Unbroken (19 page)

“Then don't point fingers wildly. But think about it, maybe.”

“Think about Davis?”

“Yes. You aren't stupid, Cade. All of this is kind of wildly coincidental, don't you think?”

“Well, Quinn showed up here too.”

“To nail your head to a fence post because he was pissed at you. And to nail your little sister. It wasn't a coincidence, and I'd venture to say that this isn't either.”

“You raise a good point,” he said.

“Is that all I raise?” She slid her fingertips down beneath the covers and stroked his length.

His breath hissed through his teeth. “I thought I was done for the night, but you're making me question that.”

“If not tonight, then when?” she asked. She didn't want it to only be for the night. She wanted more. But she had no idea where more of this fit into the friendship.

“Anytime,” he said.

“Really?”

“Tonight's not enough. I think we already proved that just splashing around in the water isn't going to do it. Might as well submerge.”

“I know I'm wet,” she said.

“Shit,” he said, laying his head back and closing his eyes. “You might kill me.”

“That's just the celibacy talking.”

“It's not. Don't belittle it. Don't belittle yourself.” He rolled over and propped his head up on his hand, looking at her intently. “You've always been a lot more important than you think.”

“Sure,” she said, ignoring that damned tightness in her chest. “I'm a legend in my own mind.”

“No, baby, sometimes I think you're an ant in your own mind.”

She leaned in and kissed him, just because she could. “I'm fine.”

“Yeah,” he said, “me too. A monument to emotional health.”

“And a good liar.”

“With a nice ass.”

“There is that.”

He kissed her, deeper this time, and she could feel him getting hard against her stomach. She threw her leg over his and opened herself up to him, sliding against his length, slick already, creating an easy friction between them.

He grunted and slid his shaft through her slick folds, holding her tight. “Sorry . . . I have to . . .”

“Me too,” she said. “Keep going.”

He did, sending streaks of white fire through her veins, pushing her closer to a release she shouldn't need, but that she desperately did. More than breathing, she was certain of it.

They rode it out together, until her restraint broke and her climax took hold. Until he froze, gripped her hips hard and spilled over her stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“Yep.” She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath.

“Sorry,” he said, as breathless as she was.

“For?”

“I usually have a little more self-control than that.”

“I'm not complaining. Anyway, it's been long enough that there's not a usually for either of us anymore.”

“Good point.”

Her eyes started to close. “I think we can sleep now.”

“We can?” he asked.

“I told you. You killed me.”

“I hope you revive in the morning.”

A smiled curved her lips. “I'll need a kiss from Prince Charming.”

“Sorry. He's not coming. Will Busted Cowboy do?”

She laughed and tightened her hold on him. “That's actually better. A lot better.”

Fifteen

Nicole woke up just as the sun was peeking through the
windows of John's upstairs apartment. She hadn't meant to stay all night. But then . . . they'd been . . . active all night, and then finally she'd collapsed with utter exhaustion just before four. And now it was . . . not quite six, per the clock by the bed.

She rolled over and looked at the man sleeping next to her. He was beautiful. A weird thought to have about a rough, bearded man, but it was true.

She'd never been one for flings. Now she wondered why. Last night had been just what she needed. A little cleansing ritual against all the ugly happening at Elk Haven. A little something to make her feel more alive.

More connected with another human being.

Okay, that last bit made her sound sad.

But it was true.

Still, she should maybe try and sneak back onto the Elk Haven premises, or into the diner for breakfast, so she could say she'd gone out early for hash browns or something. Anything other than the truth.

That she'd gone off mad at her half brother and screwed a guy just to exert her independence over said half brother.

She blew out a breath. That was a lie. She'd done it because she wanted John. Calling it anything else was just trying to pretend she hadn't put her lustypants on and given in to her inner hedonist with wild abandon.

Well, that's what she'd done. So there. She'd been a woman given to her passions and no logic whatsoever. No logic all over John's massive, open-plan apartment that essentially had only one room besides the bathroom, which had made it easy to experiment with different positions and surfaces, from the kitchen counter to a very conveniently heighted couch.

Every item on the dessert menu had been had, so to speak. And she was feeling fine.

The admission, even if it was a private one, offered a certain amount of freedom. Because she'd always been a little afraid of her baser, more animal-type lusts.

Because she hadn't wanted to be stupid like her mother. She'd never wanted to feel passion for someone, because that left you hurt, high and dry and with a kid you couldn't take care of.

But she'd had no-strings-attached nooky, and she felt fine. Better than fine.

She crawled out from under the covers and started a search for her clothes, doing her best not to rouse her partner.

She found her panties across the room and dangling off of a drawer-pull on his dresser. Wow. The enthusiasm had certainly been intense.

She'd dressed once after their encounter on the couch, just because walking around his place naked hadn't seemed right. But her clothed state hadn't lasted long.

She righted her undies and slipped them on, turning her back to the bed and tugging the fabric into place over her butt.

“Too bad. You stole my show.”

She whirled around and saw that John was watching her, turned over onto his stomach in bed, his face resting on his folded hands.

“It's not showtime.”

“Looks like it from here. And also . . . five tattoos.”

“You counted?” she asked.

“Yep. The back of your neck, your sleeve, the one on your stomach that goes down to your thigh, that delicate little quote on your foot. And . . . my personal favorite.” He got out of bed, completely naked in all his leanly muscled glory, and crossed the room. She swallowed hard, trying not to show just how undone she was.

He knelt down in front of her and tugged the waistband on her panties down just a little bit. “The bird.”

There was a little bird right there. Well below her panty line.

He leaned in and kissed her there, and she shivered. “I got that after I broke up with my ex. Freedom or something.”

“So no other guy has enjoyed this?”

“Like the tongue ring, you're the only one.”

He smiled. “I'm a lucky bastard.”

Not as lucky as she was.

But she didn't say that. Because that would be admitting that this had been . . . special. Mind-blowing. The best sex ever and more. He'd already said he wasn't a happily-ever-after guy and she, whether she wanted to be or not, seemed like she wasn't a happily-ever-after girl. Nothing in her life had ever indicated otherwise, anyway.

That meant she would just have to enjoy their night for what it was.

“I really have to go.”

“Why?” he asked. She suspected he was now tracing the outline of the bird with the tip of his tongue, but she couldn't be sure.

All her brain could process was
OMG, HOT
.

“Because I don't want everyone to see me leave. And I don't necessarily want my family to know I went home with you.”

“Why is that?”

“Because. Some things are best left . . . secret. I'm not hanging your panties out my car window to announce my conquest.”

“Your conquest?” he asked, pausing in his work on her tattoo.

“Um . . . hell yes,
my
conquest. I owned you.”

“Well, I won't say that's not a little bit true.”

“It's a lot true.”

“Either way,” he said, “I don't see why you should want to hide it.”

“You don't?”

“No. Are you ashamed?”

She blinked. “Well, yeah. Aren't people supposed to feel guilty about going home with a stranger?”

“I don't. Anyway, I don't really consider us strangers.”

“Why is that?”

“I know your name,” he said, giving her a smile that made her joints get loose.

“That hardly constitutes as non-stranger interaction, John,” she said, using his name pointedly.

“You don't think? You did tell me about your family. I think maybe that means I'm not a stranger.”

“I think I could talk to you better if you weren't on your knees in front of me.”

He stood and shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

It didn't really suit her. She'd rather have him on his knees. But there was no time for that nonsense. Even if it was very sexy nonsense.

“I just need to go.” She bent and picked up her t-shirt, then found her bra, and set about to getting dressed the rest of the way. Her pants were her last discovery—they were in the kitchen sink. She turned them right-side out again and wiggled into the skinny jeans as quickly as possible.

“I'm going to call you,” he said.

“Eh. You don't have my number.” She pushed her hair back off her face and put her hands on her hips.

“You'll give it to me.”

“Will I?”

“Abso-damn-lutely.”

She growled, then walked over to his fridge and took the pen off of the magnetic notepad that was hanging there, scribbling her number down quickly. Then she gave him the side-eye. “Why do you have one of these? That is awfully organized for a bachelor.”

He shrugged. “Guess I'm organized.”

“Is it for phone number collection?”

“Nope. It's for groceries. I don't usually ask for numbers.”

She snorted. “I guess that makes me special?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess it does.”

Something inside of her shifted, then everything tightened, like her body was desperately trying to hold all her insides together and in place. “Well. Cool. Then if you actually call the number I will feel extra special. But for now I really do have to go.” She grabbed her purse off the edge of the kitchen counter, then looked down at the space of floor in front of the couch, where her tractor sat, overturned. “And, um . . . I will take this. Don't read anything into it. No imbuing it with emotional shit.”

“I'll do my best,” he said dryly.

“Okay, so . . . bye.”

“Yep. Bye.”

She snatched up the tractor and stuck it in her purse, then turned away from him, holding her hand out to the side, skimming the exposed brick on the wall with her fingertips.

Last night had been different. Last night had changed something in her.

It was too bad it wouldn't change things with her family.

She clomped down the stairs and took the exit that went straight outside, not the door that went into the mercantile. Then she shoved her hands in her pockets and started to walk toward the bar. She'd left her car in the parking lot, but that was fine. Many a drunk person had done so, she imagined. It wouldn't raise that many eyebrows.

The diner was busy, she could see that through the window, and she decided to go with “early a.m. diner breakfast” as her alibi, seeing as she was hungry anyway.

She pushed open the door and lingered in the entryway, and her heart stopped when she saw Amber, busily waiting tables. She doubted Cade's fiancée was her biggest fan, since Cade wasn't.

But then, Amber surprised her by smiling. “Go ahead and have a seat, Nicole.”

“Anywhere?”

“Yep.” Nicole selected a table, and Amber came over with a carafe and filled the white mug with coffee. “Oops. You don't want decaf, do you?”

“Nooo.”

“Great. I'll be around in a second to take your order. Sorry I can't chat, but . . . are you doing okay?”

Nicole tucked her hair behind her ear and looked down at the menu. Her face was all hot and she didn't really know why. Well, okay, she did.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Good. I'll be back by.”

“Thanks.” Nicole took a sip of her coffee and hoped that the unaltered brew would clear the fuzzies from her brain. Sadly, she didn't think they were entirely lack-of-sleep fuzzies. She rather suspected they were sex fuzzies, which was something she had no idea how to clear out.

Because she'd never had an experience like last night's.

She took a longer sip, until she nearly gagged on the bitterness, then gave in and added some cream and sugar.

“Is this seat taken?”

She was about to say no when a masculine hand dragged the chair out from the table and a masculine entity sat in said chair. At her table.

Her “no” response would have been contingent on his taking the chair to another location. She was not looking for a breakfast companion. She was clearing fuzzies.

But now the man was sitting.

“I was actually saving that for a giant-ass plate of bacon,” she said, deadpan. “I'm hungry.”

“I won't take up much of your time. But I'm curious, because I've seen you around, and I know you're staying at Elk Haven.”

“I will neither confirm or deny, stranger who is sitting across from me.”

“Jim Davis,” he said, holding his hand out. “Not a stranger now.”

Her exchange with John played back through her mind, and she knew that she really did owe him an apology for the stranger thing. Because John wasn't a stranger. They'd been skin to skin. She was comfortable with him. Comfortable enough to be naked with him.

She didn't even feel comfortable with a table between her and this guy.

This stranger screamed danger. Stranger danger, even.

She shook his hand, reluctantly, and then grabbed hold of her coffee cup and held it close to her body.

“I'm just curious what your connection is with the Mitchells.”

“Why?” she asked. It was starting to become public knowledge that she was related to the family. Well, John knew. Though she had a feeling he wouldn't be spreading it around. Even so, the secret didn't seem to be sacred anymore.

“Because it's obvious you have one. I've got a contact at the bank, and I was able to see some records. For some reason, your name pops up with theirs on a few things. And your mother's name.”

Her cheeks flamed, rage burning in her chest. “My mother's dead.” She didn't know why she said that. Why that was the thing that came out. But her mother
was
dead, and she had nothing to do with any of the crap that was happening now. Nothing to do with this attempt Nicole was making to . . . reconnect . . . or whatever the hell she was doing, with her family.

And this stranger had no right to pry in it.

“I'm sorry about that,” he said. “So is mine.”

“Well, okay. But I'm still unclear about why you know anything about me.”

“Let's say I have a vested interest in the Mitchell family.”

That made the hairs on her arms stand on end. “Well, that has nothing to do with me. Now, if you'll excuse me, my big-ass bacon plate should be on its way, and it will need its chair.”

Jim stood up and looked down at her, his eyes assessing. “Okay. Hopefully I'll run into you again.”

She nodded vaguely and made some sort of placating noise, waving her hand as he walked away from her table and out the door.

That was creepy.

Amber was back at her table a few moments later. “What did Davis want?” she asked.

“You know him?”

“Yeah. He's been harassing me about buying my ranch. That's why . . . well, I mean to say, that's why Cade moved in as quickly as he did. See? It wasn't all because he was being a jerk.”