Chapter 32
Vaughn woke with a start, his temples throbbing, and immediately scanned the living room. "Christ." When had he fallen asleep?
A noise came from her bedroom. Danger. Mariah.
He flew from the couch to her bedroom door, following the pulse of fear that sent his power dials to eleven. Easing the door open, he readied for a fight.
She thrashed on the bed, mumbling, her hair sticking to the sweaty skin of her face. He scanned the room and used the light from his cell phone to check under the bed and in the closet. Nothing that could hurt her.
Except him, of course.
He turned to go but couldn't do it. He could not leave her here, alone, scared.
Fuck him. Fuck everything.
He padded in socked feet to the side of the bed and knelt. "Mariah?" He rocked her shoulder until her eyes fluttered open.
"Vaughn?" Her voice cracked. "You're here." The words came from her lips like a prayer, and she clamped her hand down on his wrist. "Please."
"Anything, sweetheart. Please what? I'll do whatever you need me to." Except leave her vulnerable to attack by that creature.
As if she knew exactly how to break him, she whispered, "Stay with me."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Yes." She guided his hand to her cheek and nuzzled it.
Damp. Her skin wasn't sweaty. Those were goddamned tears. Guilt flayed him alive.
"You... you really want me here? After everything?"
Even with the midnight shadows, he spied her frown. "Unless you're not comfortable being around me..."
"Oh, hell no," he said. "I want to be here more than anywhere in the world."
"Then yes. Please." She tugged on his arm until he crawled over her and slid under the blankets. He rested on his side, head propped on a hand, other arm making a triangle over her torso.
In the low light, the glow of the smooth skin of her chest and neck turned his tongue to sand. How the hell would he get through this night? Damn it, didn't matter. He'd keep his hands off and watch over her if that was required of him.
She sat halfway up, a tank top-covered breast brushing against his arm and making him rethink that vow to maintain his distance. "Vaughn. I need..."
"What? Anything."
"I—" She pressed her lips to his.
For the dumbest second of his life, he froze. He wanted to rip off her clothes and bury himself deep, pushing her over the edge time and again. Nothing tender about the way he wanted her.
But tonight, he needed to be different. He needed to make love to her. Temper his hunger and focus it in a different way. Stroking her mouth with his, he poured gentle care into the kisses.
So the guy who walked right into the fists of opponents and didn't give a crap, the guy who would rather leave town than destroy his brother's life, the guy who wanted to go guns-a-blazing to destroy that demon whatever-it-was... that guy dialed the burner back from boil to simmer.
Her tiny gasps as he worshipped her with his mouth made him want to tithe at the Church of Mariah for the rest of his godforsaken life.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd cut her loose.
Tonight was hers.
* * *
Mariah rubbed sandpapery eyes as her alarm buzzed. Snowy dawn gave the room a cool, gray light, and she missed the warmth of snuggling in Vaughn's arms. She stretched muscles that were sore from another night of sheer bliss.
She had floated with him on a cloud of passion and tenderness for hours last night. The gentleness and connection stunned her.
If she had questioned whether she should stick with Vaughn and give their relationship a try, if she had wondered if she could support him as he worked through his serious issues, the morning brought clarity. Everyone had baggage. God, she had her fair share.
It's what you did despite the setbacks that counted.
Was it the earth-tilting sex that made the decision to try for a future with Vaughn? Didn't hurt.
But honestly, it was the man himself. The solid guy who tormented himself about things over which he had no control. The man who put others before his own interests. The man who had gone through hell and come out better on the other side.
She pulled on her pajama pants and a sweatshirt. A flutter of excitement swirled in her belly. She could do this, tell him how she felt. Whatever the future held, they would face it together.
Weightless effervescence propelled her into the living room.
Vaughn stood in front of the living room window, hands gripping the curtain rail, his back to her, his big torso blocking the early dawn light.
"Good morning," she called, eager to sink back into his arms.
He turned, stiff. Mechanical. The hard planes of his face were indistinct in shadow.
Clicking on the lamp next to the couch, she froze. That sensual mouth that had given her unending pleasure last night was now jammed into an unyielding, grim line. That gold-glinting gaze that had curled her toes last night had gone cold, like pyrite in a polluted streambed.
Maybe he was tired. Did he doubt her feelings? Of course. How could he know? She hadn't told him anything yet.
Squaring her shoulders, she approached him. This time, though, proximity to Vaughn didn't create any warmth.
In fact, the temperature dropped ten degrees.
"Feeling better?" he asked, not moving.
"Better?"
"Better than yesterday."
"Sure." She pulled back. "What?"
"I hope I made you feel better." His words came out flat. Dead.
Unable to form words, her mind raced to catch up, leaving her mouth gaping open for too long. "Pardon me?"
He blinked and a flash of intense hunger flipped back to the cold boredom. "You deserved to feel good after the danger I exposed you to yesterday."
"That wasn't why—" Her voice caught. "What happened on the ranch wasn't your fault." She gulped past a hard lump. "Look, I—"
He stopped her with a slash of his hand in the air. "No, let me say this. I had plenty of time to think last night. This... fling—whatever we have here—needs to stop. Now." His statements sliced through her like fiery whip lashes. "It was fun for a while, but let's face reality. There's no future."
"Wait, what?" How she heard him with her heart pounding double time, she didn't know. It was hard to fill her lungs. Nausea crashed into her in churning waves.
His hands balled into fists at his side, but his expression remained etched in granite. "It's for the best. I'm blowing out of town soon anyway. Don't get me wrong. Things were great for a few days. What a stress reliever, huh?" Another pained crease across his brow, then it went ice rink smooth and cold. "You're smoking hot and smart as hell. But let's get real. You don't fit in with my family. I don't fit into your life. This little fling was never meant to be anything serious."
This little... fling? The one time she'd trusted someone with her heart and soul.
And he'd thrown it away like stinky trash.
You don't fit in...
Had she imagined their connection? Had her feelings truly been so one-sided?
Air wouldn't move through her trachea.
He'd made his choice and it didn't involve Mariah. There was no need to say anything more. No need to beg, no counterarguments. This was it. Done and done. She needed to do something about the fist squeezing the hell out of her heart before she passed out.
You don't fit in with my family...
No way. She would not break.
She locked her knees and shoved an invisible ramrod down her spine. His crappy speech sucked, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing any reaction.
"All right, then." He dusted his palms together, like he was washing his hands of her. "Glad to see you're okay. My apologies for all that you had to deal with recently. Take care."
With a light step out the front door, he eased the door closed. No slamming, no storming off. No drama.
Nothing.
Which was exactly what they had all along.
A fleeting headache came and went.
The truck engine fired up, headlights throwing lurid shadows on her wall as he backed out of the driveway. Dropping to the carpet on her knees, she curled forward, hand pressed to her chest, mouth open in a silent cry.