Chapter Eighteen
Shane knew a thing or two about women. And dogs.
And from what he could tell, these two really were starving.
Chloe filled him in on the frosting debacle as he drove her home, so, of course, he had to reach down her back and retrieve some remaining body butter to taste it. And spit it out, assuring her it was not chocolate.
As much as he wanted to turn around and go give Jeannie Slattery a piece of his mind, he knew it was Chloe who needed—and wanted—attention right now. There was an undercurrent of warmth in her voice and touch, an electricity, a determination, an emotional buzz that he couldn’t quite read.
In the house, she headed straight to the back to shower off the remnants of Jeannie’s mess, and he took care of Daisy, who ate twice as much as her normal amount and then collapsed on the sofa where he doubted an earthquake could get her to move.
“What went on in that place?” he asked, rubbing Daisy’s head as he waited for Chloe to come out.
And waited. And waited.
Even she couldn’t be in the shower that long.
A tendril of worry curled around his heart. Not that he thought she could be hurt, but something was different. It was like they’d massaged the edge off her and…
You.
Her whispered promise on the street sent a bolt of heat through him. So what the hell was he doing on this sofa?
He walked back to the bedroom, surprised to see the door open, but the room dark.
Not completely dark.
There were…candles. On the dresser. On the nightstand. On a desk. About fifteen flickering, romantic candles. And Chloe was…
“Right here.” In bed. On her back, covers up to her chest, shoulders bare. Her hair spilled over the pillows, and she looked like…a dream. His dream. “Waiting for you.”
He laughed and came closer. “I thought we were going to, you know, have a ship with no relations.”
“I had an epiphany.” She inched the covers down, coaxing him closer.
“Sounds…hot.”
“Oh, it’s about to be.”
“Chloe, are you…” His words faded as the sheet revealed her bare breasts, golden slopes of perfection in the candlelight. “Perfect.”
“I think candlelight is perfect.” She inched the sheets lower, revealing her narrow waist and the sweet curve of her hips.
He came closer, looking down, his pulse thumping, his blood rushing, his brain short-circuiting for how much he wanted her. “No. You’re perfect.”
“That’s what you say.”
“I’m always right.”
Down went the covers, over her sexy hip bones and navel, lower, lower, lower.
His mouth went dry at the sleek black tuft of hair, the lean lines of her thighs, and… “Heaven.”
“Hell.”
He looked up at her, ready to argue that.
“I meant it was hell to have it waxed, so thanks for that.”
“Thanks for…” He reached for the covers to do the rest, dragging them slowly, one inch at a time, and every inch got better and better. “This. Which is…” He started to lower himself, his hands itching to touch, his body ready.
She pointed at him. “I have a strict no-street-clothes-in-bed rule.”
That made him laugh. “Of course you do. Should I hose down in hand sani before I get in? Shower? Spritz a little 409 to turn you on?”
“I’m plenty turned on.” Her smile flickered. “Take your clothes off, Shane Kilcannon. Real slow, so I can memorize every move you make.”
He took a deep breath and started to unbutton his shirt, a little surprised that his hands trembled slightly. Holding her gaze, he undid the buttons slowly, opening the shirt, enjoying her enjoying him. While she stared, he devoured every naked curve exposed for him, every glowing inch of sweet skin, from the column of her neck, over the rise of her breasts, down to the very slick center that he needed to be inside.
He unbuckled his belt and slowly lowered his zipper. And she actually sat up a little to see everything.
“You’re enjoying this,” he said.
“Immensely.”
Blood hummed out of his head and heart, rushing to one place, knotting him in arousal. He stepped out of his dress pants. That left nothing but boxer briefs, which were tented and tight.
And all that got worse as he could see her hungry stare in the candlelight. He finished undressing, and her jaw loosened as she looked at him with the same heat with which he had to be looking at her. “Perfect,” she whispered.
He got on the bed next to her. “That’s what I want this to be for you, Chloe.” He lowered himself on her, his chest against hers, his mouth on her lips. “I want this to be perfect for you.”
He kissed her again, putting his heart and soul into it, holding back no matter how much he wanted to dive in and take every single thing she was offering. He wouldn’t. It had to be perfect. It had to be so impeccable, so clean and sweet and safe and slow that she didn’t regret one second of this decision.
He closed his eyes and fought every instinct, restraining himself as much as possible.
“Shane.”
He lifted his head from the kiss to look at her.
“I’m not gonna break.” She squeezed his shoulders and dragged her fingers down his back. “And you…” She grabbed his backside. “Are not going to deny me the bed-shaking, brain-rattling, sweat-inducing, six orgasm-producing sex that a guy like you was built to deliver.”
He stared at her, stunned. “Six?”
“Okay, five.”
“Oh, I can do six.”
She started laughing. “You get my point? I want sex, Shane. Dirty…” She rocked her hips into his erection. “Messy…” She dug her nails into his ass. “Crazy…” She wrapped both legs around his thighs. “Sex.”
He took a slow breath, studying her face, his chest rising, and the rest of him rising even more. “You gotta stop this right now.”
“Stop? Why?”
“Because you gave me a challenge, and I…I….”
“Have to win.”
He closed his eyes. “Oh yes, I do.”
“Then play ball, Kilcannon.”
At the tease, he shuddered a little, then relaxed all his weight on her. And let it all change. He kissed her everywhere his mouth could find, and his hands began to roam and explore, and everything he touched, he had to taste.
Her breasts. Her ribs. Her stomach. Hot lips, greedy hands, sweet moans, and a tongue that made her cry out every time he discovered somewhere new to lick.
He took ownership of every move, and all she could do was grab hair or shoulders or sheets and let him have his way.
Dizzy, lost, and both of them hanging on the hairy edge of release, she spread her legs and welcomed his mouth and gave in for number one. Two and three were with his hands, his fingers in and out and around her. Then he finally knelt over her and opened a condom packet.
During this one break, she took over, exploring him with the same desperation, touching and stroking him to absolute madness, and then lowering her head to place a kiss on him. And another. She moaned and sucked lightly, nearly making him lose his balance as pleasure rocked through him.
He held her head in one hand, his eyes closed, every sense on fire as he moaned, stroked her hair, and whispered her name over and over again, drowning in the feel of her lips on him.
She sat back and touched the corner of her mouth, looking up at him.
“A Chloe first?” he asked on a gruff whisper.
She nodded, and that made his heart crack a little more open and vulnerable.
She reached up, coaxing him to her, into her, offering a kiss as they joined in the most intimate, perfect, rhythmic connection he could remember.
All he could do was hang on and ride as the pressure and pace moved from steady to crazy to flat-out senseless. Control disappeared, and good riddance to it. She took the ride as Shane plunged in and out, on the edge of surrender.
He squeezed his eyes shut and let the raw sensations rock him as they dragged each other closer and closer to the brink. He found her mouth, held the kiss, and squeezed her whole body as he finally let go completely.
She moved with him, gasping for air, pulsing over and over until there was nothing left for them to do but lie in the warmth of the bed and each other.
He had no idea how much time passed after they’d made love. Ten minutes? An hour? Half the night? All Shane knew was a bone-deep sense of belonging and the burn in his gut that told him he did not want her to leave. Ever.
* * *
“Tell me about it.” Chloe slid her hand over Shane’s hip, grazing the roped muscle near the bone, then letting her fingers settle into the round scar she’d spied at the very top of his thigh, almost in the hip crease.
He moaned a little, making it difficult for her to tell if that was a postcoital groan of satisfaction or a way to say he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Liam told me.”
“I know. The bastard says five words in two hours, and they happen to be about my deep, dark past.”
She eased out from under him, but kept her body pressed to his, sliding a leg over his and turning him, so the left-side scar was easy for her to touch. “How deep? How dark?”
He opened his eyes, golden in the candlelight, and something else, too. A little scared. “Kind of. Very. Yeah, deep and dark.”
She couldn’t help sitting up an inch. “I want to know.”
“I was bit by a dog when I was nine.” He swallowed, the very act telling her there was so much more to it.
“And still you love dogs,” she said. “That’s not very deep or dark. It actually says a lot of very good things about you.”
He snorted and closed his eyes. “There’s nothing that says very good things about me in this story. Starting with the fact that I have never, ever told anyone the truth. Even when they deserved to know it.” He looked at her then, nothing but sincerity in his gaze. “Not any of my brothers, not my parents, not a friend, not anyone.”
But would he tell her? She was vaguely aware she held her breath and waited for the answer to that, surprised at how much it mattered. Not the story, but the truth.
“Zeus was a pit, a Staffy mix who maybe had something else in there, but he was a tough little dude. He’d been bred to fight, all scarred and nasty when we got him. My dad handled him, mostly, with Liam. When he’d been trained and socialized and loved like all our fosters, my mom set out to find him a home. That’s what she did before Waterford was an official facility. Mom fostered rescues and found them homes. Except for the ones she fell madly in love with,” he added. “And she fell head over heels in love with Zeus. He was not going anywhere.”
A longing to know Annie Kilcannon hit Chloe with an unexpected punch. At Waterford, she’d seen a few pictures scattered around the house and knew Shane’s mother was the one responsible for his hazel eyes and the little bit of red that highlighted Molly’s hair. She had seen from the pictures that the woman had a sweet smile, good bones, and a twinkle in her eye that made Chloe imagine she held her own in the teasing department.
But it wasn’t enough. Chloe wanted to hear her voice, watch her interact with her kids, and know this woman who’d raised a brood of impressive men and women.
“I knew Staffies could have issues with other dogs,” Shane continued. “Even at nine I knew that. I knew we’d been very slowly introducing Zeus to others. But he didn’t know them all. We had another foster at the time named Rojo, a sweetheart of an Aussie shepherd. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. So one day, it was my day to clean the kennels and fill the food bowls before school. They weren’t anything elaborate like they are now, but five or six big cages that my dad built under a shelter. Still, we each had mornings we had to work, and I took Rojo with me.”
His words slowed as she imagined he went back in time.
“It was cold,” he said. “Early December, and I was not happy about having to go out there at seven in the morning. Neither was Rojo. I mean, really, Chloe, I was cranky.”
He stopped talking completely and sighed. She waited, silent, gliding her finger over the scar that was exactly the shape of a dog’s mouth, the bumps on his skin easy to feel, the imperfections obvious on such a perfect body.
“I did everything wrong,” he said. “Zeus got anxious and pawed at his food bowl, spilling it everywhere. I yelled at him for the mess, I let Rojo at his cage door to bark at him, I…” He clenched his teeth. “I taunted him. I took out my frustration on him and, I don’t know, it was like I wanted to show Rojo I could handle the bad dogs.” He closed his eyes. “He snarled, leaped, and took a chomp out of me that I’ll never forget. I screamed like a lunatic, shaking the dog cage door in panic, and Zeus came at me again, but I got out. Half my family came running out, of course, and I…I…didn’t tell them what I’d done.”
“They thought he lost it?”
He closed his. “Yes. It was the worst bite any of us had ever had. I remember my mother bawling in the backseat, holding me on the way to the ER. The whole time my dad quietly telling her that Zeus had to go. He had to go.”
She gasped softly. “They didn’t—”
“My parents would sooner kill a kid than a dog,” he assured her. “But my mom loved him and wanted to keep him, until then. I don’t know where they sent him and, honestly, I don’t like to think about it, Chloe. Not ’cause I think anything bad happened to him, but because of me, he left. And wherever he went, he had a cloud over his history because my parents, of course, had to let the new fosters know Zeus had attacked one of their kids. But he didn’t attack. He reacted, as any dog would.”
He sat up a little, taking her hand off the scar to hold it. “I drowned in guilt. And, God, I wanted to tell my mother. But I knew I would be a huge disappointment to her, and she was wrecked about the whole thing. Questioning if we should ever take a pit again, though, of course, we did. Zeus would have had the best life at our house. And I took that away from him and from her.”
“I’m sure he had a good home,” she said, knowing it sounded like a platitude but wanting to believe it as much as she imagined he wanted to.
“I don’t know. I’ll never know. But I know this: People are the monsters, not pit bulls. And so, I have my mission. To convert everyone who will listen to the truth about pitties.” He managed a smile. “I do it all for Zeus.”
“And your mom.”
The smile grew. “Yeah.”
“She’d have forgiven you, I bet.”
“Oh yes. But not until she had a good long talk with me.” He dropped back on the pillow with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “She was an expert talker.”
“What was she like, Shane?”
He closed his eyes like the question hurt him, and Chloe put her hand on his chest, over his heart. “Tell me about her. Tell me everything you can remember.”
“Now? In bed?” He turned, his eyebrows raised. “You want me to talk about my mother? I thought we were on Zeus.”
“What upset you about losing Zeus was that you hurt your mother.”
“You’re right,” he said on a sigh. “But why do you want to talk about her?”
“Because I want to know this amazing woman who raised you. I want to understand what made her tick. I want to…” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care. “I want to imagine what having a mother like that would have been like if she’d been mine.”
“Oh, Chloe.” He rolled over and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest with enough of a shudder that she knew he was fighting tears, too. “I wish she could be, sweetheart. I wish she could. I wish she were still here, damn it.”
She bit her lip to keep from sobbing, pressing her face into his chest as she thought about his mother…and hers. “Tell me.”
He didn’t say anything for a long time, holding her head against him, stroking her hair with the same calming, comforting, loving touch she’d seen him use on Daisy. “I have a hard time talking about her, to be honest.”
“Even to me?”
“Especially to you.”
She lifted her head up. “Why?”
He looked hard at her, a few heartbeats passing. “It’s like there’s a hole in my heart that can never…I can never…” He sighed noisily. “I don’t know why, but ever since I met you, I think more about her than ever. I was able to put it in a box, shove it away, not think about how much it hurt to lose her. I tried to make it not matter. Just, you know, part of life. My mom died. It happens to everyone. It happened to you, so shouldn’t I be able to…deal?”
His voice shredded the words, and she rubbed his chest, making a small circle with her palm.
“Everyone deals in a different way,” she said. “But you shouldn’t put her memory away. You should share it. Help her memory to live. Please tell me about her.”
It took him a while to talk again. When he did, he voice was low and calm. “She made friends with everyone. Everyone. Five minutes and she knew something about everyone, and then she’d remember it. I’d be in town with her, and we’d run into someone, and she’d know that their kid was sick last week or they got a new car. Not gossipy stuff, but personal. She always found something to compliment, but not to be fake, but because she only saw good.”
Chloe closed her eyes and tucked closer to him, listening to the tone and timbre of his voice as much as the words.
He told a story about her, then another. He laughed. He might have cried. He kept talking until Chloe was asleep, certain that that night, she’d dream of a woman with golden-green eyes.
And maybe the stories had been cathartic for Shane, but Chloe was the one who was soothed, warmed, and healed by the invisible presence of Annie Kilcannon.