Authors: Shiloh Walker

Broken (30 page)

BOOK: Broken

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A sob built inside her throat as she met his eyes. His icy, wintry eyes. A cold, guarded stranger—how could she possibly lay herself bare before a cold, guarded stranger?

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head.

She couldn’t tell him. Somehow, she knew nothing she had to say would penetrate the shroud of ice he’d wrapped himself in. For some reason, he was already willing to believe the worst of her.

He nuzzled her neck, scraped his teeth down the side of it. She shivered and turned her head aside, staring at the wall.

“No?” he echoed. “No, what? No, you aren’t going to tell me?”

“No, I’m not going to tell you.”

She might not have been looking directly at him, but she saw the fury wash over him pretty damn well. The silence in the room grew brittle, as though one harsh breath would shatter everything—shatter her.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him move. She fought not to flinch as he lifted a hand and trailed his fingers over her mouth, along her jawline, before dipping into her hair. “Are you afraid of me?” he whispered in her ear.

“Right now, I don’t know.”

He laughed. It was low and ugly, and the sound of it hurt her heart, hurt her soul.

“If you were smart, you would be.” He tugged on her hair, his fingers restlessly kneading her scalp. “The night after I put that mark on you, I said you’d be wise to stay the hell away from me. You should have listened. Now it’s too late.”

A shiver raced down her spine. Reluctantly, she turned her head and stared at him. “Too late for what?”

He watched her from under his lashes, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Too late for both of us,” he said gruffly. The hand resting on her waist slid higher, until he could brush the bottom curve of her breast with his thumb.

Sara caught his wrist, stilled his hand. “Stop being so melodramatic, Quinn. You’re pissed off at me for leaving, and believe it or not, I can understand that, but drop the drama already.”

“Drama.” He smirked and tugged his hand free, bracing it on the wall by her head. “You think I’m being melodramatic?”

“Aren’t you?” She arched a brow. “You can drop the broody, macho posturing. We both know you’re not going to hurt me—you’re pissed off, but sooner or later, we’ll leave this room and we’ll do what we have to do. You can go back to your life, and I’ll get on with mine.”

“If you’re so sure I won’t hurt you, then why are you afraid of me?” He curved his hand around her neck, resting his thumb in the hollow at the base of her throat.

Was she afraid of him? Maybe a little. Disturbed by his seriously weird attitude, but she wasn’t afraid because she thought he might hurt her. She knew better.

“If you’re so certain I should be afraid of you, then why don’t you give me a reason to be?” she challenged.

His eyes narrowed. The fingers on her neck tensed. He stroked his thumb over the fragile skin of her neck, up and down . . . up and down. Her pulse leaped under his touch and her breath was lodged somewhere in her chest. Holding her gaze, he pushed off the wall and then hooked his hands in the neckline of her shirt.

He jerked and buttons went flying. He crowded her against the wall, using his body and arms to trap her in place. Her mouth was dry. Her heart was racing.

“Is that supposed to do it?” she asked, reaching for a bored tone and failing. Her voice came out soft and breathy, like some sex-starved little nympho who’d gone too long without a climax. She might not be too far off target.

But at least she didn’t sound afraid.

Staring into his eyes, she smirked at him and waited.

His mouth came down on hers, rough, brutal. Sara reached for him. As he kissed a line from her mouth to her ear, she gasped for breath, tried to clear her head. His hands were on her, streaking under her clothes, rubbing against her covered sex. He popped the button of her jeans and dragged the zipper low.

“Tell me to stop, damn it,” he growled.

Sara slammed her head back against the door, fought to breathe. Fought to think. Fought to force the words from her throat. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“
I
want to.” He bit her lip, too hard, and she didn’t care.

She bit him back and then shoved against his shoulders, forcing enough distance between them so she could look into his eyes. “If you don’t want to do this, then why did you start it?”

“Because I had to.”

That, she understood. It was inexorable, like fighting the setting of the sun. Just being near him made her want him. Just hearing his voice did. Touching him made her want to wrap herself around him, cling tight, and never let go.

She lifted a hand and laid it against his cheek. Stared into his eyes as she pushed up on her toes to kiss him. He didn’t kiss her back. But he didn’t pull away.

Confused, she whispered against his mouth, “Are you so mad at me that you don’t want me now?”

“I’ll always want you.” He curled his hands around her waist and brought her body against his. “Even when I shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t you want me?”

His hands cruised up, cupped her breasts. Through her bra, she could feel his heat, feel his strength. Then they fell away. Closed into tight fists that he held at his sides, stiff and still. “Because you can’t be mine.”

God.
Closing her eyes, she buried her face against his chest and tried not to cry. She desperately wished she could be just that—but how could she, when she had to leave? When she didn’t know where she was going to land next?

You can’t run forever . . .

No.

She sure as hell couldn’t. And she was damned tired of trying.

No more. Damn it, I’m done.
She deserved some kind of life. She deserved some sort of peace.

And as much as she didn’t deserve it, she wanted that life with Quinn. Wanted that peace with him.

Closing her eyes, she kissed him through the cotton of his T-shirt. He held still. When she rested her hands at his waist, he held still. When she slipped his T-shirt up, stretching to strip it away from him, he held still.

Through all of it, as she pulled off his clothes and hers, he didn’t move. As she reached down between them and wrapped her fingers around his cock, his head fell back and a harsh sound escaped him. She stroked him, slow and steady, kissing his neck, his shoulders, wherever she could reach without letting go of him.

Finally, he touched her. His hands came up, fisted in her hair. “Sara . . . fuck.”

Tipping her head back, she stared at him.

His gray eyes glittered as he stared down at her. A muscle jerked in his jaw. His eyes closed, and for long, tormenting seconds, she thought he’d pull away. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered, opening his eyes once more. “
You
shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why?” she demanded.
Why in the hell do you keep saying that?

He didn’t answer. Just watched her, his eyes cold and unreadable.

Chilled, she pulled back, brought up her arms and hugged herself. She felt exposed—too exposed—and it had nothing to do with the fact that she’d just stripped out of her clothes. Bending over, she grabbed her shirt and jerked it on. But when she went to button it, there were no buttons, just loose threads. She stared down at it and caught the sides, drawing them closed over her chest.

He caught her wrists.

She tugged against his hold. “You win, Quinn. We aren’t doing this.”

“I already lost . . . and yes, we are.” He crushed his mouth to hers, wedged a thigh between hers.

She was already wet, already aching. Whimpering, she tore her mouth from his and stared at the wall without seeing it. He skimmed his lips along her neck, set his teeth in the curve where it ran into her shoulder and bit down. Sara shuddered.

Against her belly, his cock throbbed. Wedging her hands between them, she stared up at him, torn between wrapping herself around him and pushing him away. Her mind was a confused mess, and her body, heart, and soul ached for him.

In the end, pushing him away wasn’t an option—not for her. From the beginning, she’d had the hardest time resisting him, and that wasn’t about to change now. Even when he stared at her with unreadable eyes, even when he looked at her like he barely recognized her. Reaching for him, she pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips to his jaw.

Quinn caught her wrists, pinned them over her head in one hand. His eyes bored into hers as he reached between her thighs and cupped her sex. “You’re so fucking wet for me,” he muttered. “So fucking wet.”

He pushed one finger inside her pussy and they both shuddered. His shoulders rose and fell as harsh, ragged breaths escaped him. “I want you . . . God help me, I want you.”

She tugged against his imprisoning hand, wished he’d let her go so she could hold him. “Then have me, Quinn. I’m right here.”

“Not enough.” He moved between her thighs, reached down, and caught her left knee, pulling it up. The head of his cock nudged against her entrance, throbbed. “It’s not enough.”

She whimpered as he stroked himself back and forth against her clit. “Quinn, please . . .”

“Not enough,” he said again as he pushed inside. His head fell back and a harsh, rasping sound, too close to a sob, escaped him.

He drove deep, deep, deep, burying himself inside her with one hard stroke. Sara cried out and he caught the sound with his mouth, swallowing it.

He wasn’t gentle—he took her hard and rough, demanding everything from her, taking everything. She loved it . . . loved him.

The climax hit her hard and fast, stealing her breath away. Dazed and whimpering, she let her head fall back against the wall and still he moved on her. He dragged a second climax from her, a third.

He took her to the floor and sprawled between her thighs, pressing his mouth to her sex. “Not enough,” he muttered as he made her come again.

She was so tired, she ached. So empty—she felt hollowed out, as though he drained everything from her. With her heart breaking, his touch now brought as much pain as pleasure.

“Quinn, please . . .” She wasn’t even sure what she asked for. She wanted him to hold her. Wanted him to make love to her. Wanted him to look at her the same way he had just that morning.

“Sara . . .” he rasped, pulling his mouth away as he levered his body up to cover hers. And as he did it, he looked down at her with the cold, flat stare of a stranger.

No
—

A wordless denial exploded through her and she put her hands against his chest, shoved. Staring up at him, she had to bite her lip to keep from begging. To keep from pleading.

He cupped her chin in his hand, angled her face up to meet his. His mouth came down on hers, demanding, determined.

He took her to orgasm again, and this time, when she came with a hoarse wail, he went with her. With his face buried in her hair, he let go and when it ended, for a minute, his body relaxed and he cuddled her close.

Once more, he held her close . . . like she mattered.

Like they mattered.

But it didn’t last for long.

Only for a minute. The siren call of sleep beckoned her, but as she felt him pulling away, she tried to fight it, tried to reach out to him, grab him, hold him close, never let him go.

But, as ephemeral as a dream, he slipped away and she fell into dreams alone.

SEVENTEEN

“
Y
OU can’t run forever.”

She heard Theresa’s voice and turned, searching for the woman. The older woman wasn’t there, though. She was alone—

“So what else is new?”

The dream splintered and fell apart, reformed.

“Why are you leaving?”

Quinn’s voice—cold and flat. His eyes, cool and distant. And he stared at her like he didn’t even know who she was.

Her heart ached. She reached for him. But when she tried to touch him, her fingers passed right through him. Confused, she tried again, and this time, he faded away before her very eyes.

“Quinn? Damn it, come back!”

“I told you that I’d find you.”

It was a voice that sent shivers down her spine. It made her furious, even as it frightened. Turning, she found James standing behind her, staring at her with a look of naked contempt on his face. “Stupid cunt. You didn’t actually think I’d let you get away, did you?”

It was quiet—the only sounds were the unsteady breaths coming from the woman, and the man’s calm, measured ones.

“Please, James . . .”

“Go to hell,” she snarled.

“I told you I’d find you,” he said again.

“I told you . . .”

Sara came awake with a start—she was alone in the bed.

Some dreams she forgot before she ever woke.

Some dreams lingered with her for days. She wasn’t entirely sure which one this was. A jumbled mess of images bounced around in her mind and she slowly forced her body upright. Various aches and pains made themselves known and she grimaced. The muscles in her legs screamed at her and between her thighs, she was swollen and sore.

It was dim in the room, only the faintest light seeping in from under the curtains. There was one wall sconce on, the light so faint it served no purpose other than illuminating the way should somebody need to make a trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night. She squinted at the clock on the bedside table and blanched as she realized it was past ten.

Shit.
She should already be on a train, heading to New Mexico by now.

Pushing her hair back from her face, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. That was when she saw Quinn.

He was standing at the door, his back resting against it.

She swallowed the yelp that tried to come free and made herself smile. “Hey.”

BOOK: Broken

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