Out of Love, page 10
When we pulled into the hospital parking lot, Kara and Missy thanked Slade and plodded inside, the weight of the night evident with each slow step. I started to open my door. Then I twisted my torso to face Slade. It wasn’t that I expected endless warm embraces and soothing hushes while stroking my hair and promising me everything would be okay, but I thought there would be something more. At least a touch that acknowledged how close we had been just seconds before we heard the sirens. But maybe that was sex, and I needed to explain to my heart that the physical and emotional elements of life didn’t always coincide.
“Thanks for the ride. And …” And what? The orgasm? “I’m going to call Aubrey’s parents if someone hasn’t already done that. Then I’m going to call my dad. I’m sure he’ll be here in a flash. Not sure where I’m going to stay for now or when I’ll get someplace to get a new phone. So …”
The skin between his eyes wrinkled a bit. “Okay.”
Okay.
That was his response to the tragedy, our displacement, and my recent status change to homeless.
Okay.
“O-kay … I’ll make sure to get your clothes back to you as soon as I buy new ones.”
He answered with another infuriating nod. That stupid nod felt like a boot to my already bruised heart, an eviction notice to my already lost emotions.
I climbed out and drew in a shaky breath to calm those emotions as I scuffed my boots along the sidewalk to the hospital entrance. Without the fire, it had been an emotional, life-changing night for me. The fire and the fact that it was almost six in the morning … that just added to my fragile state.
Chapter Thirteen
Aubrey’s burns were treated, and she was discharged later that afternoon. Her parents put on a united front in spite of the recent divorce announcement. Kara and Missy left with their boyfriends, and both of their parents were booking flights to LA.
My dad was on his way, but he had been in New York for a work conference. He was having trouble finding a flight, which meant he wouldn’t be there until the next day. He was going to have Jessica come to me, but I told him I’d be fine. I told him I had a place to stay.
I lied.
Overprotective dads didn’t like to hear that their daughters were homeless.
I also lied to Aubrey’s parents about having a place to go and a ride or money to get there. When they left the hospital, I stood by the entrance, pretending to wait for my “friend” until their car disappeared into traffic. Then I turned to go back inside to find a waiting room to sleep in until my dad made it there the next day.
“Forget something?”
I stopped. Emotions raced to my eyes, but I did not give in and cry like the fucking mess I was at that moment. Instead, I swallowed what little pride I had left and gave myself a mini pep talk before turning toward Wylder and Jericho.
“No. Yes.” I frowned and cleared my throat. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.”
I died inside but kept something resembling composure on the outside. “Welp …” I shrugged. “Here I am.”
His scruff-covered face softened as his boots closed the distance between us. “Need a ride?”
My gaze parked at a piece of smashed gum by the toe of his boot. “I’m …”
“When’s your dad coming?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Where are you going?”
I scraped my teeth over my bottom lip several times. “Not sure yet.” My arms crossed over my stomach as I hugged myself to soothe my insecurities.
“My place?”
“Are you inviting me to stay with you tonight?” I glanced up at him, squinting against the sun.
“Sofa offer still stands.” He delivered everything with zero sarcasm.
“K …” I lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug.
He jerked his head toward the parking garage, and I followed him, shocked that the numbness in my body allowed my feet to move. No conversation took place on the way to his place. I cringed when we pulled onto the street.
The charred house.
Two vehicles from the fire department were parked on the street. Maybe they were inspecting something.
Once we pulled in the driveway, I climbed out and stared at the house again. Of course, Slade said nothing. He and Jericho sauntered inside. After several minutes, I made my way into the house too. Slade retrieved several dishes from the fridge while I slipped off my boots and tugged up the sweatpants that were way too big for me.
Jericho trotted to his bed and collapsed onto it, and I followed him into the living room. On the sofa were department store bags. Women’s department stores. I peeked inside a few of the paper bags.
“Hope something fits.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “You did this for me?”
He twisted his lips. Had I not known better, I would have said he was trying to hide a grin. “Too much pink for me. And Jericho looks hideous in skinny jeans.”
A joke? Did Slade Wylder deliver a joke?
I poked around in a few of the bags, glancing at labels and sizes. He did good. Really good. Then I pulled out a bra and pair of panties. A thong and a very sexy lace bra. With them dangling from my finger, I eyed Wylder.
“I know for a fact you’re not wearing a bra or panties at the moment.”
I chuckled, inspecting the undergarments. “These will definitely keep me warm on breezy days.”
“Hungry?”
I nodded, depositing the sexy goods back into the bag. He opened a container with salad in it and set a jar of dressing next to it on the table. Then he pulled another container from the microwave with penne pasta in it, sprinkled it with parmesan cheese, and dished some out onto two plates.
Sitting at the table, I tucked one knee to my chest and rested my chin on it as he put some lettuce next to my pasta and drizzled dressing. The garlic and herb aroma offered a nice alternative to the smoke.
Our gazes met for a few seconds, and he let those lips of his turn upward into a barely detectable smile.
I saw it.
More than that … I felt it. And it felt incredible in spite of the events of the previous twenty-four hours.
Nobody died.
That was my new motto. The incessant chant of gratitude circling in my brain.
Midway through eating dinner with nothing but the clinking of forks, I wiped my mouth and cleared my throat. “Thank you for everything … the chauffeuring, the clothes, the food, the sofa.”
He nodded.
Another nod.
“If you talk to me … I won’t tell anyone. It can be our little secret that you know how to say actual words … not just nods and scowls.”
He slowed his chewing, giving me a milder version of said scowl.
“There it is.” I grinned, standing and circling the table to his side and straddling his lap, forcing him to sit back in his chair. His hands rested on my legs.
Leaning forward, I brushed my lips along his jaw, his cheek, and his mouth … without actually kissing him. His hands slid up my shirt—his shirt—stopping just below my breasts, fingertips ghosting over my ribs.
“Can I use your shower, Wylder?” I whispered over his lips instead of kissing him.
He edged forward, trying to take my mouth.
I pulled back and grinned. “I need to brush my teeth … and shower. Did you buy me a toothbrush? Deodorant? A hairbrush?” Teasing him brought intense satisfaction to me.
Withholding actual words seemed to bring him an equal amount of satisfaction. His mouth reached for mine again.
Again, I dodged his attempt to kiss me. In hindsight … that was a mistake. His plate and mine crashed to the floor with one swipe of his arm. In the next second, my back hit the top of the kitchen table. His right hand cuffed my wrists above my head while his left hand slid down the front of my—his—sweatpants where he slid two fingers into me. Our mouths collided and his tongue and fingers fucked me to the same rhythm. A minute or so later, I hiked my feet onto the edge of the table to thrust my pelvis into his touch. He released my hands and they flew into his chaotic hair.
Off with his top.
Deep kisses.
Off with my top.
Deep kisses.
My pants.
“Where do you want me?” He tore his lips from mine and slowed his fingers.
“Wylder …” I lifted my pelvis, chasing his hand.
“Here?” He added a third finger. “Do you want me here, Livy?”
Words melted on my tongue into puddles of lust, so I nodded as heavy breaths pushed past my lips. Need multiplied in the bottom of my stomach and was heavy between my legs.
He withdrew his fingers and retrieved a condom from his wallet, setting it on the table beside me while unbuttoning his jeans. I sat up, keeping my feet on the edge of the table, spreading my knees a little wider.
Intense eyes moved, focusing on my breasts and my blond hair covering part of them. As he rolled on the condom, his gaze dropped to my fingers sliding between my legs.
Our eyes met, like he needed to verify I was pleasuring myself for his pleasure. I bit my lower lip and closed my eyes on a soft moan.
“Fuuuck …” he said in a throaty groan two seconds before attacking my mouth again.
His fingers joined mine, but only briefly before he moved both of our hands and pressed the head of his erection against my entrance. He leaned me back on the table again, sinking into me one slow inch at a time while my fingers curled, clawing the flesh covering the tight muscles along his back.
We screwed on the table for a while before relocating to the fridge door, bent over the back of the sofa, and finishing at our original spot … the top of the stairs.
Sweaty and searching for oxygen, he rolled off me and onto his back. We stared at the water stain on the ceiling for several minutes. I had a million questions. The first one being … who was the woman in the Lexus and where did he go for those three nights that I watched Jericho? Did he have sex with her? Did he have it with her the way he had it with me? Did he kiss her like he was trying to consume her entire body with one never-ending kiss?
I turned onto my side, admiring the sweep of his long lashes as his eyes rested shut and the splay of idle hands on his chest. After I ate up the vein porn, I straddled his abs and planted my palms on the floor beside his head. My long hair tented our faces. He blinked open his eyes, searching mine.
“Wylder …” I whispered as his hands parked on my hips.
“Hmm …” he responded, blinking heavily.
I took a few seconds to bask in the warmth of our bodies so close and him surrendering to me.
“Was it you?” My face lowered to his. I kissed along his cheekbones, across his forehead, and down his nose to his lips where I whispered over them again, “Was it you? Did you take that man’s life? Did you save me?” My lips ghosted back and forth over his.
“You know the answer.” He gripped my hips and lifted me from his torso as he climbed to his feet. His sexy-as-fuck, sculpted nakedness moseyed to the bedroom while I stayed on my knees at the top of the stairs.
I knew the answer. I just didn’t know the why. Of course he would think it was obvious, but it wasn’t. A normal person might have tried to pull my attacker from me. Throw a few punches. Call the police.
The man who tried to rape me just … disappeared in complete silence with precision … flawless execution.
On a defeated sigh, I stood and followed his path to the bathroom and the buzzing of his beard trimmer. The shower was on, room filling with steam, as tiny whisker trimmings fell to the sink. A navy towel hung low on his waist.
I imagined sidling up to his back, pressing my lips to his spine as my hands snaked around to his waist, tracing the lines of his abs.
I imagined asking him if I could shower with him.
I imagined all the ways I could come across as needy or insecure. And while I did know in my gut that he was the one who saved me, I didn’t want to be that girl. The one who needed saving. The needy girl.
He offered me the sofa, so I grabbed a new T-shirt he bought me and the only pair of panties that weren’t a thong. During my more thorough search, I stumbled across a bag of toiletries. A jackpot of shampoo, conditioner, a comb and a brush, deodorant, and the greatest of all … a toothbrush and peppermint toothpaste. Scurrying back up the stairs—naked—I locked myself in the hall bathroom for the next thirty minutes.
Easing the door open, I listened for him, but the house was silent. Light filtered through his partially open door. I shut off the bathroom light, tiptoed down the stairs, cleared the bags off the sofa, retrieved a pillow and blanket from the metal trunk, and snuggled onto the sofa while blowing Jericho a kiss goodnight.
The top stair creaked, and I snapped my eyes shut for several seconds. Peeking one open, I tracked Slade sauntering into the kitchen in nothing but boxer briefs. He filled a glass with water and drank it down. After flipping off the lights, he started back up the stairs.
“If I have to come back down and carry your ass up here, it’s not going to be gentle.”
Gulp …
I counted to ten to see if he by any chance was talking to Jericho, but the pooch didn’t budge, so I took a guess that he meant me. Ascending the stairs with patience and stealth, I peeked into his room, standing in the doorway. With his back against his solid wood headboard, he kept his gaze on his computer opened on his lap.
“You said I could sleep on the sofa.”
“And you can.” His fingers continued to move over the keyboard as his brow wrinkled a bit at the screen.
“But you just ordered me to sleep in your bed.”
“I didn’t. I ordered you up here … but there will be no sleeping anytime soon.” He closed his laptop and set it on the floor under his nightstand.
“What are you wearing?” He cocked his head to the side.
I glanced down at my tight, white tee and bikini cut panties. “Um … the closest thing I could find to pajamas.”
“I didn’t buy you pajamas.”
I returned my gaze to him. “Yeah, I saw that.”
“Then take that shit off.” He did it again. That barely detectable grin hiding just beneath the surface.
“I think your attitude is taking up too much space in the room. I’m going to sleep downstairs with Jerry.” I turned and headed toward the stairs.
“I missed you,” he said.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t desperate.
It was … life.
I paused at the top of the stairs.
“Jericho missed you too. But … not as much as I did.”
My brain hit pause, but my feet followed my heart’s lead and carried me back to his bedroom. As I took slow steps toward his bed, I shrugged off the tee and shimmied out of my panties before crawling up his body. His hands claimed my face, his lips claimed my mouth.
Our kiss ended slowly, but our mouths lingered a breath away from each other.
“Wylder … if you want this to be a one-night stand, you’re saying all the wrong things.”
He kissed me again … and again.
We spent the better part of the night becoming thoroughly acquainted with each other’s bodies. When the first rays of sun broke through, the pad of his finger traced my forearm. “How did you get this scar?”
Keeping my tired eyes closed, I hummed and smiled. “Surfing. Seven stitches. The morning of my high school graduation. My dad was livid. I wasn’t supposed to go out that morning. But …everyone was going.”
Wylder ran his lips along the scar. “Rebel.”
I giggled, peeling open my eyes as he moved down my body, grabbing my leg and bending it toward him.
“And this one?” His tongue traced the scar along my knee.
“Jellyfish. Ended up with a rash and I scratched the hell out of it. The scar is from the scratching more than the sting.”
His whiskers tickled my skin, and I wiggled away from his touch.
“This …” I ghosted my finger over his shoulder and the red scar still in its stages of healing. “Who shot you?”
He kissed up the inside of my thigh, well on his way to the perfect distraction, the perfect change in subject. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do. I want to know if I’m in danger. If you’re a bad person. A drug dealer. A serial killer. A collector of human body parts.” My fingers claimed his hair, and I steered him away from his destination, forcing him to look at me. “Wylder …” I murmured, scared to be with him, scared to be without him. Not every truth made sense, but it didn’t make it less true.
My truth—he saved my life.
He dropped his gaze to my stomach. “You’re not in danger.”
My fingers released his hair, and I closed my eyes as his mouth navigated up my body and his hand reached for another condom on the nightstand.
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m not going to be here when your dad arrives.” Wylder set a key on the table and kissed the top of my head before whistling to Jericho.
“Oh thank god …” I covered my mouth, but it was too late.
He raised an eyebrow as he slid his wallet into his pocket and snatched his keys from the counter.
“I mean …” I sipped my tea to buy some time to formulate a better explanation. “I’m just not ready for you to meet him. He’s …” My nose scrunched. “Complicated.”
“He will hate me.”
Pressing my lips together, I nodded several times. “That too. Not because there’s anything wrong with you … or at least there’s not a lot that’s wrong with you. I mean …” I cringed. “I have no idea, and that’s why I’m not ready for you to meet him.”
“It’s fine.” He opened the back door. “I don’t want to meet him yet either.”
“Why not?” I took immediate offense to his comment, like when my high school friends accused my dad of being a psycho.
“It’s complicated.” He shut the door.
I ran after him. “Where are you going anyway?”
“To take care of some business.” He opened the back door for Jericho then closed it after he hopped in the back seat.
