Savior (An Impossible Novel)

Savior
An
Impossible
Novel

By Julia Sykes

© 2013

For everyone who told me they loved Clayton and wanted him to find his own happiness.  He is eternally grateful that you saved him from me going all George R. R. Martin on his (exceptionally yummy) ass.

Impossible
Series Reading Order

While the books in the
Impossible
series can be read as standalone romances, the following is the chronological order of the stories:

Impossible: The Original Trilogy (Monster, Traitor, and Avenger)
Savior
(An
Impossible
Novel)
Knight
(An
Impossible
Novel)
Mentor
(An
Impossible
Novella)

Chapter 1
Rose

It was a simple fact of my life that I didn’t have the time or the emotional energy for a relationship.  But I cou
ld make some time for the blond hottie sitting alone at the bar.  I mentally checked my calendar.  Yep, I definitely had one night to give this prime piece of man candy.  In fact, he was just the fix I needed.  A few shots of tequila and several long hours of this man inside me would provide the escape I craved.

My eyes roved over him for the hundredth time, and I wondered if he was kinky.  A slightly predatory smile spread across my face.  If he wasn’
t now, he would be by morning.

Flipping my long, platinum blonde hair over my shoulder, I
rested one elbow on the bar, angling my body so that I was facing my future conquest.  I easily fell into my signature seductive posture and flagged down the bartender.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”
  I pitched my voice just loud enough to catch my target’s attention.  He glanced over at me.

Score!

With a few more points, I would win my prize.  This was my favorite game.  It provided the most wonderful distraction.  The sex was usually pretty good too.  It was what came after the sex that wasn’t so pleasant.

Keep your head in the game, Rose.

I would deal with the emotional consequences later.  If I just played the game often enough, I might never have to deal with them.

Shockingly blue eyes met mine, and my concerns evaporated.  Sex with this man would be worth whatever consequences I had to face
in the morning.

His well-fitted black suit – and the obviously strong body it concealed – radiated a sense of authority.  His strong, clean-shaven jaw and carefully styled dark blond hair told me he was a meticulous person, carefully controlled.  He had all of the hallmarks of a man who liked power.  And I definitely liked a man who wanted to be in control.

Now that I had his attention, I immediately pressed my advantage.  I reached out to touch his glass, making sure to brush my fingers along the back of his as I did so.

“What’s your drink?” 
I didn’t have to try to make my voice sound low and throaty.  The rush of lust that shot through me in response to the interest that flared in his remarkable eyes did the job for me.

“
Glenfiddich, neat,” he responded easily, as though that word made perfect sense.

What the
hell?  Was that even English?

“What’s that?”

“Scotch whisky,” he explained.

The man didn’t seem to be
much of a talker; he appeared to favor two-word sentences.  Not that I was here for conversation, but I needed to keep him engaged for a few more minutes, at the very least.

“Never mind then, Mr.
Fancypants,” I said teasingly before turning to the bartender.  “We’ll have two shots of tequila, please.”  I shot my target an assessing look, my eyes lingering pointedly on his suit before flicking back up to his eyes.  “Is Cuervo good enough for you, Fancypants?”

He just nodded, and I smiled at him encouragingly.  His answering grin was like looking into the sun.  It illuminated his alluring features into something bright and breathtaking.

But it was the intrigued spark in his electric blue eyes that captivated me most.  A fire stirred in their cerulean depths that spoke of desire, a sexual hunger.  It reflected my own voracious needs.  They had driven me here tonight, and they had most definitely been further stoked by this man.

He wasn’t the type of guy
I usually found in Big Jim’s Tavern, my go-to neighborhood dive bar.  I had come here looking for a tattooed, brawling bad boy.  Someone who took what he wanted and then got the hell out of dodge after he got it.  The last thing I wanted was a guy who would hang around in the morning.

I couldn’t get a read on this stranger in that regard.  The
Fancypants types tended to at least pretend to be gentlemen.  They would ask for your number and claim that they would call you.  Sometimes, they even asked you on a date.  Of course, the number of times they followed up on the offer were few.  But occasionally…  Occasionally I had made the mistake of taking home a Stage 5 Clinger.  Getting rid of one of them was messy.  And it often involved some cruel words before it was over.

I
definitely
didn’t want that.  I already knew I was a cheap slut.  My mom had told me often enough that I didn’t need any reminding.

Better to fuck my way into sweet oblivion than find happiness in the sting of a needle,
I reassured myself.  Sure, sometimes I did a little coke or E to loosen up at a party, but I was horrified at the idea of doing anything harder.  I had seen what had happened to Greg.  No way did I want to end up like my kid brother.

The bartender clunked the shots down on the hardwood, and I shook off the dark thoughts.  I was here to forget about my problems, not dwell on them.  I flashed a smile at the
hottie who would be my drug for the evening.

“So, Mr.
Fancypants,” I said with a mocking smile, intentionally trying to get a rise out of him.  “Do you have a first name?”

I was hoping to see a fl
ash of anger, some indication that I had provoked him.  But he just smiled broadly and laughed.  The sound was melting chocolate, dripping warmth onto my bare skin before being licked away by a hot, demanding tongue.

“Clayton,” he responded easily.  “And you seem to be misinformed.  My surname isn’t Fa
ncy-”

I quickly pressed two fingers to his lips, silencing him.  I didn’t want to know who he was.  I didn’t want him to know who I was.  Hell, I didn’t even plan on giving him my real first name.  It was better that way, really. 
For both of us.

“‘Clayton’ will do for now.  I’m Mary.”  The false name rolled easily off the tip of my tongue.

Clayton smiled.  “It’s nice to meet you, Mary.”  As he spoke, his soft lips moved against my fingertips.  I wondered what those lips would feel like caressing other areas of my flesh, a thought that elicited a sudden flash of dissatisfaction at the sound of my fake name on his tongue.

Rose,
I wanted to say. 
Call me Rose.

But it was too late to correct him.  I would seem like a crazy person if I admitted that I had lied about my name.  So I just returned his smile and reluctantly drew my fingers away from his mouth.  Clayton started to lift the shot of tequila to those full lips, and I found myself licking my own unconsciously.  His looked delicious, and I couldn’t wait to feel them against mine.

I lightly put my hand on his wrist, stopping him short.  I had to suppress the urge to shiver that the contact awoke within me.  The intensity of it was almost unsettling.  And “almost unsettling” was just what I needed; I wanted to be pushed to the edge, to that elusive place where passion was so intense that I would only barely be able to piece my shattered self back together in the aftermath.  In my personal experience, that perfection had yet to be fully realized, but it was a hell of a lot of fun trying.

Keeping myself focused on the game, I gave him a playful but slightly censorious smile.

“You don’t drink tequila often, do you?”  I asked.  “Here, let me show you how to do it properly.”

I released him, raising my hand to my own mouth before I slowly licked the sensitive flesh between my thumb and forefinger.  My eyes locked with his I did so, and I was pleased to see him shift slightly on the barstool, clearly affected by me.  It seemed I would be initiating the seducti
on here.  I could only hope he would turn the tables on me soon.  It would be a shame if he turned out to be completely vanilla.  He was hot enough that I might be able to make an exception for him, but I wasn’t really in to that.

I sprinkled some white granules of salt over the dampness on my hand.  Then I licked it off, enjoying seeing Clayton’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.  I bit into the slice of lime, pursing my lips at the sour juice that filled my mouth.  I took my shot quickly to wash it down, the flavors mingling and becoming something rich and delicious as it slid down my open throat.  It burned a little, and I grimaced for a moment before turning my smile back on Clayton.  He raised an eyebrow at me.

“Impressive,” he said simply.

“I know,” I said with a confident shrug. 
“Your turn.”

To my surprise, he reached out and grasped my hand firmly, drawing it towards him and raising it to his lips.

My breathing hitched.  “What are you doing?”  I asked, confused.

“Doing it properly.”
  He shot me a wicked grin that made my stomach do a little flip just before his tongue snaked out to stroke against my skin.  Heat instantly flared between my legs, and to my surprise, I blushed.  I never blushed.

His smile was roguish and knowing.  Oh, he was definitely turning the tables.  I thrilled at the thought.

His thumb traced lightly over the back of my hand as he sprinkled the salt over it.  This time I did shudder when he licked it off.  I blushed more deeply, embarrassed by my conspicuous reaction.  I had wanted him to take control, but this was moving far too quickly.  I didn’t like losing the upper hand outside the bedroom.

He didn’t release my hand as he bit into the lime and took the shot back like a pro.  Oh, he was a quick learner.  The realization was both thrilling and discomfiting.

“Another?”  He asked, that wicked smile still in place as he maintained his grip on me.

“Sure,” I agreed breathlessly.  I definitely wanted more of this.

We repeated the process again, and I could feel wetness pooling between my legs as I became more aroused by his touch.  I needed to get a little of my own back, regain some modicum of control over our interactions.  No one had ever elicited such sudden, visceral reactions from me, not even during my kinkiest encounters.  Images of Clayton dominating my body, holding me down as he fucked me roughly, ran across my mind.

We would get to that in a little while. 
But not yet.

“So,” I said lightly, trying to cut into the intense sexual tension between us.  “What were you sulking about before I came over here?”

He looked affronted, but the playful gleam in his eye let me know that he wasn’t really offended.

“I wasn’t
sulking,
” he insisted.

“Okay, you were brooding then,” I shrugged. 
“Women trouble?”  I sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case.  He hadn’t been acting like he was attached, but it wouldn’t be the first time some cheating asshole had made his way into my bed without me realizing it.

He surprised me by chuckling.  Apparently it was impossible to get under his skin.

“I appreciate the more manly term, but not your perceptiveness,” he said.  “I came here to brood in peace.  Work is a bitch right now.”  He grinned, eyeing me in a way that made me flush pleasurably.  “But things are suddenly looking up.”  He cocked his head at me.  “And what are you doing here, taking shots with a stranger?  Man trouble?”

His tone was casual, but the spark of true curiosity in his eyes let me know that he hoped I was unattached too.

“In a way,” I admitted.  “Brother problems.”  My tone was casual as well, but I could feel that my smile was a bit tight.  Why had I admitted that?  I didn’t want anyone to know about my brother.  He was my dark secret, the thing I was trying to escape from.  When I had come home from work earlier, he had been high again, completely strung out.  Over the past several months, I had tried to get him clean, but seeing him go through the agony of withdrawal pained me almost as much as seeing him fucked up out of his mind.  It was a vicious cycle I couldn’t stop, so I did the only thing I could for him: I took care of him.  As much as I was able to.  But seeing him like that…  Nothing made me feel shittier.  It was hard to leave him alone, but tonight I hadn’t been able to take it anymore.  I had hidden his stash so he wouldn’t overdose in my absence, and then I had gotten the hell out.