In the Air Tonight (33 page)

Control had been taken from him again—and that he’d hated more than anything. She realized she was
shivering, helpless against the men who’d held Mace … and she knew what he wanted her to find out. Could she see who cut his throat?

Would he really want to know?

She closed her eyes and replaced her fingers with her palm across his throat. Fought the jolt of panic that ran through her body. Mace’s panic on waking up to find his throat cut, his breath coming in uneven, painful gasps. She saw Caleb hovering over him, looking concerned. “It’s the same memory he has. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Paige.”

Her hands traveled along his chest—he was naked and so open to her both physically and emotionally.

She’d already moved forward to run her hands over his strong forearms. The crisp, dark hair tickling her palms, ran them all the way up his biceps, so smooth and hard.

He attempted to remain stoic but his arousal gave him away, pressing tight against his now-straining jeans.

“I’ll stop if you don’t want me.”

He let one corner of his mouth tug up, just slightly. If she hadn’t been staring at him so intently, she might’ve missed it, that small sign of acquiescence—of encouragement.

At that point, what little control she might’ve had over the situation crumbled into desire. And it was time to let the walls crumble. Whether she could handle it or not was another story.

She needed to be so careful. And yet here she was, ready to throw caution to the wind. To find out things inadvertently that she didn’t want to know—wasn’t
supposed to know even. This would take a lot from her—but it had the potential to give her back so much more. More than she’d ever dreamed she could have.

The emotions—both hers and his—washed over her. Real, exciting feelings, truths spoke through her wandering hands.

It was scary and reassuring at the same time, her hands closing on the expanse of scarred, muscled skin on his back. Her fingertips brushed the still-healing flesh as though she could speed up the process.

“You okay?” he breathed against her neck.

She continued to massage his shoulders, felt the wonderful warmth of his love invade her. “Better than.”

“Good.” He lifted his head. “Did I scare you?”

“No.”

“I can’t promise you I won’t.”

“I know. But I think I can deal with it.”

“For how long?” he asked.

“I don’t have any plans to leave. Not anymore,” she said.

Her fingertips grazed his chest, scattered over his nipples, and he was watching her so carefully.

Her fingers went lower and she splayed her hands along his back as her mouth found the rough pebble of a nipple.

His reaction was immediate—couldn’t fight or hide his arousal, which swelled hard against her. And he couldn’t get away.

Neither could she. Not with the images, the words, the feelings streaming through her palms from his bare skin. He remained still and let her touch him
everywhere, let her strip him of his jeans, kicking the denim aside once she’d pushed it down past his hips.

There was no underwear for her to contend with, and she was able to wrap her hand around his thick, hard member. It throbbed with life in her hand as she stroked, and he was grinding his teeth, straining against her.

“Paige, I won’t last like this.”

“I don’t want you to. I want to bring you to your knees. I want this to be all about you.” She sank down and took him in her mouth. Planned on not stopping, the way she had in the hotel. She licked the head, swirled her tongue over his entire length, cupped his balls in one hand.

“Jesus, Paige …”

He had nothing to hold on to, his fingers tangling in her hair as she continued to suck him, listening for the desperate groan that would signal his orgasm.

Tonight, it was nearly a howl as he came. She clung to him as he held her there, and she waited until he’d stopped jerking to pull her mouth away. He dropped to his knees next to her and gathered her against him. Nipped the soft skin of her earlobe as she caressed his back with her open palms.

The tears came to her eyes then, because he had given her a gift she’d never expected.

“We’re nowhere near done,” he growled, still hard against her belly. Her hands gripped his bare back as his fingers dipped inside her sweats and found her core.

She gasped, pressed her mouth to his chest and sighed as his finger entered her. When he slid a second in and twisted, she felt her orgasm start to rise but he
pulled back. Teased her folds until she heard herself begging for some kind of relief … watched him smile, his lids heavy.

“Going to take you now,” he murmured. “Take all of you … right now.”

He made quick work of her sweats. Grabbed a leg and wrapped it around his waist so he could enter her with little resistance—one of her feet was on the floor, and she pushed her toes against it as he filled her, hard, taking her. Making sure she knew he owned her.

She knew, wanted nothing less. There was no gentleness now in his strokes—they were fast, furious—and she clung to him, reveling in the way he seemed almost out of control because of his need for her. And when he picked her up and carried her to the bed, still inside her, she raised her arms above her head and he put his palms in hers, holding her in place with that touch. In return, she wrapped her legs around him and met him, stroke for stroke, until they both came, a shattering rush for her, a strangled cry from him … and the distance between them was finally closed.

B
y three in the morning, it was silent in the downstairs bar area. Ed and the doc were long gone, Reid was outside in Mace’s truck with Keagen keeping him company, watching over all of them and Caleb …

Cael
. Watching him try to weave his memory together, piece by painful piece was almost too much for Vivi to bear. All of this affected him. And he refused to seek comfort from her. They were both prickly—forcing each other to keep their distance.

Maybe she should’ve kept that distance. If it weren’t for the fact that she was still going through the list of women on the website and tracking them down—with Caleb’s brother’s help—she might’ve packed up and left.

To where, of course, she had no clue. Her father’s house was gone—sold at auction—and she hadn’t
given much thought to her future beyond finding Caleb. She was lost, so damned lost and lonely—every time she thought she’d made progress with Cael, it was more like eight steps back.

The walls were beginning to close in on her in her bedroom and she eased her way to the hall and down the steps, peeking into the semi-lit bar area. It was empty, the floor was polished and clean, though worn, and you’d never know how crowded it had been just hours earlier. All the bottles and glasses were put away and she knew the men outside were keeping everyone safe and sound.

But she still didn’t feel either safe or sound.

Giving in to fear was something she did not want to do anymore—she’d lived with it her entire life growing up. As much as her father professed to be his own man doing things his own way, looking back she knew most of his actions and reactions were made out of simple fear. Isolating was his way of coping, and it had become hers too, a comfortable blanket, soft and warm and a great way to keep the wolves at bay.

Maybe there was no way out of that life for her. Maybe she didn’t want out, but she also didn’t want to be afraid. Not of Caleb, for sure.

The more time she spent with him, the more convinced she was that he could never do harm to anyone he loved.

She picked up a little speed and let herself skid the rest of the way across the polished floor to the jukebox, ran a finger along its glass top—the jukebox was an old one, with mostly classic rock, and she stopped when she came to a song that sparked a familiar
memory. “Thunder Road” by Springsteen. It had been on one of Caleb’s playlists—she couldn’t remember hearing the song before that, but it had quickly had become a favorite.

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to listen to it since he had left on the mission that had stolen his memories of her. But now she pressed the button and held her breath and waited until the song started.

C
aleb had been at the half-opened office door, watching Vivi move through the bar. Was about to call out to her, to tell her that she needed to go back upstairs, away from the windows and doors, because he refused to think about anything happening to her, when she hit the jukebox button.

His stomach tightened as the opening bars of the song filled the room. Vivi stood with a hand on the jukebox, staring out the front window of the bar, into the night. She was lost in thought, her body swaying a little to the music—she probably didn’t even realize she was doing it—and this was all so damned familiar.

He was mesmerized … Bruce singing about magic in the night, and Vivi finally turned and saw him. He went to her, his hand outstretched. “Dance with me.”

She melted into his arms, swayed against him as the music filled in all the spaces. And then he wasn’t in the bar—he was in a house, his family’s cabin, and Vivi was there and he was worried and wanting her all at once.

“You listened to this song on my iPod,” he said. That iPod was long gone, destroyed on the mission
that had threatened to take everything from him, and he hadn’t replaced it yet.

He’d forgotten this song was even on the jukebox. The slower songs were rarely played, as the bar’s crowd favored harder, faster rock.

She moved her head, the blue tips of her hair swayed and he caught an image of something … that hair, strewn across a pillow. His pillow … but not on the bed upstairs.

“You just remembered something,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“Because you looked at me just now the way you used to,” she said softly. “That way you did after we made love for the first time.”

“I wasn’t gentle, even then.”

“No. But I liked it that way. You took care of me. You’re remembering.”

He wasn’t just remembering things—he was remembering her, everything about her. The memories continued to wash over Caleb like heavy waves crashing offshore, dragging him along in the white foam. Vivi, watching her through binoculars. Taking her to the post. Not sure whose side she was on.

Falling for her. Somehow, their relationship had managed to grow during the most tenuous of times.

Vivi
. She’d waited for him. She was here. But he didn’t feel whole enough to let her back in.

When the song ended, he almost pulled back, the memories nearly too much for him to bear. But then she pushed the button again, letting the song wash over them a second time. She swayed against him, holding him tight, as if she knew he felt like bolting, and when the last notes faded, she tugged his hand
and walked him up the stairs to the door of his bedroom, and he wanted her so damned much that it threatened to override all his fears.

Because he remembered all of her … but not enough about the night Gray was killed. So there was something to celebrate, and still someone to mourn.

He would have to come to terms with the fact that he’d left something behind in that underground prison, that parts of him might—no doubt would—ache forever, like a phantom limb. But he was here now. The cost could not be a consequence.

The doctors all told him that anything could trigger memories, even something seemingly insignificant.

But the woman who stood in front of him was far from that. No, Vivi Clare was everything to him—she was his past, his present, and there was no way he’d stop her from being his future.

What had been so damned difficult to remember now seemed impossible to forget.

She was excitement and danger—the love that wasn’t supposed to happen, but did, despite all the odds.

When she turned to him, he murmured, “Vivi,” because that’s all he could bring himself to say and in turn she told him, “Let me in. Let me all the way in, Cael.”

He opened the door to his room and she slid past him and crawled right into his unmade bed, and yes, they’d start there, with the familiar. Because the sex with her was good and easy … and everything else wouldn’t be, not for a while still.

“I never made the bed in my own apartment
either,” he said suddenly. “You thought it was funny because I seemed so buttoned-up.”

“I thought it was odd because you’re so structured in the rest of your life, yes.”

“There’s nothing about bed that should be structured—that’s just unnatural.”

“You’ve proven that to me many times.” She was propped up on one elbow, her T-shirt riding up on her stomach, exposing the creamy expanse of skin. “Come prove it again.”

He hesitated, but approached. Sat next to her and then told her, “You said you know what I’m most afraid of, but you don’t really.”

“Then tell me.”

“I’m remembering … but I still feel like I’m going to break apart.”

She moved to him, pulled his sweatshirt up and off, stroked her hands down his bare back. And then she let her hands roam along his chest and down to the button on his jeans before she murmured, “Go ahead, break apart. I’ll put you back together.”

After she’d unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, he shifted, finished shucking them as she watched with a small smile on her face. In turn, she shed her shirt and sweats and soaked in his gaze, naked and waiting and wanting.

And he did want her—needed her, in a way he’d never needed anyone. And so he turned in to her then, moved back against the headboard and let her straddle him.

His hands spanned her waist, pulled her close. Her sex brushed his cock, wet and warm and he wanted to surge up inside of her and satisfy his craving.

Her hands caught in his hair as his mouth fastened on a nipple. She was finding her footing as he found her again, his tongue playing on the tautness as she arched and moaned and told him he
wasn’t allowed to stop
.

She smelled so sweet, tasted like vanilla, and his fingers played along her breasts, skittered between her legs to the wetness there. She was so ready for him, even more so when he circled his thumb slowly, slowly, as she rocked her hips in sweet frustration. Her face was buried in his hair as she moved and his cock throbbed in response to her incoherent sounds.