Shattered Bonds: Book Seven of Wicked Play (21 page)

She clutched her purse and took a slow, silent inhale. When the elevator lurched up, she kicked herself for forgetting to push the garage button.

It was impossible, but she swore the square box was shrinking, the air condensing around her to enclose her in an icy cocoon. The vibes coming from Noah were far from inviting, not that he’d ever bubbled over with warmth. However, he was deep in the glacial zone now.

Her fury simmered, not at him but at herself. She took a clipped step forward to press the button for the garage.

She shouldn’t have been shocked when Noah’s fingers closed around her wrist before she could reach the panel, but she still flinched. The heat of his touch scorched her skin and shot waves of longing through her.

His hold was firm without hurting and kept her from escaping. Kept her from fleeing what was already an embarrassing experience. Why couldn’t he just let her leave with grace?

She swung around to glare at him. The elevator stopped, and the doors swooshed open behind her. The distant sound of voices timed with a loud crack and a high cry mocked her silent question and reminded her of exactly where they were. The Dungeon was probably right down the hall behind her. Filled with people using the equipment she’d only seen empty.

Her curiosity roared back to life, urging her to look. What would she see?

“Is this want you wanted?” He shoved past, hand still tight on her wrist. “Let’s go then.”

She couldn’t move. If she turned around, even looked, would she lose him for good? A quick tug on her arm took her choice from her. She stumbled through the doorway, tripping over her heels before she caught her footing. Oh God. Her pulse sped at the pending crash ahead, signaled by another wail that echoed down the short hall to scratch over her eardrums. “Noah?”

“What?” He spun around, his expression edged with barely suppressed anger. “This is why you’re here, right, Liv? Even though I told you I couldn’t do this.”

Her mouth was dry with fear at what she’d done. “No.” She shook her head and tried to pry his hand from its hold on her. “I was impulsive. I know that. I was leaving. I’m sorry.” The words tumbled from her in a cascade of hope. Would he hear her? Believe her?

His stony glare said
no.

She stared back at him, long moments turning into a slow roll of acceptance. She’d pushed her way into something she didn’t understand and now she had to deal with the consequences of her actions. Good or bad, it had to be finished.

She held her breath to slow its manic pace and took a tentative step forward, then another. “All right,” she managed to say with a calm built on dread. Resignation settled over her, and she sought the weak protection it offered. “Let’s go then.”

He turned without a word, his stride sluggish. Each step clicked out a note of foreboding. Of endings and failings.

The sounds grew louder. Cracks, slaps, grunts and hard commands overrode the low murmur of voices to send her imagination flying. The urge to run returned so fast she almost complied. She’d wanted something with Noah to change, but not like this.

Her throat was parched and sore when they stepped into the open room of the Dungeon. The harsh mix of leather, sweat and sex hit her nose to steal the faint scent of Noah’s rich cologne she’d instinctively clung to.

Her gaze went everywhere at once, skirting over the equipment, most in use. The random nudity of the bound submissives was highlighted by the harsh black leather that most of the Doms wore.

A thin man in a tiny thong was bent over a low bench close to them, his displayed bottom bright red from the paddle his Master wielded. His erection poked out of the top of his small garment, just visible from her side view. A look of pure bliss was on his face, and his Dom, a broad-shouldered man in a harness, held a version of that same expression, only sterner.

“This is it.” Noah gestured toward the room, his tone empty. “Everything you were so determined to see.” His grip contracted on her wrist, his fingers chilled clamps on her heated skin.

She analyzed it all in the instant it took to understand that she would never understand. It was exactly what V had tried to explain. What drove each person to this was different. Period. She’d been trying to unravel a mystery that couldn’t be solved unless she chose to play.

Her gaze landed on a woman locked in the stockade. Weighted clamps swung from her distended nipples in time with the thrusts of the Dom as he screwed her in front of everyone. Again, their expressions were ones of calm ecstasy and driven pleasure.

Another glance over the room was all it took for her to know with sinking certainty that
this
was something she’d never want. Not the Dungeon or the public displays or the whips and paddles. A stab of pain nailed her chest that slid to her stomach in a twisting plunge of comprehension.

She slowly turned to focus on what she did want though. Noah. Where all kinds of emotions were portrayed on the faces and body language of the people in the Dungeon, there was only a blank, hard nothing from him.

This was Noah’s mysterious past. Something in this world had done this to him. By pushing,
she’d
done this to him.

A rush of tears clawed up her throat to burn her eyes with regret. She’d found the answers she’d been seeking. All of them. Even the ones she didn’t want to know. And in doing so, she’d hurt him deeper than she’d imagined.

She swallowed her own pain, blinked back her tears and locked down her heart in the hopes it would hold together until she got out of there. “That’s enough, Noah.” She stepped toward the hallway. “Let’s go.”

He followed her without a word, not that she’d expected any. He still held her wrist in that firm grasp when they stepped into the elevator. The doors closed a moment later, and neither of them moved. Neither did the elevator.

Whenever V blasted out her Ice Queen shell, Liv usually had three options. Walk away, melt it with kindness or ignore it altogether. She had no idea if any of those would work on Noah.

Gathering her courage, she turned to face him. “Rough day?” she finally asked, shooting for light and airy even though it was the exact opposite of how she felt.

His grip didn’t tighten, but the tension seemed to roll down his arm to tremble in his fingers before he slowly released his hold and lowered his hand. The imprint of his touch burned on her skin, and she missed it immediately.

“I asked you not to come here.” The flatness of his tone was worse than fiery anger or a harsh scolding. This was the impenetrable Noah who had faced the press, not the gentler man who held her close at night and worried about his friends.

“You did,” she agreed and clutched her purse to keep her hands from fluttering like her stomach. “I was just leaving when you arrived.”

“Why are you here?”

Why
was
she there? Really. Could she finally be honest with herself and him?

“To find you.” She dared to say then added, “
All
of you.” Her breathy response was met with cold silence. It was true, though. “This place and the acts performed here are a part of you I wanted to know and understand.”

On instinct, she brushed the edge of his jacket aside so she could lay her hand over his heart. The rapid beat that pelted her palm was an exact contradiction to what he showed and somehow, it calmed her.

Nothing fundamental changed in his expression. Not his eyes or the clamp of his lips, yet it still softened to
her
Noah. She melted right there, everything inside of her turning liquid and warm. He cared. More than he wanted to, maybe, but he did care. A lot.

“Liv.” It was a dry croak that held no heat. His hands were still at his sides, and she longed for them to be around her. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

“Yes and no.”

He raised a hand. “I...” He searched her eyes, indecision clear before he reached behind her and pressed a button. The elevator lurched down, and her heart fell with her stomach at the descent. “I can’t do this here.”

He stared over her head, nostrils flaring with his rapid intake of breath. His heart hammered against her hand, and she ached for him. For whatever was torturing him so badly.

The elevator stopped and the doors swooshed open again, this time to an echoing hollowness and the scent of oil and gasoline. He’d taken her to the garage. She’d wanted that, but it was now an empty achievement.

He moved around her to hold the door, and she let her hand slide from its coveted place over his heart.

She didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want it to be over, but she asked anyway. “Is this it then?”

“Liv.” He drew out her name on a tune of frustration and hurt that had her squeezing her eyes closed.

“I’m sorry I came,” she whispered. “I should’ve respected your wishes. This is your place, not mine, and I’m sorry I didn’t understand what that meant.” It was painfully obvious she had no clue at all. Her talks with Carter and V and all the internet research she’d done hadn’t given her the knowledge she craved or the lesson this one stupid move had leveled on her.

“Liv,” he said again, his tone even. His touch on her arm shimmered deep to chase away the chill that had surrounded her. “Come here.”

In one quick turn and lunge, she was in his arms, face buried in his collar. He was still the solid strength she’d come to rely on, and she clung to that with all she had.

He maneuvered them the few steps it took to exit the elevator so the doors could close then laced his fingers through her hair and tilted her head up. The hardness was gone now, replaced by a wondering tenderness that she claimed as hers.

“I don’t want us to be done,” he said, and a huge sigh of relief left her. “Go home. I need to check on some things here. We’ll talk when I get there.”

She managed to nod, and his kiss was soft at first, light with apologies before it deepened to chase away her doubts and the fears that had grown. She gave him everything and tried to show him how sorry she was each time his tongue swooped in to play with hers.

They were both panting when he pulled back to rest his temple against hers. The tangled hold he had on her hair slowly loosened, and her fingers ached from gripping his coat so tightly.

“There are things you need to know,” he said against her ear, his breath curling warm down her neck. “Things in my past that hold me back.”

“Okay.” A simple response, but she was lost at what else to say.

He pressed one more kiss to her cheek then guided her to his SUV. She shivered from the cold autumn air this time and dug the keys from her purse. A glance in the rearview mirror as she drove out of the garage showed him standing in the middle of the lane, watching her leave, hands shoved deep in his pockets. She was halfway there before it dawned on her that she was heading to Noah’s house.

Go home
. At some point, Noah had become her home. Logic said it was moving too fast, yet she didn’t want it to stop, even if she had derailed it with her actions tonight. Whatever he had to tell her, she’d help him deal with it.

She’d give him what she had and hope it was what he needed.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The kitchen light was on when Noah got home this time, its glow breaking into the darkness to shine its note of welcome from inside. The SUV was parked in the drive, confirming Liv was there. Relief momentarily shoved his worry aside, only to have it replaced by guilt.

How in the hell could he be anything for Liv when he was nothing more than a shell for himself?

The house was silent when he entered, yet her heels had been tossed carelessly against the wall, landing next to the tennis shoes she normally wore. Her purse had ended up on the entry table, the bag of empty food containers on the kitchen counter. It was the little imprints that got to him. They eradicated the daily habits he’d been driven to keep in place, if only to hold himself together.

Somehow she’d managed to rearrange all of them with no effort at all. And in doing so, showed him what it was to live again. To share his life with someone who wanted to be there with him.

The desk lamp was turned on in his study, the curtains drawn. She’d done that every night when she went to bed. The small gesture somehow made it easier to sit down at his desk and dig into more work.

There seemed to be no detail Liv didn’t think of when it came to making things easier for people. He saw it as her gift, or at least the one she chose to give to others. The small things that most didn’t think of and Liv always remembered made a big difference.

He set down the folders he’d brought home from the club. Fortunately those items could be handled tomorrow. He doubted he could focus on it even if he tried. Work couldn’t chase away the demons that lived within his memories. Not right now.

He skimmed his fingers over the manila folders, amazed at the generosity and outpouring of support from the BDSM community. Rock had consolidated hundreds of emails, most with offers of help and many from people who weren’t members of The Den.

It was another overwhelming example of the community that the critics didn’t get. What most didn’t even bother to try and comprehend.

Noah sank into the closest chair and leaned forward to run his fingers through his hair. Liv was trying to grasp it. She’d never judged any of them, but the underpinnings of what drove people to the BDSM lifestyle were still a mystery to her and she was asking him to show her, educate her.

How can I?

He lifted his head and rubbed at the pressure points at the bridge of his nose. It didn’t erase the ghosts that held him back. Tonight was valid proof that no matter how much he’d thought he was past Beth, he wasn’t.

Not really.

Not enough to do what Liv asked. He was terrified to go past the dominant actions he’d shown her in bed. Every time he pushed her, every time he let more of that side of him out, he was that much closer to being what he didn’t want to be.

A Dom.

Fuck. He couldn’t even talk about it with her. A conversation, one simple discussion on the topic was all she was asking for. She wasn’t begging to be his submissive or forcing him to act on anything. She was seeking clarification, and he couldn’t even give her that.

What a joke he was.

The scotch was a rich golden flow of oblivion that filled the glass with a chance to silence his condemnations. A bit of time when the ghosts didn’t haunt him and tomorrow didn’t badger him. He inhaled the smoky scent, anticipating. The heavy underpinnings of peat sat on his tongue until he let it stream down his throat, the burn a rush of false absolution.

It’d be so easy to get lost in it like he had for months after he’d found Beth dead. Months wasted in grief and self-loathing that had solved nothing.

He set the glass down and forced himself to leave the room. He stalled in the hall, halfway between the stairs that led up to Liv and the ones that led to the room he abhorred. In the end, the choice wasn’t hard.

He navigated his descent on the faint glow of light from the kitchen. The basement stairs creaked on the predictable spots. The fifth, eighth and fourteenth step—each one a morbid welcoming to his past.

The sick surge of remembrance clenched his stomach until he pushed it back, emptied his emotions so he could keep going.

The finished entertainment room sat dark and unused when he reached the bottom, the outdated widescreen black and silent before the dusty furniture. Silence surrounded him like the inky blackness that led down the short hall. Two doors split off the end, one to the laundry room, the other to the one that damned him.

Another familiar tune jingled in the air as he found the key, worn smooth from touch, that unlocked the door. He really should’ve removed it from his key ring long ago.

He flicked on the light switch to illuminate the room in the pale yellow glow from the single bulb. The light didn’t reach the depths of the corners, but he didn’t need it to see the nothing that was there.

He’d stripped the room of everything—tables and benches, bed and cabinets, chains, ropes and straps. Every hook and bolt had been yanked from the walls, ceiling and floor, the holes left as gaping wounds to the suffering of the room.

Each step he took was a deliberate clip of his shoes on the tile floor. The simple, backless barstool was the only piece of furniture that remained. Positioned just out of the brightest circle of the light, it beckoned him like the scotch.

He lowered himself to the stool with a sense of rightness. Back straight, chin raised, feet braced on the floor, he folded his fingers together and stared past the light to the shadowed darkness that trapped him.

The past that refused to let him go.

* * *

The truck careened through the intersection. It clipped Liv’s bumper, sending her old car, Bessie, into a spin that went on and on and on before it crashed into another car. The bending of metal boomed in her ears. Glass shattered to pebble her with knife pricks of pain.

There were shouts, ones she couldn’t decipher through the ringing in her ears. Her heart was going too fast, the beat a panic of the unknown. Smoke rolled from the bent hood, obstructing her view.

A moan rolled through the small space. Hers? No. Someone was with her.

She tipped her head to the right to stare into the bloodied, blank face of Noah. Eyes opened but unseeing, blood dribbling from the corner of his open mouth.

The scream tore up her throat but no sound came out. She tried to scramble back but there was no place to go. She had to escape. There was too much blood. She had to do something for him. She screamed for help, louder and louder, but the sound wasn’t coming out.

The garbled rumble of her inarticulate cry startled Liv from the nightmare. She shot up, pulse racing, scrambling to free herself. She scratched at her chest only to realize there was nothing there. Her panic slowed, but her heart continued to hammer.

Her palm absorbed the rapid pounding where she pressed it to her chest as she scanned the room. The bedside lamp was on, showing the known decor of Noah’s bedroom.

Another awful dream. She sucked in a breath and caught that lingering tinge of gas and blood.

Would she ever forget it?

She lifted her hair off her neck to cool the dampness that left her skin clammy and her T-shirt soaked in sweat. The edge of a book poked out from beneath the covers. She’d been reading as she’d waited for Noah to get home.

A glance at the clock showed it was two in the morning. Was he home? In his office, working or avoiding her? Either was possible after the stunt she’d pulled tonight.

The floor was refreshingly cold on her bare feet. She shivered as she scrambled through Noah’s drawer to find a new T-shirt.

The routine was almost a ritual now. New shirt, splash of water on her face, drink of water to clear her parched throat, all completed before she slipped out of the room to hunt for Noah.

She tucked her hair behind her ears, wrapped her arms around herself and crept down the stairs. She was surprised to find his office empty, yet the folders on his desk and the full glass of liquor on the built-in bar said he’d been there recently.

A check of the kitchen turned up empty. Nothing had changed since she’d dropped the bag of dirty containers on the counter, too tired to clean them. She was exiting the kitchen when the open basement door caught her eye. A light glowed dimly from its depths, something she knew she hadn’t left on.

She didn’t even hesitate to investigate. To her knowledge, Noah didn’t go in his basement very much. Completely finished, it was a nice if unused space. She’d probably made more trips into its depths to do laundry over the last weeks than he’d made in the past year.

Laundry service? Who used that?

The stairs creaked her approach like old houses seemed to. She found it comforting in a lived-in way. Something that was absent from so much of Noah’s place.

She stepped into the darkened entertainment area, her eyes skimming past it to focus on the light that came from the one room she’d never been in. The door had been locked when her curiosity had her checking, especially after the reveal of V’s basement secret. Directly across from the laundry room, it wasn’t like she’d been down there snooping. Not really.

Was this Noah’s playroom, like she suspected?

The carpet was soft under her feet, her footsteps mute as she approached. The silence was almost creepy and had her hugging herself harder. She tiptoed the last few steps to the open doorway and peeked in. At first she saw nothing but empty space shadowed in darkness that the single light didn’t penetrate. She hesitated then pushed the door open farther.

“Noah?” she called, suddenly questioning the wisdom of her solo journey into the dark basement. Say hello to every girl in the horror flicks who was too stupid to live.

The door hinges squeaked as it swung open and added to the sense of foreboding that sent a tremble through her limbs. Her inhalation was sharp and audible when she finally got a view of the rest of the room.

“Noah?” Gone was the fear, replaced by confusion and concern. “What are you doing?”

He sat at the edge of the light, perfectly straight on a simple barstool, staring into the darkened end of the room. He did nothing to acknowledge her. She squinted into the gloom but couldn’t make out what he was so focused on.

The cold tile met her soles as she stepped into the room. A cautious glance around showed absolutely nothing. As far as she could tell, the room was completely empty except for the stool and Noah.

She crept toward him on cautious feet, afraid to startle him. She was used to his remoteness, but he sat there like he was made of stone. Only an occasional blink proved he was alive.

“Noah,” she said again, a hand poised to rest on his arm. She didn’t know if she should touch him though. After another moment of silence, she gently laid her palm to his bicep. There wasn’t even a flinch at her touch. “What’s wrong?”

It was another silent moment before she moved in front of him. Apprehension knotted her stomach into a tight bundle that seemed to clamp around her chest. Still nothing. His gaze drilled into her neck, not that he was seeing it. She drew in a breath and dared to cup his jaw, slowly leveling it up. He didn’t resist like she’d feared he would.

When his eyes finally met hers, the dark coldness in them shot a bolt of fear through her heart. What had done this to him? Who?

This couldn’t be a result of her going to the club, could it?

“What is it?” Her question was again unanswered and she was at a loss for what else to say. So instead she touched.

She stroked her fingers down the line of his jaw, savoring the abrasive rub of his beard, over his chin, upward to finally brush the curl from his forehead. She kept it up, tracing the arch of his brows, the arc of each cheekbone, the curve of his lips, repeating the path until the focus finally came back into his eyes.

It was slow. A blink, followed by another, before recognition seemed to follow. His brows dipped, and she almost wept with relief. She didn’t though. Somehow she held it in and focused on him. Her hands trembled as the tight coil of fear that’d wound around her heart sprung free.

He was warm, proving he wasn’t carved out of stone, and she pressed a kiss to the wrinkle between his brows. It was so good to see, that slight mark that showed an emotion.

The air hissed with his inhale when her lips touched his skin. She held them there, his warmth seeping into her. She blinked back tears and pressed another kiss to one brow then the other, light confirmations that she was there for him.

She continued her affirmations, hoping they reached him, slow kisses wherever she could reach. His temple, back to that crease that still remained, down to his cheek, jaw and finally she hovered over his lips, their breath mingling in soft gusts.

At last, she slid her hand down to cover his heart, where it beat rapid and hard into her palm.

“I’m here,” she whispered.

His lips were soft when she pressed hers to them, warm even if not inviting, yet it didn’t deter her. She kept up her gentle touches, pecks of reassurance, reminders of her, them, the present, until his lips finally parted.

She had no idea how long she stood there, touching, kissing and trying every way she knew how to bring him back. He’d been so far away when she’d found him, it tore at her heart to imagine the level of pain that would cause that.

She teased her tongue along his lips, traced the contour, absorbed the texture and taste. Salt mixed with smoky sweet. His heart continued to beat solid and firm against her palm, each thump a cry for help she wanted to answer. It was trapped in there, his heart and the love he had to give. She got that now. Saw it so clearly it shattered the dreams that had formed of a them.

But this wasn’t about her.

She sealed up her own wounds and slid into the wet heat of his mouth. His lips parted farther, letting her in, accepting what she was giving. Her hand clenched around the material of his shirt; their tongues played and his response sent her heart soaring.

A groan rumbled deep in his chest, rough and low. It had her hands trembling even more. She couldn’t pinpoint her reaction or why she was shaking so badly. Fear, relief, worry, sorrow—they all churned within her.