Branded Sanctuary (5 page)

“I want you to take me back inside and have sex with me,” she said abruptly.

“Right now.”

Holy God, where had that come from? She didn‟t know, but it was a plan of action, something to do other than this stillness, this standing by his car, in his arms, the world slowing down so that all the things racing by would stop as well. They would see her, and worse, they would make her see
them.

“Chloe.” A muscle flexed in his jaw as he released her waist, brought his other hand to cradle her face, drawing her eyes to his, but that wasn‟t what she wanted. Everything in her pooled between her legs, driving all of the focus there. She‟d earned him, earned the mindlessness. She didn‟t want a Tantric stillness or lazy, building pace that had to involve the mind, the spirit, the inner chi or whatever the fuck she‟d normally bring into it to make her think it was something extraordinary. She was against a visceral wall of muscle and testosterone, and her blood was pumping hot with the need to embrace it. A hard fuck, no gentle kisses, no hands on her. She‟d tie his hands to the rail of the bed, tie them tight so it would hurt a little. She‟d bite and tear, consume, devour and take, until there was nothing left.

Stretching on her toes, she found his mouth, growling with pleasure as it opened for her. A clever tongue tangled with hers again and sent sensation rippling through her nerves, sweeping away the debris inside her like a hot, scorching wind.

“Chloe.” He repeated it then, and though he held her face in a gentle grip, it was unshakable. She closed her eyes. “Tell me again what you want. I need to hear it. What do you want?”

What was it in his voice that pulled her out of that whirlwind, even as she tried to claw back to it, wanting to spit at him? But he said her name again, in a whisper this time. Just her name.

“Chloe.”

It became an echo through all those empty spaces, the places she hadn‟t known were empty, or maybe they hadn‟t been. Whatever had populated those rooms was gone, and she wasn‟t sure how to bring back the comfortable, quirky furnishings that had been there before.

“I want to be me again. I want to feel safe.”

A sigh left him, a warm breath that caressed her face as he curved his hand around the back of her neck then, bringing her face into his chest. She‟d been close to him a moment before, pressed tight, but this was somehow closer, maybe because some of that tension left her and she melted into him in truth. Her arms slid up under his again so she could flatten her palms over his shoulder blades, her nose burying in his chest, seeking the comfort of shirt and skin and their nice smells. His other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her between his braced legs so close. He was still aroused, but it was a natural, easy pleasure now, a reminder of all the wonderful things it meant, that were possible.

She prided herself on being independent, but she welcomed the subtle message he‟d been sending to her with that blue bow on the Rottweiler. Male, protective.

How long they stood like that, she wasn‟t sure, but he held her while the sun warmed the Jeep and emanated against her. Myriad bugs, frogs and other creatures that lived in the thicket of tangled foliage she‟d encouraged around her cottage sang, chirped and made their discordant morning noises. Clicks, sawing violins, pops.

Sounds hard to describe, but everyone understood the feeling, the familiar reassurance of them, that came on a sunny early morning. Much like this feeling.

He brushed his lips across her forehead. “Why don‟t I take you to work now?” His mouth pulled in a smile against her temple. “But if you want to revisit that other idea later, I won‟t object.”

* * * * *

In fact, Brendan knew if she‟d made the demand once more, he would have swung her up in his arms and taken the stairs two at a time, even knowing it was the wrong thing. Well, wrong was the incorrect word. It would have been sweaty, slick and satisfying to the parts of their bodies that were impatient with emotions, though. But he knew how it would have played out. Shame would have drowned her because “I want to have a rough fuck with somebody I barely know” didn‟t mesh with the Chloe he‟d met at the wedding, or talked to in such an extraordinary way on the phone a mere few hours ago. He didn‟t want to lose that Chloe. He was more than a little concerned she was in danger of losing it herself.

The person he‟d met at the wedding had let her emotions lead her, despite her injuries and close brush with death. He knew magical nights like that made nightmares temporarily go away, but even so, he‟d sensed he‟d been talking to the real Chloe.

Unabashed, unrepressed. That Chloe might have made the impetuous decision to make love to him so quickly, but if she did, it would be because she felt a connection that told her coming together physically would be a joyous, fulfilling experience. Where, if there wasn‟t love, there would be learning, friendship, laughter, things worth taking the emotional risk.

Her desire to be taken now, such an abrupt, harsh and cruelly worded decision, was just the opposite of that. She was completely shielded, the quick desire a way to avoid or outrun her feelings, not open them.

He understood all that. But he had his own needs and vulnerabilities as well, and her demand was like a witch‟s spell. If it had been uttered twice, or more catastrophically, the irreversible three times, it would have taken him over. He would have obeyed her without thought.

Or maybe not. Surrender and submission were inseparable from love, care, protection. Without those things, the soul was lost, along with the treasure. A Mistress had taught him that. His Mistress, or rather,
the
Mistress, the one who‟d allowed him to be hers, even if she belonged to another.

Not for the first time in the past few hours, he realized that history might be problematic.
Yeah, that’s an understatement.
He was in uncharted territory, pursuing someone who wasn‟t part of a life that was a large part of his. Maybe that was the real reason he hadn‟t called her for months, even knowing he could have gotten the number from Marguerite. But he hadn‟t forgotten her, had wanted her, and when he‟d heard her voice on the phone, he knew he didn‟t want to deny himself the pleasure of getting to know her. He‟d accepted it as fate, but he was well aware he could be rationalizing a path to catastrophe, for both of them.

As he helped her into the Jeep and made sure her seatbelt was securely fastened, he noted her downcast eyes, bruised with lack of sleep. Brushing her cheek with his knuckles, he won an attempt at a real smile.

It was never easy or simple. Something worth having never was.

* * * * *

When Brendan dropped her off, he told her that he‟d come back for her at the end of the day. Walked her to the side porch of the tea room. Held her hand. A part of her wanted him to kiss her, but she had no idea what she herself wanted. She‟d never realized her own thoughts could turn her into a lunatic.

She must have conveyed that indecision, because after a steady, searching look, he squeezed her hands and took a step back, nodding to her before heading back down the narrow path to the roadside parking. She thought she detected an expression of regret, like he‟d hoped for more of a signal from her for the kiss. Or she might be reading way too much into it. He could be thinking, “Okay, be a good kid, play well with others, and don‟t give away the carrots I put in your Barbie lunchbox.” He hadn‟t fucked her, though she‟d all but begged him. Maybe she understood why he‟d turned her down, but his decision not to kiss her now took some of that understanding away. A
nice
guy? Was that what she really wanted? Any other day there would have been callous, insensitive, only-thinking-with-their-dicks Neanderthals lined up ten deep everywhere she looked, ready to take advantage of her desire for rough, violent sex.

He‟d stopped at the Jeep, his hand on the latch, and now he looked back, met her gaze. What was it that showed in her face? She didn‟t know, but he let go of the handle and considered her from head to toe, standing on the steps.

She hadn‟t worn anything particularly alluring today. She was dressed up enough to be presentable for work, no more, no less. Usually she went for some kind of amulet, a few strings of colorful beads, unique costume jewelry that fit her flowing clothes or faded jeans and quirky T-shirts. She loved wild, floppy hats with feathers, decorated the brims with vintage brooches she found. She might wear a ribboned cameo at her throat, or poison vial amulets. Some days she went for the natural look, her jewelry just a seashell or rock she‟d found, strung on a silk cord.

Rather than being the armor they were for many other people, her clothes and accessories were part of her honest language, the way she laughed and talked to the world, which sang back in multiple colors and textures.

If anyone could live on the curve of a rainbow, it would be you.
Gen had said that to her.

Over a year ago.

Today, her throat was painfully bare, her outfit bland. Jewelry and color were the last things she‟d been thinking about this morning. But as his gaze coursed over her throat, instead of feeling like she‟d failed herself, she imagined his hands or mouth as the embellishment there, a sensation as vibrant as whatever sparkling color she would have chosen. She almost forgot how tired and pale she must look.

His focus moved back to her face. All he‟d done was look at her, and she couldn‟t move, could only tremble. Could he devour her body with a look, the way she wanted him to do? No, of course not. No more than he could take her up on her needy demand earlier, or give her one damn kiss now.

On the other hand, if he‟d given her a brush of lips the way he would a pathetic invalid, a psycho charity case, she might have had to pluck the Welcome to Tea Leaves wall plate off the porch pillar and slap it against his head hard enough to spin him.

“Chloe.” His voice was a caress, feathering the twenty feet of air between them.

“What do you want right now? Tell me.”

“I want you to kiss me, like you would have last night. I don‟t want you to give a damn about how I feel or what I want. I don‟t want you to be sensitive or caring. It‟s choking me, damn it.”

He cocked a brow. Pivoted and opened the Jeep door. For a second, she thought she might crumble right there. Or scream like a madwoman, ripping all the innocent flowers from their pots to throw clods of dirt at him. Then he shrugged out of the coat, broad shoulders delineated by the pull of the white shirt beneath, and tossed it over the passenger seat. Turning around, he strode back up the walk to her.

His eyes were back on hers, but his expression was very different now. He showed her fire, purpose, a sensuous set of his mouth that had her own lips tightening in anticipation. He moved swiftly and gracefully, such that she had approximately one indrawn breath to think “I have no idea what the hell I‟m doing”. There was panic, that odd conflict again, wanting him and yet fighting not to bolt and hide. Before she could decide, he‟d slid one arm around her waist and put one foot on the step next to hers.

When the weight of his body shoved her against the railing, her hands flew to his shoulders to grab.

In a blink, her feet were barely touching the porch boards, then not touching at all as he took another step up. The height difference, along with the strength of his one arm, brought her up against his chest, put her thighs flush against his. Before her feet could scrabble for purchase, he‟d shifted his hands, gripped her thighs and yanked them up so they slid around his hips, pressing his body into that carnal cradle, denim to soft fabric.

She‟d worn drawstring cotton pants with her T-shirt, hand painted with a jasmine tea leaf. One of her faded and frayed ballet style slippers toppled off her toe so that her bare foot curved around the back of his thigh. Even though the outfit was thin, it felt like too many clothes as the sensual overload of the previous night rushed back in, the remembrance of his cock spurting at her command, that steel organ now pressed against her center.

Then his mouth claimed hers and all of her brain cells spun out of control. He did exactly as she‟d craved, making the kiss hot, demanding, basically pure sex administered in oral form. Tongue invading, teasing, plumbing, his other hand wrapping around her head, fingers buried in her hair. The arm around her waist was low enough his hand splayed out over her buttock, gripped her hard so she moaned into his mouth and moved in hard, restless anger against him. He made a masculine noise in her mouth, urgent, sexual. Tearing his mouth away from hers, he tasted her throat the way she‟d imagined, only sucking on her flesh, scoring it with his teeth. He sucked hard enough to leave a mark upon her, something she could finger through the day and remember. Gen might see it and tease her, which was good, because that would convince them she was doing okay, make them worry less.

As he kissed her, her nerve endings reacted like reeds bending before the touch of a warm wind. At the same time, that coil in her lower belly drew into a needy fist she felt in all the right places, above and below. Her mouth, face and throat had never been so sensitive to a man‟s touch. She wanted him everywhere, his mouth, the beat of his breath, the tips of his fingertips, so she could shiver and moan, lose herself in sensation, thoughts disappearing.

When he lifted his head, she was clinging to him, her breath panting, heart trip-hammering.

“I could never kiss you like I don‟t give a damn about what you want, Chloe,” he murmured, intense gaze upon her face. “But I can kiss you like it‟s the most important thing in the whole fucking world. I could stand here and kiss you like this forever.” Staring into his face, she forced her fingers to let go of him, one at a time. “You don‟t do anything in half measure, do you?”