Chapter Sixteen
Beside Nakos, Nate hoofed it from the barn up to the house and rolled his head to stretch his neck. After the stressful search and rescue for Olivia, followed by a week of reroofing and learning the ropes from the foreman, Nate was ready to dive into a bottle of tequila. Or Pepto. Either would suffice.
Their boots crunched on gravel as a stiff wind pushed from the north. Pine tinged the air and he wouldn’t be shocked if it snowed tonight, considering the drop in temp since this morning. Dusk was playing cat and mouse in the cloudless sky, though.
Nakos halted near the mudroom and faced him. “Can I give you a piece of advice?”
Studying the man’s cowboy hat and flannel under his wool coat, Nate shrugged. “Sure.” Didn’t mean he’d take it.
“Olivia has never desired or asked for much in all the time I’ve known her. Yet fate has kicked her repeatedly on the few occasions she has wanted something.” Nakos shifted to his other foot and set his hands on his hips. Near-black eyes leveled on Nate. “She wants you. Don’t be another disappointment.”
What next? It was taking his all to resist Olivia. Add pressure from another front and he’d be sunk. And would take her down with him.
Nate scratched his jaw. “You don’t know anything about me. What makes you think—”
“I know enough.” Nakos tipped his hat and did an about-face, walking away. “For instance, I know you want her, too.” A few feet apart, he stopped and turned. “And I know you’d rather eat a bullet than see one hair on her head harmed. Works for me. Now, man up.”
Shaking his head, Nate watched the guy disappear around the side of the house and tried to dissect the “advice.” Nakos had a point, and Nate wouldn’t begrudge Olivia anything, but this wasn’t a simple case of desire.
In truth, he’d hit his breaking point a week ago. Saying no to her was harder than landing on the moon in a paper airplane. He’d been doing his goddamn best to avoid her for that reason. He just didn’t think he had enough...control. He’d never had to be careful or gentle or any other such thing. And she was so slender, so...
Christ. She sent him out of his ever-loving mind with a brush of her fingers, never mind a kiss. How was he supposed to trust himself not to hurt her if he couldn’t remember his own name when she merely smiled? To have her naked and beneath him would...
Shit.
He headed inside and to his room, where he showered and avoided dinner. And thought some more until his head nearly split open. An hour passed, then two, with him standing in front of the window, staring out into nothing and Bones sitting obediently by his feet.
Once it seemed like the house was quiet, he stepped into the hallway and glanced up the stairs to Olivia’s partially open suite. She’d been doing that for seven days—leaving the door ajar for him. He’d spent every night this week on her couch, slipping in after she’d fallen asleep and sneaking out before she’d woken.
Hank had popped by today to remove Olivia’s stitches and had given her the all-clear to return to normalcy. He didn’t need to sleep sentinel in her living room anymore. But courtesy of her concussion and fever, if he wasn’t within spitting distance, he climbed the walls and wore tread patterns into the floorboards.
Since he didn’t hear her roaming around, he ascended the stairs, Bones at his heels, and stopped short in her kitchen at finding her standing in front of the coffee table. She wore those damn pajamas that covered absolutely nothing and her auburn hair was up in a loose ponytail. Wisps had escaped, framing her face as she stared at something in her hand.
“Close the door, Nate.” Her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear and, for some reason, she refused to look at him.
“I was just—”
“Checking on me? Sneaking in to sleep on my sofa?” She lifted her head and stared at him. “Close the door, Nate,” she repeated, this time slowly and with unerring calm.
Confused, he did as she asked and walked to the threshold separating the rooms, stopping feet from her. Spidey sense had the fine hairs on his arms standing at attention.
She held up one of his carved figurines, the one he’d left her this morning. “What is this?”
Right. Well, he wasn’t Michel-fucking-angelo or anything, but it wasn’t that bad. “Your Nessie.” She did have a thing for that stupid mythical creature. What was the problem?
Slowly, she nodded. “And the others?”
Damn. She was leading him into another trap. He just couldn’t tell why. “They would be your Nessie also.” In various positions.
“Every night this week, you’ve come up here after I’ve fallen asleep and left one of these on my nightstand.”
Yep. A trap, all right. “Consider them kindling if you dislike them that much. You wanted the crap I whittled, so I brought them to you.” He’d needed something to do so he wouldn’t go into her bedroom, slip under the sheets with her, and finish what they’d started. Thus, the stupid things. And she’d placed them everywhere—the fireplace mantle, the end tables, the windowsill. “I won’t be offended.”
“Dislike them. Dislike them?” The higher her voice rose, the harder his heart had to work. “You spent time making me something I love, that’s very difficult to find in stores, and I’m supposed to make firewood out of them?”
What the actual hell was going on? Because if he’d been gifted an instruction manual and a Google map, he still wouldn’t be able to figure it out. “Olivia—”
“I’ve been patient, given you time.” With more care than was required, she set the figurine down and crossed her arms. Tapped her tiny, bare foot.
Uh-huh. “Olivia—”
“Quit saying my name like that.”
“Like what?” Forget instructions. He was going to need God Almighty to come down from On High to explain this one.
“Like I’m speaking Vulcan.” She starting talking a mile a minute, checking items off on her fingers. “First, you travel across the country to hand-deliver a letter from my dead brother when you could’ve dropped it in the mail. You shot a hat off a man’s head to save me and my BFF from a guy who’d gone off the deep end. Bought said BFF thousands of dollars in photography equipment. Taught me coping mechanisms so I wouldn’t go insane from the trauma. Massaged my neck when I’d pulled a muscle. Carried me to bed when I’d fallen asleep...”
On and on she went, ticking off her points, with him standing in front of her like a stupid idiot who’d just had a high-five to the face via a chair. And when she ran out of fingers, she paused, blinked, and started all over again with her thumb.
“Call me baby all the time. Pulled me out of a creek and nearly froze to death to prevent me from going hypothermic. Sat vigil at my bedside while I was sick. Said I was beautiful. And,” she held up her pinkie, “carved me personalized trinkets like some woodsman version of Cyrano de Bergerac minus the buffer.” She huffed, re-crossing her arms.
He held up his hands in surrender. “You lost me somewhere around Vulcan and picked me up at Cyrano. I have no idea who that is, by the way. It sounds like you’re listing nice sentiments as if I had admirable traits, but what does any of that have to do with the damn Loch Ness Monster?”
And...shit. He’d gone and said the wrong thing.
She bared her teeth, her gaze dialing straight to maim. He should've known better than to mess with a third-generation Scottish-American whose temper was turning as fiery as her hair. She’d obviously been straddling the fence of intolerance before he’d made it up here, but she was clear on the other side now.
“As if you had admirable traits?” She marched up to him and poked his chest. “Your words of warning about being the Big Bad Wolf are moot when your actions constantly contradict the claims. Truth time. What do you want, Nathan?”
Was his sanity too much to ask? How about a rewind button?
Gaze challenging, she took several steps in retreat and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her shorts. “What do you want?”
Then—holy Christ—she slid the shorts down to her thighs with a shimmy of her hips that sent him from zero to hard faster than a rev of his Harley’s engine.
“I only have so much restraint, baby. For the love of humanity, keep your clothes on.”
Ignoring him—because when did she ever listen?—she stepped out of the boy shorts and dangled them by one finger. “That’s what I’m talking about. Restraint. You show entirely too much of it.” She unceremoniously dropped the material with a whatcha-gonna-do-about-it lift of her brows.
Chest heaving, he fisted his hands at his sides. His gaze followed a path up her calves, past her toned thighs, and to the thin strip of—fuck him dead—black lace. One yank and he could rip them off her perfect ass, have them sailing across the room.
“I’m not delicate. I don’t need you to be careful or cautious or anything other than yourself.” She fingered the hem of her tank top, putting him into cardiac arrest. “Know what I want? I want the dirty-talking guy in my kitchen from weeks ago. I want the man who devoured me with a kiss on my porch. Snap, Nate. Forget restraint. Take what you want.”
No air, no air, no air, no air...
Up, up, up went her shirt. It hit him in the face.
He jerked the material off, threw it aside, and ground his molars into a fine powder. His heart shifted ribs and red blood cells boiled in his veins.
Effing beautiful, that’s what she was. And completely unashamed of her body as she stood with her hands on her hips. Slim waist and taut belly. Fair skin dusted with freckles. Tiny, pert breasts and rosy nipples begging to be sucked. A growl of need raked his throat.
Pivoting, she strode into the bedroom and reemerged in under three seconds. She tossed something at him and he caught it against his chest. He didn’t even need to glance at the item. The foil packet crinkled in his hand and was familiar to every Y chromosome-carrying male.
His dick twitched. “Olivia, baby...”
She wiggled her fingers in a daring come-hither. “I don’t just want you to come. I want you to come undone. Take what you— ”
He had them across the room, his mouth fused to hers, and her back to the wall before she could even conjure the end of her taunt. She shoved his shirt up, blinding him and severing the kiss for a second, then tossed it aside and he was right back at her. He grabbed one of her wrists and pinned it above her head, holding the condom between her pulse and his palm. Then he did the same with her other arm and groaned as the position thrust her breasts against his chest.
Bruisingly, he kissed her with violent tongue strokes and enough pressure to cause suction. She hummed and matched his every lash with one of her own. She tried to roll her hips as if seeking relief, but he trapped her to the wall with his, aligning every delectable inch of her with him and crushing his raging erection into her belly.
She’d wanted him to come undone? He was there.
Tearing his mouth away, he glared at her. Vibrating, he struggled with the last tether containing his willpower. “This wasn’t the smartest move you ever made, baby.”
“Promise?” Her lids lifted slowly, nailing him with cornflower eyes drenched in lust with a defiance chaser.
His pulse tripped out of control. He stared at her, giving her a last silent warning.
She merely looked back in challenge.
Gaze on hers, he let go of one of her wrists to dip his fingers into the waistband of her panties. And ripped them clean off with one swift jerk.
Her breath hitched and she arched against him.
Discarding the lace over his shoulder, he worked his hand between them and parted her folds, finding her slippery and wet and ready. And so, so hot. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as her eyes begged him for more. For everything.
Releasing her other arm, he shoved his sweats to his ankles, kicked them aside, and bit the foil open. Her wide, interested gaze lowered to his erection as he rolled a condom down his length. Desire coiled with anticipation and a trace of concern in her depths. He’d take care of all three right now.
He grabbed the backs of her thighs, spreading them and lifting her so she had no choice but to wrap her legs around him. Then, he pinned her in place with his chest and held her ass to keep her steady. All but panting, she searched his gaze and dug her fingers into his neck like a brand.
Christ. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted something or someone so badly in all his life. She’d been rattling his cage since their first encounter. The push/pull of animal versus man warred inside him, stalked his skull, and he gave up. Beast for the win.
He crushed his mouth to hers, searing her with a kiss that detonated reason and obliterated thought as he knew it. When he couldn’t take the tension any more, he aligned himself and thrust inside her. Hard. Fast. And almost collapsed as her tight, hot, supple walls fisted him.
The fit was pleasurably....excruciating.
Her cry shot into his mouth, her nails sinking into the flesh on the back of his neck.
He froze. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head in a vicious denial.
One hand on her ass, he slapped the other to the wall for balance and brushed his lips against hers. Her eyes were pinched tightly closed and her uneven breaths mingled with his.
“Olivia, baby, look at me.” Hand to God, he’d slice open an artery if he found any sign of pain in her eyes.
Her lashes fluttered and her lids lifted to reveal...
Desperate. Blinding. Need.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed. “Please.” She flattened her hands on top of his head. Her gaze wandered over his brow, cheeks, mouth, and back to his eyes. Her gorgeous auburn strands were already a chaotic mess and loose around her face. “Please, Nate.”
His lungs stalled. No one had ever said his name during sex, and hearing it from her lips sent his pulse into sporadic meltdown. Something lodged in his throat. His heart, perhaps. She’d had it in her slender, capable fingers since the first time he saw her.
Watching her, he pulled out slowly. As if to fight him, her walls gripped him tighter and cold sweat formed on his skin. She issued a fraught noise and held his face, her body vibrating against his. Halfway, he stopped. Her breaths soughed while his quit altogether.
“You, baby.” His eyes darted back and forth between hers. “You asked what I wanted and it’s you.” Damnation forthright, but there was the honest truth.
Then, he thrust into her with enough force that she slid up the wall a few inches.
And nothing, nothing had ever or would ever feel as fantastic, as right, as being inside her. Safety and anarchy. Balance and instability. Sweetness and sin.
“Yes.” She spread her arms and slapped her palms to the wall in a save-me version of holy order. As if unsure how to handle what he was doing to her body, she clenched his shoulders. “Nate.”
Knowing what she needed, he gripped her wrists, stretched her arms high overhead, and laced their fingers together. Caging her face with his biceps, he drove inside her. Over and over. Again and again. Their stomachs slapped and their chests grazed and her scent of rain swirled around them.
She rolled her hips with each plunge, moaning, seeking. His muscles strained, struggling to keep the pace, a delicious burn he felt from head to toe and every nerve path in between.
He kissed her with all the control of a buoy in a hurricane and then dipped his head to suck on one of her rosy, erect nipples. The hard little bud puckered in his mouth and she squeezed his fingers, indicating she enjoyed it. Moving to the other breast, he repeated the motion, in awe of her.
Responsive. Passionate.
She had more strength than most people he’d encountered, but her appearance belied the personality. Petite. Slender. Even her breasts were small enough to fit in his hands and still leave room for more. And she was utter perfection.
Tingles coursed down his spine and wrapped around his balls. He pistoned faster, determined to set her off before he blew. Judging by the way she dug her heels into his back and her flushed cheeks, she was nearly there.
“Come on, baby.” He nipped her neck and flattened his tongue against her thumping pulse, loving the sheen of sweat and salt on her skin. “Christ, the things I want to do to you.”
Repeatedly. Forever.
She trembled, her fingers a death grip. If possible, every part of her wrapped around every part of him, even though they were already so entwined a crowbar couldn’t have pried them apart.
Throat tight, dick pulsing, muscles burning, he drove into her with everything he had. Each shallow withdraw of his hips made him more greedy to return. The over-sensitization was unbelievable. And each thrust home had her tight, hot flesh cushioning him, welcoming.
It seemed like eons passed the longer they rode the current. Her needy, breathy whimpers of encouragement and his grunts of sheer bliss. Pain and pleasure unlike anything he’d ever known. Yet it didn’t seem like enough. No amount of time buried inside her would ever be enough.
“Nate...”
A careening cry, and she shuddered. He crushed his mouth to hers and swallowed the sound while she fell apart in his arms. She contracted around him, milking him, killing him with agonizingly sweet torture. She threw her head back, his lips dragging across her jaw.
Halfway through a string of muttered curses, he opened his mouth wide against her cheek and slightly adjusted his stance to keep them upright. While aftershocks rippled through her and against him, he came with a guttural, primal roar that locked his jaw. Stole his oxygen. Punched his heart.
“Holy...” He jerked, bucked, and died right where he stood.
Jarred to the bone, he heaved air and released her hands. Her arms fell limp at her sides and she dropped her head to his shoulder like he’d screwed her unconscious.
Christ. He’d killed her, too.
Using the last amount of energy he had in reserve, he shoved off the wall, wrapped his arms around her, and stumbled into the bedroom. He collapsed on the center of the bed, her under him, and forced himself into the bathroom to dispose of the condom.
When he returned, he halted dead in his tracks in the middle of the room and...
Died a second time. Or third?
Arms and legs sprawled, she laid with her eyes closed and shallow breaths pushing her breasts toward the ceiling. Stubble burn abraded her cheeks, her neck, and a blush was fading on her chest. Her pale, long lashes left shadows under her eyes. Her skin was as fair as the white sheets, but the small triangle of auburn hair on her mound matched the strands on her head. A fire and ice combination meant to cut him off at the knees.
The strange lump wedged in his throat again. His heart ticked a maddeningly rapid beat and something caused his sinuses to sting.
She moaned. “I feel like I should say the power of Christ compels you or something witty like that.”
He tried to swallow and failed. “What?”
“It’s from The Exorcist.” One eye peeked open. “The movie?”
“I’ve seen it.” He was only slightly more surprised she could quote the film than the fact she’d compared him to demonic possession.
What they’d done slammed through his mind. Rather, what he’d done to her. Shoving her against the wall. Holding her down. Driving into her with brutal strength. He was a monster who never should’ve touched her. His chest hitched.
He rubbed a shaking hand across his jaw. “Did...” Christ, his voice was gravel. He cleared his throat and tried again, barely managing a whisper. “Did I hurt you?”
“Lord, no.” She turned her head and smiled, oblivious to his distress. “How are you still standing? Moving my eyes is too much effort.”
He had no idea, but he sat by her hip and ran his gaze over her. Carefully, he lifted her arm and skimmed his fingers across her wrist, not finding any redness or marks. He leaned sideways and did the same with her other arm, then checked her hips. By the time he got to her throat and face, his hands were shaking uncontrollably.
She stretched. “What are you doing?”
“I...” He sighed. “Checking for bruises.” Of all his sins, and there were many, this was the absolute worst. “I’m sorry, baby.”