Branded Sanctuary (10 page)

Cries wrenched from her throat, ratcheted up to a wail of victorious pleasure as he obeyed, letting go mere seconds after her. Those delightful arm and shoulder muscles stood out with the strain, rippling with the motion, his cock‟s friction rubbing within her, the rim of the broad head, the thick heat of him keeping her climax roaring through her, an engine fueled by the driving piston motion.

Her arms banded tight around his shoulders as the sensation overwhelmed her. As she held him close to her breast, her hips ground down on him. She snarled, throwing her head back, nails driving in further as she took every drop of his release. Closing her eyes, she embraced the ride, far beyond any worries of what the day would bring.

It was the best her body had felt in a long, long time.

She should have known it wouldn‟t last. After a brief post-coital nap, he‟d kissed her good morning warmly enough, run through the shower when she‟d wanted a few extra minutes of snoozing, then made them both one of her organic, free-range eggs while she got under the hot water. He handed her forkfuls through the curtain since they were running a little late. So accommodating. He hadn‟t coaxed her to bathe with him, hadn‟t even taken more than a friendly glance at her naked body in the shower.

She had a tiny shower, so there was no way they could have shared it, but she‟d expected him to try. Yeah, it was a work day for both of them, but that wasn‟t it. If she were more sure of herself, she would have dragged him in with her, soaked his jeans and gotten both of them laughing and easy with one another again. She‟d always been attuned to any sign of instability around her and gone out of her way to balance it, had enjoyed the power to do so. But she couldn‟t get past her own reaction. She couldn‟t bear knowing the first perfect thing she‟d experienced in months had rotted in the course of an hour. The intuition that had guided her to so many adventures and new things had become an enemy, shedding a bright light on the things she didn‟t want to see.

He was distant, damn it. She could sense it, see it in his eyes. It couldn‟t have been something she‟d done, since they‟d basically fallen asleep in each other‟s arms after what was undeniably a wonderful experience for both of them.

“What is this?”

His casually interested voice disrupted her internal argument. Peering cautiously around the bathroom door, she kept her brush in hand to give her something to do that didn‟t require direct eye contact. Brendan was leafing through a notebook holding magazine cut outs and newspaper clippings, pen scribblings. He glanced up. “I assumed it was okay to look, since it was sitting here with your books.”

“Yeah, it‟s fine.” She cleared her throat. “I call that my happiness book.” He was sitting on the quilt chest at the end of her bed. Like her, he was dressed now, having used her iron to make his shirt presentable for a consecutive day. He‟d even shrugged back into his jacket, though she would have thought it was too warm in the house for it.
Additional armor
.

“Happiness book?” he prompted.

She had to quell an unexpected desire to ask him to set it aside, say it was time to go. She didn‟t want to share any more of herself with him when he obviously was having second thoughts about all of it. Damn it,
damn it.
What had gone wrong?

“I used to… I like a lot of things I see in stores and catalogs. I can get carried away with shopping.” When he smiled at that, she managed a wooden one in return and turned away, going back to the mirror, speaking with the thin wall between them. “So I started cutting out pictures of things I liked but couldn‟t afford. Then I found I liked them better that way. As if it was even better to look at it than to have it myself.

Sometimes, acquiring it lessens the appreciation.”

So it would seem.

When she came out of the bathroom, those words echoing in the quiet room, he briefly met her gaze, reached out and took her hand, but it wasn‟t a gesture to encourage a breakdown of the wall. His unreadable expression didn‟t match the gesture, or the invisible tether of restraint that seemed to be holding him back.

They‟d moved too fast. Hell, she had no idea what his personal baggage was, and maybe this morning he‟d woken up immersed in it.

She retrieved her hand. “Well, I guess I better get going.”

“I can drive you—”

“No, that‟s fine. That was nice of you to do yesterday, but it will be fine.” Goddess, now she was doing it. Instead of saying what she was thinking straight out, she was playing the same hateful game as him, putting distance and intimacy together in a confusing way to make it seem like everything was okay, but really using it to construct a barrier that didn‟t encourage conversation about what really mattered.

He nodded, moved into her bathroom to do a quick swipe at his hair now that it was dry. She turned, caught his reflection in the mirror in an unguarded moment and saw the regret and frustration there, confirming what she was already thinking.

Picking up her tote, she left the house, went and sat out on her front steps. Last night, she‟d never wanted him to go. Now she was counting the seconds. She felt like a puppet on a stage, fake and stiff jointed, in a spotlight she was unable to leave.

During one of their long kissing sessions, he‟d shared some music from his player with her, a Celtic woodwind selection she loved. He knew so much about her, but he‟d kept himself a closed book. She‟d let him make it all about her. Stupid men.

When he came out on the porch behind her, his boots scuffing the boards, she locked her fingers together, hard. “If you say last night was a mistake, I swear I‟ll never forgive you.”

She rose then, turning to meet his expression. Her directness may have surprised him, but the words obviously didn‟t, driving the knife in deeper. After a contemplative silence where she felt like he was twisting the blade, he shook his head. Coming down to the bottom of the steps, he faced her. She was a step above him, bringing her to eye level. This time when he tried to take her hands, she pulled away.

“No. Something‟s wrong. Last night was perfect, as perfect as things can be, because I trusted you. You‟re not supposed to play games with me. I can‟t take that, and if you‟re going to do that, then you should just…fuck off and leave me alone. I won‟t take that kind of bullshit, you hear me?”

When he said nothing, his gaze turned inward as if seeking words he couldn‟t find, no instant denial coming to his lips, it welled up in her, huge and unwieldy, making her almost lightheaded. She felt betrayed. That was the only reason she could fathom for what she did next, something she‟d never done in her whole life.

She slapped him.

It wasn‟t as easy as they showed on soap opera dramas. Aim and force weren‟t easy to coordinate, though she had plenty of rage behind it. She hit his neck more than his jaw, but it unleashed something else. She followed it with an even wilder slap that went high, hit his temple and eye, but she didn‟t care. If she blinded him, he couldn‟t look at her like this.

She flailed at him like a child on a playground, a flurry of slaps that canted her weight forward and made her fall into him. She was still pummeling at him when he turned her, waist secure in his grip as he got her feet safely on the ground. Later she would find it remarkable that he did so little to protect his face, a natural instinct for most people.

Right now, though, she was occupied. One part of her stood to the side, horrified and fascinated by the shrieking, irrational, rage-filled Chloe, spewing foul curses in language she didn‟t use, but then a couple things penetrated. He was holding her, bringing her in to his chest so her punches had shorter and shorter range, until she was gripping his shirt and shaking him. He was sitting down on the upper step, putting her between his knees. And he was trying to tell her something.

She blinked at him, her body vibrating. “What? What did you say?” He framed her face in one hand, holding her body so close with the other she could feel his heart beat beneath her shoulder. “I said, last night was different for me too, different from anything I‟ve ever felt, Chloe. I‟m sorry. It spooked me, and I wasn‟t ready for it. You‟re right. I shouldn‟t have acted this way this morning. It was unforgivable. I didn‟t handle it well, okay?”

The anguish of that was in his eyes. He wasn‟t just soothing her, she could tell. That frustration she‟d glimpsed in the mirror was with himself, struggling with his own feelings. She bit her lips, anger deflating. It left weariness, and the beginnings of mortification.

“No, you didn‟t,” she agreed. Closing her eyes, she buried her face in her hands, rounding her body inside the shelter of his, conscious that her soft-soled canvas sneakers were curved over the toe of his left boot, pressing down on the foot beneath.

But he didn‟t complain.

“Oh Chloe.” He passed his hand over the defensive hunch she‟d made of her spine.

“I am sorry.”

“Don‟t be. It wasn‟t my best moment, either.” She blew out a sigh, feeling sick at heart. “I completely fall apart over a second date, which happened to involve sex, so who am I to cast stones?” Shaking her head, she pushed herself to her feet, making herself let go of him on a couple different levels. “I‟m not ready for this, Brendan. I should never have called you that night, never should have taken it any further. It‟s not fair to you. Apparently, I‟m not even emotionally prepared for sex right now, let alone a relationship. We should cut our losses now.”

“Chloe Davis.” He captured both of her hands, bringing her gaze back to his resolute expression. “You‟re brave, and lovely, and I‟ve never wanted a woman more in my life. Never.” He repeated it as if she should understand how significant that was, and it made her wonder what women he‟d had in his life that would make this moment so obviously…more. The emphasis was so sincere it made her tremble. “If I fuck up or if you don‟t want me, you end it, but you don‟t cut me loose because you think it‟s too much trouble for me to hold your lifeline. Okay? No more talk like that.”

“You‟re already having reservations yourself. Why push something that‟s putting off wrong vibes on the second date?”

“You need me.”

Could he have chosen a worse thing to say? Bitter anger clogged her throat, back as if it had never left. She took a step back, pulling her hands away. “So rescuing girls is your particular sick little fetish? That‟s what turns you on?” When she saw shock flash across his face, followed by hurt and anger, incomprehensible, detestable triumph flooded her. Who was this harpy, this thing that had possessed her tongue, turned it into a slicing weapon?

Then he gave a nod, his mouth hard. “If you want to call it that. I think it‟s every man‟s responsibility to protect a woman, to rescue her if she needs rescuing, whether or not he has the white horse and armor. But you‟re more than that to me, Chloe.”

“Am I? Because something real is holding you back, and the most logical thing is that it‟s me. What, you didn‟t think I was all that fucked up the first night, but now you‟ve reconsidered? Was I not a good enough lay? Too assertive? You didn‟t like me calling the shots?”

He rose, giving her a look that she expected hawks gave mice before they plummeted. But then he snagged her right hand, the one she‟d used to slap him first. It was still stinging. As if he knew that, he put his lips to her palm, closing his eyes and holding his mouth there as her fingers curled, uncertain, over his brow.

He held her there a long moment. That contact made her lightheaded, his hair under her fingertips, the stillness between them, weighted with ugly words and confused feelings. It made her want to sway forward, perversely ask him to comfort her for the pain she‟d caused him. His hand went to her waist, steadying her, but as soon as it was clear she had her balance, at least physically, he let her go. “I‟ll talk to you soon, Chloe.”

He cut around her to walk to his Jeep. Chloe closed her hands into useless fists. She wanted to scream at him some more, but she knew it wasn‟t he who enraged her. She needed help, but she didn‟t want to be rescued by the guy pulling her heartstrings into knots. That wasn‟t who she wanted to be. When he put the Jeep in drive, she turned. He met her eyes. Though she wanted to be comforted by that lingering kiss she held in her tight hand, she saw the shadows. She wasn‟t wrong, what she had said. But that didn‟t mean she was right, either.

* * * * *

When she got to work, she spent as much time in the restroom as she could, under the excuse that she needed to put on makeup because she‟d slept in. Fortunately, once she came out, Gen was working on the brewing for the first half hour and conversation was limited. But when Marguerite came in and they began to set the tables, she braced herself. It was the unofficial time for not-so-idle chatting, at least for her and Gen.

Marguerite would throw in dry observations on occasion. Chloe knew the question was coming, but that didn‟t mean she had an answer ready.

“So how did it go with Brendan yesterday?”

Any normal human being could say “fine”, give a smug little smile and that would be the end of it. Normal workplaces didn‟t pry in-depth into sex lives, but Chloe had set the tone, always asking for every romantic, sexy detail she could wrangle out of Marguerite and Gen on anything.
Karma was a bitch
, she thought.

Hell, she‟d give it a try. “Fine,” she said, faking a smile. Gen raised a brow.

“That bad? He seemed really nice.”

“He was. He was fine.”

Marguerite, preparing the napkins with a complicated origami fold, raised a slim brow. “It sounds as if you expected more of the evening.” Chloe shrugged, stared at the teacups she was methodically drying before placing them on the settings. “No…he…” She set the teacup down with a thud, in hindsight glad that it was one of the heavier styles. “All right, fine. It was incredible, wonderful, transcending and then the show was cancelled. Apparently for reasons the network doesn‟t care to share, because he‟s too busy guarding my feelings from whatever the hell has a stick up his ass. But last night…he gave me kisses that went on forever, that rolled over me like surf. There‟s this part of me that wants to tie him up and eat him alive, but this morning it‟s like I‟m the one tied. He‟s holding himself back. I can‟t tell which hang ups are mine or his. Damn it.”