Authors: Joan Swan
Blaze (27 page)
Keira focused on the closed bathroom door, where light filled the seam between the bottom edge and the floor. A jumble of clothes sat on the floor to the sideâgray gym shorts and an olive green T-shirt he must have borrowed from Teague, and the navy boxer briefs he'd been wearing at the safe house. The ones she'd wanted to rip off him before their conversation had brought them to an impasse.
She was just about to lower her weapon when an uncomfortable sensation skidded down her spine like tipped dominoes.
She stiffened. Cut another glance around the room. Tuned into her clairaudience and listened. But got nothing. Was he still blocking her? But why when it took so much effort and he didn't know she was there?
The unease spread from bone to bone, muscle to muscle, until the serpent-like invader coiled around her body, chest to hips. A slow squeeze made it hard to breathe.
She thought about calling to him through the door, but something cautioned her. With her weapon at her thigh, Keira leaned in, listening. For what, she wasn't sure, but no sound came from the bathroom except the unbroken stream of water.
Unbroken.
The hair on her arms prickled. She tightened her fingers around the butt of her gun and listened harder. No splashing. No interruption. Which meant no movement. And suggested another possible reason for Keira's inability to tap into his thoughts. He wasn't having any.
Oh, God.
Focus.
Her memory roamed the landscape of the bathroom she and Luke had remodeled just months before she'd left. Toilet to the left, double sinks and huge mirror directly ahead, open, half-wall stone shower to the right, the same direction the door opened.
She solidified her stance, the grip of her gun, the hold on the door handle. Her gaze caught on a reflection of light against the floor. On a pool of water seeping out from beneath the door. Growing. Sliding across the slate beneath her feet.
With the shower on the other side of the room and the lack of movement sounding in the shower, there was only one reason Keira could imagine for that water to be leaking from the bathroomâLuke lying on the floor. Unconscious. Dead.
She turned the knob and prayed she was wrong.
FOURTEEN
M
uscles strung taut, back pressed against the cold wall next to the door, Luke stared at the door handle, but his mind kept scattering through the contents of the cabinets on the opposite side of the bathroom.
uscles strung taut, back pressed against the cold wall next to the door, Luke stared at the door handle, but his mind kept scattering through the contents of the cabinets on the opposite side of the bathroom.
He was naked, dripping wet. Not one goddamned thing he could use as a weapon within reach. Yeah, he could hold his own in a fight, even against others with weapons, but he'd really rather have the gun he'd left in the bedroom.
And with every moment that passed since he'd heard that front door slam shut with no one calling his name, his muscles coiled tighter in preparation.
Come on.
He forced his mind into combat mode, shaving off all distractions until he had beamlike focus. And waited.
The doorknob turned. So slowly, he almost couldn't decipher the movement. He pressed harder against the wall, fingers stretched toward the handle.
Luke hesitated, gave the person an opportunity to announce themselves. Teague, Mitch, maybe one of the guys they had guarding the other house had come to check on him.
But he heard nothing. Including thoughts.
In the half-inch opening, the bathroom light flashed over a dark weapon. He made the split-second decision to act.
He forced his hand through the door and gripped the wrist of the intruder. Wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the open edge and yanked the door back. His eyes never left the gun as he fought for control.
“Luke! Waitâ”
The use of his name registered. Then the female voice.
But all too late.
His leverage on one arm whipped the intruder around as he covered the weapon with a controlling fist. He had just enough presence of mind not to slam her up against the shower wall as hard as his adrenaline would have driven.
“It's me. Luke. It's me.”
Every muscle quivered with the need for action, but Luke kept his body forced against hers, pinning her to the stone wall. Kept his fingers closed over hers, covering the gun.
Not only was Keira the last person he'd expected to see, she was the last person he wanted to see. “What the fuck? I could have hurt you.”
“You
are
hurting me.”
are
hurting me.”
He growled and leaned back to release some pressure. The shower spray hit his shoulder and ricocheted into her face. She squeezed her eyes shut and sputtered.
“What do you expect when you walk into my house, my goddamned shower, unannounced?”
He took the gun from her loose fingers, set it on the ledge of a small window above her head as the shower stream soaked her, and concentrated on easing off the adrenaline high.
“I was not unannounced,” she said. “I banged on your door. I called your name. Then I get these dark vibes . . . I hear the water . . . you're not in the shower. And I couldn't hear your thoughts. And the water, it's leaking. It . . . under the door. It . . .”
Her eyes connected with his, and the terror there took him off guard. He'd expected her typical anger.
“I thought something had happened to you.” She bent her head, laid it against his chest, and wound her arms around his back. “God, you scared me.”
The sound of the shower filled the following moment of silence. His mind skipped around but couldn't land on anything to straighten out the growing confusion. “Did I miss something between you basically telling me to go fuck myself last night and now?”
“I know I was harsh last night.” She pulled back. Regret filled her eyes, and as soon as he saw the familiar look, something pulled in his chest. The first sucker red flag. “I didn't sleep at all.”
“Join the club.”
He didn't need this. He was still hurting. Still angry. Still grieving. Their argument the night before had been the tipping point for Luke. The moment when all their discussions and fights on the topic of having kids conglomerated into one solid rock. One he realized couldn't be broken, cracked, or even chipped away.
Never had he loved anyone the way he loved her. Never would he love anyone like this again. Which left him with the impossible decision: live with his true love and give up his dream of a family? Or fulfill his dream of a family with someone other than his true love?
“I stayed up all night thinking about what you said,” Keira started, “andâ”
“I can't do this.” He gripped her arms, still locked around him, pried them off, and stepped back. “I'm not going through the same old bullshit with you again. You weren't the only one up all night thinking, and my head feels like a bowling ball.”
“But, I want to tell youâ”
“Keira.” His bark cut her off. He sucked in a breath and gathered the threads of his patience, worn bare by pain. “Here's the thing. When I see you with Mateo, I ache, the way I used to ache when I saw you with Kat. A beautiful, this-is-what-life-is-about stolen moment ache. An if-only-I-could-stop-time ache.
“And it's not just about having kids. It's about you and me being a family. A real family. It's about finding strength in the sum of our parts instead of fighting life alone. Knowing that no matter how bad it gets we'll be there together, sticking it out.
“Don't you think I'm scared, too? That all of this, what's happened to us, doesn't make me worry about how I would protect a family? But when I look at you with Mateo, I know I want that connection with the woman I love. I need to be a part of something greater than myself. Especially now, after everything I've been through.”
He clenched his jaw, knew he was about to cross a line he couldn't ever cross back over. “Keira, I can't go back to the way things were before . . . I can't do it. I want more. I want the whole packageâyou, kids, and, yes, the white picket fence. I can't sit back and watch Teague and Alyssa together and know we're never going to have that bond. I can't watch you smother Kat with love and know that's never going to be our child. It's too painful. I'd rather spend the rest of my life alone.”
As he said the words, words he hadn't fully thought through before this moment, he knew they were true. Even if they absolutely broke his heart. “I'm done fighting with you about thisâ”
She pushed up on her toes and kissed him. Her lips were warm, soft, wet. They immediately scrambled his thoughts.
He leaned back. “That's not going toâ”
She kissed him again. Her arms escaped his grip and wound around his neck. Her mouth opened under his. Her tongue darted in.
Ah, damn.
Heat. So much heat.
One taste and his resistance wavered? Not this time. Not again.
He pushed her away. “Keiraâ”
“What I want to tell you, if you'd listen a second,” she said before he could cut her off again, “is that you were right. About so many things. I do love Mateo differently. I do always hold something back. I do let my fear rule my heart.”
She darted a nervous look from beneath those dark lashes sparkling with water droplets. And he found himself hesitating.
“I'm listening,” he said cautiously. “But I'm not going to hear the same bullshit, Keira.”
And he wasn't giving in. Even if that tank she was wearing was so wet it was now translucent and layered to her like a second skin. Even if the sight of her skin all glowing and slick made him want to rip every shred of clothing from her body. Because that would only be a temporary fix to a permanent problem.
“I have issues with feeling . . . closed in.” Her eyes slid to his chest. “So when you push me on the whole kid thing, and you use all your logic and all your examples and I can't fight back, I get scared. Walls start pressing in on me, like they did last night. And I say things that I don't always mean or that don't always come out right.”
She lifted her eyes to his. “But I did mean what I said when I called you from Tony's car. I should have tried harder before, and I want to try harder now. That's why I'm here. I know how screwed up I am. And I know we have . . . issues. I don't have all the answers; I can't say I even fully understand the problems. I love kids, I love family, but having my own scares me into panic attacks.
“I obviously have a problem, Luke. One that's not going to be fixed overnight, but one I'm willing to work on. I won't lose you over this. Not again. I'm ready to try . . . I mean, to think about . . .” She took a deep breath. “I want that connection with you, too. Desperately. Maybe . . . I mean, if you're still willing . . . maybe we could talk about having . . . a family.”
He felt as though he'd been pulled into a river, the water eddying around rocks, dragging him from one rapid to another, with never enough time to catch his breath. Her words, the look of sincerity and seriousness and self-deprecation in her eyes gave him so much hope. More than he'd ever imagined he'd feel again. This was the first time she'd been the one to mention children. She'd never gone as far as to say she wanted a family with him. And she'd never, not once, brought up the subject on her own.
But he'd been here a few too many times in the past couple of days. Had his heart twisted and torn more than he could handle. If she was willing to back up her words with action, he might be able to take that leap one more time.
He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her against his body. His wet skin slid against her silk, sparking every cell. His erection jerked against the softness of her belly.
She rested her hands against his chest, watching him with hope in those beautiful eyes.
“Tell me about the tunnel,” he said.
Fear flashed a second before the warm blue irises hardened to glass. Luke's heart took a cold hit of disappointment. She wasn't going to do it. She wasn't going to open up. He'd expected too much.
She lowered her eyes to his chest. Clenched and released her fingers. Cleared her throat. “One of my foster families, they lived in Sparks, Nevada. It was before the town grew. Still the middle of nowhere. There were eight of usâkids. I was the oldest. Took care of the others. All of them had some type of physical or mental disorder from previous parental abuse. The youngest was seven months old.”
Her heart picked up speed and beat harder against Luke's chest.
Keep going. Get it out. Talk to me.
Keep going. Get it out. Talk to me.
“The dad, he was a good man. Worked for the railroad. Traveled. Gone long hours. When he was home, everything was fine. He was good to us. But the woman, she was . . . I don't even think she was human. We were animals to her. When chores were done, she locked us . . .” Keira shuttered a breath. “Under the house. Winter and below zero, summer and a hundred-ten, she didn't care. She couldn't listen to the babies cry. Couldn't be bothered to feed us. Even looking at us made her angry.”
Keira rested her forehead against his shoulder. Her warm breath rippled over his skin. “So, sometimes when kids cling to me, like Mateo has been, I get claustrophobic. When I feel responsible for a child's well-being, like I did with Kat, the pressure reminds me of that feeling I had when one of the babies had been crying for hours and I couldn't soothe them no matter how hard I tried. When those mix with certain smells, the smell of earthâdirt, plants, moldâI . . . I kinda lose it. I don't know what happens. My mind tilts, my heart speeds up, I start sweating. I panic, basically.” She pressed her eyes closed with a shake of her head. “I never panic. I'm a sniper, for God's sake. Panic is not in our vocabulary.
“It's not logical. I know that. But it doesn't keep those dark moments from coming. I can't control them. I lash out. I retreat. I told you, I'm fucked up. I don't even know why you want me. Or if you still do.”
All his walls came tumbling down. She'd taken that first step toward him. She'd finally let him in to a place she kept locked down tight. It wasn't a solution to all their problems, but it was a start. And that was more than they'd ever had before.
He took her face in both hands, pushed the dripping strands away from those beautiful eyes, and covered her mouth with his. Her fingers curled around his palms and held on. She pushed up on her toes, enveloping his mouth, pressing every perfect curve against him.
Her lips opened. Her tongue swept in, glided over his, swirled until he groaned.
She slid her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, around his neck, and tilted her head, digging in with the kind of passion that burned his brain clean through.
He wanted to say her name. Wanted to talk to her, tell her how good she felt, how he'd dreamed about her, how the years had dragged on, interminable, without her. But he couldn't pull his mouth from the feast.
The inner recesses of her mouth were so warm and wet and welcoming. Which turned his mind to other parts of her body, and the urgency to fill those spaces burned white-hot.
He tore his mouth from hers. Dragged in air as he shoved at the fabric on her hips. It dropped to the stone floor with a squishy plop. “Naked. I want you naked.”
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