Текст книги "Last Second Chance"

Автор книги: Caisey Quinn

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“I can’t say much without risking my job—patient confidentiality and all that—but I’m pretty sure you’re going to risk yours, so I have to say something.”

“Okay.”

“What I said about struggling to overcome addiction being like fighting a battle? He’s fighting a bad one. Worse than most of the folks here. So…just know that if you’re going to stand in his corner, you need to commit to staying in it. You’re probably going to get a few bystander injuries if you get too close.”

Stella nodded to acknowledge that she’d heard the woman loud and clear.

She’d heard the warning. She had. But picturing Van fighting a battle with an invisible enemy he couldn’t see made her stomach turn. Because she was pretty sure he was fighting alone, the corner behind him heartbreakingly empty.

It went against everything she knew that made sense. But the knowledge that he needed her to be in that corner was soul deep.

Chapter Eighteen

Van was much more comfortable in his new living arrangement. Granted, his penthouse apartment in LA it wasn’t. And the fucking buffalo head above the fireplace wasn’t exactly his style, but he and Dave—that’s what he’d named the buffalo—weren’t doing too badly for themselves.

A small kitchenette, which he had no plans to cook in, took up one corner. A round wooden table and chairs separated that from the living area, which was really just a brown leather couch, a fireplace, and a flat screen. A decent-sized bed that was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the one in his initial room had been took up most of the floor space. A tiny bathroom with a stand-up shower stall was all that was beyond that.

It was only his second night alone in what tiny bit of privacy the facility allowed, but he felt like he could breathe. There was just the one thing. The bed.

It wasn’t built for one like his bed in the main facility. No, this one could easily fit two. Or more. In his past life, he’d have seen how many nurses he could fit in it at the same time. But in this life, it was the image of one woman writhing in that bed in all her naked glory that taunted the ever-loving shit out of him.

Since Vanessa had made her grand appearance, Stella Jo had barely looked at him. Her avoidance was affecting him in a way that no other woman had. He wanted her to look, wanted to see that ravenous need flash in those gorgeous eyes, ached to watch those luscious lips of hers part in surprise when he told her what he wanted to do to her.

So far he’d just watched TV, perused the Field & Stream magazines under the coffee table, and then lay in bed reenacting the one time she’d claimed his mouth like she was competing to become the world champion of tongue kissing. Fuck. Even thinking about her tongue sent him down the painful blue-ball spiral of doom.

After he’d showered and brushed his teeth, clear eyes stared back at him from mirror over the bathroom sink.

Swiping the condensation from the mirror so he could get a better look, he sighed. Sure, he’d been sober thirty days. And he was even doing his damnedest to behave during therapy sessions. But no matter what he did, that man in the mirror would remain the same. Damaged with a fucked-up past. The demons peeked over his shoulder, reminding him that Stella Jo Chandler was a hell of a lot better off without him.

Or is she? the demon of selfish destruction whispered in his ear.

Sometimes she looked so lost, so empty. Like maybe she needed him, needed someone rough and vehement like him who’d give it to her how she needed, who wouldn’t judge her no matter what, and who would always want and accept her.

He couldn’t imagine anything that could make him want her less. If anything, the closer they’d gotten, the more he wanted to know. She was the one drug he’d never get enough of. Never be able to force himself to detox out of his system.

The past few nights he’d been told by Jesse that things were handled and he wasn’t needed in the barn. He’d been sent to do other tasks, like clear out fallen tree branches on the riding trail and clean out a shed way out on the property.

He’d seen a stream with a small bridge over it, and the first thought in his head was, Stella Jo would love this.

What the fuck was that about? Really?

He wasn’t the kind of man who had those thoughts. His thoughts about women were limited to Yes, I’d like to fuck that one and No, I would not like to fuck that one. And usually, once he was free of his manacled mind via his usual cocktail of coke and bourbon, they all fell into the ‘free to suck his dick’ category.

He was pretty sure a line had formed once.

His mind danced around like a boxer in a ring. Corner to corner. Back and forth. Past and present.

He’d tried to come up with something, some way to get her to talk to him, to let him explain about Vanessa. He’d research and explain quantum physics if that’s what it would take to get her to listen. But explaining about Vanessa always led to explaining about Val, which would lead to explaining about himself, and shit on that shit. No way she was ready for all that.

If he told her everything, the dark memories that fueled his addictions, she’d probably jump on Shadowdancer and ride him as far away as the beast could run.

Just as he settled on the couch to watch whatever was on one of the nine channels he actually got, a gentle knock rapped lightly on his door. He hit the mute button on the remote and the time appeared on the flat screen. It was after ten. Who the hell would come knocking this late?

Dropping the remote and adjusting his boxer briefs, he contemplated putting on pajama pants. But hell, it was late by facility standards. Whoever would come around this time of night would just have to deal.

The more he thought about it though, the more he suspected it might be someone who would prefer him in less clothing. If it was one of the groupies he’d somehow amassed here, he just wouldn’t answer. Yanking on a pair of black pajama pants, he heard another knock. It was slightly firmer this time.

“Hold on a damn second,” he muttered under his breath. Thankfully his door had a peephole. As soon as he glanced out of it, he realized he must’ve already been asleep. Clearly he was dreaming.

Stella Jo Chandler stood on his small wooden porch looking like a wet dream come to life.

Van opened the door without a word. He just propped on it and waited for her to tell him what in the actual fuck she was doing there and why she wanted to kill him. Surely she knew how he felt. He’d thrust his rock-hard cock against her during one of their last encounters for God’s sake. So showing up like this, in a tight-ass dress with fuck-me heels on was obviously an attempt at his undoing. It was working.

Eyeing her long bronze legs and that perfect spot between her thighs where the skirt ended—the one he wanted to explore with his hands, tongue, and his dick—was rapidly destroying him. He was mere seconds from falling to his knees and begging her to tell him what he could do to make any and all of those fantasies a reality when she spoke.

“I don’t want you to be alone in your corner.”

Van tilted his head as if looking at her from a different angle would help that make sense.

“I get it now. It’s…it’s a fight. A battle. I don’t want you to fight alone in your corner.” The words came out slightly slurred. So she’d been drinking. Well, if alcohol lowered her inhibitions and loosened her lips, he’d take what he could get. He wouldn’t be acting out any of his dirty thoughts as long as she wasn’t in her right mind to decide, but he’d take an inebriated Stella over no Stella at all.

“I see. Would you like to come in?”

Hesitation flickered in those beautiful eyes. “It might not be allowed,” she whispered like they were little kids with a secret.

He whispered conspiratorially as well. “It probably isn’t. But I’m thinking it’d be safer to talk inside instead of risking someone seeing you on my doorstep past your bedtime.”

“I don’t have a bedtime, silly.” Stella giggled as she stepped inside, and Van was pretty damn certain it was the sexiest sound he’d ever heard. His dick had taken notice as well. Great. This was going to be an exercise in restraint. Those were always fun.

“Uh, I’d offer you something to drink, but all I have is bottled water.”

Once she was inside, Stella seemed to realize where she was. Her cheeks darkened past pink to crimson. “I’m not thirsty.” Her eyes met his and she licked her lips.

He had no idea what had gotten into her, but he wasn’t one to complain.

“So what can I do for you, Miss Chandler?” He had some ideas. But he figured it was best to let her say whatever she wanted to get off her intoxicated mind.

“I’ve been unfair to you and…” Her gaze shifted off of him and on to some unidentifiable point in the distance. “And no one’s guaranteed tomorrow, right?” Before he could agree, she rushed on. “And I don’t know what to do because I’m so screwed up and I don’t want to put that on someone in rehab who already has enough to deal with. You know what I mean?” Her eyes met his in search of understanding.

Van scratched his head. “Can’t say I’m completely with you, cowgirl. But I’m trying to keep up.”

She huffed out a breath the way someone on the verge of a hissy fit would. Like that temperamental horse she liked so much. She was pretty damn cute when she was drunk.

“If you say you’re not engaged, then I should believe you. Because who am I? It’s not like my opinion matters so much that you’d waste all that energy lying to me.” A worry line appeared between her eyebrows. “But that girl looked like…like she belonged with you. And I look like, like…” Helpless eyes met his, and he felt the roaring flames flaring in his chest.

Her opinion doesn’t matter? Her opinion was the only one that mattered. When the hell had that happened? Using a finger to tilt her chin up, he stared into her eyes until he’d penetrated the hazy layer of her buzz.

“I am not engaged. And for the record, you look like the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

There it was. That little gaspy, mouth-opening thing she did.

“Van.”

“Stella.”

A small fit of laughter burst from her. “Van and Stella. VanStella. Vanella!”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head before stepping farther into her personal space. “Babe, I can guarantee nothing we do together will be vanilla.”

That sobered her laughter immediately.

“They say you’re a madman,” she breathed, unfiltered panic lighting that gorgeous gaze. “You break stuff, trash hotel rooms and tour buses, and—”

“I know what they say, sweetheart. Some of it might be true. Question is, do you believe it? And how much do you really care?”

Exposed vulnerability poured out of her eyes when she returned his stare. “I believe you could wreck me. I believe you could make me feel things, things I’d never want to stop feeling. And then…my heart. I’m afraid you’d trash it just like those hotel rooms and tour buses.”

He had to pull every ounce of inner strength he had to his core to keep from stumbling backwards.

She wasn’t offering to be a quick lay. Or even a one-night stand neither of them would ever forget.

She’d gone and mentioned her heart.

He’d told her that once he fucked her, she’d belong to him. But he’d also chalked that up to his territorial male testosterone-fueled libido talking. Looking at her now, he realized it was more than that. The thought of fucking her once or even twice and then allowing her to move on to some other asshole was incomprehensible.

“Know what else I’m afraid of?” she asked before he had time to respond.

“What’s that?” he choked out despite the invisible hands keeping a stranglehold on his throat.

“Not feeling. Not risking it. Playing it safe and never seeing you again. Spending the rest of my life wondering.”

“Stella Jo, I… Dammit.” He stepped back and rubbed a hand over his head. He didn’t miss the wounded look that flickered across her face. But what the hell? Her heart? How could he ask her to trust him with something so precious? He was in rehab because he couldn’t take care of his own ass for fuck’s sake.

The sweet column of exposed flesh above her breasts tightened as she swallowed.

“I-I’m a foolish woman,” she stammered, backing towards the door. “I had too much to drink tonight. I shouldn’t have come. Sorry.”

Watching her pull away caused him physical pain. Somehow, even in the short time they’d known one another, she’d latched on to something inside of him and was tearing it out as she went. Just as she turned on her heel, Van grabbed her elbow and whirled her around to face him.

“Oh no, cowgirl. You don’t get to just leave like this.”

“I don’t?”

Van grinned. “No, ma’am. That’s the thing about Texas, from what I hear. Guests get treated with respect.”

Her eyebrows dipped as she regarded him warily.

“So, you say what you came to say. Come on, cowgirl. What happened to ‘I’ve dealt with animals bigger than you’? Don’t go shy on me now.”

Her eyes narrowed.

His gaze dropped to her proudly displayed breasts as she shoved her shoulders back. He couldn’t decide if he loved that dress or hated it. He loved the way it showcased her perfect body for him, hated knowing she’d been out drinking with other motherfuckers getting to see it.

“Okay then. I will.” Her chin jutted out, and he grinned.

“Let’s hear it.” Folding his arms over his bare chest, he smiled wider when he noticed her own eyes struggling to stay north of his neck.

“The way I see it, we have two options. Either I put in my notice and quit my job so that whatever is going to happen between us doesn’t get you kicked out and get me fired or we wait until you’re out of here to give in.”

“Give in to what, darlin’?”

“To how badly you want to fuck me,” she said evenly. And then she quietly added, “And how badly I want to let you.”

Van’s mom was catholic, but he had no idea if there was a patron saint of being owned. If there was, he needed to pray to it. Immediately. Maybe St. Jude would listen. Because right then, he was a lost cause if ever there was one. Any hope he’d had of protecting Stella Jo Chandler from himself had flown right out the fucking window.

Van cleared his throat. “What if we take it slow? One day at a time. See where this leads us,” he suggested, wrapping his arms around her. “Maybe you don’t have to quit your job and we don’t have to torture ourselves for two long months. Maybe we’re just…careful.”

Well there was a word he’d never used. Careful was the exact opposite of the kind of approach he had on living. He could hardly believe he was the one suggesting that they take things slow.

“Careful?” Those eyes of hers met his, and he felt his grip on control slipping. He wasn’t sure he was even capable of being careful with this woman. She’d ignited something powerful and all consuming within him.

He nodded, but it was as if the fucking floor had been torn out from beneath him. His sexual encounters usually occurred when he was wasted. Liquor gave him an all-night hard-on and coke made him blissfully numb. If some overzealous groupie wanted to give it a go at sucking him off until she got lockjaw, well who was he to deny her? He hadn’t actually taken a woman to bed in the traditional sense in a very long time. And it had been Vanessa, who liked it angry and punishing. There had always been that disconnect with them, because for her sex had been about pain. About body parts and sensations.

Not that he would mind tying Stella Jo up and punishing her a little for their mutual enjoyment. But this was…more. More than what he’d come to expect. No one had ever offered him her heart before. And if they had, he would’ve probably fumbled it.

With Stella Jo in his arms, this gloriously guarded and enticingly vulnerable woman offering not just her body but her heart to him? To his screwed-up self? It was too much. He was torn between wanting to devour her immediately, savor every inch of her body inside and out, or kick her the fuck out before he ruined her like he did everything and everyone else.

“Van,” she said, pulling him out of his head with his name thick in her mouth and soft on her tongue.

“You’ve been drinking, cowgirl. And as much as I want to carry you over to my bed and fuck any questions about other women right out of you, I’d feel better if you made this decision sober.”

A soft growl, one an angry kitten might make, came from her lips and he smiled.

“Need me to take the edge off, baby? I’d be happy to help.” Before she could respond, he lowered her into one of his dining table chairs and dropped to his knees.

“Van? What are you—”

Her sentence was cut short as he reached between her thighs and divested her of a very enticing black lace thong. Damn, that was hot. Every time he thought she couldn’t turn him on anymore, she ratcheted his blood to boiling.

“I’m keeping these,” he said, tucking them into the pocket of his flannel pants.

Her eyes widening in what looked like an even mixture of terror and desire, she watched as he used both hands to spread her thighs apart as far as he could without causing her pain. Her leg muscles were tense, so he massaged her inner thighs until she relaxed.

“Pretty sure I’m sober now,” she informed him quietly.

He chuckled. “That so? Well, just to be on the safe side, how about just a taste for now?”

He heard her breath hitch in her throat.

“May I have a taste, Stella Jo?”

Her chest heaved noticeably when he looked up to ensure that he had her full permission.

She nodded, the fear still present as she watched him. Was she afraid of having an orgasm? He had no idea. But a fierce desire to make her come so hard she spoke in tongues possessed him before he could question her.

Her skin always held a faint scent of wildflowers and something sweet and savory. He suspected it was her lotion or whatever girly shit she used in the shower. But between her thighs was pure sweet honey. The scent hit his nostrils as he dipped his head and triggered a reaction so powerful he could barely contain it.

His tongue darted out and teased folded skin that was closed to him. Fuck this. The seat of the chair was greedily keeping her delectable opening for itself.

Grabbing her roughly, propelled by desires he was quickly losing complete control of, he lifted her onto the kitchen table.

“There. That’s better,” he said, grinning at her alarmed expression. Using her knees to pull her forward so he had the best access, he spread her apart until her swollen center was exposed to him.

He fell in deep love with her closely shaved and petite pussy at first sight.

“Aw. You shaved for me.”

A hint of a smile teased at her lips. “Perhaps.”

Van dipped his head between her thighs once more. “Mmm, good girl. Guess I should reward you for that.”

Before she could utter a single syllable, he shoved his tongue full force straight up the center of her. She even tasted like honey. A savory sweetness that drove him wild. Pressing his fingers into her inner thighs, he spread them apart until she cried out.

This would be a thorough job. She’d need to be as wide as she could stand.

His tongue danced around her clit, circling it, teasing it, until she was panting. Glancing up, he saw that she’d relinquished control to him completely. ’Bout fucking time.

Her head was thrown back and her breasts pointed to the heavens as her body bowed for him.

“Mmm, I think you’re my favorite flavor, Stella Jo.” He slid a finger into her tight, wet, opening and almost cried out as loud as she did. “And lucky for you, I have an addictive personality. So I’m probably going to need a taste every damn day.”

Her arms thrashed roughly the solid table as he slid another finger in.

“Sound good, baby?” he asked, pausing to stroke the insides of her folds with his tongue a few more times.

Her answer was a whimper, a desperate cry of pleasure laced with pain. She was on the brink and he wanted to take her right over the fucking edge.

“I didn’t catch that, cowgirl. Was that a yes?”

“Yes, God. Van, fuck. Yes.”

Her pleasure had his dick throbbing, but he’d have to deal. Tonight was about her. She’d been the one to come knocking, and she would damn well get what she’d come for.

He chuckled against her exposed clit. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Thrusting his two fingers in harder with each reentry, he did what he knew would give her the release she needed. The one her body was so obviously craving. After one more deep tonguing lap around her clit, he took the throbbing mound of flesh into his mouth and sucked. Hard.

His fingers took her higher, deeper, while she moaned and pleaded. She was begging. He could hear it but he didn’t know what she wanted specifically at the moment. It was just a steady breathless stream of “Pleasepleasepleaseplease” on repeat.

He hoped like hell it was please don’t stop or please keep going, because no way was he quitting now. She’d have to knee him in the face and knock him unconscious if she wanted to deprive his mouth of her.

When her hips began gyrating off the table, thrusting her against his face, the beast in him took over and he raked his teeth over her sensitive flesh.

“Come while I tongue fuck you, cowgirl. Give me that sweetness. I’m dying for it.”

He flattened his tongue and stroked her relentlessly as her walls clenched the ever-loving piss out of his fingers.

Pulling his heavily drenched fingers out, he sucked them into his mouth. Her eyes met his and she was gone. Fucking animal kingdom gone. Completely wild and no longer a part of the human race. Just a mass of trembling nerves and need and want.

He winked at her. Then he drove his tongue as hard as he could into her throbbing opening over and over while rubbing his fingers roughly around her clit.

When the screaming began, he pressed harder, sucked harder.

But then he had a startling realization. She was screaming. So, fuck yeah, he was the man. But also, someone might hear. The private residences were too close together to be truly private. He’d promised to be careful, not cost her this job.

Reaching up, he covered her mouth with his free hand as she finished coming on his tongue.

After he’d licked and kissed her gently down from the most intense orgasm he’d ever had the pleasure of witnessing, he pulled her dress back down over her thighs. He lifted her nearly lifeless body into his arms. She was practically purring as he carried her to the couch.

Lowering himself onto the couch beside her, he took her still-trembling body in his arms. She was still twitching a little from the aftershocks.

“Damn you taste good, cowgirl,” he told her once she’d ridden out the remaining violent waves of ecstasy. “Here, taste.” Ignoring her wide eyes, he pressed his mouth onto hers and dipped his tongue inside.

She clamped her legs around him and gripped his biceps hard enough to hurt. The way she dug her fingers in, as if she were holding on to him for dear life, made him ache to be inside her.

“Made up your mind yet?”

She pulled back from their kiss, still panting enough to make his entire life. “About?”

“Whether or not you believe the rumors. About me. Be honest.”

An impish grin lifted her lips. “Well, I can say with absolute certainty that you are, in fact, a madman.”

“That’s what they tell me, sweetheart.” He brushed his lips against hers to show her that, even as crazed as he was, madman or not, he could be gentle too—if that’s what she needed.

“Van…I need you,” she breathed. “Soon.”

The plea soothed every open wound he’d nursed for as long as he could remember. She needed him. And unlike the last woman who’d needed him, the one he’d failed miserably, he would be what Stella Jo Chandler needed. He would keep this one safe.

“You’ll have me. Soon. We’ll just have to be careful. I don’t want to cost you your job, cowgirl.”

She nodded. His eyes met hers and he saw it. She trusted him completely.

He would be worthy of that trust. Of her.

Or so help him, he’d cut out his own damn heart.