Lie with Me (22 page)

Breathing was good. “Riley, stay with me. I’m going to take you to a hospital.”

She reached over and squeezed his arm hard. Reassuring. “No. Take me someplace safe.”

He could do that, and if necessary, would call a doctor who would ask no questions.

S
ky leaned in, and even though she was the one on top, Cam’s mouth devoured hers with a deep, hot kiss that flooded her body with immediate heat.

His hands remained on her hips, which she realized were rocking against him, rubbing his hard shaft against her jeans, but she wanted more. Needed the sensation of his hands on her again, making her realize that it wasn’t a dream, that she was alive. Really, truly, spectacularly alive.

She’d felt his pull from the second he’d stood in her doorway and it hadn’t lessened, even with what she knew now.

She shoved her jeans down impatiently. He was kissing his way down her neck and her hand sought the hard column brushing between her legs. She heard him mutter against her skin as she wrapped her hands around his arousal. The sound got louder as she stroked—his thighs shifted under hers and he suckled the soft flesh along her collarbone.

Hail began striking the windows again, the lights shuddered and dimmed, but none of that mattered at the moment.

“Not going anywhere now,” she told him.

He nodded in agreement, his mouth quirked to one corner as he watched her watching him, her eyes sweeping the shadows along his chest, noting her hand play with him—and his obvious pleasure.

He reached forward, lifting her shirt to expose her bra while she stroked him deftly. “Take your clothes off, Sky.”

His voice held the touch of command, enough to make her obey him almost instantly. Refusing to let go of him, she used her free hand to pull the shirt over her head, and he helped with her bra, reaching around the back and unhooking it with a swift, confident movement.

She fought the urge to hold her arms over her breasts, same as last night, but the way he looked at her again …

The way he needed her.

“Keep going,” he said, and put his hand on his own arousal when she took hers away to unbutton and shimmy out of her jeans and underwear. She watched him stroke himself slowly as she lowered herself back down to his thighs, and his gaze moved up and down her body as sensuously as a touch.

Her breasts felt heavy, ripe, despite their small size, the nipples already puckered taut, as if readying for his lips or to be suckled between his teeth.

Hesitantly, she dragged her own hand down her body and let it rest between her legs.

“Go ahead,” he urged, and she did, rubbed herself the way she had so many lonely nights, when she’d close her eyes and try to picture a man who could handle everything she had.

Now, with eyes wide open, she realized that she might actually be looking at one.

Both of them had their ghosts—neither was perfect, or unafraid—but maybe, just maybe …

“Don’t think,” Cam was saying, his voice husky. Gruff. His fisted cock was purple at the head, and he hissed then, as if he was trying his best to hold back.

His hand joined hers and she did the same as they simultaneously worked themselves and each other, until their breathing was rapid and she was sure her eyes were as glazed as Cam’s.

Embarrassment washed away as she rode the taut wire of wanting this to never end and needing relief.

But he stopped before she could come, took his hand away, and hers too, and he slid down farther, unmindful of the wounds on his shoulder and back.

She knew what he wanted.

Last night, he’d taken her with his mouth, his tongue, and she wanted that again. He urged her over him and she felt her face flush as he positioned her hips over his face and buried himself in her.

A blast of heat ricocheted through her—his tongue penetrated her in the most demanding fashion, dragging her over the edge to an orgasm that rushed through her body and left her weak and panting … and oh so satisfied.

The tension left her body instantly, replaced by sheer bliss.

She shifted, moved back along his body until his thick erection pressed between her wet sex. She leaned forward, elbows on the bed on either side of his head, spent, but so willing to accept and give more pleasure.

“Condom,” he murmured. She’d nearly forgotten, her head so fogged with the heady smell of dark, tangy spices that surrounded them. “In the pocket of my jeans.”

That made her smile. “Planning ahead?”

“Hoping.”

“Me too.” She took the package and opened it, rolled the condom onto his arousal while he watched. And then she lowered herself onto him, slowly.

He remained still, letting her have her way, allowing her to set the pace of how fast she let him inside. When she’d settled her weight onto him, she took a moment to simply breathe and let herself adjust to his girth.

With her sex clamped around him, and with his hands pushing and pulling her hips, she rode him, faster and faster, until another orgasm was imminent, until he groaned and called her name, a guttural, fierce sound that pounded through her like a fierce moving storm, drenching her with its dominant beauty.

T
he time had ticked by. It was dark outside and for a second, only that much, Sky allowed the horrors of that morning to rise up before she beat them back down with a fierce resolve and the notion that Cam would keep her safe.

But reality summoned. She had to go into the hospital, to Dr. Strohm, for her bimonthly test at the end of next week. Had to keep her fingers crossed and her hopes high.

Beds were for sleeping, for being sick and recovering in. For her, they’d never been connected to pleasure. Until now.

Maybe if her character, Violet, could fall in love, so could she. Maybe it wasn’t all bullshit and hormones.

Maybe all of this was real. Cam felt real under her, his breathing shallow, since he remained awake, his body warm against hers, like a living, breathing heating pad, and this was so much nicer than waking up without him this morning.

Her hands molded along his sides, her fingers reading him like Braille, trailing between the ridges of hard muscle and rib, careful to avoid the bandaged area.

There were other scars, lighter and older. She wanted to explore them all, to ask about them. To hear all his stories, no matter how scary.

She had plenty of her own stories to tell.

“Before last night … it had been longer than two years.” Longer than three, most likely, if she bothered to count, beyond the releases she’d given herself. They weren’t nearly as satisfying as this … and neither were the few sexual encounters she’d had.

There’d been too much to worry about with her health for casual sex, and conversely, her health had gotten in the way of having anything more than fleeting relationships.

Contrary to popular belief, hospitals were not a good place to meet a doctor, especially when you were a scared, sick woman, lying in a regulation hospital bed.

They’d treated her clinically, hadn’t worried about her emotions. Probably because she’d always acted strong. It was easier than having people fawn, though she’d long suspected that the nurses could see right through her.

“I guess you’re making up for lost time.” He tightened his arms around her, even as his shoulder began to throb again—from overuse, he was sure. A good kind, and nothing he regretted, but he had to get his mind back on his job.

“I thought … I thought maybe you didn’t want to do that with me again. God, that sounds stupid. I mean, I know we’ve been a little busy, but—”

He cut her off with a thumb to her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t be kissing you. Shouldn’t have done anything with you in the first place, Sky. It was unprofessional. I let my guard down, and I can’t let that happen. Not now.”

She nodded, looked confused, and yeah, join the club. “So … now what?”

“Let me keep you safe. And then we’ll figure out the rest, okay?”

“I might actually believe you mean that.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “I do, Sky. But there are other things …”

“There are always other things.” Her voice held a wistful quality, and it was just them and their secrets in the small room. And the secrets were all out.

In a way, they were two stray, scared tough kids who’d found each other. And Cam wondered if either of them would ever be the same again after all was said and done.

He was getting closer to her. It would only make things harder when he had to leave her.

When she left him.

She wanted him—he could tell by the way she touched him. And it killed him that she thought he didn’t want her.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. It was more that his gut told him that moving on, despite the storm outside, was the best course of action. “We really do have to go soon.”

She nodded, but neither made a move to leave the bed.

He pulled her close, because hell, he wanted more time with her like this. “Are you sorry you know about my prison time?”

“Not at all. I’m glad you told me. I understand, Cam.”

“Yeah, I guess in a weird way, you do.” He shifted so he wasn’t pressing on his shoulder. “It’s not exactly something I share. Ever.”

You could tell her now … tell her what her father did
.

“I don’t think less of you. It was out of your control. It wasn’t your fault,” she murmured as her finger traced a circle over his bare nipple. But he didn’t want to deal with that now, wishing he could bury himself in Sky again, as deep as he could, just to hear her cry out in passion.

He fought the urge to simply roll her over and take her. Claim her, the way she just had him.

Instead, he said, “I could’ve done more over the years to look for him.”

“It sounds like you did.”

“After a while, yeah.” After Gabriel’s promises fell through and Cam began to realize that if a top CIA agent couldn’t get answers, something was really wrong.

“Do you know who killed him?”

The million-dollar question. “Yes. I’ve suspected for a long time, but I’ve just gotten some new information that points to the killer. It’s unconfirmed, though.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’ve had anyone on your side.”

“A few people, but it’s been difficult.”

“You need people on your side who can help bring him to justice.” She paused. “Did you ever ask for my father’s help?”

Tell her
. “That wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Screw appropriate. He has connections, Cam. And if he’s the one who sprang you from jail, and he knew your father, why didn’t he help you? I don’t understand.”

“That wasn’t his priority. Or maybe he felt I was better off not knowing. It was a highly classified case.”

“So you’re going after the man who killed your dad yourself?” she asked as she held him tightly.

He drew a deep breath. “Damned straight I am.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea, Cam? This isn’t the Wild West … revenge isn’t a great motive for murder.”

He wanted to laugh at her assessment, wanted to tell her that she was absolutely fucking one hundred percent correct, and that he was going to do it anyway, and fuck the consequences.

But he’d already fucked all the consequences and look where he was now.

Before he could say anything further, she spoke again. “I’m sorry. But you know I understand. I lived through it. Don’t you think I don’t wish my dad had gone after whoever killed my mom? But maybe he did, maybe he has and can’t tell me … though I’d never want him to get in trouble for it. Call the authorities, Cam. Let them take care of it. And then let it go.”

Her eyes looked fierce, primal in the half-light coming in through the blinds, and for a second he imagined her protecting him, which was ridiculous. She was the one who needed protection.

D
ylan drove for what seemed like hours. Might’ve been, but Riley wasn’t sure. She had been going in and out of consciousness, waking only when he shook her and called her name.

Her throat was killing her—no doubt her trachea had been bruised. She was lucky to be alive, she knew that. She’d been stupid to think she could handle this on her own. Her luck had finally run out, and skill alone hadn’t been able to carry her through.

The safe house Dylan borrowed from a friend who was also in the private contracting business was on a quiet street, in the middle of suburban Florida—a raised ranch with an attached garage, and the relief hit her when the mechanical door closed behind them.

The adrenaline from the car chase was waning, and she’d been primed and ready for the come-down. It arrived sooner than expected, though, prompting the decision to have Dylan carry her from the car to the small house.

Still, she fought him as he tried to get her out of her seat, wanted to walk in the house on her own. Didn’t need him to help her, to survive … did not.

“I know you don’t need me to survive, Riley,” he murmured, and she realized she’d spoken her thoughts out loud.

“I do … you fucking bastard. I started to need you. And I wanted take care of myself—always could before.”

“You shouldn’t have to. No one should have to.”

Those words made her lose it. “I didn’t want to like you, to love you,” she spat, wiped tears from her cheeks with an angry fist. “I didn’t want to need a man. Not like my mother did. She collapsed without my father. Didn’t say,
We’ll make it, Riley. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of you
. Instead, she told me,
I’m nothing without a man, no woman is
. And then she proceeded to die a little every single day for three years until there was nothing left of her but skin and bones. She died because there was no man to take care of her—at least, that’s what she thought despite the official diagnosis of cancer. And I promised myself I would never be in that position.”