right? And yeah, I know I said she shouldn’t be with me, that I’m a danger to her, but dammit, I can’t.
Can’t let go yet. Not ready.
So I hem her in with my body, push her against the wall and brace one arm by her face, leaning in and kissing her. Tasting her anger, her fear, her need. Going back to what we know, what works for us. What brought us together in the first place.
You’re a liar, Storm. That wasn’t what came first. Her curiosity, her concern, her warmth, her bright spirit, that was the beginning. That was what drew you to her from the start.
I kiss her harder, to silence the voice in my thoughts, biting her soft lower lip, drawing it between my teeth until she whimpers. Her curves are soft, molding to my body. She tastes of summer and freedom and wild girl, and I groan as my stomach clenches and my dick hardens. I trail my hand up the silky material of her gray dress, over the mound of her breast, feeling her nipple bunch up under my palm.
She puts her hands on my chest, giving me a little shove, which I ignore. My tongue slides over hers, and she moans.
So hot. And oh fuck me, she’s still wearing the high heels my assistants bought for her. Breaking the kiss, I peek down, glimpsing them at the ends of her long legs.
Shit. I grab her leg, lift it around my thigh, and press her to the wall, eating up her mouth. I ache to bury myself in her, lose myself, forget. My hard-on presses into her softness, and my hand dives under the silky fabric of her dress, slides over her smooth thigh up to reach the lace of her panties.
Her hands curl on the front of my shirt, bunching up the Indian cotton, and a gasp leaves her lips as I slip my fingers into her panties, following the line of her slim hipbone, down and down.
Right between her legs.
Oh fuck. Her panties are soaked, her folds slick, and she jerks under my hand. Need to fuck her now, but there are too many fucking layers of cloth between us.
Too much between us, and I need to take her now, but kissing her is so good I can’t stop. Swallowing the tiny moans she produces, feeling her slender body shudder, I push two fingers into her, fucking her in long, hard strokes.
Mine. You’re mine, Ray.
Another shudder and she tightens around my fingers, coming apart, her hips shimmying against mine, her breasts heaving, pressing into me. It’s so good I break the kiss and grit my teeth to keep from coming on the spot.
Her eyes are dry now, hazed with pleasure and undecipherable like the future. She’s panting, leaning back, her leg still curled around mine, a line of fire. She’s not looking into my face, though. For a brief moment she let me see her—tears, pain, pleasure and all—and now she’s closing up already.
