The Devil Inside, page 24
The man looking in through the broken window. His words the cut of icy wind.
‘Mel? Are you okay?’
‘What?’ She blinked rapidly, her breath fast and rough in her throat. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Really?’ Phil’s eyes were filled with concern despite the obvious exhaustion that still clung to him. ‘You remembered something, didn’t you?’
‘How could you tell?’
His hand covered hers in her lap. ‘I felt it. I always feel you.’ He lifted her hand and put it over his chest. ‘In here.’
She stared at him for long moments, unable to break the contact of his gaze. So much comfort lay there, so much understanding. Oh hell. She wanted to lean forward and press her lips against his again, to fall into the madness of that bliss, to stroke the worry away from his brow with her hands, to settle against him, letting his warmth and vibrancy surround her and make everything good again.
And yet …
She pulled her hand from his and managed a twisted kind of smile. ‘I was just thinking. You all seem to know so much about the accident. But how can you when I can’t remember?’
He sat up a little. Shifted closer. ‘You were on the phone when it happened.’
‘How do you know that?’ Had she been calling him when she crashed?
‘There’s a recording to 000.’
‘You didn’t listen to it, did you?’ What extra nightmares had he been living with that she’d never known?
‘No. The police didn’t release it. But they did tell me some of what was on it. And, of course, there’s what was in the arsehole’s journals.’
‘Journals?’
He nodded grimly. ‘The papers got a hold of copies somehow and published them. I didn’t read them—I was too worried about you and the fact you weren’t waking from the coma—but Dae and Craig read them and told me things they thought I needed to know.’
Her breath came hard and fast and harsh. ‘Did it say … was I awake for any of that time? When the car was in the paddock.’
He sat bolt upright. ‘You remember the paddock?’
She rubbed her thumb against her brow. ‘I think … I think I just had a memory of it. Someone was there. Leaning in. He said … he said …’ She rubbed harder at her temple, at the pain as she tried to bring that flash of memory to mind. But it wouldn’t come back, no matter how much she tried.
‘Mel. Stop.’ He grabbed her hand again, pulled it away from her brow. ‘You’re going to hurt yourself.’
‘But I want to remember. There’s something … something …’ It was a wound in her chest, a hole in her mind, a lump in her throat. It was pain and anger and horrifying grief. So much grief. Oh, oh god. ‘It’s … getting in the way. It’s stopping me … stopping me from …’
‘Mel. Breathe. You have to breathe.’
‘I don’t remember. I don’t remember.’
‘It’s okay. It’s okay not to remember. In fact, I never want you to remember that moment, okay? Don’t try. Just don’t try.’
She looked up at him, at his dear, beautiful face, and knew that if she didn’t remember, she could never be with him. If she didn’t remember there would always be this chasm of fear between them that she couldn’t cross. And she wanted to cross it. She had to cross it. Because she suddenly knew that her life would never be whole if she didn’t find her way to him. ‘I have to remember.’
‘I don’t want you to remember if it’s going to hurt you like this.’ He had both her hands in his now, pulling her towards him. She let him, even though it hurt so much, her body wanting him and yet drenched in so much fear she could almost smell it. Her head was against his shoulder now, nuzzled in that space that seemed to be hers, under his chin, in the curve of his neck. She breathed him in. He smelled of woods and fresh cut grass, a spicy scent that made her mouth water. And calmed her, made her able to swallow down the fear.
She turned to look up at him, touched the worry furrowing his brow. His gaze melted into hers. ‘I have to remember, Phil. There’s something there. Something keeping me apart. Keeping me from remembering everything I need to remember to be whole. Keeping me from coming back to you. I don’t want to be questioning everything all the time. I just want to do this.’
‘Do what?’
She sat up. Cupped his face, and despite the fear making her tremble, drying her mouth, her throat, stealing her breath, she leaned in and kissed him as she’d longed to do since she’d done it before. Soft, gentle, needing.
He stilled under her touch just like he’d done earlier, but instead of moving as he’d done, joining her, he pulled back.
She gasped in a breath, trembling harder. He had a right to reject her, but—
‘Are you certain?’
Bright light filled her head and the world spun, her relief was so great. ‘I want to kiss you. I want you to kiss me.’ Still, he held back. ‘Don’t you want to kiss me?’
The gush of his breath brushed over her skin as he snorted out a laugh. ‘I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.’
‘Then?’ She edged a little closer.
‘Shouldn’t we wait? For you to get your memories back? I don’t want you to feel you owe me this.’
‘Owe you?’ She snorted. ‘I think it’s more a fact of using you.’ She flinched at her words but couldn’t stop more from pouring out. ‘I need it. To kiss you. Have you kiss me back. Lose myself in only the good feelings. When I kissed you before, the fear faded away and it felt like … flying. But it also felt like everything could be okay.’
His gaze roamed over her face and for a moment she thought he might back away, but then he smiled.
A wave of relief washed over her to be quickly chased by flame as his lips met hers. His kiss, it was like before and yet more, because this time, she was certain where it was headed.
She shifted closer the same time he did, breasts pushing against the hard warmth of his chest. Her hands clenched on the material of his t-shirt at his back—soft and warmed from his body—a mirror action to his hands on her back. She gasped as he moved his hands, sliding them down and then back up, under her t-shirt, touching skin, gliding up her back, pulling her closer as his mouth opened over hers. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. She bunched his t-shirt up until her fingers met skin. Oh god, yes. She pushed her hands under his t-shirt, gliding over the hot, smooth expanse, muscles twitching and tensing under the need of her touch. ‘More. More,’ she gasped into his mouth.
***
Phil’s mind spun as her words, her need, vibrated through him. This was madness. He knew that it was, that they should wait until she remembered being his wife. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He’d missed her. Missed this. Missed the sensation of completion kissing her, touching her, joining with her, always brought.
When she touched him, everything else—all worries, fears, anxieties—were smashed away by the sheer force of longing, of need. Hers. His. It didn’t matter. They were one.
She pushed at him, as if she wanted him to lie back on the couch. He was about to give in to her need but stopped. They’d made love in many places in many ways over their years, but tonight he wanted the comfort of their bed. He wanted to give her that. Take his time. Not succumb to a madness-induced quickie on the couch.
So instead of lying back, he urged her up. She groaned her objection, but he pulled her tighter and whispered into her mouth, ‘Bed.’
She flowed with him as he moved backwards, her hands on his back, in his hair, their lips locked together. They stumbled into furniture, banged into the wall by the door, a burst of laughter escaping her, rushing into him. He laughed too, the sound breathy, joyous.
He should pick her up, do the big romance thing and carry her across the threshold like he had on their wedding day, her laughing and protesting all the way about being able to walk to the bedroom on her own two feet, until he’d thrown her on the bed and she’d laughed and crooked her finger at him and he’d dived at her and they hadn’t got up for two days.
But his limbs were trembling. Besides which, she was plastered to him too tightly to manage to pick her up. So, they kissed and touched and stumbled and bumped their way down the hall, crashing through the bedroom door. His t-shirt was up and over his head in the moment he pulled back to take a breath and hers was gone too just before their lips crashed together again. He’d got a glimpse of her breasts before he’d pulled her back to him, larger than they’d ever been before and filling out the maternity bra in a way they hadn’t when she’d been pregnant. His hand went up to cup the swollen fullness through her bra.
She flinched.
He pulled his hand away.
She pulled it back. ‘Not you,’ she managed as she stared up into his eyes. ‘My breasts. I should have fed Arwen before Lexi took her.’
‘Do they hurt? Should I call Lexi to bring Arwen back?’
‘No. They’re okay for now. I don’t want to stop this, okay?’ He nodded. ‘But perhaps its best to leave the maternity bra on.’
‘Is it okay to touch?’
‘I want you to.’
He reached out to gently cup her breast. ‘Beautiful. So beautiful.’
She closed her eyes, head hanging back a little.
He smiled. She’d always loved it when he touched her breasts, grazing his knuckles over the dark pink buds of her nipples, teasing her with a light touch before cupping, lifting, sucking them into his mouth and using his tongue in a way that always made her scream.
But her breasts were no longer just for him. She’d fed their child. He couldn’t do what he usually did to bring her to the edge of orgasm.
His smile widened. That was fine. He loved to improvise.
She opened her eyes as his hand drifted down to her stomach. Her gaze was on fire as she reached up to pull him back down to kiss her again. He gave into her need—it wasn’t a hardship. The way she kissed him, tongue and teeth and swollen lips and aching need, it was enough to blow a man’s mind. But he didn’t want to reach the end too quickly. This was like a first time. He needed to slow them down, make it last longer. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring—would she regret taking this step? Would he? He’d planned to be sensible, to wait until she had her memory back. But those sensible plans had no place here, in this moment.
Only her mouth, her hands, her body pressed against his, her warmth, her softness, her damp, enticing scent surrounding him, calling to him with the only siren’s song that had ever made him lose his mind like this.
But even as he slipped towards madness again, he made himself pull back. Slow down. He could still give her mind-blowing excitement and oblivion without the race.
He broke away long enough to unsnap the button on his jeans and push them down his legs, aware—so hotly aware—of her gaze on him. He hooked his thumbs into his boxers, but she shook her head, that look—oh yea gods—that look in her eyes that made him shudder and shake inside and out as heat chased over his skin. She licked her lips, then hooked her fingers in the waistband of his boxers. His muscles jumped and quaked at her touch as she slowly, agonisingly slowly, pulled his boxers down, her fingers trailing down his legs. She licked her lips, staring at him.
No. There was no way he would take his pleasure before he’d made absolutely damn certain she’d had hers.
He gripped her shoulders and pulled her up, body sliding against body.
Breathing hard and fast, she helped him remove her yoga pants. For one second, her finger hovered over the scar just above her pubic hair, but he put his hand over it and smiled into her eyes. He should say words, telling her how beautiful she was to him, now more than ever, but they failed him. There were no words for what he felt when he looked at her.
But he could show her.
He ran his fingers over her scar, up her flat stomach to her full breasts still encased in the lace and silk of her maternity bra, then pulled her to him until her body—thighs, stomach, breasts—were aligned against his. He ran his fingers up her neck, into her hair, tipping her face up and then met her gaze. Holding it, the heated intensity of it mirroring what he felt, he kissed her until her arms wound around his shoulders, one hand spearing into his hair in the way that had always driven him crazy. She trembled. So did he.
Slowly, slowly, he lowered her to the bed. Her green eyes big and liquid with desire as she stared up at him.
‘Hell, you’re …’ she said, her breathing heavy, voice hazy. ‘Gorgeous?’ He almost laughed at the question in her voice but she shook her head. ‘Gorgeous isn’t the word for it. But—’ she wafted her hand in the air, ‘—words are failing me.’
‘Gorgeous will do,’ he said, smiling as he lowered himself onto the bed beside her. ‘Although, you used to always call me your elf-man.’
‘Yes.’ She gasped as he ran his hand from her collarbones to her bellybutton. ‘Elf-man.’ He circled her bellybutton and then trailed lower. She gasped, her hips rising. ‘Magician.’
‘That one I like,’ he said, then bent to kiss her, wanting nothing more than to give her all the pleasure he could.
Suddenly she flipped up and was on top of him before he had the chance to blink. ‘What—?’
‘I need you now. No more waiting. No more teasing. Just you. Inside me. Now.’
‘As you wish,’ he said.
She laughed and then gasped as they came together, slow and sure.
She put her hands over his as they gripped her hips. Her head hung back, mouth open, glorious and powerful.
He watched her as they moved and when her eyes opened and met his. ‘Witch,’ he whispered.
‘Magician.’
He rose up and, digging his hands into her hair, the curls silk around his fingers, took her lips in a tongue-tangling, teeth-clashing kiss.
They tumbled back, their pace quickening, hands touching, clenching as they rose and rose and then lifted as one, finding their completion as they always did, together.
She lay against him after, her breath a soft puff against his neck, across his chest. Without looking, he knew she’d fallen asleep.
He smiled and closed his eyes, allowing himself to take this moment and just enjoy it for all he was worth.
Just before sleep overtook him, Mel mumbled words that made his heart clench. She’d always had trouble saying those words when they’d first got involved, but he’d known because she’d always mumbled them in her sleep. Was this another memory bursting through? He didn’t know. Wouldn’t question it. He’d just believe it was true.
He tightened his arms around her and whispered, ‘I love you too.’
Then let sleep take him under.
Chapter 23
Melissa woke in the middle of the night, fear fluttering in her chest, flashes of memory swirling in her mind. She pushed the fear aside and tried to grasp onto the memories to make sense of them, but the aching pressure in her breasts was more insistent.
Arwen. She needed to feed Arwen. Needed to hold Arwen.
She tried to roll but a heavy weight over her middle stopped her. Phil.
The fear stopped fluttering and made a grab.
No.
She shoved it down. She wasn’t going to let that stupid fear make her run from him now. She wouldn’t let it make her regret what they’d shared. Because what they’d shared was not something to regret. Not something to run from. In fact, she’d repeat it now, waking him slowly with kisses and strokes; except liquid was running down her breasts and they hurt.
Hell. Did it always feel like this before a feed?
Phil must have heard her wince or something because he shifted, muttering, ‘Mel? What is it?’
‘My breasts. I need to feed Arwen.’
His eyes snapped open and a look crossed his face that would have been comical if not for the fact that deep inside, she knew he was beating himself up for not collecting their daughter before they’d fallen asleep. She grabbed his hand before he could roll off the bed, pulled him back to look at her. ‘Lexi was happy to babysit her for the night, but I didn’t think about leakage when she left.’
‘Leakage?’
‘My bra is soaked. I’ve leaked through the breast pads Bev gave me.’
‘I’ll go get Arwen.’
He was out of the bed before she could blink, shoving his feet into jeans and pulling his sneakers on without socks. He was out the door before she realised he’d forgotten to put his t-shirt on.
Oh well. It wasn’t like it would be the first time Dae had seen Phil half dressed. That was just a regular part of touring life. The shared change rooms and bathrooms they’d used over the years. Dae probably knew about that mole on Phil’s lower left butt-cheek.
Her eyes widened.
She hadn’t seen his bottom last night. How did she know he had a mole there? But she did. She could envision it. She’d touched it. Licked it.
Her skin heated and her breasts prickled.
She jumped out of bed, pulled on her clothes and, holding her t-shirt away from her wet bra, ran into the bathroom.
As she washed her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror. She looked different and it didn’t have anything to do with her kiss-swollen lips and mussiness of her short hair. Despite the amazing hours she’d just spent with Phil, her husband, there were still shadows in her eyes. Shadows put there by the secrets the accident had helped her unearth in her memories.
Why had she never remembered these things before?
Her throat dried as fear made a grab for her again. ‘No. You’re not taking hold.’ Her words echoed loud in the bathroom, making her more determined to find out what had happened to her. Why was there such fear?
A fluttering of fear—loss at its centre—had always been a part of her ever since she could remember. As a child she would wake, screaming, and Claire and Calvin—the people she’d thought were her mama and papa but probably weren’t—would come running in and hold her and stroke her hair and comfort her until the fear let go enough so she would settle down and go to sleep.
