Games of Zeus 02- Silent Echoes (8 page)

One million dollars? Riley doesn’t have that kind of money.

The questions continued as Tripp and Ian pushed Taylor through the crowd toward a simple, black sedan. A series of large vans dotted the road behind it—their antennae spearing into the sky. Construction jackhammers broke into her thoughts and over the reporters crowding around them again. Their group moved slower than her pet turtle from fifth grade as they waded through the surge of people around them.

Ian pressed against Taylor’s shoulder, pushing her toward the car, a cocoon of bodies around her.

What seemed like hours took only minutes, the crowd thinning as the foursome stuffed themselves in the car, shut the doors, and Tripp pulled away from the curb, jostling Taylor into Ian’s shoulder for the second time.

He spun to her, his lips a mere centimeter away. Their gazes locked.

Heat spread to her cheeks, not in the form of embarrassment, but in a desperate need to touch him. She forced her hands into her lap, twisted away and reminded herself that the brush of a shoulder did not translate to an invitation for a sexual experience despite the tingling that shot straight to her core.

God, Taylor, you’re desperate for a man you barely know and who obviously wants nothing to do with you and don’t even have clean underwear on.

With a deliberate nudge, she pulled herself away and leaned into the cool, leather door on the other side of the car.

• • •

Ian had touched Taylor only one other time—at Tripp and Lexi’s wedding when Taylor had reached out during their conversation and brushed her hand along Ian’s arm. Since then, he’d wanted her like no one else in the world. Yet, something had held him back.

The brief brush of her shoulder again brought all the feelings back—the desire, need to keep her safe, the need for no one else. All of it.

Ian pinched the bridge of his nose, letting his fingers move up to his forehead and press against his skin. His thoughts roamed to the how, the why, the what-the-fuck of the entire situation, and why on earth he had an instantaneous desire to kiss her nearly made him to do just that.

She’s a damn convict, not a conquest.

Ian turned away, staring at the passing scenery. All the while, his crotch twitched, his hands itched to touch her, and his brain went on high fantasy alert as he imagined taking her lips with his and how soft her tongue would be.

The more the ideas played out, the greater his need grew.

“Pull over, Tripp,” Ian said.

“Huh?” Tripp met Ian’s gaze through the rearview mirror.

“Just pull over. Now.”

Tripp did, into the parking lot of a walk-up burger joint. “What’s wron—”

Ian jumped out to the scents of grilled beef and greasy fries, in the midst of dozens of mingling college students. Shouts rang out from the kids as someone threw a football across the small, asphalt area. Ian strode along the sidewalk, cars outpacing him on his way forward and back.

“What the fuck,” he repeatedly said.

When no ‘aha!’ moments hit him, he turned toward the car.

Taylor perched against the back, hair blowing in the wind, wrinkled clothes on a tight frame. A small grin built, the softness of it spreading beauty to her face.

Ian wanted to run a hand along her cheek, to touch, feel and savor the electricity that had coursed through. More than that even, he burned with a desire to lay his hands along the nape of her neck, rub the pad of his finger against the scar at the base of her skull and pull her in for a kiss.

Why would I think she has a scar there?

He blew out the urge to run and sauntered his way toward Taylor until he reached her toes. “No time like the present.” He only had to tilt a few degrees to stare right down into her eyes. Despite the grit and torment sleeping in a jail must have caused, her face reflected a beauty that had been burned into his retinas long ago. Taylor’s scent—a combination of earthiness, flowers and pure female—drugged him into a stupor worse than his binge at Rocky’s.

He followed the motion of her lashes as she closed her lids, finding the small freckle he expected to show up at the edge, and again as she opened them. The simple act, involuntary, but so—her. A dip to her lips gave him a clear picture of what he wanted to savor—had desired for months—yet feared for reasons unknown.

One hand slid to her waist. He pulled her body against his.

Now or never.

Her palms met his chest but didn’t push away.

Their breaths stopped.

Lips touched.

The world ceased to exist.

Ian tilted. Taylor shifted.

His tongue darted, teasing and coaxing her to open.

She did.

A symphony of emotion intertwined around the two of them as if their life together started and stopped yet continued across the boundaries of time. He pushed the kiss deeper, reveling in a moment of ecstasy.

Clapping and whistling broke their private reverie. Ian righted himself only to find gawkers in the group of college students. Some snapped photos, others smiled and clapped as if they’d just witnessed two lovers reunited sixty years after their separation.

A hero and his soul mate.

The prince and rescued princess.

“Ian?” Taylor asked.

Tangled emotions forced themselves to the surface. “Yeah?” he asked.

She didn’t tear her gaze away as he expected, but held tight, thoughts seeming to formulate in her eyes.

By no means a patient man, Ian broke their temporary muteness. “When you touched my arm at Tripp’s wedding, did you … feel something?”

He had to know. The question had weighed on him since that moment.

Taylor’s big blue eyes blinked once, though her expression remained calm and serene—except for the bags etching deep lines beneath them. After what seemed an interminable amount of time, she said, “Yes.”

A simple statement—one tiny answer—grounded him. “What was it?”

“I don’t know.” Her hair bounced with an indiscernible head movement.

“A hot or cold sensation?”

“Wha—”

“Shock?”

A head shake. “Why—”

“Pinch?”

A chuckle came with her, “No. Why are you asking this?”

Ian blew out a breath. “Familiarity? Did it feel like a touch you’d always known? Something deep inside you’d recognize if you were married to someone for fifty years? Like knowing where someone’s freckles are or what the skin feels like where there is an old scratch.”

“Mayb—”

Ian shook his head. “Why do I feel this connection? It’s getting stronger, too, the more I’m around you. Why, if you don’t—”

“When the five o’clock shadow hits your face, and I run the back of my hand over it, there’s a little notch in the lower right part of your jaw that dips more when you’re a little scruffy.” Taylor lifted her chin as if to challenge him to disagree.

His eyes widened. “Son of a bitch, you do feel it.” He squeezed where his hands wrapped around her arms, wishing he could pound a punching bag, but at the same time wanting to bring her even closer. “I’ve spent the last six bass-ackward months trying to figure out why the hell I lost my—”
my entire interest in going after every pretty girl
. “Night and day, I’m hounded by nothing but social impotence. And, I can’t believe I just used that word.”

“It’s unreal, Ian.”

“That’s putting it lightly.”
And I’m going to find out why.

8

Tripp and Lexi’s old farmhouse wrapped Taylor in figurative comfort as she walked in. Four straight weeks of renovation—four months before—and the place gleamed as if it were a new build. Pride swelled in her heart at what she’d helped recreate.

Lexi grabbed towels from a closet, laid them on a bed and added a set of clean clothes. “We got word it’ll probably be a week before they release your house.” Lexi’s calm tone didn’t let Taylor’s irritation or anger bubble. “I have other stuff you can wear if these don’t work, and you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. Or at Emma’s. We share and share alike. Or wherever.”

“Thanks.” Taylor clung to the footboard rail. “Thanks for everything, Lexi. I’m not sure what I’d have done without you guys. I promise not to overstay, though. I’ll get with Riley—”

“Not without Tripp’s permission, right?” Lexi gave Taylor a light squeeze. “He told me about the whole conflict of interest thing.” With another pat to Taylor’s arm, Lexi said, “Make yourself at home,” and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

“Okay, mom.” Even as she said it in a whisper, Taylor’s lips curved. Emma had once said, during the renovation, that if anyone were on the straight and narrow path, it would be Lexi. Taylor could see that, but the package came with an innate kindness, too, and for that, she’d be grateful—for the friendship, and especially for not having to call her parents.

Taylor stripped off her three-day-old clothes and pulled on the soft underwear, T-shirt and sweat pants Lexi provided. A waft of Ian’s scent passed over her. She closed her eyes, drawing it in, not wanting to let it go. It reminded her of being outside, on a farm, where horses and cattle roamed free, and she’d stand at a fence and watch as farmers plowed their fields, their oxen and horses dragging equipment up and down rows of green and dirt.

At a knock, she broke from her mental musings and slipped toward the mirror. “Who is it?” She retied her ponytail.

“It’s Ian. I need to talk to you for a minute.”

Taylor froze for a second. She steeled herself, and with a deep breath said, “Come in.”

• • •

Never had a woman brought up so much tangled emotion in Ian, and he’d dealt with all kinds in his thirty-five years. Hand on the door knob, he gripped and turned. He had to know more. Couldn’t wait for her to primp or nap or do whatever she wanted while he paced like an angry dog waiting for his next meal.

Once opened, all anger vanished.

Taylor stood by the closet, backlit by the large window, the sun highlighting her in a way that made him want to grab her and hold her tight and prevent all evil from touching her.

She motioned for him to join her. “You can come in-in if you want.”

He stepped inside and closed the door with a thunk of old latch hardware.

Taylor lifted a hand, finger extended. “I’ll need to update that before—” She stopped. “No, no. Never mind.”

“The old stuff gives this place character,” Ian finished.

“It does. Yes. That’s what I was going to say.” She ran her hand along the closet’s woodwork. “Do you believe in fate, Ian?”

“Yes and no. Why?”

Taylor gave him a small shrug. “Just seemed like the right question to ask.”

“I think fate exists, but it’s what we do with it that leads us to our ultimate destiny.” Ian repeated the line his grandmother had used throughout his childhood. “That kiss we shared …”

“Comfortable,” she said.

“Familiar,” Ian said, realizing she understood where he’d planned to go with his question.

Taylor nodded. “Real.”

Ian quirked a finger in her direction.

She approached until she stood right in front of him. “You asked me if I felt something. And I did … Have. Do.”

His gaze stayed fixed on hers. Her head tilted as she touched the tips of his shoes with hers. Fingers tracing up his shirt ignited miniature flames along his pectorals.

His thoughts froze as her lips slipped to his. “Don’t start this train if you intend to stop it.” Ian’s hands found the small of her back. “Because the momentum will keep it going.”

Hers draped around his shoulders.

Together they drew each other closer.

“I’m a man of my word, but—you play with power tools.”

Taylor’s laugh burst out, illuminating her face with happiness. “What’s so special about that?”

“It’s hot. That makes you hot. That makes me hot. And an on-off switch, I don’t have.”

Her lips caressed his as their hands played across each other, their clothes the only separation. She led; he followed. He pushed; she accepted. Back and forth they moved, a dance as old as time itself.

Taylor tugged him toward the bed.

Ian hesitated.

“What?” Her fingers ran up his chest again.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

Taylor gripped the front of his shirt and tugged. “Yes, it is.” She crushed her lips against his.

• • •

His touch made Taylor melt into him. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sensations of his lips against her—lips she’d desired for ages without a true understanding of why—other than his own excuse.
He’s hot.

Taylor lifted her lids, blinking at the not quite Ian view in front of her.

“I love you,” he said.

She flinched, blinking again until Ian came into focus. “What?”

He drew back. “What, what?”

“I asked you first.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “You asked me first what?”

She dropped her arms from his shoulders and tilted her head. “Did you say something?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I said ‘what, what?’ And ‘you asked me first, what?’.”

She squigged up her nose. “That’s it?”

His eyes tracked around the room. “I’m pretty sure, seeing as until you said ‘what?’ I had my lips against you.”

“Sorry. Must have heard something else, then.”

With his arms still around Taylor, she slid hers back up his chest. “Can I … can I try again?”

“Like I said, no on-off switch, no matter what you think the male anatomy looks like.”

With her lips curved, she touched them to his again. The sweet aroma—one she’d identified as Ian before he’d walked in—greeted her senses. Eyes shut, they pushed their kiss, deepening it. The sounds of a rooster’s caw hit her, along with the brightening of the sun through the open window, the breeze picking up and sending humid air through.

Only as Ian broke their contact did Taylor open her eyes again.

• • •

“Hang on,” Ian said, pulling back, every muscle in his body telling him to stop yet not to all the same. “This isn’t right. You just got out of jail. You’re vulnerable. I’m taking ad—”

“Damn you to high heaven if you say you’re taking advantage of me.” A nudge to his hips suggested Taylor meant what she said.