Текст книги "Dangerously Broken"

Автор книги: Eden Bradley

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

He was definitely going to hell, because instead of maintaining his focus on the group’s silent meditation and their purpose there, all he could think about was tossing Summer Grace over his shoulder, carrying her off to some dark corner of the cemetery and kissing her until he’d gotten his fill of her lips. He remembered how beautiful she’d been in his chains. How much she’d loved it, and how perfectly she’d matched him, need for need.

And Jesus, this was not the time or the place. He subtly adjusted his tightening jeans and kept his pace slow, his friends ahead of him.

When they got back to their starting point, they all sat down on the ground, leaning against the iron gates and stone vases, some empty, some full of wilting lilies, and told their stories while they went through the beer until they were all at least a little buzzed.

Summer Grace was more than a little buzzed, he noticed, and too far away.

“You remember that time Brandon drove his car right across school campus?” Neal asked. “He tore the hell out of the lawn. I thought the dean would have his ass, but he managed to charm his way out of it, like he always did. That was crazy.”

“He always did have a wild streak,” Allie said. “But that was what the girls all loved about him. I don’t think I knew anyone—cheerleaders, stoner girls, theater nerds—who didn’t have at least a small crush on him.”

“And it wasn’t just the students,” Marie Dawn said, laughing. “Remember when he got caught kissing the art teacher’s aide in the supply closet at the end of senior year? That French girl, Gabrielle. He almost didn’t get to go to graduation. What was that art teacher’s name? She almost had a stroke when she caught them.”

“Mrs. MacGuire,” Neal said. “She was an old crone.”

“But the aide was hot,” Mick chimed in.

“Hey!” Allie protested.

“Well, she was. Hot enough that he kept seeing her until after graduation. Brandon got all the hot girls. Except you, of course, baby.” Mick leaned down and kissed Allie’s cheek.

“She was the last girl Brandon kissed,” Summer said quietly.

Jamie nodded. “Yeah, she was. Gabrielle . . . She came to the funeral, you know. She stood in the back and left before it was over. But I saw her. I saw her crying.”

They all sat silently for a moment, thinking, he knew, of the funeral. Summer Grace got up then and walked off slowly, as if no one would notice her absence. As if he wouldn’t immediately feel it.

“Jamie,” Allie whispered, reaching out to smack his arm. “Go after her, would you?”

“If I say no, you’ll just smack me again,” he muttered, already getting to his feet to follow her—as if he wanted to do anything else. The cemetery at night was no safe place for a girl alone, and he knew she was upset, thinking of her brother. Probably upset with him, too, and he couldn’t blame her.

But Jesus, the girl moved fast. By the time he peeked down the row she was nowhere in sight.

“Summer Grace?”

He moved quickly, peering down the side aisles through the dark, and was just starting to worry when he finally saw her leaning up against a stone urn in front of a moss-covered vault.

“Hey. You okay?”

She shrugged. “Marie Dawn was right. I love having Allie home again, but it makes it harder, too, you know? Now we’re only missing one.”

“I know.” He stepped closer. “And I know I’m probably the last person you want here, but I need you to know I am here. I know you’re missing him. Even more than I do.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure about that. He was really your brother, too. Neither one of us has much family left. And these anniversaries are so Goddamn hard.” She sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “As if we don’t remember every day. As if we don’t remember his smile or him waiting to walk me home from school. As if we haven’t heard that story about the last girl he kissed a dozen times.”

“Hey.” He moved in, steeling himself as he pulled her in close. But he could smell her hair, and her body felt familiar in his arms. So damned good. “It’s okay,” he told her. “It’ll be okay.”

“I can’t stand to think about that shit sometimes, Jamie. To think about who else he might have kissed after the art teacher’s aide. Who he would have ended up with. God, who knows? He could have married Marie Dawn. Or Allie.” She paused. “No, Allie was always Mick’s, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah. Always.”

It was true. Allie and Mick—that was pure destiny. It had taken some convincing for Mick to get over himself and see that. And Neal and Marie Dawn were right together, too. Out of the group it was just him and Summer Grace who still ran solo. Or not.

Can’t think about that now—not while she’s crying over her brother.

“In some ways it doesn’t get easier, you know what I mean?” she asked, her voice muffled against his chest. He hoped she couldn’t hear the hammering of his heart as he breathed her in. “He’s been gone for twelve years and I still sometimes feel like I can just pick up the phone and call him. Like I’ll walk around a corner and he’ll just . . . be there. Is that ridiculous?”

“No. I feel it, too. About Brandon. Even about Ian.”

She turned her face up to his and those big, blue eyes glistened with tears. It made his breath catch to see her hurting. “Really?” she asked.

“Yeah. Really.”

“But your brother’s been gone since you were seven years old. Do you even remember him that well?”

“Sort of. He was . . . Nah, this is really going to sound crazy.”

“Come on. Tell me, Jamie.”

When had he been able to deny her anything? Well, almost anything.

“The thing is, Ian was my twin, so my whole life I’ve had this weird idea that he’s grown with me, still looking like me. Like if I look hard enough into the mirror, he’ll be there staring back at me.”

“Wow.”

“See? I told you it was crazy.”

“No, I don’t think it is. I think it’s sort of amazing. And sweet.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Traci never understood when I talked about Ian like that.”

“Yeah, well, you guys weren’t married long enough for her to really get you,” she said.

It was true. He’d gotten hitched to the first girl he’d hooked up with after they lost Brandon, less than a year later. It had been a stupid move, and she’d left almost as quickly. He couldn’t blame her. For a lot of things.

Don’t think about her. Not here. Not now.

All he wanted to think of was the beautiful girl in his arms.

Summer Grace snuggled in closer and suddenly he was aware of the soft press of her breasts against his ribs. The fact that they were both a little buzzed on the beer and hurting. And maybe she’d missed him the way he had her this week.

“We should get back to the others,” he said, starting to pull away, not wanting to take advantage of the situation.

“Jamie, please. Just . . . hold me a minute.”

There was no way he was going to argue with her. He let his arms relax around her, pulling in a few deep breaths of the humid New Orleans air. But it was no good. Despite the ache in his chest, he was hyperaware of every soft plane and lusciously sleek curve of her body against his. He shifted so she wouldn’t feel him growing hard.

It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last—he was as certain of that as he was that he should never have touched her. Not Summer Grace. Brandon’s little sister . . .

She’d always been the little sister. In theory, anyway. But it was that theory that had allowed him to resist her until so recently. Because when she’d crawled under the blankets with him when she was fourteen hadn’t been the only time. No, that was just where it had started.

There was that time he’d gone camping with the Rae’s. They’d driven all across the country, and Summer Grace had done it again—slipped into his sleeping bag one morning when Brandon had gotten up early to go fishing with his dad and Jamie was too tired to join them. Her hands had slid all over his body. How she’d known to stroke his hardening nipples like that at barely fifteen . . . and before he’d really woken up and realized what was happening, he’d been lost in a dream where her long, silky hair was falling all over his chest, then dragging lower over his stomach, and his cock had gone so damn hard he could feel the come pulsing in it, ready to explode. When she’d touched him, her fingers tracing his erection through his boxers, his eyes had flown open and she was there—her hands and her hair on him real. He’d nearly come right then—he’d had to bite his cheek hard enough to draw blood to keep from grabbing her, tearing off her little shorts and sheer tank top, which had shown clearly in the dawn light that she wasn’t wearing a bra. He’d groaned, wanting to take those firm, pink nipples between his teeth and . . .

“Jamie,” she whispered.

“What? What is it, Summer Grace?”

She sighed. “When are you ever going to call me Summer, like everyone else?”

He smiled in the dark. “Probably never.”

She pulled back enough to tilt her chin, those long lashes coming down like a sooty shadow over her eyes as she blinked up at him. “Jamie,” she repeated, the rasp back in her voice.

“Yeah?”

She stared up at him, blinking again. There was so much going on in her eyes—more than he could figure out right then. And too much going on in his own head, too. In his body. Desire and the shared pain of what this night meant to them both. The guilt of having left her on her own all week. The deeper guilt of having violated his vow to her brother, and the really dark shit that ran even deeper. Being the survivor, both of their brothers dead and gone and him still standing there.

With his arms around the one woman he’d ever really wanted.

Too much. It’s all too fucking much.

But she was right there, in his arms. His hands gripped her tiny waist as he pulled her in and opened her soft lips with his tongue. Jesus, she tasted good. Like the beer, but behind it she tasted the way she smelled—like flowers and heat.

How was that even possible?

But he didn’t care. It just was. She just was. Hot and pliable in his arms, her lips and tongue as hungry as his. So many damn years of wanting. He deepened the kiss and she pressed closer, her breath a soft pant against his lips, into his mouth as he breathed her in.

He was hard as hell, hard enough to ache. He ground up against her. He couldn’t help it. She was all heat and need—he could feel it coming off her in waves, echoing his own need—a need he’d kept banked for years. Because she was . . .

Forbidden.

“Christ.” He let her go. They were both panting. “Summer Grace, I can’t do this.”

She shook her head. Her hair was mussed, her lips soft and swollen. “Don’t say it. Don’t. I’ve been Brandon’s little sister my whole life. But I’m still me. And I’m a woman, Jamie. I’m twenty-seven years old, for God’s sake! I’m not some kid who can’t make her own choices anymore. I haven’t been for a long time. How long are you going to run from me?”

He stepped back, braced his hand on the iron fencing behind him. “I’m not running anymore.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t lie to me. Goddamn it, Jamie. You haven’t even called me all week.” She pounded on his chest with her small fist, and he was shocked at the anger he felt from her—the anger and the power in her. “I was done with you. I was moving on. Why did you have to fuck with my head?”

He heard the tears in her voice, but he let her give him one last shove before she walked away, back toward their friends. He saw her go back to Allie, sink into her embrace, and he felt like absolute shit.

That should be me comforting her. Except she won’t let me.

Fuck it. And fuck her not letting him.

A small rage was burning in his chest. Rage and certainty and he wasn’t quite sure where either had come from. Didn’t matter. He knew what he needed to do.

He stalked after her and grabbed her right out of Allie’s arms. “We’re not done talking. You’re coming with me, Summer Grace.”

“What the fuck?” Mick demanded.

“Mick, let them go,” Allie said, and Jamie would have shot her a look of gratitude if he weren’t so completely focused on the woman struggling in his grasp.

“Summer Grace,” he said, keeping his tone low. “You can come with me or I’m about to make a hell of a scene right here in front of everyone.”

“Like you haven’t done that already,” she muttered, but she stopped struggling.

“Oh, you haven’t seen what I can do if necessary. You coming or do I carry you out of here?”

There was a long pause, but she kept her gaze on his, not even glancing at the others. It was as if nothing existed but the two of them, the tension thick in the air between them. As if nothing mattered but what might happen next.

Nothing does.

Finally she nodded, shook him off, and with her chin held high she headed for the part of the wall they all used to climb into the closed cemetery.

“Sorry, guys,” he shot over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, buddy,” Mick said.

“Go get her,” Marie Dawn chimed in. “What? It’s exciting.”

Jamie caught up with Summer Grace in a few long strides and grabbed her elbow. She kept moving, not looking at him, but she didn’t try to shake him off. At the wall he gripped her arm tighter.

“I’m giving you a boost up.”

She sighed. “Whatever. I can do it on my own, though.”

“You’re only five-foot-three.”

“I can do it myself, Jamie,” she said through gritted teeth. “I always do. I can use a can opener and pay my bills myself, too. I’m a Goddamn superwoman without you around. I can do a lot more than you’ve ever given me credit for.”

“Yeah. I know.”

She turned to look at him. “You do?”

“What do you think I’m doing here? Why do you think I’m dragging you out of here with me so we can talk? Did you think it was just to show that I could? Because you know, that move has earned me a lot of points with the crowd.”

She surprised him by cracking a half-smile. “Maybe.”

“Don’t think just because we have some talking to do that you won’t be owed a spanking.”

She squared her shoulders. “I’m not scared of you. And you might not get to spank me. Your silence was the beginning of renegotiations of our limits.”

Fuck.

“I don’t think you’re scared of anything, Summer Grace. But maybe you should be. And we’ll see about your limits.”

“Stop with the dire warnings and give me a leg up, will you, Braveheart?”

“Make that two spankings.”

“Promises, promises.”

He shook his head and clasped his hands for her to put her foot into. “Climb over the damn wall already and you’ll see how good I am at keeping my promises.”

Except for the one. But he was feeling more and more confused about how to interpret the promise he’d made to Brandon so long ago.

Would his friend have been upset if he and Summer Grace ended up together? He didn’t think so. But the kink . . . Would Brandon have known how to react to that at nineteen? How much would the years have changed his perspective?

Brandon would never know, though, would he? Maybe all he could do was his best.

He followed her over the wall and took her hand in his as they crossed Conti Street to where his Corvette was parked. It was a risk parking there at night, but he’d always taken whatever his current hot rod was to Brandon’s remembrance night, and nothing had ever happened to one of his cars there. It was as if Brandon were watching over them. He opened the passenger side door and watched with a small smile as Summer Grace’s hand stroked the cherry-red paint, lingering there for several moments. She’d always appreciated the muscle cars—maybe almost as much as he and Brandon did.

She slid into the pristine black leather seat and he closed the door behind her, then went around to the driver’s side and folded his long legs into the car. He flipped on the headlights before starting the car and the usual small thrill went through him at the purr of the powerful engine. But it was nothing compared to the fact that Summer Grace sat there beside him.

Gotta make it right.

“Your place or mine?” he asked.

“Yours,” she said without hesitation.

He raised an eyebrow at her but she looked straight ahead through the windshield.

“Okay. My place it is.”

As he pulled onto the street, the rain started, as it so often did in this subtropical city. The only sounds were the quiet thunder of the engine, the windshield wipers going back and forth and the rain splashing on the top of the Corvette as he drove. He didn’t let himself look at Summer Grace. He couldn’t. He was too damn distracted by her as it was, already formulating what he had in store for her at his place—and by what needed to be said. It was an insane mix of raw emotion and stark desire. But that’s just how things were with them. Pure intensity on every level. It wasn’t drama, like it was with some women. It was simply true.

When he reached the Pontchartrain Expressway he opened the engine up, the roar of it satisfying, helping him to focus on the drive home. A few minutes later he exited and hung a right onto Kerlerec Street, then pulled into a parking spot just past his house. He finally let himself look at her. She was still staring out the window—he could see the shadowed profile of her long lashes, faintly illuminated by the amber streetlamps as she blinked, the sooty weight of them coming down on her high cheekbones. He couldn’t read her from this angle. Was she still mad despite their banter? Hurt? She had a right to both.

“You gonna look at me, sugar?”

She let out a sigh. “Oh, you’re calling me ‘sugar’ again?”

He reached over to take her hand and felt her fingers wrap around his. He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Summer Grace.”

“I know you are, Jamie.”

“You still mad at me? Upset?”

“A little. If I wasn’t I’d be a doormat. No one likes a doormat, Jamie.”

“You’re not a doormat. You want to talk to me?”

“Not really.”

“You just wanna give me a hard time, is that it?”

She chuckled. “Maybe I do.”

Ah, there’s my tough girl.

“In that case, I have the perfect cure for your mad.”

He grabbed her and unbuckled her seat belt, pulling her across the console in one easy move, then into his lap.

“Jamie! What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m spanking you in the front seat of my car.”

“You are not!”

“Wanna bet, sweetheart?”

He lifted her until she was straddling him, and with one hand he yanked her shorts down, revealing her nearly bare ass—not that the small scrap of lace she wore would get in his way.

“Aw, you dressed up just for me,” he said, stroking his hand over the smooth flesh of her perfect little ass.

“I did not.”

“You may as well have. I’m enjoying it either way.”

*   *   *

SUMMER WRIGGLED IN Jamie’s strong grasp, but he hung on tight. “I bet you are,” she sassed, enjoying the banter. Enjoying the way he held on to her. Overpowered her. It made her mind empty out, which was exactly what she needed tonight.

Jamie was what she needed, no matter how hard she tried to deny it. Despite her anger—her justifiable anger—his little cockfight of a show at the cemetery had told her what she’d needed to know. And his touch was getting to her. It always did.

“Better behave, bad girl,” he warned, mock severity in his low tone. Or maybe not so “mock.”

“You know me better,” she argued, squirming harder. But he only grabbed a handful of her long hair and wrapped it around his fist.

Oh yes, exactly what I need.

She kept wriggling, and the more she struggled the tighter he held on to her, her body going soft and hot all over in his commanding grip.

“I know you’ll love it when I spank you,” he said, lowering his tone. So damn sexy she could hardly stand it. “You’ll love every single strike on your fine, fine ass. Every smooth stroke of my hand in between smacks as I run my palm over your burning skin. And in minutes you’ll be moaning. Wanting more. Oh, I know you, sugar, better than I ever have before. I know what you want. What that hot little body of yours needs. And no one can give it to you like I can.”

“Fuck, Jamie,” she murmured. Every single thing he’d said was true.

He chuckled quietly. The first smack came and she let out a soft groan. Then another hard smack, and another, and soon she was squirming with pain and the most exquisite pleasure—it flooded her system, making her wet instantly. She laid her cheek against the headrest behind Jamie’s head and gave herself over to the spanking. To pleasure. To the heat of his body so close to hers, the burning pain of his hand as he spanked and caressed.

When his hand slipped between her thighs, she gasped.

“Mmm, baby, you are so hot. So wet. Fuck.”

“Yes, please,” she begged. “Please, Jamie.”

Somehow he unbuckled his seat belt—damn, he was good at that!—and slid out of the car with her in his arms. It was still raining, small drops spattering them as she wrapped her legs around his waist and he carried her across the street. In moments he had the front door unlocked, then he carried her up the narrow stairs, through his living room and into the bedroom.

Jamie’s bedroom. She had a quick moment to take it in, illuminated by the pale hall light: the sleekly modern four-poster bed in a dark wood, the red blanket folded back to reveal the bed neatly made with sheets in a gray and white geometric pattern. The enormous mirror framed in dark wood leaning against a wall next to the bed—it must have been almost as tall as he was and maybe four feet wide. Which meant that from the bed you could see everything.

Oh, nice.

He set her down on the bed and moved her up toward the pillows, handling her roughly.

“Don’t be careful with me, Jamie,” she said, even though she knew he wouldn’t be. Never any more than he had to be.

“I won’t be. I promise.” He grinned, those devastating dimples flashing.

She knew he’d keep his word, and at that moment those words were the only thing that mattered.