Tranquility (Turbulence Series Part Two), page 17
“I don’t.” She was lying. She couldn’t look at him; she shifted her gaze to the bobbing green boat.
“Don’cha?” he asked with mock amazement. He moved in front of her then, close enough that the warmth against her shoulder was now warming her front, without pressing. “Tell me you don’t want me.” His fingers skated up her arms; she wasn’t able to control the shiver at his action. Placing one finger under her chin, he tipped her head back.
She looked up at him, not answering. She couldn’t do it; couldn’t look him in the eyes; tell him she didn’t want him when she did.
“Tell me to stop.” His eyes searched hers for a moment, giving her the chance to speak again. His heated gaze dropped to her lips. Of their own accord, her lips parted as she drew in a shaky breath, her tongue darting out to moisten them.
He smiled with a hint of triumph, looking back at her before he lowered his mouth to hers, capturing her sweetly. Her eyelids drifted closed as his tongue lightly chased hers in a searching moment of play. It was a light, teasing kiss; he kissed her once, twice.
Her belatedly opened eyes tried to appear fierce in their resolve as she stared up at him; his eyes were assessing her expression. Her bravado was crumbling.
Not breaking eye contact with her, he danced his hands down the front of her, over her breasts, a gesture that had her catching her breath. He removed his hands only to grasp her wrists. He pressed them against the wood behind her, slowly raising them over her head. She fought for aloofness, to push away the dive into rapture as he did so, but he knew her weaknesses, and he was going to use them. Her lashes fluttered closed again with a sigh.
She felt him bracing his arms over hers as he held theirs above her head. He lowered his head again. This time his kiss was more urgent, more demanding, his tongue meeting hers possessively. She answered and acquiesced with a throaty moan.
Brit couldn’t fight—didn’t want to fight—the wildfire raging through her. Under the pressure of his demanding lips, the weight of his arms on hers, her breasts barely brushing against his chest, she melted. She could find no other descriptor for it; she was instantly in flames. He enveloped her, every sense overwhelmed and intoxicated by him.
He moved his lips to her ear, tugging at her lobe. She shivered again.
“Tell me you don’t want me. When what I’m doing to you causes you to sigh like this, tell me I’m wrong.”
She shook her head. He wasn’t wrong.
Nuzzling her neck, he asked, “If I reach between your legs, slip my fingers inside of you, will I feel you ready for me?”
She squeezed her eyes shut at what the thought of it did to her; the anticipation that ripped through her. He would find her more than ready.
He made a low humming sound as though undecided and lifted his head to see into her eyes. She denied him by turning her head away, keeping her eyes closed. If he looked into her eyes, he’d know the truth in an instant.
Of course, he already knew it.
“Please, Sean,” she pleaded. This was torture.
“Please, what? I want an answer because I want to feel you. I want to watch your pleasure. I want to please you. So, please, what?”
Oh god, she wanted that, too. Her legs trembled at his words. “Please…”
He shifted to hold both of her wrists in one of his hands and lowered his free hand to the button of her jean shorts. She bit her lip against the sound she made, her hips rolling forward slightly. It was involuntary, completely so; she had no control over how her body responded to him.
He kissed her softly again as he unzipped her shorts. She gasped against his mouth. He whispered against her lips, “Do you want me?”
Feverishly, desperately, but she wasn’t going to say it. His intended destination flooded and throbbed, eager for him to arrive. She scrunched her face up as though she would cry, but no tears came.
He slipped his hand beneath the band of her underwear, his fingers finding her. She jerked against his hand with a sharp gasp, her toes coming off the ground. He caressed her gently, her mewling cries colliding with his breathless “Jaysus” at discovering how wet she was for him.
No point in denying the evidence. “Yes,” she finally answered, her head still to the side, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“Look at me and tell me,” he ordered.
His thumb circled, his fingers slid and spread, stroked. Her head was spinning. But she stubbornly shook her head.
His hand stilled. A sound of distress clawed its way from her throat.
“Look at me and tell me.”
Brit could feel the heat in her cheeks, which rivaled the heat coursing throughout her body. Her lashes fluttered before she hesitantly met his gaze. “I do.”
Sean smiled. “Why is it so hard for you to admit, love?” He continued his ministrations between her legs, eliciting another breathless sound from her. He released her hands and slipped his hand behind her back, pulling her to him, taking fierce possession once again of her mouth.
Here they were, weeks later, in almost the same position as to how he had enticed her along initially. Brit lowered her arms to his, holding on to him as though her very survival depended on it. She allowed herself to be caught up on the rapacious wave he was creating within her. He raced her to the precipice with his touch, his mouth on hers, on her neck.
This was so good; it felt so right. Him in her arms, her in his. Him creating this moment of bliss for her, healing her on a level she so desperately needed.
It didn’t hurt; it didn’t need to hurt.
But it should because this was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to have this.
She jerked back suddenly, using the heels of her palms pressing against him. “Stop! Stop, Sean!” She pleaded breathlessly, slightly twisting her hips away from him. “You can’t do this.” A hand dropped down to wrap around his wrist; her hold wasn’t strong, but it was urgent.
Sean stilled his movements against her again. His breath was as heavy as hers. Confused and frustrated, he asked huskily into the space that was electric with their fervor, removing his hand nonetheless, “Why are you doing this? Why do you stop yourself?”
She hesitated in responding, waiting for some equilibrium, the darkening of her reddened cheeks and neck from embarrassment replacing the flush of pleasure. “You don’t… you don’t understand,” she answered with a hitched breath, not looking at him.
With a growl, he enunciated his words, “What the fuck don’t I understand?” A violent slamming of his fist into the wall next to her head accompanied his words.
The anger in his voice coupled with the swift, brutal action ripped a sharp scream from her; she flinched hard, eyes squeezing shut as her fisted hands raised swiftly and involuntarily to tuck under her chin, protecting her neck. Her breath caught as the resulting adrenaline brought her to tears.
“I’m sorry.” The anguish and regret were evident in his voice.
Frenzied sexual energy, fear, and anger threatened to expand the walls of the tiny structure, locked in by the steady stream of water at the other end.
Brit hugged her arms and turned her face against the wall, the tears slipping down her cheeks; she couldn’t look at him.
“Brit, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Brit kept her cheek to the wooden planking, the heartbreak clashing with the excitement still coursing through her.
“Go back,” he said heavily.
Confused, thinking he meant back to the States, she looked over her shoulder at him in question. He was watching her with remorse, but he was still frustrated.
“Go back to the lodge,” he repeated. “We don’t need to be together right now.”
Her eyes registered a bit of alarm. Her gaze darted to the pouring rain on the lake, but the elements were probably far safer for her at the moment than remaining with him, as he was warning her. Moving slowly, as though a sudden movement would startle him into action, she pushed off the wall. He put more distance between them as she did so.
With a blush and ducked head, she zipped her shorts and buttoned them, the task seeming to take forever with her clumsy fingers, heading toward the door.
As she reached for the knob, he said again, “I’m sorry I scared you.”
Brit didn’t look back at his words.
“I’m sorry to send you out into the rain.”
The door open, she looked out at the sheets of it. “It’s only rain, Sean.” And she stepped out into it, closing the door behind herself.
Back at the lodge, Brit went immediately to the bathroom. She was soaking wet. Her tears mingled with the streams of water pouring down her face. Not caring about tidiness, she stripped off her sodden clothes and threw them into the bathtub before she turned on the shower. She locked the bathroom door. He’d told her not to, but after this morning and what had just happened in the boat house, she needed a sense of security.
She didn’t ponder what he might do if he returned to find it locked.
As it turned out, it wasn’t anything she needed to have concerned herself about because he wasn’t there when she emerged. Her fatigue was overwhelming at this point—the emotional toll on top of the physical made her feel light-headed. She pulled on one of his shirts with her boxer shorts and made her way to the bed.
Her hurt, fear, and sadness were all pushed aside as they were no match for her exhaustion. Her body was simply giving out. Pulling back the duvet, she slipped beneath the covers. Her only acknowledgment of the events that had just transpired was the tears that coursed down her cheeks.
Chapter twenty
SEAN
Several hours had slipped by since he’d sent her from the boat house. Upon his return to the lodge, finding her asleep and knowing her body had given out on her, he was overcome with guilt that he hadn’t had a better sense of her physical state; she’d told him, but he’d ignored her.
He berated himself again for his violent outburst, appalled that he’d put fear in her after what she'd just experienced at Jasper’s hands. Or ever, to be fair. He shouldn’t ever put that fear in her. His actions shouldn’t lead her reflexively to protect her neck. It’d nearly brought him to his knees that she would react to him with that level of fright.
Sean sat in the chair next to the bed. He watched her shift, rolling onto her right side, a pillow propping her leg. Her red hair fell over her face, so he leaned forward and gently pushed the strands back so he could better see her. Her dark lashes rested solidly on her cheek. He lightly stroked a finger across her cheek to her lips; even in sleep, they were so kissable.
She had captured his heart so completely, even after the years of separation—especially, perhaps. As a kid, she’d been a firecracker, but she’d grown up to be a beautiful storm. She’d only had two choices as a child: crumble under her circumstances or defy them; she remained defiant.
With adulthood, however—and unfortunately, in some instances—her arsenal only grew.
Her lashes fluttered. Her gaze settled on him. She stared back, uncertain. She didn't bother to lift her head from the pillow as their gazes locked on one another. It was so quiet, the now-gentle fall of rain the only sound, that he could hear her stomach growl. They both ignored it.
He flicked his gaze over her and said quietly, “I never meant to hurt you.”
She contemplated his words and then answered, “You didn’t hurt me.”
“I scared you,” he pointed out.
Her gaze dropped away from his.
He nodded once; he felt sick all over again. “I did; we both know it.” He tilted his head and watched her until she looked at him again, waiting for him to go on. “I’m frustrated. It’s not sex; I’m not just after getting off with you.”
Even though she blushed, she maintained guarded eye contact.
“I almost lost you. I know you know what he did to you, but he did it to us both. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it every day until you hear me. I can’t look at you enough, touch you enough… I don’t know how to express what this distance is doing to me when all I want to do is feel you with me. I want that connection back with you; I need it. But for reasons you won’t or can’t share with me, you don’t want the same. Or, you do, a part of you seems to want to, but you keep fighting me on it.”
Brit continued to stare at him.
“After what just happened, though, I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you to get it. So... I’m stepping away for a wee bit. We need the distance. Physical distance.” Because her emotional distance… well, that was bleeding obvious. She may as well be back in the States.
Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. “What do you mean?”
Sean glanced briefly toward the desk before he answered, “I want you safe, I’ve only ever wanted you safe, but this cocoon we’ve been in—”
She lifted on her elbow and looked over at the desk, following his glance to his small packed bag there. “Wait.” Her expression turned to panic.
“—Doesn’t allow for much perspective. All I see is you and what I want. You said I don’t understand; I need to find out what it is I’m missing.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked faintly, incredulous. “You’re leaving?”
He, of course, didn’t miss the implication that she didn’t think it was fair that he was the one who was able to leave. But where he was going, she most definitely would not follow. This wasn’t a pleasurable venture but a necessary one.
“I’ve spoken with the security detail,” he ignored her questions. “You’ll have your guards if you need them; no one from the manor will bother you unless it’s staff, at your request.” He stood up, walking over to the kitchenette as he continued to inform her of what he’d done for her. “I know you’re still having problems with your hands, so I’ve laid out your meds for you for the next couple of days.”
“Couple of…?” Sitting up, she pushed the blankets back, dazed, the information coming at her too quickly.
“Just precaution.”
“Sean!”
“I’ve made a quiche.” He gave her a half-smile even though she didn’t look prepared to appreciate that he was able to offer up the dish on his own. “It should last you through. If not, there’re other options in the cupboard. I didn’t want you to have to go to great lengths.”
She looked shell-shocked. “I don’t want a quiche.”
“It was what I could do in the time there was.”
“I mean, I don’t understand what you’re saying to me,” she insisted, pushing her hair to one side, looking around as though she was missing something.
Sean gave her a warm smile. “I’m giving us some space.”
Brit shook her head. “I don’t want that.”
“I amn’t sure what it is that you do want, Brit,” he said honestly.
With a slight tilt to her head, she asked suspiciously, “Is this a test?”
Sean shook his head. “A test? Sure, and what would I be testing you on?”
“To try to get what you want.”
He grimaced. “Bollocks, Brit, like I’d go to such a length for that.” His only consolation was that she did look momentarily chastised.
“You can’t leave me here,” she said, desperation in her voice.
The tenor of her voice pulled at his heart, but he stood firm. “You’ve said it yourself; you don’t need me to care for you. Now you get to test the hypothesis—there; there’s your test. And you aren’t alone; there are people who will come running—”
Brit took a couple of steps toward him. “No, Sean.”
“You’ll be grand,” he said encouragingly with a smile. “A couple of days at most, love.”
Her green eyes pleaded with him. “I’m sorry. Please don’t go.”
He frowned, caught off guard. “You’ve nothing to be sorry about.”
“I do. I’ve been terrible, I’ve been moody, I’ve said horrible things—”
Sean crossed the space to her and pulled her into his arms, shushing her. “You stop it now. This is more to do with me than yourself.”
Her arms were tight around his waist, her face pressed against his neck as she begged. “Please don’t leave me.”
He caressed her back. “There’s Evie for you to call on if you need someone to talk to.”
“What about you?”
Smiling, he kissed the top of her head. “You can always call me.”
“I don’t want to have to call you.”
“Let me do this, Brit. I’ll be back,” he assured her.
She shook her head, not letting him go. She looked fierce and scared at the same time; it was an expression, sadly, he knew well.
Sean held her, resting his cheek on the top of her head, his hand running up and down her back. Even as she pleaded, and he believed she didn’t want him to go, she wasn’t willing to impart what it was that he needed to know to move them past the stalemate they were in. He had to go; he needed answers.
Pulling back, he took her arms and pulled them away from him. The look she gave him was full of accusation and torment. Only Brit could give him opposing looks that made complete sense. He gave her a reassuring smile and asked, “Give me a kiss?”
With a nod, she rose and met his lips with a kiss; he was soft, gentle. When she tried to inject more heat into hers, he eased away. He knew where that would lead, and he wasn’t sure he trusted her motivation.
Grasping her face, he kissed her quickly on the forehead and then stepped back.
“I’ve not been alone… since… Not really,” she pointed out, her expression worried; her hand went to her abdomen.
“You aren’t alone,” Sean reminded her. “There’s a guard specifically for you; there’s the phone. There’s a houseful of people.”
Brit gave him an impatient look.
“If you need them, Brit, they are here for you,” he assured her. “But you won’t need them.”
Her expression shuttered.
Sean walked over to his bag and hefted it. “Don’t forget your exercises.” She paced him to the door. With a wink, he said, “I love you, caílin.” And then he was out the door.
“Caílin?” he heard her repeat, the word dropping from her lips in confusion.
