Exhale (19 page)

She was such a fool to think he’d come to her rescue when she needed him.

No. Back that up. It was your own damn fault for ditching him at the airport.

Tossing the cursed phone to the bed, she clenched her teeth and paced the tiny room. Though she’d taken a shower the moment she got home, she still felt the bald man’s hands in her hair, smelled his foul breath on her face. She should have been stronger at the grocery store—screamed for help or kicked that bastard right between the eyes.

Damn her messed up brain.

She glanced at the bed. She wanted to curl into a ball and bury herself under the covers for a century or two.

She slipped off her shoes and reached for her pajamas.

The phone vibrated to life.

She stared at it.

Another buzz.

If it was Gavin, what should she say?
I got attacked today and thought you might like to know?

Third ring. After one more, it would drop to voicemail.

She snatched the phone up and hit the button. “Hello?”

“Zoe?” Gavin sounded surprised. At least she could hear him now.

She sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah.”

“You rang me.” His words ran long, blended into each other, but a smile tickled his voice. “Why’d you ring me?”

“I—” Where to start? “I changed my mind.”

A long pause followed, then shuffling noises. What the hell was he doing?

“Can you do me a favor?” he asked. Something was off with him.

“I can try.”

“I need a ride home.”

Silence filled the line as understanding took root in her addled brain. “Are you drunk?”

“Yeah.” A touch of regret darkened his tone. “If you don’t want to, I understand. I’ll get one of my mates to take me home.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. Just great. “Where are you?”

“I wouldn’t bother asking if you hadn’t—oh, fuck it. I’ll talk to you another time.”

“I’m coming now. Tell me where you are.”

He rattled off some haphazard directions she didn’t quite follow, and the call ended. On her way out, she stuck her head in Adriene’s room and told her she was going to pick up Gavin and take him home. Adriene insisted on coming with her, but Zoe assured her she’d keep the doors locked and windows rolled up. She had her phone in case of emergency.

Zoe refused to live in fear every time she got in a car. The guy was behind bars. He wouldn’t hurt her—or anyone else—again. The chances of her running into his friends were slim. Hell, he probably ratted them out already. Maybe they were all in jail.

And the bottom line was, if she didn’t see Gavin tonight—drunk or not—she’d go straight-up nuts.

Fifteen minutes later, Zoe pulled onto a street lined from end to end with cars. Music blared as she rounded a curve, and a house crawling with people loomed. Yep, this must be the place. Half-naked women pranced barefoot through the yard, beer bottles littered the lawn, and whoops and hollers rose like bacchanal prayers into the night.

Wow. Just…wow. Maybe she
should
have brought Adriene along.

Or not answered the phone in the first place.

A glass broke, and a chorus of voices yelled, “Taxi!” An explosion of laughter followed.

God, the poor neighbors.

After parking the car in the middle of the street, as close to the house as she could, she called Gavin and told him she was there.

A moment later, he stumbled out the front door, zigzagging a drunken path through his drunken friends, stopping along the way to talk to random drunken people. Beer in hand, he pointed at Zoe’s car. She sunk down in the seat.

Yep. She needed a rock star boyfriend like she needed her front teeth kicked out.

The passenger side door opened, and he fell in beside her. He would have shut it with a smooth follow through, except he forgot to pull his foot in. He bellowed, “Fuck!” then got the door closed without incident the second time.

Jesus Christ.

She put the Land Rover into drive and started down the street. “Where do you live?”

“I’ll tell you where to turn. Thanks for picking me up.” The words sloshed together.

“I’m taking you home, and then I’m leaving.”

“You’re pissed off.”

“I didn’t want you driving drunk.” She kept her focus on the road. Forced herself not to think about what he’d been doing before she got there. It wasn’t her business, and she had no right to be jealous.

Still—

He sighed. “Yeah, I’m a pretty stupid fucker sometimes.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn up his beer and finish it off. He stared out the window the whole way home, muttering directions, but otherwise keeping quiet.

Shit.

When they pulled into a quiet neighborhood similar to hers, Gavin pointed out his drive, and she parked in it. He reached for the door handle but missed it twice. Zoe got out and walked around to his side, opened the door, and offered her hand. He looked up to her face and frowned. Was that disappointment she saw? Embarrassment?

Her angry heart softened. “Come on. Let me help you inside. Then it’s lights out for you.”

He got out on his own, but his feet had plans his brain must not have known about. He could hardly stand. She ducked under his heavy arm, draped it across her shoulders, and hugged his waist.

“Come on, big boy.” Damn, he weighed a ton. But tons of muscle did that to a guy.

Swaying against her along the way, Gavin almost ass-planted more than once. “You must be thinking, what a prick I am. And you know what?” He stumble-stopped and leaned into her. She pushed him onward. “I’m thinking the same thing. Why did this dickhead drink so much?”

Their forward motion halted suddenly, and Zoe almost lost her balance under his weight. He caught her with an off-focused stare. “I guess I’ve got a lot on my mind. And stress. Do you know it’s been weeks since I’ve had sex? Well, here at least.”

What the hell did ‘here’ mean? His house? “TMI, sweetie. I don’t need the details, really. Let’s just get you to bed, okay?”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He laughed as they tottered up the steps to the porch.

“Key?” she asked.

“Maybe in my pocket or somewhere. Hey, do you know where my car is?”

Patting him down, she found something in front that jingled. She reached in, telling herself there was nothing to this. Never mind that she had her hand in the pants of a guy who made her so hot, she broke out in a sweat every time he looked at her.

“The car’s still out partying. You can pick it up tomorrow.” She drew the key out, wiggled it into the lock, and opened the door. Feeling around on the wall for a light switch, she dragged him in behind her.

She found the light as he slid his hapless hands around her waist and laid his head on her shoulder. He leaned forward and pinned her to the wall.

Zoe started to protest, but his hot breath caressing her neck cut her short. “I couldn’t find my soul. But you caught it and brought it back to me. Thank you, Zoe.”

What?

She froze. Swallowed hard. How had she brought his
soul
back to him? And why did he think he’d lost it in the first place?

Oh, God. She wanted to throw her arms around his shoulders and squeeze the hell out of him, but she was so shocked, her limbs wouldn’t obey.

She corralled her racing thoughts. He was drunk. He probably had no idea what he was saying. But man, after missing him all week and the…attack today…those words shook her inside and out.

In the weak light of the lonely lamp, he held onto her, for a solid minute, his head buried in her neck as if he needed her. Just like the night in the hotel room when he pressed his forehead to hers and damn near liquefied her heart.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. The pleasing combination of cedar and a hint of beer mixed inside her nose. All her anger, fear, and stress from the day drifted away. Despite the dubious circumstances, she allowed herself a rare bit of decadence and enjoyed the moment. His warmth, his raw honesty, became her sole focus.

God, it felt so good standing there, wrapped under the protective weight of his thick, tattooed arms. He was safe—drunk or sober, in dreams or reality. The silent strength inside him could withstand a tornado.

It was time to trust him.

Gathering up the ashes of sense she’d burned somewhere between the car and the house, she pulled herself back to reality. She removed his hands and resumed her former position, tucked under his massive size, arms holding him. She pushed forward again. “Bedroom back here?”

“I’m not sure,” he mumbled, picking his head up. His feet shuffled.

She chose door number two and lucked out. After maneuvering Gavin to the bed, she steadied him and let go long enough to jerk back the black covers. He’d made his bed before going out today. How domestic of him. That, or he hadn’t slept in it last night.

He tipped over like a felled tree and took her along for the ride. She landed on top of him with an
umpf!
She tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but he held on tight.

“It was because of you. Not to make you feel bad or anything, but it was your fault, really.”

Their faces and bodies so close, she couldn’t fight him. Didn’t want to. Her cheeks flushed. “I’m the reason you got so plastered?”

“I really like you, Zoe.” His hand wobbled its way to her cheek and steadied when it landed.

For the love of Pete. She nuzzled his palm.

“But if we don’t do something about these Fyre Elementals soon, bad things will happen to good people. I’m worried. Not even the whales are safe,” he said.

She bristled.

He became more animated as he continued. “You may not want to believe in Elementals, but they’re fucking real. All that shit I told you in the Dreaming…and the stuff we did, that was real. You felt it, didn’t you? The two of us together, building the raft? The sex? God, do you remember the forest?”

She’d never forget it. Unable to coax any coherent words from her tight throat, she brought a hand to her mouth. “I—”

His eyes overcame the drunken haze with fleeting intensity. Her heartbeat quivered off-kilter. “Tell me you felt me inside you, Zoe. Tell me the truth.”

Both hands on her cheeks, he brought her face into kissing range and arched his hips against hers. He was as hard as Chinese algebra.

“Yes.” The acceptance of a thousand impossibilities overwhelmed her. Zoe couldn’t deny anything anymore—talking whales, Elementals, Sentinels. They were all real. And so were the dreams. “I felt you.”

“Glad we got that out of the way.” He let her go. His arms flopped to the bed, and she got up. The outline of an erection stood in sharp relief under the cargoes.

Whoa, daddy. Her mouth went dry.

He patted the mattress. “You wanna sleep with me, Dr. Morgan? I got a spot right here with your name on it.”

Swallowing hard, she straightened her shirt, and put hands on her hips to cover their shaking. “You’re not worried about alcohol-induced performance issues?”

He sat up suddenly and grabbed her wrists. “I’ll give you the ride of your life if you’ll let me.”

No doubt. She took a step away as he lay back down. “You need all your faculties intact to handle a woman like me,” she joked, a nervous catch cracking her voice. “How about you call me when you’re sober?”

She sat on the bed next to his feet and unlaced one of his boots. The Energizer Bunny erection continued to disprove her theory on his ability to keep it up.

He smiled and closed his glassy eyes. “Is that a promise?”

She tugged the boot off. “That’s a ‘judgment deferred, pending further investigation.’”

“Such a tease. I love it when you use big words.” She watched his chest rise and fall as she removed the other boot. What would real sex with him would be like? The dreams had been so vivid.

Longing spread through her belly.

Enough of this.

She hefted and pushed two tons of legs to the middle of the mattress and shifted her attention from carnal fantasies to the intricate designs on his arms.

Leaning across him, she traced the tattoos etched into his skin. Her fingers tingled as they brushed each Element. The heat of the Fire, the cool Water, the light Air, and the heavy Earth—she felt all of them.

“That feels so fucking good.”

She yanked her hand away.

“Please don’t stop,” he whispered, his eyes still closed.

“I have to go home.”

“Stay with me tonight…” His voice trailed off as sleep caught up to him.

Beyond tempting, but staying would be a monumentally bad decision. Plus Adriene was probably waiting up for her like the good little mother hen she was.

She stood and headed for the door. As she passed the dresser, a newspaper clipping at the bottom of the mirror caught her attention. She removed the scrap, stepped into the hallway, and switched on the light for a closer look.

An obituary. Someone named Serena Mitchell who had died two years ago. Nothing about it stood out, and there was no cause of death, just a listing of survivors and funeral details.

Who was this woman?

Zoe put the obituary back where she found it. In one of her dreams, Gavin had mentioned losing a Sentinel partner. Same person? Zoe wasn’t sure she wanted to know. There were probably lots things about his past that were best left alone.

Then again, she knew very little about him beyond what he’d shared in the dreams. Curiosity aroused, she tiptoed through the house in search of clues to his identity. She had no intention of invading his privacy, but sneaking a quick peek around seemed innocent enough.

The living room was nothing special. Plain white walls, utilitarian beige couch, rectangular coffee table with a few neatly stacked guitar magazines, a stocky chair with matching ottoman. An acoustic guitar leaned against a corner. In the anemic light from the lamp she’d triggered when they came in, the lines from a recent Hoover job were still visible in the brown carpet.

Zoe stepped into the spartan kitchen. White painted wooden cabinets, tile floor, black appliances. No cooking gear on the counter, save a microwave. She opened the refrigerator. The only items inside were a case of beer and a Styrofoam takeaway tray half-full of Chinese leftovers.