Brave (6 page)

His
brows rose. “Whoa.”

“Like
you’re one to talk. A cabin in Aspen. Whoa.”

“My
family is wealthy, not me.”

“Do
you have brothers? Sisters?”

He
nodded. “I have three sisters. All younger than me, all feisty
pixies.”

I
smiled. “Is that so? Where is family in all of this?”

“What
do you mean?” he asked sharply

“How
can they abandon you to this solitary suffering? Don’t they
care?”

“I
guess that’s a legitimate question coming from you, because of
your family. Yes, they care, but I was the one who shut them out. I
asked them to leave me alone.”

“But…”

“I’d
rather not talk about this, Alissa, for reasons I’d rather not
go into.”

I
nodded. “All right.” He set a sandwich down in front of
me and I took a bite. He lingered for just a moment, as if he was
sorry about his refusal to open up. I didn’t blame him for it.
His relationship with his family and his reasons for being here were
his own. Just like I had my own secrets I wanted to keep.

To
clear the air, I said, “You’re a good cook, by the way.
Everything I’ve had so far has been delicious. Even this ham
sandwich. Tastes like you added a bit of ranch to the mayo, and
avocados, which I love. Nice touches.”

He
actually looked pleased. “My mom didn’t cut me any slack
because I was male. I had to do chores, just like my sisters,
including cleaning and cooking. She was tough, but I’m glad for
the skill. At least I won’t starve.”

I
laughed and he looked charmed all over again.

After
we finished lunch, he went out and got more wood and spent a few
moments building the blaze up again. Settling down next to me on the
couch, he gave me more painkillers. Then he leaned his head back and
closed his eyes. I took the medication and hobbled off to the
bathroom. When I came back and sat down next to him, I saw that he
was asleep. Finally.

I
picked up my laptop, quietly savoring his presence so close to me,
and started to work. After a few moments, he shifted in his sleep and
his head dropped to my shoulder.

I
didn’t know how he ended up so close to me, but it must have
been some innate, subconscious need inside him to seek out human
warmth.

It
was such a pleasant weight. I could smell his scent, an exciting
mixture of something clean and citrus and the purely intoxicating
smell that was uniquely his. His eyes broke my heart, the rest of
him….wow.

I
tried to concentrate on my work, but his deep breathing and his
nearness broke it every time he took a breath and his hair tickled my
cheek. I gave into the craving to turn my head, my nose irresistibly
drawn to his hair, so soft against my cheek. I wanted to rub my face
in it, but didn’t dare. I so didn’t want to disturb his
much-needed rest.

His
palm lay upturned and half open on his thigh, the denim of his jeans
molded over the thick muscles. His fingers curled gently, and I could
see his pulse beating beneath the skin of his inner wrist.

Then
I frowned, and leaned closer. The skin there was thicker, scarred. I
wondered what had caused the scar. I ran my fingers over it, and then
thought about the scars on my arms. It didn’t look to me like
he had done this deliberately. My scars on the other hand were
deliberate. My breath hitched, thinking about him feeling such pain
and fear. The terror I saw yesterday etched into his face. Oh God,
what had happened to him? How could I ease him, his pain and
suffering? How could I when he wouldn’t let me in?

I
sat back suddenly. And, what business was it of mine, anyway? I had
my own problems, my own pain and suffering to deal with. No, not
now
!
I couldn’t open up that door.
Not
now.

I
would falter. I would fail and my determination would dissolve.

I
had warned Charlie I wasn’t brave.

After
an hour had passed and my concentration was shot, I slowly, so
slowly, moved my laptop off my lap. I raised my hand, the thought of
touching him made the ache inside me dissolve into sweet fire…

I
opened my fingers and brushed his hand.

He
didn’t stir. Glancing over at him, I watched his breathing,
deep and oblivious. He was so tired. He’d spent all last night
making that beautiful walking stick for me, so that he wouldn’t
have to touch me. That hurt some.

But
it wasn’t enough to stop me. His hand was so much larger than
mine. I looked down where the open collar of his shirt revealed the
velvet swell of bare skin and muscle. It was so easy to remember what
that chest looked like. My fingers curved convulsively, pressing into
his. I imagined slipping my hand into the opening of that shirt,
smoothing my palm across his hot, bare skin. My heart beat faster.

I
stared at his hand, my fingers drifting, tracing the curve at the
base of his thumb and moving up the open arch of his forefinger,
feeling the smooth skin and roughened places. This hand had carved
such beauty, such detailed delicacy, in the supple wood. It seemed
amazing to touch him, to be so close to a man—to
this
man, who turned my insides to jelly.

I
looked at him again and found him watching me.

I
almost snatched my hand back—then didn’t. It seemed moot.
I was already caught, caught so thoroughly in the heat of his eyes.

He
smiled at me: a strange, sleepy, heated smile, his eyes a tangled
brush of dark lashes and pale smoke. Gently, his hand closed over my
fingers. He caressed my palm with his thumb.

I
wet my lips and his eyes focused intently there.

He
opened his hand and laced his fingers with mine, the deliberate
action making my heart race. He drew our locked hands toward him and
kissed the backs of my fingers, rubbing his mouth over my skin as he
gazed at me. Then he freed my hand, placing it on his face. I gasped
with the sheer wonder of touching him.

Gently,
his voice raspy, his cheek beneath my hand roughened with stubble, he
said. “I told you not to touch me.”

Too
late, I realized that he’d told me not to touch him as a
warning, not a request.

Dakota

I
couldn’t believe she was touching me. I couldn’t stop
her, even though I knew I should.

The
dream still lingered. I took a steadying breath, and her fragrance
filled me like she was life, the very air that I needed to survive.

In
the dream, I had been in a sunlit glen. I wore armor, chain mail,
heavy and protective. It felt both constricting and safe at the same
time.

I
was there for a reason. I was looking for something. My desperation
stirred and howled like a wolf gone mad.

Then
the rustle of the bushes, a presence that I knew like I knew my own
heart, rippled out from the trees and touched me with a shivering
sensation that penetrated the armor as if it wasn’t even there.

She
emerged, all glitter and sunshine, her hair strands of alabaster that
gleamed in the sun that beat down on me. Her sweet, otherworldly,
pixie face was so beautiful, so unique I couldn’t look away.
The deep blue of her eyes was as vast and limitless as the sky.

My
breath hitched. I’d found her. The lifeline I’d been
looking for. She was lithe, all grace and beauty. She slipped through
the burning sunlight and cool shadows, elusive and secretive until I
felt my breath tighten with each graceful step she took.

I
could not form words. I pulled the sword from my back, knowing she
was a threat to me, but with a wave of her hand, the weight
disappeared and the sword vanished.

“You
don’t need that here,” she said, her voice musical,
winsome and irresistible.

One
minute she was too far away, the next we were so close not even air
could pass between us. She pushed on my chest, and I tumbled
backwards and hit the grass, the fragrance of it overwhelming me.

She
tried to straddle me, but I rolled, aching from her touch, as if the
armor were nothing more than the hard curve of my bare chest.

No
protection.

But
no matter where I rolled, she was there, and I was exhausted from the
battle inside me.

“Yield
to me,” she whispered. Her voiced filled with dreams and a hope
so pure and painful it wrenched tears from my eyes.

“I
want to touch you,” she demanded. “You can’t stop
me.”

“Oh,
God,” I trembled and arched into her hips. “You can’t.
You can’t do this.”

Her
palm slid upward, caressing my thighs, over the bulge beneath the
armor that was no armor, my dick aching and full, hard from the
weight of her fingers wrapped around me. She moaned with the feel of
me in her hands, the intimate heat moving toward a center of fire.
Then we were both naked, her glorious shape shimmered in the sun and
pressed down on me, encompassing me deep in her body.

“No,”
I pleaded. But her hands molded over my chest, the breadth of my
shoulders, passed over the flame-hot curve of my muscle and bone.
“Don’t touch me. I can’t. Why are you doing this?”

She
didn’t answer. Her kiss scored the arch of my throat, her hand
pressed over my heart.

“Don’t
touch me.” I twisted beneath her and clutched and moaned in
desperation. “Please, don’t touch me!”

Her
body enveloped me, covering me in hot darkness and passion. I felt
her touch on my lips and throat. I tried to look at her and saw
nothing but pure light, a creature of radiance, glowing an
incandescent blue.

I
felt the sharp pain to my heart and looked down at my chest to find a
jeweled dagger with the most exquisite purple flowers along the hilt.
Her hands tightened on the grip, and with rapture in her eyes, she
shoved it deeper, a pressing, violent, sweet sensation. My body
exploded with pleasure so intense I cried out, and my release felt so
incredible, as though, instead of killing me, the dagger was giving
me life.

That’s
when the dream ended and I opened my eyes to find her taking
something forbidden.

And
there was a blue light in her eyes, and my sleepy mind was vulnerable
from the emotions the dream had evoked. The pulse of my body was
urging me to accept her invitation.

I
moved, straddled her like she’d straddled me in my dream. But
she didn’t fight me or tell me not to touch her. I wanted her
to, but she just looked up at me, like I was the man who could save
her.

Like
I was a hero.

But
I wasn’t.

I
wasn’t
.

I
hadn’t saved
anyone
.

Not
even myself.

But
I couldn’t give a fuck right now.

I
couldn’t give a
flying
fuck. And I was suddenly pissed.

I
slid my hands into all that glorious ivory mass of hair and kissed
her.

I
wasn’t gentle. I’d intended to be. But she’d fueled
my anger, made me want to crush her close until she recognized
me
,
until she understood she wasn’t kissing some knight with
non-existent armor I had thought was real.

I
cupped her face in my hands, needing the sensation of her skin, the
warmth of her filling all the cold and dark places inside me. I
balanced on my knees, hovering above her and feeling the magnetic
pull of her hips. My hands looked so big as I shaped her fragile
bones, large enough that I could spread my fingers and encompass her
jaw.

With
a soft moan, I brushed her lips, but the enticement of her drew on me
like a vortex, and I sought a deeper, stronger taste, pressing my
lips more firmly into hers. Her hands came up to my waist, slipping
under the tails of my shirt, and her palms burned on my skin like
brands.

“Don’t
touch me,” I whispered against her mouth, panting, pleading.

But
her hands traveled up my back, and with my open mouth still on hers,
I absorbed the sensation greedily.

She
pushed at me, and I tumbled, just like I had in my dream, and she
straddled me, her pelvis exactly where I needed her. She thrust her
hips.

“Oh
God,” I whispered without moving. “Oh, god, oh, god…”

She
pressed her mouth to mine, not giving me a moment to catch my breath.
It was her pixie magic that consumed me, seeped through muscle and
bone like enchanted wildfire. My hips bucked with the sheer agony of
pleasure that rolled through me like a freight train. My hands
gripped her waist, desperate for something to anchor me in my
violently twisting world of sensations, like rushing air lovingly
filling the vacuum inside me.

She
gasped for air, meeting my tongue. My hand tightened on her waist. It
slid upward and opened intimately, embracing the full shape of her
breast. My thumb closed against my finger, teasing her hard nipple
through the soft fabric of her sweater and lacy bra beneath.

Sharp
sensation shot through me as her hips reacted, jackknifing into mine
for relief. I slipped my hand over her back, pushing her into the
grip I had on her nipple, sliding my thumb in a slow, coaxing
rotation. Her body shuddered and she moaned, piercing me with her
ecstasy.

I
kissed her again, hard, tasting sweet excitement as my fingers drew
little twitches and a deep arching of her body, innocence driven into
untutored lust. My reason was dissolving, and I wanted to take her
completely. Right here. Right now. She was driving me crazy, close
and yet forbidden. I wanted the tempest and I wanted the calm that
came after.

She
pressed fully along my taut body, triggering a wave of sensation, an
erotic clenching, that knotted every muscle. Her hips moved again,
her pelvis grinding against mine.

I
made an anguished sound. With another shudder, I rose to meet her
frantic movements, the heavy fullness in my dick expanding with each
thrust.

I
held her hard, one arm crushed across her lower back, my dick pressed
hard against the fly of my jeans. My teeth scored her neck and she
gasped my name as her body jerked ecstatically against mine.