Текст книги "Storm"

Автор книги: Jo Raven

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Shit. My cock throbs in my hand as I pull off the used condom and tie it off. I let it drop to the floor.

Fuck, I only just came, and I’m ready to go again. Can’t remember this happening to me since I was fourteen and jerked off to pictures of naked girls in magazines. This girl is all my fantasies put into one—her juicy tits, het curvy legs, her sweetness, and those big eyes…

Cursing, I tear a foil open with my teeth and snap on the new condom, trying to picture something else, anything else but her, as I pull it on snug and tight. She tugs on me, mewling her need, and my mouth twists in a grin.

God, she’s something else. I bend over her, stroking dark strands of hair out of her eyes and gripping her chin. I want her to look at me as I enter her. I want her to know who I am.

Even if she doesn’t really know. Fucking secrets. Paranoia.

Then I’m thrusting into her, into her tight heat, and everything else melts away. Fuck the world. Fuck my fear. Fuck you, fate. Tonight there’s only me and her.

Her legs lift and wrap around my hips without prompting, her arms curl around my neck, and her inner walls grip me in a vise.

“Storm,” she whispers, her eyes black with arousal, and I know what she needs.

I stop moving.

“Tell me how badly you want to come,” I whisper back and lick at her mouth. I see the flush spreading on her cheeks and down her neck. She likes it when I demand things from her, when I push her. “Tell me, Ray.”

“Very badly.” She moans and lifts her hips, trying to force me to move. “Storm.”

“What?” I give a small thrust, and fuck, my balls are about to detonate. “What do you want?

“You.” She grips my arms and shakes me. Or tries to. Her eyes are brilliant over her flushed cheeks. “I want you, Storm.”

Something twists inside my chest, and I don’t even know why. She wants my cock, that’s all. And I’ll give it to her because I want her to the point of bursting.

Damn my mind for playing games on me, making me think there’s more to her words, and more to what I feel about her.

I was planning on pushing her more, demanding she tell me what she wants me to do to her—because, man, that’s goddamn hot. Instead, I thrust into her, hard, to stop my thoughts and drown the strange longing in a rush of sensations.

But it’s not enough. Even after she moans my name and comes apart, even after I lose control and pound into her, pleasure exploding my mind into smithereens, I want.

I want more.

And as I curl up with her, tuck her head under my chin and inhale the blossom scent of her hair, as I pull her arm over my chest and her smooth legs tangle with mine, as I stare up at the ceiling, listening to her breathing even out…

I need her. In the cold places inside me, something is shifting like a forgotten bullet, lodged in my chest. It hurts worse than broken bones, and at the same time, it feels so fucking good. She’s getting under my skin, burrowing into me.

I don’t want to let her go.

Chapter Five

RAYLIN

Sunlight teases my eyes.

Okay, let me rephrase: sunlight hits my eyes like a hot poker and ow, it hurts. I turn on my side—and smack into a body.

A warm, hard body. A scent of male spice and musk. Muscles rippling on a washboard stomach, black and red ink curling over flaring ribs, and further down…

I open my mouth, try to breathe and fail.

A very naked, very hard cock, large and curving upward. A pearly drop glistens on the crown, as if winking at me.

I look up and Storm winks at me¸ too, his blue eyes amused. “Morning, Sunshine.”

I scramble backward. Whoa, just one sec. Rewind.

Making up my mind to go. Passing by the house to say goodbye to Storm. Finding Storm and… Oh my God. Sex. Hot sex in this enormous, filthy-luxurious bedroom.

Heat washes over my skin. I scoot back—or try to. A muscular arm wraps itself around me and drags me back to that ripped chest.

“Where are you going?” My cheek is mashed to his pec, a pretty hard pillow, but it smells of him, and I can’t help drawing a deep breath of his musk. “It’s too early. Stay.”

He keeps saying that. Stay.

My heart clenches. I’d love to stay, stay with him, stay here, in the now, with no worries other than what to have for breakfast—preferably by licking the dips and planes of his muscled chest, and then moving lower, to taste his cock, and…

“Where did you go?” he whispers, and I jerk a little, realizing I’ve been straining to catch another glimpse of his hard-on.

“Nowhere.”

“Yet.”

Yeah, that’s right. But I don’t want to think about that right now. I let my hand drift over his chest, to the shiny red scar there, and then lower, where I discover more. A fine, white scar marks his skin from his side to his stomach. “How did these happen?”

He says nothing and I glance up, into his face. His eyes flash a darker blue. “What’s the matter, Ray?” he whispers in my ear. “Want to kiss and make it better?”

Fire spreads over my neck and face. God, I can almost feel the flames. “No.”

Because I do, and I’m not talking about the scars.

“I love how you always blush like that. Does it happen often?”

“No.”

“So this is just for me?”

I huff. Walked right into that one. “Nope.” My hand inches lower. Almost there.

“Who are you, really, Raylin O’Brien? What are you hiding?”

The air freezes in my lungs. I let my hand drop on his chest. His face is impassive, his eyes blank and clear—too empty, mirrors hiding some strong emotion. His heart hammers under my palm, his chest rises and falls swiftly.

“Why are you asking? We spent the night together. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

He licks his lips. “And if I want it to mean something?”

My chest squeezes. “You don’t know me.”

“Exactly my point.”

“Storm…”

“Because what if I want to know you?” He exhales, his arm tightening around me. “What if I don’t want you to go?”

“You serious?”

He stares down at me, and the emptiness in his gaze slips a little. Need. Pain. It’s as if he really doesn’t want me to go. Like the thought of my going hurts him.

Like it hurts me.

Oh, stop it.

What’s the harm in telling him a few things about me? Hoping he’ll open up, too, and tell me about himself. Funny how much I would like that.

“Tit-for-tat,” I decide, because why the hell not? I’m leaving soon anyway, and this has nothing to do with him. He’ll be safe. “I tell you something about me, you tell me something about you.”

Come on, Storm. Say yes. What do you have to hide? Break and enter, like me? Petty thefts? Or something worse, like me?

Oh God, I hope not. I want him to be a good guy, to be as beautiful inside as he is outside. He can be my beautiful fantasy, a bright memory to carry with me when I’m gone from here.

“Okay,” he says, sounding doubtful, and I give myself a mental high-five.

Can’t really relax, though. Giving away anything about myself is like pulling teeth. Maybe it’s safe, but my body reacts as if I’m about to jump off a cliff.

“How old are you?” he asks, and I’m so tense, I giggle a little at the question.

“That’s what you’re curious about?”

He grins down at me, and I will not melt at the cuteness and sexiness of it. “Maybe.”

“I’m nineteen. And you?”

“Just turned twenty-one.”

“Just?”

“Last week.” Before I can ask more, he dips his head for a quick kiss that steals my voice. “Why did you come here?” he whispers against my lips. “What’s in Boca Raton?”

“Apart from you?” I tease.

He tenses, those powerful muscles in his chest and arms standing out. “What are you—?”

“What did you do?” I poke a finger into the middle of his chest. “Spill, Storm. Are you wanted by the police? What the hell did you do to be hiding out here?”

He stares down at me, those deep blue eyes wide. And then the strangest thing happens.

He relaxes. He goes utterly lax against me, and his eyes flutter close. I swear a ghost of a smile flits over that full mouth. “The police?”

“Why else? You broke into this house, right?”

“You mean, like you did with the house down the beach?”

My turn to stiffen with shock. “You don’t know that.”

“But I do. That’s what I was coming over to tell you last night before I found you here. The owners are already there, picking the last of their things. I saw their car and the movers’ truck arriving. I raced like hell to tell you, but you were already gone.”

My mouth is hanging open. “I don’t believe…”

Crap, I do believe him. Well, then. That’s a bit hint from fate, isn’t it? Time for me to go.

As if sensing my thoughts, he shifts onto his side and wraps both arms around me. “So why did you come here, Ray?”

Damn. “It was a random place. Florida. Never been here before in my life. Figured it was far enough.”

“Far enough for what?”

Christ, no. “I wanted a break from my family. My dad is a messed-up bastard.” Which is close enough.

“So you hopped on the first flight to anywhere? A bit extreme, isn’t it?”

Not about to tell him I hitchhiked and caught buses all the way here.

Instead I shrug, as much as I can in the circle of his arms, swallowing down bitterness. “Yep. That’s me. Extreme. Now, you.” I sneak a hand up to his cheek. “Why are you here? Why are you hiding?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Yeah, it is.” I stroke his face until his gaze locks with mine. I can’t decipher what’s going on behind his eyes right now. Anger, maybe. Frustration. Conflict.

“I’m here because I know this place. I used to come in the past, but so many years have passed nobody will think to look for me here.”

Ice trickles down my spine. “And who’s looking for you? What have you done, Storm?”

Crap. Could it be I’m lying in bed with a guy who’s in as much trouble as I am, if not more?

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” he says, and his heart is steady against my own. No telltale signs of lying. Is he that good? My hand wanders down his neck to rest on his chest again. “Relax.”

“You broke in here,” I say, testing.

“Told you, I’m housesitting.”

Still no flutter under my palm. No sweat running down his temples. “And the owners let you use this room because… What, they like you?”

“Something like that.”

Damn him. Why am I grinning now? “Something like that, huh? Okay, fine. Maybe you didn’t break in. But you did something and now you’re hiding.”

“Define, ‘something’.”

“Something wrong.”

“Done lots of wrong things.”

“Like?”

“Like getting tats and a motorcycle, then leaving home and trying to find my own damn path. Got into trouble, worked in bars and construction, got into fights.”

Doesn’t sound that bad to me. God knows for my family that’s run-of-the-mill. “Bet your parents didn’t like that.”

“My parents are dead.”

Oh God, I didn’t expect this. “I’m so sorry.”

He says nothing, his expression closing off. His heart hammers under my palm as his gaze goes distant.

I strain upward until I can reach his mouth. I make an awkward job of it, trapped as I am in his arms that are like steel cables around me. I pepper his chin and jaw with kisses, then come back to his mouth, and this time he’s looking right at me, his lips parting under mine.

Trapped between us, his cock stiffens again, poking me in the stomach, and I suck in a sharp breath. The kiss turns hard and hot, with teeth and tongue, and I moan.

He draws back, panting. “My turn.”

I can’t speak. Can’t think. My body throbs. “What?”

He licks his lips, and I stare at his mouth, almost going cross-eyed with the effort. “The truth.”

“Told you.” I’m so wet I can feel it between my legs. I need him inside me.

“No, you didn’t. Why did you run so far, and where you were planning on going last night?”

Crap. It all crashes back down on me—the fact I should go, the fact the house, my house… the house I broke into isn’t available to me anymore.

“Does it matter now?” I twist in his hold and manage to slide out of his arms. I scoot back to the edge of the enormous bed. “I don’t even have a place to stay anymore. I have to leave today.”

And that’s the truth I have to face.

***

He watches me as I hunt for my clothes in the four corners of the room, his mouth a thin line. He leans back against the iron headboard, his sculpted arms folded over his chest. He doesn’t look happy.

I’m not, either.

Clothes. When I get dressed, everything will be clearer.

Right.

For some reason my panties are under the bed. They are wet and smell of sex. Not quite sure how I should feel about that, whether to grin or cry, so I let them drop on one of the armchairs and look for my shorts.

“Ray…”

“What?” I keep my back to him. I’m still naked, and I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed.

“Stay here, with me.”

I turn to look at him, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“You heard me. Stay. Stay longer.”

“You serious?”

“Hell, yeah. Why not?

I shake my head. It might be nice, to hide from the real world a little longer. To explore Storm’s body and mind. Crack the Storm codex.

But… “I still don’t know you, and you still don’t know me.”

His brows draw together, and his jaw clenches. “To hell with that. What more do you need to know? I’m not a serial killer, Ray. I won’t hurt you. I haven’t done anything wrong, and I don’t think you have, either.”

“And you know that, how?” I pull on my panties, my shorts, and spot my bra by the coffee table. I put my arms through the straps and clasp it at my back. I walk around the bed and lift my blouse from its foot.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, letting out a sigh. “What else do you need to know? Just tell me.”

I close my eyes, torn. It isn’t you, I think, and the urge to laugh like a crazy person grips me. It’s not you, it’s me.

He swings his legs off the bed, and I do my best not to stare at his body and his cock, now lying semi-hard against his strong thigh. “So you’re really leaving. You won’t give this a chance.”

I pull the blouse over my head and tug it down. “I can’t.” I need to put some space between us. His proximity is wreaking havoc with my mind, my attraction to him drowning out logic and caution. “I just can’t.”

He stands up quickly. “Ray—” He slams a hand into the wall to steady himself, his mouth twisting into a grimace. “Fuck.”

Holy shit. I sprint to his side and put a hand on his arm, steadying him, taking in his pale face. “Are you okay?”

He shakes his head. “It’s my leg.”

“What’s wrong with it?” I try to look down, but he grabs my waist and drags me against his tall body. “Tell me.”

“Car accident,” he whispers, his mouth on my hair. “Drunk driver slammed into us.”

“What happened?”

“Broke my leg.” He draws a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling. “And damaged my spleen.”

The surgical scar on his side.

Christ. “When was that?”

“Four months ago.” He curses softly, his body tensing. “Why the hell am I telling you all this?”

“Because I asked?” Four months. My heart is racing. Get a grip, Ray. It was months ago, and he’s mostly fine now. “And the older scar?”

“Knife wound. Got caught in a bar fight last year.”

“Sounds like a lot of bad luck.”

“Doesn’t it?” He shift his weight and mutters a curse under his breath.

“Need to sit down?”

This time he releases me. “I’m fine.”

“But you’re in pain.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.” His face is still pale, and a line sheen of sweat is coating his forehead.

He frowns. “I pushed myself too hard these past few days. I’ll just ice my leg down. It’ll be okay.”

But now I’m more reluctant than ever to leave. “I’ll go look for an ice pack. Or peas. Or whatever you have. I hope it’s not only lasagna.”

“We finished the lasagna. Ray…” His face is open, raw, unsure, hopeful.

“Just tell me this.” I poke a finger at this chest. “Tell me, Storm. What were you doing in the fucking storm that night? The night I found you.”

His mouth quirks a little. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Not funny.” I roll my eyes at him. “What were you thinking?”

He’s still leaning heavily into the wall. He licks his lips and looks away. “I needed to feel alive.”

“By dying?”

“By risking it. Don’t you want to risk it?”

“Been risking everything, all my life. It’s not as good as it’s cracked up to be.”

“Surely some things are.”

“Things, maybe, but not people.”

I turn to go, and he grabs my arm, holding me still. “What do you mean?”

I don’t glance back at him. I gently pull my arm free, and when I reach the bedroom door, I tell him. “I won’t risk your life. And that’s why I have to go.”

STORM

Risk my life? What the hell?

I push off the wall and limp back to the bed. Christ, I’ve fucked up my leg pretty good. Probably when I raced like I had hellhounds at my heels to tell Raylin to get out of the house when I saw the trucks arriving. Or maybe from putting too much weight on it when I pounded into her.

And fuck if my cock doesn’t stir again at the memory.

I ease myself down on the mattress and rub a hand over my face. Risk my life. Whatever. What have you done, Raylin? What’s going on with you?

She doesn’t come back immediately, and I wonder if she slipped out the house and is gone, while I’m sitting here, waiting for her to come back. To explain. Not like I can run after her with my leg on fire. I massage the cramped muscle and wish I could forget.

I need a drink. I wonder if I can hobble down the stairs to raid the liquor cabinet. I bet it’s still stocked, even after all this time.

Shit, I sometimes wish I’d stayed at my last job. It was a bikers’ bar, down by Tallahassee, and life was simple there. Break up some fights, mix up some drinks. Fuck some pussy.

What I really wish is that Hawk and Rook were here. We’d go on a bender that would never end. But they aren’t here.

They don’t even know where I am. Nobody does. Though they did vanish while I was still in the hospital, so fuck them. Guess they decided I’ve had enough handholding and back-patting for a guy my age. Guys my age are supposed to have their head on straight. To know a thing or two about life.

But turning twenty-one is not all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, I can now drink legally. As if it’d have stopped me before… And I’m independent from my uncle.

Cause he’s dead.

I reach up and rub my chest. Why the fuck do I feel this pain when I remember this little fact? Motherfucker wasn’t worth it. Crushed all joy out of my childhood. How many times I wished for him to drop dead when I was younger?

And yet. Maybe it was the way he died. Before his time. Reminds me too much of… of others.

Goddammit, why am I thinking of this now? It’s been over a year now. A year since I got the call about his passing and returned to town. A year to find my feet and calm the hell down.

Of course, the car crash four months ago didn’t help. But what the fuck. I’m alive. Unlike others, and…

I lean back against the headboard and hang my head, drawing a shaky breath. Yeah, the guys are right. No reason why I should break down now. I had my chance when they were there, but I was too numb.

Not anymore. Now I feel too much. Every scar hurts. Every memory aches. And now this girl has turned my world upside down, and I have no clue what’s going on with her. Only that I need to find out, and fix it. Make it right.

Maybe that way I can heal myself, too.

Chapter Six

RAYLIN

Ice cubes. That’s all I find in the freezer of the huge fridge in the kitchen, apart from some frozen baguettes and fish fillets. I wrap the ice up in a towel and stare down at it, my hand going numb from the cold.

Am I leaving or staying? What the heck am I supposed to do?

Yeah, great, Storm is in pain, and I’m here, standing around like an idiot, his compress in my frozen hand.

I cross the hall and start up the stairs. What if I stayed a few more days? What’s the harm in that? Make sure he’s okay, that his leg won’t be giving him trouble. Map the scars on his body, get to know him better.

But then I’d have to explain myself. Tell him everything. At least, the things that really matter, that could put his life in danger if my father’s shady associates somehow find me.

Would they kill me if they found me? The million dollar question. Maybe not immediately. Which is even worse.

But they haven’t found me yet, have they? Maybe they really lost my tracks.

Feeling lighter, a spring in my step that wasn’t there before, I reach the stop of the stairs and hurry into the bedroom. He’s propped against the headboard, his bad leg stretched out on top of the bed.

Stark naked. Perfect. Beautiful, long limbed and strong, cast in bronze and silver, his hair shiny jet. He says nothing as I approach, a wariness in his gaze that wasn’t there before.

I sit on the edge of the bed and place the compress on his thigh. He flinches, then moves it down until it’s almost over his knee. I keep quiet, too, not sure how to start. Seconds trickle by, turning into minutes. Slowly the pain etched on his face fades, and he lets his head fall back with a sigh.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice a little garbled, as if he’s falling asleep. “Feels good.”

Everything about you feels good, I want to say, but I don’t. I fight the urge to caress his face, stroke away every line of pain.

Instead I say something I never planned to say. “I used to have a cat.”

“A cat.” He blinks at me, his eyes gleaming underneath his thick lashes.

“A kitten, really. Horatio.”

“Hor… are you serious?” His chuckle is deep and delicious.

I nod. “My mom used to love the name.”

He straightens slightly, his laughter fading. “Used to?”

“She died years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

Me too. “So as I was saying, I had a kitten. Gathered him up in a back alley and took him home. My roommate loved him. Megan. Nice girl. Heart of gold. She’d feed Horatio when I was out, pet him, hold him. She’d make me breakfast and look for me. I was starting to settle down, let down my guard, relax. Be happy. Feel safe. And that was a mistake.”

“Why, Ray?” He shifts on the bed, runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

“Because my dad’s associates found me again, and I had to run. Had to leave Horatio and Megan behind. Told you, lives are not worth risking.”

“Christ. Who the hell is your dad?”

“Small-town conman. A nobody who got in well over his head.”

“Okay.” He looks doubtful, and no wonder. “So why are his associates after you?”

“Because dear dad and even my brother pointed the finger at me. Told them I was behind the mess the two of them made, and that if they wanted answers, they should come to me.”

Answers and money, but I’m still not sure I should tell him that much, or the whole truth. Not like he can help me, anyway. He just needs to be aware, and careful. Life fucks you in every turn, and you need to keep your eyes peeled and your walls up.

“Those motherfuckers,” he says and takes my hand, his jaw clenching. “I’d kick their teeth in. How can they put you through this? Their own flesh and blood.”

And strangely, I have no doubt he’s serious. He holds my hand tightly, grinding the bones of my fingers together, but I like it. I like how my sadness and anger flows into him and returns to me through his crushing grip. I like how he doesn’t seem to doubt me for a second, the truth in what I’ve told him, and even though I want him to be suspicious, to watch out… I’m grateful.

Still, I have to push. “You believe me? You don’t think I’m lying?”

He lifts his other hand to my chin, grips it lightly, and studies my face. “I’ll take the risk.”

Oh God, he’s undoing me. “You’re nuts.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He releases my chin and waves his hand back and forth, glaring. “I know. You’ve said it often enough.”

Then he grins, and I cover my mouth with my hand, fighting back laughter. He’s funny, and cute, and so disarmingly nice… I can’t even.

I should pinch myself. Soon I’ll be waking up, alone and on the run.

“They don’t know where I am,” I say. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“So what are you afraid of?”

I shake my head.

“They won’t find you. I’ll hide you well. I swear. Stay.” His gaze is steady and earnest, his insistence breaking down my defenses.

I let myself go. “Maybe. For a few days.”

“That’s a start,” he says and leans back again, a frown marring his brow. He reaches down and shifts the cold compress. “Should be enough time for me to use filthy, hot sex as a means to convince you to stay longer. To take a risk on me, too.”

Only he doesn’t know it’s not the sex that’s tempting me—although it sure is hot. No, it’s him, his pain, his anger, his kindness, his faith in me. This man has a core of steel and gold, and he makes me want to trust.

Trust is something I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

***

I bring Storm a glass of water to take some painkillers I found in the bathroom cabinet, and he promptly falls asleep, still sitting on the bed, propped on the headboard. It looks uncomfortable, but I don’t want to wake him up.

Don’t want to touch his face, either, his lips, those long lashes resting on his cheekbones, or cuddle up to him and rest my head on his shoulder.

That’d be cheesy. Unbearably romantic and sentimental. But damn, I almost give in before I tear myself away and wander the house. I check out the kitchen first. Breakfast would be good. The fridge contains some cheese and ham, and I remember the frozen baguettes.

I could work with that—but I hope there’s a plan B for lunch.

Leaving the baguettes in the sink to defrost, I explore the mansion Storm may or may not have broken into. The owners like him. Huh. I wonder if they know he’s here now.

Trust, Ray. Show some trust.

Yeah, well, it’s hard when you haven’t trusted anyone for most of your life. When your family has let you down in the worst way, and you haven’t been able to keep a friend for years, first because your dad won’t allow you to let anyone in, and then because you’re always looking over your shoulder for your pursuers.

Trusting isn’t easy. What if he’s playing me? What if he lied to me about the owners of the house I broke into? Or everything else for that matter?

Not that he’s said much. Sure, he talked, but it was all vague.

Slipping outside and walking down the beach isn’t much of a conscious decision. I need to see for myself. Need to confirm that at least one thing he told me is true.

So when I reach the house where I spent my first few nights here and cautiously climb the three wide steps to the terrace, I’m prepared for just about everything—but above all, disappointment.

Did I mention I have trust issues? Big time.

I approach the window, my bare feet soundless on the tiled floor. I press my forehead to the dusty glass and look into the living room.

Empty. The furniture is gone. The sofa, the armchairs, the coffee table.

I step back. My hands shake slightly, and I shove them into the pockets of my shorts. Glancing back at the beach, to make sure nobody is watching me, I walk across the terrace to the kitchen window. A glance inside confirms it.

The mahogany table and chairs are gone.

Mouth dry, I back away. What if someone is inside, watching me? What if the cameras are back online? If I tripped the alarm?

If someone finds out where I am and come get me?

My heart booms in my chest as I rush down the steps and walk across the beach to the water’s edge, doing my best to keep from running away like the devil’s after me. Slow steps. Hands in pockets. I’d whistle if I knew how.

Don’t look over your shoulder. Don’t look to see if there’s anyone standing on the terrace.

God, I wish I had my gun, the one Dad gave me on my sixteenth birthday. Other girls got dresses, parties and trips abroad. I got a 9mm Nano Beretta. I had to leave it behind when I ran for my life the time before last. It hurt, losing that gun.

Everything hurts when you have to let go.

I walk aimlessly along the surf, letting my feet sink into the cool, wet sand with every step. The clouds haven’t cleared, and the air is heavy. Feels like rain. Muted sunlight filters through, torturing my eyes. So warm. Sweat trickles down my back and between my breasts.

Storm told me the truth. He ran to warn me. He knew I wasn’t housesitting, like I told him. I was lying, and he knew it but didn’t care. Because he wanted me to be okay. He believes I’m good.

He’s taking a risk on me.

This is all too much to take in. Too much I have to accept. Change my perceptions, loosen the chokehold of my mistrust.

Tell him everything. He deserves to know if he’s to offer me shelter.

I can do this.

So I turn my steps toward the mansion, toward Storm, determined to lay all my cards on the table, come what may. I won’t let him take a risk without knowing the real stakes. He believes in me, and I won’t let him down.

***

Sighing in relief, I slip into the mansion and close the door behind me. I stand for a long moment in the hall, in front of the sunken living room, gathering my wits about me. The thought of seeing Storm again makes me smile in spite of myself.

You were gone for half an hour, Ray. Come on.

Yet my smile lingers as I quietly climb the stairs. Can’t help it. Even the memory of his wicked grin and sexy bossiness, that gentleness when it comes to holding me, and let’s not forget that hot body… My heart skips a beat, and familiar heat floods me.

Yeah, he’d be impossible to forget, and the realization makes me stumble. I catch myself, suck in a deep breath and keep climbing.

Not the time or place to wonder about that. I’m on a mission, and I’ve hesitated enough. This isn’t like me. I normally know my mind and do what I have to do. I’ve been raised to be a tough girl.

And he’s melting me like chocolate on a hot plate.

Silence reigns on the upper floor and a lone wooden plank creaks as I step into the bedroom. I’m rehearsing my words in my mind, like I used to do at school when I knew the teacher would demand to know why I didn’t do my homework—because of gun practice, or running with my brother’s friends—and I had to give a convincing excuse.

Only this time I have to tell the truth, and it’s just as hard.

I stop.

He’s still asleep. The cold compress has slid off his leg and to the floor, the ice cubes melted into a small puddle.

He’s so handsome…

A swarm of drunken butterflies divebomb inside my stomach, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth at the sight of him. He has slipped down a little, one hand resting on his stomach, almost covering the red scar, his cock lying on his thigh, thick even when soft. His soft dark hair is messy, falling in his eyes. His lips are slightly parted, letting out soft puffs of breath.