Текст книги "Then Came You"

Автор книги: Jill Shalvis

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Twenty-seven

Emily sat straight up with a start and looked at the clock. She had no idea what had woken her. Beside her, Woodrow stirred and raised his head.

“Stay,” she said, sliding out of bed. “I’m just going for some water.”

He didn’t stay. He hopped down off the bed and sat at her feet, looking up at her.

She sighed. “Okay, you can come. But you have to be very quiet.”

She moved down the hall and peered into Sara’s room.

Empty.

Figured. Even her sister, more of a city woman than Emily could ever hope to be, had found a nightlife here in Sunshine.

The night was warm, and they’d left a window open. As she pulled a glass from the cupboard, a long, thin howl of pain came through the screen, making all the hair on her body stand up.

Another dog, she was certain.

She was equally certain that she couldn’t ignore it any more than she’d been able to with Woodrow. She ran to her room and threw on clothes.

“I know you’re gonna hate this,” she said to Woodrow, “but you’re staying. There’s another dog out there in trouble.”

She ran to her car, following the cry that tugged at every heart string she owned. Three minutes later, she slammed on the brakes when her headlights caught the dark huddled form on the side of the road near where she’d found Woodrow. “No,” she whispered, running out of the car, heart in her throat. “Oh, no.”

It was another dog, this one much more injured than Woodrow. It hadn’t been hit by a car, but in a vicious fight, and was bleeding from so many deep wounds she didn’t know where to start. She flew back to her car, grabbed a blanket from the backseat, and carefully scooped up the dog, who whimpered in pain.

“I know,” she whispered, heart in her throat. “Hold on, baby, just hold on.”

She broke a few speed limits heading toward the clinic, and also the no cell phone law when she hit Wyatt’s number.

He answered with a low-pitched, sleepy, “I hope this is a break-up sex booty call.”

She let out a half laugh, half sob, and he came immediately alert. “Emily?”

She pictured him putting on his glasses to check the screen. “You okay?” he demanded.

She swiped her nose on her sleeve and swallowed hard. “I’m heading to the center.”

“What’s wrong? What do you need?”

“I forgot my keys and don’t have time to turn around.”

She heard some rustling and knew he was getting out of bed. Normally she’d wonder if he was naked, and maybe even indulge in picturing it, but right now she just wanted him to hold her, as much as that set feminism back fifty years. “Is there a set of keys hidden anywhere on the property?” she asked.

“No, but I’ll be here waiting for you. What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want to get you out of bed—”

“Emily,” he said, “I’m already halfway there. Talk to me.”

She felt her eyes fill again and quickly blinked away the tears. What was it going to be like in L.A. without him in her life?

Your own doing . . .

“Emily?”

“I’ve got another injured dog.”

“ETA?”

“Ten minutes.”

“I’ll have a room ready,” he said calmly. “Drive safe, sweetness.”

Because she didn’t trust her voice, she nodded, for all the good that was going to do him. Then she ended the call and tossed her cell to the passenger’s seat and drove.

Wyatt did indeed get to Belle Haven before Emily. He hadn’t expected to hear from her, and for a moment, when her number had come up on his cell phone, his heart had squeezed, hard.

She’d changed her mind.

He’d been unprepared to hear her tear-ravaged voice, and fear had gripped him.

When her car pulled into the lot, he strode out into the night to meet her, opening the driver’s side as she turned off the engine.

“The dog’s in the backseat—” she started.

He pulled her from the car and gave her a quick once-over.

“I’m fine,” she said, opening the back passenger’s door. Wyatt gently pushed her aside and eyed the dog. Ah, shit.

“It’s bad,” she whispered.

Yeah. Real bad. He scooped the injured animal up while Emily ran ahead of him to get the front door.

“Where was he?” he asked her.

“About a quarter of a mile from my house, between my place and my neighbor. Right near where I found Woodrow. I heard him crying.”

And she’d gone out alone. He hated that. He shouldered himself and the dog through the door, striding directly to the back. “You went out at this time of night by yourself.”

“I had no choice,” she said. “You’d have done the same thing.”

The dog hadn’t moved, but was breathing heavily, a distressed pant. He’d gone into shock and was badly damaged. Torn to shreds really, bleeding through the blanket from too many places to count. Wyatt gently set him down on the exam table and turned to Emily, who’d immediately shifted closer to stroke the dog’s face and murmur softly to him.

She stood there, bent over the dog, tears shimmering in her eyes, balancing on her lower lashes. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

Wyatt’s heart tightened painfully. He knew that devastated look, he’d felt it all too many times himself.

It was one of the things that few people realized about being a vet, how much death and devastation they really faced every single day.

It took its toll on even the most distant and cool, levelheaded of people. And Emily was one tough cookie—he loved that about her—but she was never distant and only sometimes cool and levelheaded. Everyone had their breaking point and she looked to be at hers. “Emily.”

“I . . .” Lifting her gaze from the table, she stared at him. She was covered in blood. The dog’s, he told himself as she shook her head helplessly. “I—” Without another word, she whirled to grab some supplies and started assessing the dog as he would. “Shock,” she choked out. “He’s in shock.”

“Yes,” he agreed quietly. Waiting. It didn’t take but another two seconds. “He can’t take a surgery,” she realized. “He can’t—” She shook her head as it sank into her that the dog wasn’t going to survive, that the humane thing to do was put it down. “I have to . . .”

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“No.” She shook her head again. “This is on me. He’s my responsibility—”

“Did you attack this dog?”

“Of course not!”

“Then it’s not on you. Let me,” he said.

“But—”

“I know, you want to handle it all on your own, and you do. You handle everything on your own better than anyone I know. But let someone help, just this once.”

She was breathing a little heavily, telling him that the dog wasn’t the only shocky one. He had no idea what it was about this dog that had gotten to her so deeply, but it happened. It was the job. And sometimes, the job sucked. “Can you get me a warming blanket?” he asked.

He wasn’t going to need it. The dog wasn’t going to need it. And if she’d been thinking clearly, she’d have known it.

But she went, leaving him alone to do what had to be done.

Emily was at the closet where they kept the warming blankets before her brain kicked in and she realized what Wyatt had done for her.

“Damn him,” she whispered, and sat right where she was, on the floor by the closest. She pulled her legs into her chest, dropped her head to her knees, and tried to keep it together.

A few minutes later, footsteps came down the hall toward her and she busied herself with the blankets in the closest, like she was actually doing something.

“Come here, sweetness.”

“I’m organizing the closet.”

He sat next to her, right there on the floor, and then two warm, strong arms encircled her, pulling her into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and lost it.

He tucked her face into the crook of his neck and pressed his jaw to the top of her head. And then he did what she couldn’t remember anyone ever doing for her before.

He let her cry.

When she’d managed to curtail it down to noisy, hiccupping sniffles, he lifted her face to his. “Why did you become a vet?” he asked.

“To help,” she managed. Her throat got tight again. “To help animals.”

“And you helped him. You did,” he said when she started to shake her head. “You rescued him from a night of pure hell and put him out of his misery, and that was your job. That’s what we do.”

She closed her eyes. “You did it.”

“You went out into the night, heedless of your own safety, putting his life ahead of yours—which, by the way, we’re going to circle back to later—and you saved him from being alone.

She gave a shuddery, exhausted sigh. “Wyatt?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the intern switch. I should have. I . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m going to miss you,” she whispered. “More than I know how to admit.”

He blew out a breath. “Same. You came out of nowhere, knocked me on my ass.”

She set her head on his shoulder and tried not to cry again. “Will I see you? After I’m gone?”

“You marrying anyone anytime soon?”

She let out a watery laugh. “No.”

“Then yeah. I’ll see you. It’ll be okay, Em.”

“I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” he asked, stroking a big hand up and down her back.

“Act like a grown-up.”

It was his turn to huff out a laugh. “Yeah, well, it happens sometimes. We’ve got to call this one in, sweetness.”

“The police?”

“Yeah. That wasn’t a hit-and-run. And that wasn’t a coyote attack.”

“What was it?”

“I think someone’s fighting dogs.” Still sitting on the floor holding her, he pulled out his cell, hit a number, and put the phone to his ear. “Kel? Yeah, sorry man, I know it’s late. But we’ve got something you need to see.” He shoved his phone back in his pocket.

“Who’s Kel?”

“Local sheriff. He’s on his way.”

Kel arrived ten minutes later. He was a tall, lean, good-looking guy Emily recognized as one of the cops Wyatt played football against. Given his bed-head hair and unhappy expression, he’d clearly just dragged himself out of bed. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Remember what you were telling me the other night after the game?” Wyatt asked. “About the dogs? You said you suspected you had an illegal dog fighting ring in the county.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got something to show you. Wait here a sec,” he said to Emily, and then he and Kel vanished down the hall.

A few minutes later they were back, Kel looking royally pissed off. “I don’t know what kind of sick fuck could do that to a dog.”

A half an hour later, Emily parked her car in her driveway, got out, and nearly screamed when a tall shadow materialized in front of her.

Wyatt.

“Need to be more aware of your surroundings,” he said.

“Why are you following me?”

“Making sure you got home okay.” He took her key from her and started to unlock the front door, but Sara pulled it open and gaped in horror at Emily’s bloody sweatshirt. “What—”

“It’s not her blood,” Wyatt said, and shouldered his way in, hands on Emily, nudging her ahead of him. “She’s just exhausted. I’m putting her to bed.”

“Do you need a padlock to keep her there?” Sara asked his back as he strode down the hallway like he owned the place.

“I’ve got my ways,” Wyatt called back.

“I bet,” Sara murmured.

Wyatt took Emily into the bathroom and started her shower. “Need help?”

“No.” It was an automatic response. She was good at not needing help. “I’m fine.”

Wyatt let out a breath that was as close to a sigh as she’d ever heard from him. “Don’t do that,” he said.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t try to be Super Woman, not with me.”

She tried to laugh that off, but the sound was weak and she closed her mouth, afraid she’d go from laughing to crying again.

Leaning past her, Wyatt tested the hot water, and then he shocked her as he stripped quickly and efficiently, each movement economical and so masculine that she just stared at him.

When he was standing there naked and perfect, he began to remove her clothes, softening enough to smile when he caught her expression. “Don’t look at me like that,” he warned.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me up.”

But God help her, she did. He was all smooth, rippled sinew and male virility, and in any other circumstance, she would’ve taken at least a nibble. “I’m not.”

He snorted, pushed her into the shower, and then followed, completely unselfconscious, even though he was quite obviously aroused. Eyes hooded, he washed her hair with firm, strong fingers, and she let herself enjoy the feeling of being taken care of. When his hands ran the soap down her body, her head fell back onto his chest. She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see the dog’s blood running off her, down the drain.

But it was embedded in her brain, and the shock of it, and her anger, hit her again, and she began to shake. She reached out for the wall but Wyatt turned her to face him and anchored her close. She rested her head on his shoulder and leaned into him as the tremors took her.

Wyatt set the soap aside and wrapped his other arm around her, too, and rested his head on top of hers, holding her until she calmed.

“I’m better,” she said.

He didn’t respond, nor did he let go of her. Instead, his hands glided up and down her back in a gesture she was sure he meant to be soothing and comforting, and it was. At first.

But then she started to tremble for another reason altogether, and that reason was directly related to being pressed up against his wet, hot, hard body. “If you want me to stop looking at you like that,” she murmured. “You’re gonna have to stop touching me.”

“I can control myself if you can.”

She stilled, then sighed. “Well that’s just great.”

He let out a low, male sound that went right through her to all her good spots, and lifted her chin so he could look into her face. “You can’t control yourself?” he asked.

Of course she couldn’t control herself, not with him, a fact she’d proven over and over again.

“Emily,” he said, a bit strained now. “I shouldn’t know that.” He nudged her from him so she could rinse, during which time he soaped himself up as quickly and efficiently as he’d stripped them both, a fact that did nothing to lessen her sudden and desperate need for the oblivion he always brought her.

He turned off the water and wrapped her in a towel, and then grabbed one for around his hips, blocking her view. “Sleep,” he said firmly. “You’re going to sleep.”

And then he practically shoved her into her bed.

She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see him leave.

“Shit,” she heard him say, and the sound of his towel hitting the floor spiked her pulse as he slid in next to her.

“Wyatt—”

“Shh.” He flipped her away from him and hauled her back to his front. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

“We’re not going to . . .”

“What?” he asked.

He wanted her to say it? “Have sex,” she whispered. “Like the last time you slept over.”

“Besides the fact that we’re not doing that anymore, we didn’t have sex that night. Or any night here in this house.”

“Then what were we doing?” she asked.

It took him a moment to answer. “I’m going to let you wrestle with that one,” he finally said. “You let me know when you get it figured out.” He had a sinew-lined forearm snug against her belly, one of her bare breasts cupped in the palm of his big hand. His mouth was resting at the nape of her neck to subdue her. When she tried to move, he gently sank his teeth into the crook of her neck. The move was incredibly intimate, a little protective, and a whole lot possessive.

And she wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, but also arousing as hell.

Which wasn’t helping her cause. “If we’re not going there tonight,” she said, “you need to stop touching and biting my good parts.”

“Can’t help it that you’re one all-over sweet-as-hell good part. Go to sleep, Emily.”

“There’s something poking me in my butt.”

“It’s just the blankets,” he said. “Ignore it.”

She squirmed a little, trying to get comfortable, and from behind her came a rough groan as his hands tightened on her. “Stop wriggling,” he commanded.

She couldn’t help it. The “thing” poking her had gotten bigger. “That’s not the blanket, is it?”

“No, it’s not the blanket.” He ran his hand softly down her arm and took her hand in his. “Now stop talking.”

Wrestling with the fact that she’d done this, she’d put the whole leaving Sunshine in motion, she’d ended whatever it was they’d had, she tried to remember why.

Los Angeles was her home.

Her dad was there, and he needed her.

The life she’d always wanted was there.

None of that helped. Wyatt was right here with her and she already missed him like hell. “Wyatt?” she whispered.

He let out a long breath. The alpha male version of What the hell now?

“I’m sorry,” she said.

His arm tightened on her but he didn’t speak.

She closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep. But it took a long time.

Twenty-eight

Emily woke up in the predawn to a grumpy Q-Tip on her chest and her phone buzzing. Since she’d fallen asleep what felt like only a few minutes ago, she was groggy as hell, but one thing was obvious.

Wyatt was gone . . .

Her heart clenched painfully as she reached for her phone. “’Lo,” she answered without looking at the screen. “Who died?”

“Don’t get mad,” Sara said. “But I let Woodrow out the back door and he took off on me.”

Emily tossed off her covers and sat up. “Took off? He never takes off.”

“Exactly, but he did, and I didn’t have my shoes on so I couldn’t run after him. I thought he’d just go out and do his business and come back. Should have known better, men never do what they’re supposed to. It’s why I’m gay.”

“Where’s Woodrow now?”

“No friggin’ clue. By the time I got my shoes on and made it outside, he was gone. I’ve got to get to work. Can you send Wyatt out to help me?”

“Wyatt’s gone,” Emily said, reaching out with a hand to touch the indentation on the pillow where his head had been.

“Why?” Sara asked.

“Because we’re not a thing. He was here last night just to make sure I was okay.”

“Bullshit. You messed this up by running chicken.”

Emily sighed. “I simply moved up a situation that was going to happen anyway.”

“If this is the part where you tell me how many days are left, I’m never going to cook for you again.”

Emily stared up at the ceiling. “Go to work, Sara, I’ll get Woodrow.” She disconnected and pulled on the first item of clothing she came to, which was a pair of sweats she’d stolen from Wyatt. They dwarfed her, but they’d keep her warm in the morning chill. She shoved her feet into sneakers, grabbed a jacket, and took off out the back door. “Woodrow!” she yelled.

Nothing.

She followed the route they always walked in the mornings, calling his name as she went, getting more concerned when she got no response.

Woodrow wasn’t a lone alpha type, he didn’t like to be alone.

A minute later she heard a bark coming from the one direction she really didn’t want to go—Big, Scary Neighbor Guy’s house.

Once again the ranch-style house was dark. And thankfully, there was no truck in the driveway. Emily pulled out her phone and called Sara. “I think he’s at Big, Scary Neighbor Guy’s house.”

“Don’t go in!”

“No kidding! I don’t think anyone’s home—”

Another bark. Definitely Woodrow.

“I heard that!” Sara said. “Sounds like him.”

“I’m calling Wyatt for backup.” Emily ended Sam’s call and tried Wyatt’s cell. When he answered, she told him what was going on.

“Go home,” he immediately said. “I’ll be right there.”

“But—”

But nothing, he’d ended the call. She shoved the phone in her pocket and turned to go home—and then heard a fierce bark.

Woodrow.

Heart in her throat, she eyed the house. Still dark. Still no sign of life. She walked around the back, where she found three pens, no animals in any of them. There was also a barn and a shed, both open. From the barn came noises that were all too familiar—the yipping and barking and howling she’d sometimes heard late at night.

“Hello?” she called out. She wasn’t anxious to run into anyone, nor did she want to be caught trespassing. With no one in sight, she poked her head in the barn and froze.

It wasn’t filled with what she’d expected, which would have been horses and the equipment that went along with said horses. Pens lined both long walls. Dog pens filled with dogs of all shapes and sizes. In the center of the barn was an arena, like a fighting pen. “Oh, God,” she said and quickly searched the locked pens for Woodrow.

He wasn’t here.

She stepped back into the sunlight and heard his bark coming from behind her. His bark was immediately followed by a growl.

And then another.

She ran over to the shed and peeked in to find Woodrow huddled, cornered by two dogs, who were showing their teeth. “Hey,” she yelled. “Back off!”

They turned to her, and when they did, Woodrow scurried around them, getting right in front of Emily. After that first night when he’d growled at Wyatt, she’d never seen him show an ounce of aggression, but he showed it now. His fur stood up along the length of his neck and back, and he was in a fighting stance.

Her heart went to her throat. He was healing, but there was no way he’d win a fight with these two. “Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s everyone just take a nice, deep breath and—”

“What the fuck.”

She craned her neck, and oh shit, felt a new wave of panic. Mr. Big, Scary Neighbor Guy was back, a big shadow standing in the doorway blocking her exit.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “My dog trespassed, but your dogs cornered him—” She broke off when he didn’t move, didn’t do anything but just stare at her.

She bent and scooped up Woodrow. “We’ll just go now.”

Not even an eye flicker.

“I don’t care what you’re doing out here,” she said. A big fat lie, of course. She cared to her bones, but she thought keeping that a secret until she got the police out here was a real good idea. “If you could just move aside,” she said.

He did, slowly, and she slid out of the shed.

He followed, right on her heels, and suddenly it wasn’t just Woodrow whose hackles rose. Every hair on her body stood up. She whirled around just as he was reaching for her. Heart in her throat, she danced back and yanked out her phone. “I’m going to call the police.”

“No need. I’m right here.”

Again she whirled and faced a man who’d stepped out from behind from the barn.

Evan.

“Dr. Pretty,” he said.

She stared at him as he moved closer. Uh-oh. This wasn’t good. “We were just leaving,” she said, squeezing Woodrow close.

“You shouldn’t have been here in the first place,” Big, Scary Neighbor Guy growled, and took another step toward her.

“Bud,” Evan said, his voice a low warning.

Bud stopped, and though his big, beefy arms hung loose at his sides, his fists clenched.

Evan looked at Emily. “You were asked to stay away,” he said conversationally, still smiling a little bit, which she tried like hell to take as a good sign.

“I tried,” she said. “Believe me. But I’m going now, and I’ll stay away this time. Really. I promise.”

“You promise,” he repeated, sounding amused.

She nodded like a bobble head. “Yes.”

“I don’t believe you,” Evan said. “You’re curious as hell. And you’re smart. You know what we’re doing here.”

“Killing dogs.”

“No,” he said. “Making big bucks.”

“It’s a felony to have dog fights,” she said. “To gamble on dogs fights. To have spectators watching the dog fights.”

“Actually, that part’s only a misdemeanor,” he said, still laid back and casual-like.

“Fascinating,” she said. “Well . . . I really should be going now.” She took a step, and Bud took another toward her. Woodrow growled, leapt out of her arms, and lunged at Bud.

“No!” Emily cried when he pulled his gun. “No, don’t shoot him—”

A sharp whistle pierced the air. Emily glanced up and saw with shock and horror Wyatt coming around the back of the house.

Unarmed.

At his whistle, Woodrow sat on the spot, but he kept his sharp gaze on Bud.

So did Wyatt. “Emily,” he said. “Come here.”

She didn’t hesitate, she ran to him. He grabbed her hand when she got close and pulled her in, gaze never wavering off the two men in front of them. He lifted his cell phone to his ear. “Got her,” he said. “In the back.”

Evan pulled his gun and pointed it at Bud. “Drop your weapon.”

Bud stared at him. “What the fuck, dude?”

“Drop it, now.”

Bud’s mouth fell open. “You fucker. You think you’re going to double-cross me?”

Kel and a handful of others suddenly swarmed the yard, and in less than twenty seconds, Bud had been forced to his belly in the dirt, hands behind his head.

Evan and Kel were in a standoff.

“Be smart,” Kel said. “Down on the ground.”

“I’m not the bad guy here,” Evan said, not moving. “I was working undercover, trying to—”

“Bullshit!” Bud yelled, lifting his face out of the dirt. “This is your operation!”

“Shut up,” Evan told him.

“Hell no, I’m not taking the fall for this—”

“Evan,” Kel said. “One last warning. Drop your weapon.”

He hesitated, and Woodrow—who’d run to Wyatt and Emily and was sitting on her foot—growled low in his throat.

Evan’s gaze went to the dog, and in that split second Kel grabbed Evan’s gun. The other cops moved in close and took him down to the ground.

Emily dropped to her knees and hugged Woodrow to her chest. “Good boy,” she said, and he licked her chin.

Wyatt hauled her upright, gave her a quick once-over. “You okay?” he asked, voice low but utter steel.

Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

“No one touched you?”

“No. I’m fine—” That was the last word she got out before he crushed her to him. She pressed her face into his shirt, and breathed him in. He was warm and strong, and she burrowed in and held on, wanting nothing more than to never let go.

It was two long hours later before the questioning and sorting of the law was handled, and Emily was free to go. Five men had been arrested, fifteen dogs had been rescued, and Lilah and her team were handling the dog removal and treatment.

The adrenaline had let down and Emily was still shaking.

Wyatt was waiting for her, silent, tense. He drove her home without a word, and when they walked into the living room, they came to a shocked halt.

Sara sat on the couch, staring in stunned disbelief at Rayna, the gorgeous blonde kneeling at her feet holding out a ring.

A diamond ring.

“Oh my God,” Emily whispered.

“I know,” Sara said huskily, her eyes shimmering with tears and never leaving Rayna’s face. “She just showed up,” she said to Emily. “She’s asked me to forgive her, to marry her.”

“Neither of which you’ve answered,” Rayna said softly.

Sara finally looked up at Emily, hope and love and joy all over her face. “I– You found Woodrow!”

Emily choked out a laugh. “Yes. Long story. Let’s concentrate on you for a moment.”

Sara sucked in a breath. “What do I do?” she whispered, as if Wyatt and Rayna weren’t right there.

“A ten belongs with a ten,” Emily told her. “And you’re a ten.”

Sara’s eyes filled. “You sure?”

“Very. Follow your heart, Sara. Like Mom always said, a heart’s never wrong.”

Sara took the ring from Rayna and slipped it on her finger. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll marry you.”

Rayna stood up, hauled Sara off the couch and spun them both in a circle.

“We need to celebrate,” Sara said. “At the lake.”

They were gone almost without a backward glance.

Emily closed her eyes. She needed Wyatt’s arms around her, needed him to hold her tight. Needed him to love her. Eyes still closed, she gave him the answer she should have given him the night before. “We’ve never had sex in this house because we’ve only made love here.”

Before the words were out of her mouth, she was hauled in and crushed against his chest. His mouth took hers, hard. Hot. Deep.

“Wyatt—” she gasped.

“Not a good time to talk,” he said, his hands all over her.

“But—”

He wrestled her down the hall and to her room, where he tore the sweats off her body. He took a nipple in his mouth, and the sudden, moist heat make her jerk. She arched up against him, seeking more.

“It’s important,” she said. A lie. She couldn’t remember what she’d wanted to say at all. “I—”

“Should have mentioned it before you got naked.”

“You got me naked—” She broke off with a moan when he took her down to her bed and his mouth latched on to her other breast, sucking hard before nipping it gently with his teeth and then soothing it with a kiss.

Her eyes rolled back in her head. “Wyatt.”

He flashed her a tight but wicked smile, and then his mouth traveled southbound. With no clothing to slow him down, all she could do was writhe against him as heat seared through her body.

He wrapped her inner thighs around his ears and sent her skittering with his tongue.

As she came back to awareness, he was kissing his way back up her body. She needed him with a shocking desperation that scared her. She was beginning to think that no matter how much he gave her, it wasn’t going to be enough. It wouldn’t be enough until she was his, body, heart, and soul.

Terrifying.

He put on a condom and pushed into her with one hard thrust that almost sent her over yet again. So did the slow, purposeful, knowing thrusts designed to take her to the very edge. She already knew he could hold her off for as long as suited him, drawing out her pleasure until she was mindless for release. “Don’t stop,” she begged. “Please, Wyatt, don’t stop.”

“Never.”

Thank God, because this, with him. It was her air. It was her everything . . .

He broke from her lips, fisted his hands in her hair and locked his eyes on hers. She nearly came from the intensity of his expression, she was that close. He was, too, she realized, feeling him quiver against her with the effort it was taking to hold them both off. “Emily,” he said, that was it, just her name, and she clenched hard around him, going off like a bottle rocket. She took him right along with her, the sound of his release refueling hers.

When she opened her eyes, he hadn’t budged, his weight still holding her pinned to the bed, his heart thundering against hers. She loved that, feeling him breathing hard, knowing he was completely wrecked and that she’d done it. One of her legs was bent, her foot on the mattress, the inside of her thigh still tight to his hip. Her other leg was still wrapped around him, as were her arms, her hands gliding along his sleek, sweat-dampened skin. As the rest of her senses slowly returned, she wished for him to lift his head, meet her gaze, and say one word.

Stay.

His face was buried in her neck, his mouth brushing her skin softly. It felt sweet, and yet sexy. An affectionate just-had-an-earth-shattering-orgasm nuzzle.

“Was that good-bye?” she asked.

“I was thinking it was more of a ‘damn I’m glad you’re not full of bullet holes,’ ” he said.