Shelter Me: A Shelter Novel (4 page)

His eyes raked over me. It took everything not to look down and check that I was actually wearing clothes. He was the Big Bad Wolf and I didn't know my way through the woods.

It'd been too long for me—that was all, I reasoned, knowing full well I was lying to myself. Brayden had shown me a few of the college bars around the Catskills area, but none of those guys did much for me. They were fun, easy to walk away from.

Then again, I wasn't looking for anyone hard to walk away from. Lucas was outwardly calm but predatory. I was being hunted—I had no doubt about that. His walk was more like stalking in nature. He could take on anyone—anything—and there wasn’t a man or woman in the gallery tonight who didn't sense it.

"What are you doing back here?" I asked in an attempt to hide all my feelings.

"Want me to leave?" he asked, even as his long legs ate the distance between us. Even if there'd been an unlimited supply of oxygen in the room, I still wouldn't have been able to breathe. And when I didn't—couldn't—answer, he continued, "Are you having fun yet?"

"No."

"I can change that," Lucas said roughly before his weight shifted onto me, pressing me against the wall. His sleeve had been pushed up, exposing a heavy, expensive-looking watch and a sleeve of tattoos that began below his wrist. I touched the ink, expecting to feel something akin to an electric shock.

I wasn't disappointed, not by that or by Lucas's next words.

"Jesus Christ. I'm in so much trouble." He muttered it angrily, almost more to himself than to me.

"I didn't ask you to come here."

"Want me to leave, Ryn?" His thumb brushed my nipple through the thin fabric of my dress, and I moaned softly. To have his hands on me, the way they'd roamed my body in my dreams last night. This was so much better than I'd imagined.

Not having a memory gave me excuses to be a bit of a wild thing. To indulge in all my impulses. To go out and sleep around (when my art let me out of its vise-like grip).
I don't know who I am…I'm allowed to lose control…they're lucky I'm as normal as I am.

Of course, I'm not sure who the ever-present 'they' was. Society? Susan? Whoever threw me away?

Brayden understood my impulsiveness. His matched mine in its ferocity, but he didn't have a vicious master to rein him in. He had to do it all by himself and I was in awe of his self-control. I seemed to lack any, and conversely, I didn't want any.

All of that lack of control flooded me now. I wanted to go back to my days of no responsibility, and so I did. But that couldn't compete with my raging hormones, the wet between my legs, the anger at Ann Maslow and the whole roomful of fucking critics who were trying to fuck with the thing that gave me the most pleasure in life. I was, in that moment, a petulant child, rebellious teen, presumptuous ego-laden artist, and first and foremost a woman who wanted a man.

Nothing in life was simpler than that. Maybe that's why it always felt so right…at least until things went so very wrong.

"Christ, turn your brain off," he muttered roughly.

"Distract me."

He cursed, then ran his thumbs over my nipples before rolling them between his fingers. I arched into his touch, wanting more immediately.

He gave it. He kissed me. Really kissed me. I exhaled a soft moan in his mouth and grabbed for his shoulders. He was so big and broad, his body hot, pressing mine. His mouth took mine hungrily. I made no move to stop him. I let myself feel helpless, pinned, out of control, because if this was going to be my own experience with Lucas, I was going to make sure I enjoyed every second of it.

Forget zero to sixty—this was over a hundred MPH downhill, an out of control roller coaster I didn't want to stop.

His palm slid up my dress, cupped my sex around my underwear. I swallowed hard as his fingers brushed the thin slip of fabric covering my wet sex…and then I whimpered.

"Christ, I want to take you out of here and get you into a bed. I want to take my time. But you can't leave and I can't wait. And I can always wait." He was definitely frustrated by that. A man like him, so used to control and I was making him lose it. "You're so goddamned bad for me."

"My first show ever and I'm in the back room with your hand up my dress, so ditto."

He kissed me again, the heel of his palm pressing me. I ground against it in the tight space, against the walls between what might one day be priceless paintings. I heard the sounds of the party beyond the door, which meant they could hear us.

Thankfully, my groans were muffled in his mouth, swallowed by him as he encouraged more. Like he couldn't get enough.

When his fingers slid inside to stroke my bare sex, I lost it. One touch of my clit and I shattered against him.

When I blinked and surfaced, he was still touching me. And I was greedy. I wanted more.

I heard the door open and I froze. Lucas remained relaxed. His body totally covered mine, but what was happening was unmistakable.

We were quiet and I don't think whoever it was saw us at first. The bathroom door closed and Lucas shook his head. If we moved now, it would definitely be obvious. And then she walked out. Stopped. Turned and stared. And then she laughed, an
I can't believe this shit
kind of laugh. And then she left.

"I have to get back out there."

He stroked my cheek. "Fine. But this? This isn't over."

My cheeks burned. I locked myself in the bathroom in a futile attempt to make it look like I hadn't just had an orgasm.

Even if I didn't look it, I didn't doubt that the woman who saw us told as many people as she could. She'd definitely told Bray, because he took me by the shoulder, handed me a glass of champagne and said, "Worst possible choice of man at the worst possible time."

"I can't believe she told you."

"She didn't, directly. But I saw her face when she came out of the back room. And I saw yours. And then I saw him."

"Sorry," I said in a voice that was distinctly un-sorry.

"Important night," he hissed. "You are not a gay man."

"Then I need to find other role models besides you," I snapped back.

"Mingle. Not with Lucas," he ordered.

And I tried, I really did…but then I started hearing…

"She's fucking Lucas Caine."

"She's fucking every major art critic."

"Panic attacks are a lie."

The words swirled around me as the invisible noose around my head and neck. I'd be paralyzed soon, unable to breathe.

I had pills in my pocket, small, easy to swallow, but I hated the way they made me feel.

I was ruining Brayden's night—and I cared about that more than I cared about myself. I figured he could smooth things over, and no doubt find a way to make all of this into a positive, so I went into the back room and slid outside the heavy door into the back alley. I planned to walk home in the light rain, but I was surprised by the auburn-haired woman who'd followed me outside.

I planned to keep walking but she blocked me with her body.

Threat.
It was all my mind registered. It flashed white hot in front of my eyes.

Fight.

Get away.

Pure instinct raced through me but I forced myself to stand still. "Get out of my way."

"My name's Meghan. And you need to get away from Lucas Caine."

"Move." I tried to push past her, but she shoved me by the shoulder, catching me off guard. She was taller than me, and it didn't help that I'd kicked off my heels already while she still wore her spiked ones.

Her eyes flashed. "Leave Lucas Caine alone."

"He doesn't need a bodyguard."

She leaned in. "He's got one. He doesn't need some shut-in posing as an artist to come in and use him."

"Use him?" I couldn't help it—I laughed. If anything, the most honest assessment of the night was that we'd used each other. And he certainly hadn't seemed upset.

"Your interviews make you sound like you're some kind of feral Nell," she hissed fiercely, her voice low. "No one rises up out of nowhere. I'm not going to stop digging until I find out what you're hiding." And if that wasn't enough, she also reached out, pinning me to the brick wall behind me, scratching the bare skin on my shoulder. "I will end you, Ryn. That's not an idle threat."

Someone already tried, and I was still here. I'd be damned if I let myself ever be a victim again.

I swung, the side of my closed fist connecting with her temple, stunning her momentarily. She let go of me and I took my advantage, grabbing her by the throat. My emotions had been too close to the surface over the past weeks anyway and I'd reached critical mass. I don't remember much after that but the burning anger that overtook me. I heard gasps, talking, but I was in a vacuum where nothing else existed, my mind full of my own demons.

This time, they came with the flash of a brief memory, of me fighting and clawing and screaming even as I heard murmurs in the background.

"Unstable bitch."

"Crazy."

"I'm definitely buying a painting now."

"Front page news."

…and then I was being held in strong arms I didn't bother fighting, with Lucas's voice in my ear. "People are watching—more reporters are coming—let's go." And just like that, the threat was diffused. My heart still pounded, adrenaline racing through me, soon to retreat and leave me weak and shaky.

I heard him talking to someone else and then I was in a car with him and we were speeding away before I'd fully surfaced.

I
hated leaving
Brayden to deal with this situation but my behavior and Lucas's hold didn't leave me much choice. Besides, having me stay would definitely make things worse. I didn't want to know what the fallout would be right now. Twenty-four hours at a time—that was all I could handle on a good day. Otherwise, it was the moment in front of me, and that included Lucas speeding along the city streets.

A light rain had started to fall. I heard the wipers swish, the patter against the expensive sports car I was in, but beyond that, there was only silence. Before the recriminations in my brain could begin, we pulled into a private garage attached to a brownstone. Lucas turned off the car and came around to my side and began to gather me, despite my protests. He carried me inside and put me down on a couch inside a calm, masculine-looking room. I sank into the buttery leather and he put a blanket over me and poured me a good stiff drink.

"Did I ruin everything?" I asked after a few moments, and a few sips of the whiskey.

His answer was indirect. "She came at you first, Ryn." He stared at me, swirling the liquid in his glass as he stood by the window.

"I saw her talking to you." I followed his lead, refusing to use Meghan's name out loud.

"I talked to a lot of people tonight." He was evading. I let it pass because I didn't really care—I was here with him and Meghan wasn't. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like a street kid."

I shrugged, took another sip and rolled it around before letting the burn slide down my throat.

A street kid.

This wasn't the first time I'd fought. Meghan had gotten off easy. There was a time when I'd been walking home from a shift at the coffeehouse, in broad daylight on a sunny Saturday afternoon. A couple of college guys who'd no doubt been drinking all day, based on the way they walked, talked and smelled, approached me. My gut had tightened.

"We only want a kiss, baby," one of them had said as they surrounded me. They'd gotten a lot more. I'd left them bloodied and dazed on the ground and I'd gone home and iced my hands as I tried to recreate the moves I'd used on them.

I'd also been brandishing a weapon and thankfully,
Brayden talked me out of carrying that same knife tonight, because I typically kept it on me at all times. If I'd pulled that out in front of Ann Maslow…

I didn't even want to think about that.

I'd never used it. It had become, over the years, my crutch. My link to the past. It had been found by my body, unused. No fingerprints. It was the single link to my past that wasn't a physical part of me.

But I didn't tell Lucas any of that, and he didn't push. Instead, I reached for my bag. "I should call Brayden."

"He knows you came with me," Lucas said, but he did walk out of the room to give me some privacy anyway.

Brayden answered on the fifth ring. It sounded noisy in the background when he said, "Show's still going on, babe."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously."

"I can't believe it."

"I told you, scandal's a good thing. There's no putting Ryn back in the box now."

I rubbed my neck, which ached with tension. "I went home with Lucas."

"I know—he called me." Brayden sounded almost angry at that, but when he spoke again, his voice was gentler. "Are you okay?"

I gave myself a quick once-over. My head hurt, my pride was wounded but otherwise… "Getting there."

"I can pick you up when I'm done here, or send a car now," he offered.

"I'm okay."

"Just be careful," he said.

I'd already failed at that in so many ways tonight and it was a pattern he knew I planned on continuing. "Thanks, Bray."

"You deserve every minute of this success. Fuck anyone who says differently."

I slid the phone back into my bag, shaking my head at the turn of events.

"Is he coming to rescue you?" Lucas asked, a laugh in his voice as he came back into the room.

"He offered."

"I'm sure he did." As he passed by the couch, he downed his drink but didn't pour another. Instead, he went back to his spot by the window, like he was purposely staying just far enough away from me.

I wanted to move closer.

He was a challenge and danger rolled into one, an explosive combination with the potential to break all my self-imposed rules, tear my heart to pieces and leave me wrung out but satiated.

Really, was there any other way when it came to matters of the heart? Because if I didn't feel that initial, heart-pounding passion, it wasn't worth it. If I didn't think that it would be a chase, I'd walk away, because I'd learned the hard way that the chase was better than the catch. Jared (my ex) had taught me that painful lesson and I blamed my naiveté on my age, my lost memories, being nostalgic after him being my first.

Technically, he might not have been, but based on my memories, he'd been the one.

Since then, I tended to look for men with serious swagger to match the swagger I'd been told I had, because it became a battle of wills…and I was always able to walk away first. Always.

Lucas Caine would be no different. Couldn't be. There was no way to build a future without the knowledge of my past—no way I wouldn't bring danger along with me.

No way I wanted my heart broken. My art did that often enough for me. But I did want to sleep with him and I would, to prove that I could do so and walk away. Ever since the man who'd broken my trust more than my heart (to be honest though, at the time, I'd been devastated on both counts, being young, foolish and naive), I'd been able to prove that I could do this. Now, even though every fiber of my being screamed that Lucas Caine was different, a hurricane I couldn't escape, a danger that would embrace me like a warm blanket…still, I insisted I was up for the challenge.

"I shouldn't really stay," I told him as I moved from the couch to stand directly in front of him.

"You definitely should, Ryn." He slid a finger along my jawline. "I'm in way more fucking trouble than you."

Trouble, again. "You bought paintings." A stab in the dark but…

"Yes."

"Because…?"

"Because your work speaks to me. I don't have to pay people to fuck me."

That was definitely the truth, although there were a lot of men who preferred the ease of paying for it. "This is ridiculous."

He frowned. "Which part?"

"Coming here with you. What I did with you in the back room. All of it." I put my fists to my temples and then I did the unthinkable…something I hadn't done in days.

I laughed. It was a crazy belly laugh, the kind that fed on itself and I didn't stop until I could barely catch my breath.

When I did, Lucas was staring at me intently, a small smile playing on his lips.

I wiped my eyes, imagining that the perfect smoky eye that had been so carefully applied was now rolling down my cheeks. "Sorry. It's all just so absurd. I mean, I'm worried about what people will think of me and my art, so I sabotage myself by sleeping with you and getting into a fistfight during my first show."

"What we did in that back room had nothing to do with sabotage, babe," he said huskily. "You enjoyed it too much."

I had, and the fight too. "I guess I'm all in," I admitted, more to myself than to him. It was the culmination of everything—overcoming the panic and fear, being here with my work, actually feeling a strong attraction that was about so much more than fulfilling my own needs.

I finally felt free. I saw no reason not to celebrate. I was much more a
tell me I can't do something, then stand back and watch me do it
person. And Meghan had delivered a challenge and it just so happened to be one I wanted to conquer. I hadn't let my past overwhelm me and keep me from doing this show. It wouldn't stop me from my end goal of sleeping with Lucas Caine.

One night, and he'd be out of my system.

One night to forget everything else existed.

One night to simply be me. Because no matter how bad my amnesia was, I'd always believed that my personality had always been this way.

"I can take you home, but I don't want to," Lucas said calmly.

"Do you always get what you want?"

His gaze fixed on me. "Don't you?"

I smiled a little and then I leaned in and let my kiss be my answer.

* * *

N
othing about tonight
had been easy. Easy had never had a place in my life, and right now, I definitely didn't want it, not with his mouth insistently on mine, his body heat burning me as his hands traveled down to cup my ass in order to draw me against him more tightly.

I moaned into his mouth as the ache in my belly intensified. "I wanted to see the tattoos. All of them." I began to tug at his shirt which was already halfway undocked. His smile was pure bad boy, wicked intentions, and with a quick flick of his wrist the straps of my dress were off my shoulders and the fabric slid to a puddle at my feet.

I flushed at he stared with approval and lust in his expression. "Perfect."

"Not even close," I told him fiercely.

"Perfect for my intentions," he corrected and ran a hand across my lower back, pulling me against him. It felt strange to be naked against his mostly clothed body but it was also a turn-on. His cock pressed me through his pants. My body surged against his, my sex wet and hot and so ready for him.

His mouth on my nipple sent a series of shockwaves through me. He sucked hard, then bit lightly as his fingers slid between my legs and inside of me, setting me on edge, ready to detonate…explode.

I had zero control around Lucas. That fact alone overwhelmed me. Intense pleasure sliced through me as his mouth slid up my neck.

He reached between my legs, stroking me, smiling at the heat he found, because he knew it was for him. All of it.

One night, one night, one night
, I sang inside my head. He would shatter me, and all I could do was urge him to do it faster, harder. The urgency that slammed us the moment we'd met had built to a nearly unbearable level—our time in the back room had barely taken the edge off, or maybe it amped us up more, furthering our anticipation to painfully frustrating levels.

My body laughed and shuddered as he thumbed my clit and the tight bundle of nerves vibrated through my entire body.

One night. Several orgasms
, I amended as I sagged against him. But even in my post-orgasmic haze, I knew I still hadn't gotten my fill of seeing him. At the very least, I needed to satisfy my curiosity. Immediately.

"Please," I told him, tugging at his shirt.

"Now you think you're in charge?" he murmured with a small shake of his head. "Oh baby, it doesn't work that way. Not tonight, at least."

In response, I raked my nails along his sides. He shuddered, so I did it again.

"You want to see me that badly?"

"Yes, I have to."

He pulled the shirt off and for a long second, I just stared. The tattoos snaked their way around his biceps, ribbons of black and white and gray that complemented his muscles and the designs equally. I trailed a finger along one strand of tribal design that wrapped up around his shoulder and followed it around to his back.

Even in the soft shadows of his apartment, I knew his backpiece was magnificent. It spanned his shoulders and the entire width of his back, and as I followed it with my eyes, he dropped his pants so I could see where the ink ended.

"You done?" he asked, without turning around.

Never. But my body needed more than a view, even though my sex spasmed at the sight of his naked self. "Beautiful," I murmured as I walked around him. I caught a glimpse of a small, one-sided smile from him and I went back to intently tracing his pecs, his ribcage and finally, I circled his nipples.

He hissed through his teeth, so I did it again.

And got the same effect.

There were also several scars that I didn't bother to stop and catalogue. There would be time later—I'd make sure of it.

"That's enough for now," he growled as he picked me up against him and carried me through the living room and into his bedroom. The window overlooked the city, and I watched him as he lay me out on his big bed. "Perfect. Perfect trouble," he added as he parted my legs with his body, palmed my thighs open and bent his head.

I didn't expect it when his tongue laved between my legs and I jolted and grabbed the sheets, the headboard, his hair, anywhere that might ground me when I was so obviously not. He was opening me, licking, exploring. Bringing me right to the precipice (again) in no time flat.

When I came, my legs stiffened, toes curling, cries escaping my throat. Sounds I didn't bother to hide. I couldn't have. I wasn't in control of my own body and I loved it.

He didn't push inside of me as much as he invaded me, his weight pressing me to the mattress, his thickness filling me, leaving me still for several moments while my body adjusted to the pure pleasure of just
having him
.

I rocked my hips up to match his motions, taking him in farther, enjoying the pinch of pain before the pleasure. Watching him take me, giving over that control, unable to stop the freight train of an orgasm that rushed through me.