EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE (20 page)

“Stop it!”

He dropped her arm, but held her gaze. “Go ahead. Yank my heart out and stomp on it. I’ll get over it. I got over you once before, and I can do it again.”

“You don’t even have a heart!” Even though she’d said it she didn’t mean it. Not really. She lowered her head and sobbed again. She was so confused.

“Hollin.” His voice was soft, tender, as he reached for her. “Please don’t cry.”

Hollin shrugged him off and stared at him flatly. “Tell me you didn’t hurt Rachel. Tell me you had nothing to do with her death.”

He looked at her as if she’d slapped him in the face. “If you have to ask me something like that, then you really don’t know me at all.”

Hearing Hollin ask if he’d hurt Rachel affected Griffin more than her accusing him of rape thirteen years ago. How could she possibly think something like that about him? Which went to show she didn’t know him at all. All the time they’d spent together, and she hadn’t learned anything about him. He was still the kid on the wrong side of the tracks.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice weak and trembling.

But he didn’t want her apology. It was too late for that. The damage was already done. “I think you should go.”

“Griffin, please. I’m so confused. It’s been hard, dealing with losing Rachel, trying to think about what’s best for Chelsea, taking care of my mother.” She looked at him pleadingly. “I know you’re not a murderer.”

“Really?” He closed the distance between them and stared down into her face. “And how do you know that?”

Her tongue snaked out and licked a tear that had settled in the corner of her mouth. “Because I know you.”

“Maybe you don’t. Maybe you just think you know me. A minute ago you thought I could be a cold-blooded killer. And for thirteen years you thought I was a rapist.”

“No.” She shook her head, her blond streaked hair swinging back and forth across the shoulders of her crisp, white blouse. He could smell her sweet scent and it drove him crazy. He wanted her, and at the same time he was so angry with her he could shake her.

He narrowed his eyes, and his voice became belligerent. “Prove it.” He reached for her, pulled her roughly against him and threaded his hands in her silky hair.

She tilted her head back slightly and looked at him, disoriented. “What? How?”

Without answering, he kissed her, plunging his tongue into her mouth, grabbing at her breasts and ass, until his erection settled between her thighs. He broke the kiss and steered her backward until her thighs hit the arm of the wingback chair. Then he went to work opening the button at the waistband of her skirt.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to push his hand away.

But he managed to get the zipper down. Her skirt fell to her ankles.

“Griffin,” she said, making a futile attempt to bend forward, trying to reach for her skirt while pushing at his chest with her other hand.

Ignoring her order, he pulled her upright, wedged his knee between her legs, forcing her stance to widen, and dug his fingers beneath the leg band of her panties.

Her breath hitched. “What are you doing?”

“Prove to me that you don’t think I’m a rapist, or a murderer. Show me you trust me.”

“How?” He heard the tremor in her voice.

“Turn around,” he said. But he didn’t wait for her to obey his order. He forced her face forward over the arm of the chair. With one hand on the small of her back, he held her down, and with the other, he unfastened his jeans and slid them, along with his boxers, down his hips. Stepping out of them, he kicked them aside.

“Griffin, I trust you. I know you didn’t rape me.”

“You don’t know anything. Not three minutes ago, you asked me if I’d hurt Rachel. You still don’t trust me.” And a part of him hated her for that. Was he ever going to totally forgive her for what she’d done to him all those years ago? For what her mistake had cost him?

But he couldn’t think about that right now. Because all he wanted at the moment was to bury himself deep inside her. To remind her how it was between them.

He grabbed the silk fabric of her panties in his fist and yanked as hard as he could, ripping the delicate fabric.

“Griffin, let me up.” Hollin kicked back with her foot, swung an arm behind her, and the scrap of silk drifted to the floor. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“What am I trying to do?” He reached around her upper thigh, found her center, and began massaging her there. He tried to push a finger inside her, but she wasn’t ready for him.

“You’re trying to scare me.”

“Smart girl.” He was painfully hard, and desperately needed relief, but he wouldn’t hurt her like that.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Well, you should be. Obviously, you’re not as smart as I thought.” Griffin nudged her legs apart with his knee and admired the view of her shapely ass while he continued to arouse her. It was working, because she soon lifted her butt higher in the air and rubbed against his erection. This time when his finger pressed inside her she was hot and wet. She wanted him.

“Griffin,” she purred softly. “Let’s finish this in your bedroom.”

“Shut up.” A sane man would have picked her up and carried her off to fulfill her request, but he wasn’t a sane man at the moment. Never mind that he’d been on his way to getting good and drunk before she’d shown up. And now he was determined to teach her a lesson. To make her realize how much her words had cut into him.

He leaned over her, his erection cradling her cleft, his mouth against her neck. “I’m going to fuck you, and I’m not going to be gentle, Hollin.”

He felt her swallow. “Griffin, you’re scaring me.”

“Oh, so you don’t trust me? Your mind is full of doubt, which means I could possibly be a rapist and a murderer.”

“No. That’s not true.” She shook her head and tried to push up from the chair with her hands. But she wasn’t going anywhere. Not until he was done with her. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. I
want
to make love with you.”

He was inside her with one smooth thrust, ignoring her gasp of surprise. Tucking his hands beneath her, he lifted her bottom higher and began to fuck her without restraint.

“Is this how it was that night?” he asked, intentionally cruel. “Thirteen years ago. Is this how it felt?”

“No,” she mumbled, tossing her head.

He pumped harder inside her. “Was it like this?”

“No,” she moaned, with what he knew was pleasure, not pain.

He didn’t know how much longer he could last. He shouldn’t give a damn about her pleasure, but he did. And so he held back his climax.

She inhaled sharply, called out his name, and then tumbled over the edge. He soon found his own release and collapsed atop her. He breathed in the scent of her hair and her soft skin, waiting for his pulse to return to normal.

But the guilt soon settled in and he wondered if he’d hurt her any. He was about to ask when he heard her whisper, “I love you, Griffin. I love you.”

He froze, not knowing how to respond to that. He’d just taken advantage of her, tried to scare her, punish her. And she loved him? No, he thought. She didn’t love him. She was simply in the state of nirvana. Lots of women had whispered those words while he was inside them. It didn’t mean anything.

“Griffin? Did you hear me?”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Yes, I heard you.”

She stiffened at his response. He was a bastard. He wanted to shove her love back in her face. He didn’t want it, didn’t deserve it. Not after what he’d just done.

Slowly, he withdrew from her and straightened. He picked up her skirt and placed it on the seat of the chair near her face. She grabbed for it, pushed herself into a standing position and covered her bottom half with the bunched up fabric.

“Hollin,” he said. “We need to talk.”

She deliberately avoided eye contact. “You don’t need to explain.” She licked her lips and released a shudder. “I need to use your bathroom.”

“Hollin.” He reached for her, but she breezed past him and out of the room.

Swearing aloud, Griffin dragged his jeans up over his hips and fell into the recliner. He waited for her to return so he could explain why he didn’t deserve her, why he wasn’t right for her, why she’d be better off without him. But after several long moments when she didn’t come back, he got concerned and went in search of her.

She wasn’t in the bathroom, nor was she anywhere in the house. Somehow she’d sneaked out.

He ran to the front door and caught sight of her taillights heading away from the house. He swore again, this time using harsher words than before. She’d gotten away, and it was all his fault.

Blowing out a breath of frustration, he shook his head. She’d said she loved him. But did she? For a moment he let himself imagine what it would be like to have Hollin at his side, in his bed, for the rest of his life. But for some reason he couldn’t see that happening.

He supposed some things weren’t meant to be. And that just plain sucked. Because until now, he hadn’t realized that he was in love with her. And dammit he was going to do whatever it took to make it up to her.

#

Hollin blinked back the blinding tears, gripped the steering wheel and tried to keep her car on the road.

Griffin didn’t love her. He didn’t need to say it aloud to make her realize the plain truth. It was what he
hadn’t
said that had finally opened her eyes.

And how could she have been so stupid as to blurt out her feelings for him like that? He’d told her he only wanted sex from her, but had she listened?

No, you idiot. You went and fell head over heels in love with him. Again.

She pulled over to the side of the road, and pressed her forehead to the steering wheel. Sobbing, she thought about what could have been. Imagined loving Griffin forever, having him love her back. She’d trusted him so completely. She’d let him toss her over the chair and take her from behind. It had taken every ounce of strength she’d had not to fight him, to let him do what she’d sworn she’d never let anyone do to her. After being raped, with her face pushed into the ground, she never wanted anyone to be behind her like that, to have control over her in that way.

But with Griffin, it had been different. Even though he wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t brutally rough with her either. He’d held back until she’d reached orgasm. A rapist wouldn’t have done something like that.

So how could she have asked him if he’d hurt Rachel? How could she ever have thought he’d raped her thirteen years ago. And why hadn’t she learned her lesson by making false accusations?

Maybe she shouldn’t have slipped out the back door after using his bathroom. But she’d been so humiliated, she’d simply left without thinking. No doubt Griffin would be angry with her. Perhaps she should turn around, go back and talk to him. Not that it could possibly change the way he felt about her.

And how did he feel about her? He didn’t love her.

“Oh, God, what have I done?” she choked out, so lost in her tears she didn’t realize someone was behind her. Someone in the back seat of her car.

“Very touching,” he said, rancor in his familiar voice.

An arm looped around her neck, and she felt something cold, metallic and sharp press into her throat.

She gulped in a mouthful of stale air. “What are you doing?”

“Drive, slut,” was all he said.

At first, she was shocked by his words and actions. And then it all made sense.

He was the man who had raped her. Someone she’d known since she was a child. Someone she’d trusted, loved.

Brad.

#

Griffin had tried Hollin’s cell phone numerous times tonight, but he punched in the number again just the same. He went to voice mail instantly, and he left another message. “Hollin, please. I’m sorry, baby. Please call me. Tell me where you are.”

He pressed the disconnect button on his cell, shoved his truck into gear and turned it around. He’d been sitting in front of her house for the past three hours, waiting for her to show up. It was after midnight. The lights inside had all been extinguished. Only the back porch light burned, waiting for her return.

He drove to the other side of the lake, then turned down his street and into his driveway. He’d hope to maybe see her car parked there when he returned, but no such luck. What a fool he’d been.

I love you, Griffin. I love you.

Griffin? Did you hear me?

Yes, I heard you.

He hadn’t returned the endearment. Could he have been any more hurtful?

No. Not even if he’d been trying.
You bastard!
he admonished himself.
You don’t deserve her.
And yet he wanted her all the same.

When he found her, he was going to tell her how sorry he was. And that he couldn’t possibly live without her. That he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life, alone, angry and miserable.

He wanted her by his side. He wanted her to marry him, and have his babies.

Jesus, you’re losing it, pal.
But even as he feared he was losing touch with reality, it was a good feeling. Dammit, he loved Hollin. Why hadn’t he seen it coming?

Because you’re an asshole.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel and threw the truck door open. Buster scrambled over Griffin’s lap and jumped to the ground. After the dog relieved himself in the front yard, the two of them went inside to wait for Hollin to call.

#

Headlights blurred her vision in the dark night, and occasionally blinded her.

Hollin had been driving for hours and could barely keep her eyes open. They stung from lack of sleep and the tears she’d shed. But Brad, who had climbed over the seat to sit next to her, wouldn’t let her stop.

She didn’t understand why he was doing this. And he wouldn’t talk to her. Wouldn’t explain what was going through his warped mind. He’d barely said two words to her since they hopped on I-80 and headed west. They were now about thirty miles east of Toledo.

While adjusting the Defrost button, she jerked her head to look at him. “Brad, please listen--”

He jabbed the knife into her side, hard enough to get her attention. “Shut up and drive.”

Something wet and sticky oozed from her skin where the knife was pressed.

She blinked back a fresh onslaught of tears, then sniffed.

Brad had always protected her as a child, had clung to her side when they were growing up. Once, when he was about fourteen and she was eleven, he’d told her she was the prettiest girl ever, and that he was going to marry her someday.

She’d laughed in his face and said, “You can’t marry me. I’m your sister.”

He’d been so angry with her, he ran off. But not before saying, “If you don’t marry me, then no one else is going to have you either.”