Floored (40 page)

Screaming at Sean felt good. Felt right even. He could have no illusions about what she thought of him. She sat up again. Satisfaction was a surprise. That was the emotion she thought she’d feel when she’d stolen her own money back and more from Justin. That madness that overtook her in the kitchen was all about vengeance, justice and satisfaction. But she’d never felt it then. She’d only felt fear and remorse. Why was screaming at Sean, knowing he’d come at her as hard as she went at him, so satisfying, where stealing four hundred thousand dollars from Justin wasn’t? It made no sense.

Until it did.

She’d never shouted at Justin because he’d have met it with silence. She’d never challenged him because he patronised her, letting her think he’d listen, change his mind, and killing her time and care when he didn’t. She never fought him because he never engaged. She’d never realised how fragile their love was, like glass, fully functional but easily broken. She’d been the one who acted to protect it. Justin didn’t care if it smashed.

Screaming at Sean was satisfying because he took it. Because he didn’t chip under it, because whatever there still was between them, this flip side of love, was stronger than anything she’d ever felt for anyone.

That was satisfying too. It was a frame to put around her memories of Sean; a reinforcement. What they’d been building was real, toughened glass forged to last, not fancy fine-cut crystal made for show. But tempered glass could still shatter. One small stone could crack a windshield; blow it apart, like her deceit had exploded them.

There was a storm building outside. She could hear the wind. Hear the rain, heavy, cooling, bringing the smell of the sea with it. She watched TV. She ran a bath and soaked in it. She snacked from her grocery stash and made barely drinkable instant coffee. She stilled while the weather raged, and she thought about what she needed to do in the morning, about saying goodbye to the dog who loved her unconditionally and the man whose conditions made continuing to love him impossible.

She was almost asleep when the knock came. She stumbled to the door in the dark and leaned against it. “Yes. Hello.”

“Cait, I need to see you.” Sean spoke in a low, clear whisper and he’d used her name.

“I’m good. You don’t have to check up on me.”

“Yeah. I do.”

She wasn’t really awake, that had to be the reason the sound of his voice made her want to open up. “Seriously, I’m fine. I was almost asleep.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Goodnight, Sean.” She pushed off the door.

“Cait. Please, I need to see you.”

She came back and spoke into the painted wood, her eyes closed, calling up a memory of the man outside. Not the one where he walked away from her, rigid with fury, in the interrogation room, the one where he’d come to her, lust in his eyes, to request three dates, to ask to get to know her, to win her trust.

“I’ll be ready to go at eight. I understand about Blue. I’m sorry I made things difficult.”

“It’s not about Blue. Please open the door.”

“I don’t think so, Sean.”

“Please, baby.”

She stiffened, her hands curling to fists on the door as the raw grind of his voice came through. “Why did you call me that?”

“I’m bleeding out here, I need to see you.”

He had a key and he hadn’t tried to use it. She opened the door. He was a dark outline, broad shoulders, narrow waist, feet planted wide. He was a rock-solid shape, his chin tucked down, his powerful arms draped at his sides. A crack of thunder sounded and she flinched. A flickering sheet of lightning followed, he was illuminated, and she gasped. He was shirtless in his black trackpants, he’d been running, he was wet through: sweat, rain. He was the night of her torment. He was the storm in her heart, but he was not bleeding and she could not let him in.

“You’re soaked.”

“You’re not okay.”

She hung onto the door, keeping most of her body in her t-shirt out of view and spoke to the darkness. “I’m confused and a little scared, but it’s not your concern.”

“Everything about you is my concern.”

“Professional. It can wait till the morning.”

“Personal. I can’t wait another minute.”

The gravel in his voice hit her hard; made her breath stutter. Another lightning sheet flickered, flared, and she saw his eyes, hooded and dull.

There wasn’t a fresh cut on him but he was bleeding to death.

42: Surrender

“Please, Cait.”

She stepped back and pulled the door with her. Her expression was unfathomable. Sean had no idea what she was thinking. He needed to see her, stand next to her, breathe her.

“What’s wrong, Sean?”

He stepped inside, aware suddenly how soaked he was. “I…”

“God! What is wrong? Are you really hurt?”

“I’m not hurt, but I’m not all right. I’m not all right.” He moved into the room and she backed away. He was an invading force. He didn’t look at her, just watched water drip off his pants onto the carpet. “I screwed up, Cait. I screwed up so fucking badly.” He brushed at his arm, shook water off his hand. “I am everything you said I was. A quitter. A coward. Half a useless white knight.” He looked for her. She was over by the door. She looked ready to fling it open and call for help. “I did abandon you.”

She pushed out a breath and her rib cage spread to grab another one to replace it. Her mouth was open, her hair all messed up, all round her shoulders. How could he have doubted? “Jesus. I was so fucking scared you’d get hurt. I nearly got us all killed.”

She pushed her hair away from her face. She was so pale. “You didn’t. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, but I blamed you. I knew you didn’t set me up, but I blamed you anyway.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

“Fuck, yeah we do.”

She took a step sideways, away from him, reached for a towel draped over the back of a chair. “Here, dry yourself.”

“Let me get this said first.”

She stopped where she was. Flight in every line of her body, but he had no idea what she was thinking. He shook his head, wiped his hand down his face. He thought he’d lost his piece of normal when she’d lied, but it wasn’t about normal. It never had been. It was about how she could make him feel.
Extraordinary
.

“I failed you.” He sucked air. He needed a good strong supply of it to keep him upright. To keep from wanting to touch her. If he touched her, he’d forget what he needed to say. And he needed her to hear this, to understand him, even more than he needed the safety of her in his arms.

“You should’ve been able to tell me anything, tell me everything. I rushed us. I pushed you and I expected too much.
God
. I was gutted you didn’t trust me. I still am. I’m…” His air ran out. His chest ceased. He looked at her and saw the tears in her eyes and wanted to pluck his own out. “I’m sorry.” He was hurting her again. She didn’t need this. He moved, his shoes squelching. “I needed to tell you I’m sorry.” He stepped towards the door. Put his hand to the latch. “I’m sorry I woke you too.”

“Sean.”

He turned the handle and pulled the door open. “If Blue’s well enough we’ll take her with us.”

“You didn’t fail me.”

She was right up behind him; the towel in her hands, then its slow sure movement on his back. He let her dry him. Her hands at his neck, moving across his shoulders, down his spine, around his chest. He pressed his hand on the door and it snicked closed, as his weight shifted onto his heels, into her hands. He wanted this too much. He grunted and stepped sideways, breaking their contact, keeping his eyes down, creating space so he could think. “Cait, I…”

The sharp crack and sting of the towel end as it caught him across the ribs was a surprise. Now he could read her. She was pissed off. “What? Spit it out.”

“Don’t you run out on me.”

He laughed, the taste of it metallic like blood in his mouth. “I already did that.”

“I did it too. Too much running. Not enough facing up to what’s in front of me. I did trust you.”

“Not enough.”

“Not enough to ruin you. You would’ve taken off with me or forgiven me and compromised yourself, or—”

“Or helped you find another way. I would’ve helped you, Cait. But you love your guilt more than you love me.”

He anticipated the towel flick this time. He caught the frayed edge of it before it connected with his hip and held on.

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah, it is. If you’d truly trusted me, you’d have let me help you.”

“I was better off without you. Free. Why would you have helped me?”

Her face was one big, tight frown, eyes narrowed, brows forced down, mouth compressed hard. He closed his other hand around the towel and stepped forward making it taut between them. “Because I loved you.”

Her expression crumpled further, all her beautiful features locked down in a fight with the truth. “Loved?”

He walked his hand up the towel, stepping closer to her. “Love.”

She closed her eyes. “No.” She still held the towel; it was stiff between them, strung out like all her fears and all his feelings.

He took another handful of it. “Like I love to run. Like you’re the breath in and out; and the clear head; and the space where everything makes sense to me.”

“No.” Her lips were trembling, but she didn’t drop the towel.

“But you don’t love me, Cait.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

Though it was a tremulous whisper on a half sob, that should’ve cut. It should’ve reminded him why he was trying to say goodbye to what they’d had. But now he could read her. He tugged the towel and she took one step toward him. “Liar.”

“Thief, cheat, sneak, fake. There’s nothing you can call me I haven’t called myself.”

He put his hand right against hers on the towel. “Loved.”

“No.” She shook her head. Her eyes were down on their hands.

“Sorry, can’t change that.” He pulled on the towel and she was right there, right where he could hold her.
Not his call
. She had to want this.

She looked up, eyes wild, searching. “But…”

“Yeah, plenty of them.” She smelled of cheap soap and warm bed. Her hands were hesitation but her lips were anticipation. The towel ended up at their feet. “What are you going to do about it?”

She tipped her head back, leaning in to him. That contact like strength, like serenity; burning in his chest, like nothing ordinary. He groaned; it was too much like hope. Her hands came up around his neck and she exhaled hot against his throat. “What can I do?”

“Anything you want.”

“Not true. I can’t run. I have to pay.”

“We’ll work that out. You can do anything you want to me.”

“Not true. I have no more options where it comes to you. They all closed out. There’s only one left.”

One. One didn’t count for much. One didn’t give a whole lot of room for compromise for manoeuvring. “Tell me?”

He didn’t resist when she pulled his head down. He rested his forehead on hers, he didn’t hold her, he kept his arms by his sides, but every sense he had embraced her even before she said, “I surrender.”

43: Extenuating

The groan that shuddered through Sean, the way he lifted her, held her against him, yet yielded to her control, that was his capitulation. She was forgiven. She was loved. They had not shattered. He let her kiss him; explore his body, still damp, so beautiful: with the palms of her hands, with the pads of her fingers, with the tip of her nose and the bone of her cheek. She wanted to feel him, take hold of him and know he was real, before she lost herself to him.

His lips were in her hair. “Not surrender, baby, never give in. Always fight for what you want.”

She licked a thick vein that snaked across his shoulder, nipping it. “I only want you.”

He groaned and it rumbled up his chest, vibrating from his lips on her neck, setting off a series of detonations inside her. The ones in her body made her want to climb him, cling to him, prove she wouldn’t lie to him again by branding it on his flesh. The ones in her head rang with the sense of luck at having found him, and failed spectacularly at pushing him away.

Hand in her hair, he drew her head back; he pulled a whimper out of her when their eyes met. “I will always fight for you. Nothing you’ve done. Nothing you could do will make me stop fighting for you.”

No kiss they’d ever shared was like this one. It was shaped from passion, built with lust and carved from truth. It fused them together with soft smiles and nonsense murmurs. It carried them away to a timeless place, to a gentle landscape, to a notion of forever.

Then it burned. It clawed, it pulled and pushed and dragged and bit. It was hot skin and scalding mouths. It was ripped away clothing. It was miscalculating the edge of the bed and sliding to the hard floor. It was sightless eyes and inarticulate sounds, and discomfort that wasn’t and sensation that was, and being lost, lost, lost in hands and lips and teeth and thrusts and rolling hips, and wave on wave of spiralling pleasure, with exhausting, screaming peaks and deep, deep oblivious falls.

They only made it to the bed when Sean realised the carpet was making his nose itch. He hauled them off the floor, and the comfort of the bed, and each other’s closeness was obscenely good. He snuggled her into his side. “There are things I should tell you.”

“Will I like them?”

“About what we know and what’s going to happen. They’ll help you sleep better.”

She brushed a finger across his eyebrow. “You don’t need to worry about me sleeping.”

He tilted his face into her hand. “If I don’t tell you I’d be keeping things from you and that was so yesterday.” He laughed. “So two hours ago.”

“Then tell me.”

“The Port Augusta police reported a strong bikie presence. We don’t know if it’s gang related, but no sense tempting fate. We’re flying to Sydney in the morning. You’re not going to be bait anymore.”

“I was bait?”

His grip around her tightened. “More or less. You’re not as safe as I want you to be until we get some bad guys in jail.”

“Justin.”

“He’d be one of them. So you know I broke his arm.”

“I can’t be sorry about that.”