Wild Card (21 page)

push for more, his hungry groan filling the air as she jerked beneath him.

"Not enough!" The snarl rent the air.

Sabella felt him jerk back, turn her to her stomach, and lift her to him. He was inside her again,

jackhammer strokes arching her, jerking her upright until her arms curled behind her, catching

his neck as she felt his hands over her.

All over her. He stroked her thighs as he fucked her, her stomach, cupped her breasts, and

pressed her nipples between his fingers as he spread his thighs wider, balanced them both and

pushed inside her with rapid strokes.

Heat flowed around them and through them, and the night became immersed with her cries.

"So tight," he groaned, pausing, his breathing rough. "Sweet and tight. Move against me,

Sabella. Show me you want it."

She moved. Worked her hips against him, rotated and lifted herself, lowered herself. She

rocked back against him, gasping for breath as she felt his lips at her neck, his beard rough

against her skin.

"Tell me." The rough, wicked whisper caressed her ear. "What do you want?"

His hands gripped her hips again.

"Hard?" He buried himself inside her hard, deep.

"Slow?" He moved, retreating, filling her with a slow, throbbing stroke that had her crying out in protest.

"Hard. I want you hard and fast. You know what I want."

She was shaking in his arms, trembling from the need to come again as one hand lowered and

the tips of his fingers began to strum against her clit.

Sabella felt the tension rising again. It was tearing into her, spikes of white-hot sensation as his

hips began moving hard and fast again.

He unlooped her arms from his neck, one hard hand pushed her shoulders to the bed and he

came over her. The thrusts grew faster, harder. The slap of flesh, damp and hot, melding

together. The sounds of his thrusts, her moans, his desperate cry, and when release detonated

inside them, it was an almost soundless clash of agonizing pleasure.

The breath tore from her. She could only arch, her eyes opening wide, dazed as a whimper left

her lips, and she swore she flew free of her own body and that bodiless part of her met pure

rapture.

Behind her, Noah stilled, a hard, rumbling cry filling the air that could have been her name,

could have been a curse, and he was spilling inside her again. The heated rush of release

spurting free, shuddering through him, drawing another surge of pleasure before receding, slow

and easy, and leaving them tangled on the bed.

He lay half on her, half beside her. Still buried within her, still erect. Hearts slamming against

their chests and exhaustion marking her, Sabella let herself drift. She let herself drift until she

swore she heard something she knew she couldn't have heard.

"Go síoraí."

Her eyes opened. She blinked, listening, tense now, filled with fear. But it didn't come again. It

was gone, just as the dreams were always gone, just as the hope had left a long, long time ago.

But Noah was still there.

He dragged himself from her, pulled her into his arms, and minutes later, she felt him slowly,

so slowly, relax into sleep.

Still, she stared into the darkness, blinking back her tears as she held on to the arm that crossed

over her stomach and held her to him.

"Forever," she whispered. A breath of sound. Too light for anyone to hear.

But there was no forever. A single tear fell, silent, wasted, because tears didn't heal. They didn't

cleanse. Eventually, she let herself fall into a sleep she never thought she would know again.

The sleep she had found once, only in her husband's arms, and now in another man's.

Behind her, Noah stayed still, silent. Unmoving. The sad-ness and the pain in her voice dug

talons of agony inside his soul until he could barely breathe.

He held her, felt her, and inside, deep in that ragged wound that had once been his soul, he

cried with her.

"No more tears for another man while you're in bed with me."

Sabella turned slowly from the coffeepot to the man who strode into the kitchen, too big. too

forceful, too dominant that early in the morning.

She still didn't have a handle on what had happened last night, and had forced herself to escape

from the bed and into the shower before she could allow a repeat of it.

Now, dressed in jeans and T-shirt, her boots tied firmly on her feet, she turned away and

ignored him, fighting to ignore her racing heartbeat.

Something had happened last night that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Something that

filled her with a sense of dread. With a nervous energy she didn't know what to do with. And

there was something about him this morning that wasn't helping the situation. It wasn't just the

dominance. It was something about the way he was standing, the look in his eyes. Something

that had her chest tightening and her sex creaming.

He was pissing her off and turning her on, all at the same time. She didn't consider that a good

combination.

"My bed. My tears." She moved away from the coffeepot and made room for him as he opened

a cabinet door, and of course he opened the right one and pulled a cup free.

"You fuck me and then cry?" He snorted. "The next time it happens, Sabella, I'll ride you until you can't cry."

"How would you know I even cried?" She watched him. The shift of his shoulders, the way his

muscles bunched. "You fell asleep."

"I don't sleep that deep." He poured his coffee and tamed back to her, rugged and sexy, his

black hair damp and falling to his shoulders, his beard and mustache darker than night when

emphasized by his deep, dark blue eyes.

Dressed in the clothes he had worn the day before, he looked both rumpled and powerful. Not a

good look for her peace of mind this morning.

"You won't have to worry about it." She finally shrugged. "I'm certain we have the sexual crisis out of our systems now. We can go back to sniping at each other. And you can sleep in your

own bed."

She set her coffee cup on the counter and gazed at him with determination.

He made her wait. He studied her over the rim of his coffee cup as he sipped at the dark brew,

his eyes turbulent, sparking with something, not anger but definitely not agreement.

"One-night stand, was it?" he asked.

A frown wrinkled her brow at the tone, the flavor of his voice.

"It was expedient," she lied. "Now you can get on with your own life and I can get on with mine."

"Get on with building that shrine to your dead husband?" he growled.

It almost hurt, the way he said it. It should have hurt, but for some reason, it didn't have the

power it would have had before he arrived.

Where the hell was her mind? He hadn't been here that long. She had slept with a man, had had

sex with a man she had known for less than a month. It had taken her husband at least a month

to get her into bed and she had been a virgin then. But this man rode into town on his black

Harley with his riding chaps and his glare and the next thing she knew she was trying to eat

him alive?

She shook her head at the thought of that.

"Whatever I do is no one's business but my own. We'll pretend last night didn't happen."

Because she couldn't make sense of it. Because she couldn't still the certainty that something

had happened that was going to change her life forever.

"Will we now?" He sipped at his coffee again, finally finishing it as Sabella stood there

observing him, forcing herself to be calm. "Just pretend you weren't coming before I ever sank

my cock fully inside you? That we both didn't come like we'd never had sex before?"

When nothing else was said he set his cup in the sink and leaned back against the counter,

crossing his arms over his chest and staring back at her silently, thoughtfully.

"What?" she finally asked, the tension tightening around them like a noose.

His lips twitched. "It's not going to work, you know. You can fight this as hard as you want to,

Sabella, but it's not over."

"It's over."

He shook his head. "I'm heading to the apartment. I have to change clothes. I have to run an

errand this evening, but I'll be back later tonight."

"Not here, you won't be."

He gave her a look that almost had her shaking in her boots. Almost.

Sabella crossed her arms over her breasts and glared back at him, wishing she could ignore the

flicker of lust in his gaze.

Finally, the corner of his lips tilted, just enough to cause her nostrils to flare and the challenge

to ignite inside her.

"I'll see you this evening," he stated before striding across the kitchen, passing her, and then leaving the house.

Sabella gritted her teeth then followed him.

Rory must have returned her car sometime the night before. Rory's truck was gone and that

damned Noah was heading down the small rise to the garage, long legs eating the distance as

she locked the door behind her and stomped to her car.

He beat her to the garage. But so had Rory.

Smiling tightly, she strode into the office, closed both doors softly and faced her brother-in-

law.

His head had lifted from the papers he had been going over. His blue eyes studied her warily,

his broad, roughly hewn face smoothing out in an attempt at a neutral expression.

"You're just not as good at that as your brother was," she told him softly, remembering well

how Nathan would look at her with that look of male superiority when he knew she was angry

with him.

"Good at what?" He cleared his throat.

Sabella leaned against the door and watched him closely.

"That look," she told him. "The one that dares anyone to question anything you've done.

Nathan had it down to a very fine art. You need to practice it a bit more."

Amusement might have flickered on his face. He reached up and scratched his cheek, the short

sleeves of his work shirt stretching over his biceps.

"You're mad at me," he finally said.

He glanced to the door leading the apartment.

"He can't help you," she stated softly as she smiled back at him coolly. "Did the two of you really think you could pull over on me anything you wanted to?"

The door to the apartment opened and Noah stepped into the office. He'd changed clothes.

Damned fast work he'd made of it too.

"Rory, you'll need to run into Odessa to get those parts," Noah told him, looking at Rory. "This morning."

Rory rose from his chair.

"Don't even consider it," Sabella warned him softly.

Rory grimaced, swallowed. He looked from her to Noah then eased back down in the chair.

Good. He'd chosen the right side.

"Who owns this garage?" she asked him then.

Rory scratched his cheek again, cleared his throat, and glanced between her and Noah as if he

were the innocent party caught in the middle. Innocent, her ass. The two of them were up to

something and she knew it. "We do?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you sell your part to him?" she asked softly, jerking her

head to Noah.

Rory looked at Noah. Noah didn't take his eyes off her. The look should have made her wary,

nervous. It would have, long ago and far away, if her husband had looked at her like that.

"No." Rory pursed his lips, watching her carefully now.

Ignoring Noah, she walked across the room, placed her hands flat on the desk, and leaned over

it.

"Do you want to buy me out? I can pack up and move back to Georgia and you can have it,

without me. Is that what you want?"

Shock, surprise, filled his eyes. "No. Belle. Damn. No." He shook his head fiercely. He looked

at Noah and said, furiously, "What the hell did you do to her?"

"Does he own a part of this garage?" she snapped.

Rory blew out a hard breath. "No."

"Then his opinion doesn't matter, does it?"

"Maybe I wouldn't say that." Rory winced. "Come on, Belle, he knows what he's doing."

"And I don't?" She straightened, her chin lifting. "Where was he the past six years? Did he walk in here and bust his ass to fix what went to hell when Nathan left?"

"No. He didn't." Rory's voice firmed, his expression tightening.

"Next time, Rory, the two of you can have at it," she bit out. "Don't make that mistake again.

My husband left me half of this business. That means half the decisions are mine. Not a

stranger's and sure as hell not some interloper who thinks he can walk in and own everything

Nathan possessed. Are we clear on that?"

Rory rubbed the back of his neck. "We're clear." He finally nodded.

Sabella didn't bother to spare Noah a glance. She turned, jerked an overshirt off the nearby

hook, and stalked back into the garage, satisfied that at least that obstacle had been taken care

of.

Noah stared at the door, crossed his arms over his chest, then turned back to Rory. His brother

was sweating. There was a fine film of perspiration on his forehead and, frankly, his blue eyes

held a gleam of fear in them.

"Who was that woman?" He nodded to the door.

Rory shook his head. "The same one who walked into this garage almost three years after her

husband left her, took one look at it, and started cleaning it up."

Rory jerked to his feet and glared at Noah. "And she's right. Where the hell were you when she

was dying inside and nearly losing everything that meant anything to her? You want your dirty

work done here, do it yourself." He jerked his keys from the desk and headed for the door.