Unguarded (17 page)

But she was staring at him, her eyes huge and as dark as the night sky, and somehow he knew that turning her down now would shatter her completely.

Closing his eyes, he prayed that he was doing the right thing. Prayed that he had enough control to see this thing through without damaging Rhiannon any more than she had already been damaged.

Shrugging out of his shirt, he let it fall to the shower floor, then gathered her slender, shaking body against him. “Come here, sweetheart. Just let me hold you for a minute.”

She clung to him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she buried her face against his chest. Without giving himself time to think about all the reasons this was a bad idea, he tilted her face up to his, then kissed her gently. The water was warm on his tongue as he licked his way over her mouth and down her neck to the hollow of her throat before kissing his way back up to the spot behind her ear that always made her melt.

She trembled against him and he reached behind
her, adjusting the showerheads so that they hit her more fully.

“I'm not cold.”

“Shh. We're doing this my way.” He kissed her to soften his words, sliding his hands up and down her back in a gentle caress meant to soothe them both.

He couldn't believe he was doing this, couldn't believe he was even contemplating it. But as she relaxed against him, his instincts took over and the tightness in his chest beginning to ease.

He could do this. He loved her and he could take care of her however she needed to be taken care of.

The knowledge came to him suddenly, but he didn't back away from it the way he always thought he would. He loved Rhiannon, loved her with everything inside of him.

After spending years running from himself and his emotions, after trying desperately not to care about anyone after what had happened to Cynthia, Rhiannon had snuck up on his blind side and wrapped herself around his heart when he wasn't looking. But now that she was there—even with all her problems—he wouldn't change a thing.

Taking a deep breath, ignoring his fear and the arousal that appeared despite him, he slid his hands gently into her damp hair, then guided her head back under the spray. When her hair was completely wet, he reached for the shampoo and squeezed a generous amount into his palm before slowly working it into her hair. He stroked her scalp soothingly, his fingers sliding softly through each strand, before he tilted her head back and rinsed the soap away.

He did the same for the conditioner, taking his time, gently rubbing her scalp in a circular motion she seemed to like. Again and again, he massaged her hair until he was sure he had himself under control. Then he rinsed it out, as well.

Though he had just washed her a few minutes before, he grabbed the shower gel again. This time, he squirted it onto his palms and rubbed them together before he began to lather up her body. He started with her neck, moved over the slope of her shoulder down to the small of her back, before sliding around to her stomach and tickling her belly button.

Here the scarring was the worst—he could see the stab wound she had referred to earlier. He traced it with his finger and she shuddered, so he backed away, choosing instead to skim his hands up her rib cage to her breasts.

He cupped the slight weight in his hands, rubbed his thumbs back and forth across her nipples. Rhiannon gasped, arched into him, and her lower body pressed tightly against his erection. Lightning sizzled along his nerve endings and it was his turn to moan.

She grinned, her hands slipping from his waist to palm and squeeze his rear end. “Rhiannon.” It was a warning, but she didn't heed it as she trailed her fingers slowly up his spine.

Her scent was driving him insane, wrapping itself around him until all he could smell or feel or taste was her. A combination of his shampoo and her own honeyed sweetness, it touched some possessive chord deep inside him. He loved the idea of her covered in his scent.

Stepping back, he eased her back down onto the
shower bench where he had found her, then sank to his knees between her open thighs.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he slowly lifted her foot and pressed his thumb to her insole.

“I'm loving you, sweetheart. That's all. Just loving you. Relax and enjoy it.”

He dug his thumb into the muscles of her foot, making sure not to press too hard, then slipped his hands up her calf. He massaged and kneaded, over and over again until she was all warm and soft, her muscles putty in his hand. He did the same to her other leg, working his way up past her knee to her thighs.

When she was completely relaxed, eyes closed and head lolling against the shower wall, Shawn bent his mouth to her ankle and then licked all the way up the inside of her leg until he reached the hot, welcoming heart of her.

Part of him wanted nothing more than to take her right then, to rip his jeans off and thrust into her until they were both in the throes of ecstasy. But this wasn't about him, and that wasn't what Rhiannon needed.

He eased back, reveling in the soft whimper Rhiannon made as she lost contact with him. Breathing deeply, he struggled to get himself—and his desire—back under control.

When the urgent need to take her subsided, he bent his head back to the long, curvy legs that had been the object of more than a few of his nighttime fantasies. He forced himself to go slow, to savor every inch of her body as his lips caressed her ankle, her calf, the sensitive spot at the back of her knees.

After everything she'd been through, Rhiannon deserved to be loved like this, like she was the most important thing in the world. Because, to him, she was.

He trailed hot kisses along the inside of her thighs, higher and higher until he finally reached her. Taking a deep breath, he pulled her spicy honey scent deep into his lungs. “Rhiannon, baby, is this okay?”

Her eyes opened, dazed, dark chocolate. “What?” she gasped, her body quivering against him.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No. Please. Shawn, please.”

He grinned despite himself, then lowered his head, making love to her with his mouth and lips and tongue, thrusting his fingers inside her and stroking her to first one climax and then another.

As the second one hit, she screamed, then melted against him, every bone in her body dissolving until she felt like the warm, sweet honey her scent always reminded him of.

Lifting her in his arms, he turned off the shower with a careless flick of his wrist, then wrapped her in a giant towel and carried her into the bedroom. As he laid her on the bed, her eyes opened sleepily. “What about you?” she murmured, reaching for him.

“Let me take care of you first.” He rubbed her dry, spending a long time on her hair, rubbing her scalp and making sure that each strand was as dry as he could get it. By the time he was done, she was sound asleep—exactly as he'd intended.

After drying himself off, he tucked her into bed, then climbed in beside her. But he didn't sleep, he couldn't, as his mind replayed again and again what had happened to Rhiannon in that miserable motel room.

Rage continued to eat at him and as he stared at the ceiling, he wondered if he'd ever be strong enough to move past it.

R
HIANNON AWOKE
the next morning, alone and in a strange bed. Jolting upright, she looked around wildly, trying to get her bearings, then calmed down as the events of the previous night came back to her.

She was at Shawn's house, in
his
bed.

She struggled to remember the way things had ended between them. She remembered being in the shower with him and the slow, exquisite way he'd made love to her, remembered him carrying her to the bed and carefully drying her hair. But there was nothing else after that, no culmination of their lovemaking, no cuddling afterward—because she'd fallen asleep! Her cheeks flamed as she realized that, after begging him to make love to her, she had conked out before she could return the favor.

God, was she ever going to make one right step with this man? Seriously, it seemed like every time she tried to do something to get closer to him, it backfired, horribly.

She glanced over to the empty side of the bed. Though the pillow bore the imprint of his head, the sheets were cold. He'd obviously been up for a while. And could she blame him? Why would he want to linger in bed next to a woman who promised him sex
not once, but twice—and then failed to deliver both times?

His navy blue robe was draped over a nearby chair, so she shrugged into it—it seemed so much more inviting than the torturous bra-and-panty set she had worn over there last night. Besides, it wasn't like she needed to dress to seduce Shawn. She'd already tried that and failed—miserably.

As she padded through the house, looking for him, she found rooms she hadn't even known existed, despite the fact that she'd hung out at his house numerous times in the past month. She called his name as she cruised past what looked like another living room on the second floor, she was about to give up when she heard someone moving around in a room at the end of the hall. She followed the sound and found Shawn working, his foot tapping to a beat coming from the mp3 player at his ears. No wonder he hadn't heard her call him.

She felt inexplicably shy as she made her way over to him, unsure of how their relationship had changed after the previous night, only knowing that somehow, it had. He looked up as she got closer, and she was shocked at how bad he looked. He had tied his hair back, and his face stood out in stark relief because of it. There were dark circles under his eyes, testament to the fact that he had been up most of the night while she'd slept like a baby, free of nightmares for the first time in longer then she cared to think about.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, pulling the ear-buds out of his ears.

“I'm fine.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “Better than fine. But did you sleep at all?”

“I caught a few hours—”

“Liar.”

He smiled. “Okay, no. I didn't get much sleep.”

“I'm sorry about that.”

“You need to stop saying that—everything that happens in the world is not your fault.”

“Maybe not, but the fact that you couldn't sleep last night certainly was.”

“And yet somehow I will survive, bravely forging through my difficult day without sleep.”

“You don't have to get sarcastic.”

“Actually, with you, sometimes I think I do.” He spun his stool around, pulled her into the V between his knees. “So, are you honestly doing okay?”

“I'm doing great. You took really good care of me. Better than I deserve.”

His eyes narrowed and she held up a hand. “Okay, I get it. No more self-deprecating comments. I swear.”

“We'll see.”

She glanced curiously at the board where he was working. “So, tell me about this difficult day of yours. What have you got planned?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe a shower, some breakfast. A nap on the couch.”

“Wow, that does sound strenuous.”

“Exactly. So, do you want to join me?”

“I would love to, but I have an event that starts at one. I have to go home, change clothes and get over there to make sure everything is running smoothly.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them, along with an awkwardness that had never been there before. Rhiannon
felt a chill work its way down her spine—was he regretting what had happened between them the night before? Was he wishing he could take it all back?

Not that she would blame him if he did. Yesterday hadn't been a sterling example of her at her most sane.

She cast around for something, anything, to say and settled on work like she always did. “Is this for your deadline?” she asked, nodding at the work he had stretched out on the light board behind them.

“No, that book is pretty much done. This is just me fooling around, trying to get some new ideas.”

“It looks cool.” She reached out, her finger hovering above the black-and-white drawings. “Can you explain how you do this?”

“Are you sure you want to know? I have a tendency to get carried away when I start talking about my work.”

“I'm positive. And feel free to get carried away—I like listening to you talk.”

It was all the encouragement he needed. Pulling her closer to the board, he launched into a discussion on storyboarding, explained how he graphed each page out in twelve to sixteen squares before he ever drew a mark.

“I can't believe the amount of work that goes into these things—don't you ever get tired of drawing Shadeslayer?”

“To be honest, no, I don't. Every picture is a little different than the one that came before it.” He nodded to a stack of books on a nearby shelf. “You can look at one of those if you want, and see what I'm talking about.”

“Oh, I already have them all—I'm about halfway through
Shadeslayer's Doom.
It's good, very interesting. Different than I had expected it to be.”

“Different, how?”

“I was shocked at how much work went into it—I mean, it's a full novel with a well-developed story plus the pictures. It must take you a long time to do all that.”

“About five months—I used to be faster, but then the books used to be shorter. Now that they're as long as they are, I can only do two a year.”

He looked at her curiously. “So, what's a woman like you doing with
Shadeslayer's Doom?
It doesn't exactly seem like your thing.”

“Yeah, well, I'm dating this really talented guy who writes all these kick-ass books. He got me hooked on the first three and now it's an addiction. Besides, I figured they might give me some insight into him.”

Shawn seemed to hold his breath. “And has it helped you figure him out?”

“I'm not sure yet.” She reached a hand out, traced her fingertips over his eyebrows and eyes, across the bridge of his nose and down his jaw to his mouth. He was so incredibly beautiful that it hurt not to touch him, not to love him. “I'll let you know as soon as I get a handle on the last book—and him.”

“You do that.” He pulled her into his arms, nuzzled her neck. “So, can I make you breakfast? I'm not sure what I've got, but I could probably come up with some eggs and toast.”

“No, I'm good. I'll just get my clothes on and get going.” She leaned down and brushed her lips across his. “Thank you for last night.”

He pulled her in for a longer kiss, and before she knew it, her arms were around his neck, her body plastered to his. “If you thank me or tell me you're sorry one more time, I…”

She watched him curiously. “You'll what?”

“I don't know, but it will be suitably terrible. That much I promise you.”

“Ooh, that's big talk. Should I be scared?”

“No. You shouldn't be. Not of me—never of me.”

Her stomach clenched. “I didn't mean it that way, Shawn. I was just—”

“I know.” He stood. “Come on, I'll walk you back to my bedroom. It's kind of tricky to find it from here.”

“Well, if you didn't live in a house the size of a small city, no one would have that problem.”

“I told you, it was an investment. I got a good deal on it.”

“Right. A good deal. I guess everything's relative.”

“I guess so.” He grinned at her but it didn't reach his eyes. Rhiannon's stomach rolled sickly as she realized that none of the smiles he'd given her that morning had been normal.

It was starting. She recognized the symptoms—God knew, she had seen them often enough in her family and friends. She had been downgraded from lover to basket case and with that shift came awkwardness, embarrassment and pity.

And this time she had no one to blame but herself.

She picked up the pace—as far as she was concerned, she couldn't get out of there soon enough.

Not that she blamed Shawn for thinking she was crazy—obviously, she'd given him reason. Nor did she
blame him for needing some time to assimilate. She'd had three years and still fell to pieces more often than she would like. He certainly had the right to be a little weirded out by everything she had told him the night before, by everything he had seen.

But she didn't want him to be. She knew it was unfair, knew she was asking more from him than she had a right to, but she didn't care. She wanted him for a lover, wanted him for a friend—without all of the bullshit that came along with her past.

Was that really so much to ask?

“So, do you have plans tonight?” she asked as they finally reached his bedroom and she began gathering up her clothes. How could they be in so many places—hadn't she been in bed when Shawn had stripped them off her?

Her cheeks burned as she searched for her underwear and found them under a chair halfway across the room. Obviously, he'd been as eager for her as she'd been for him. Right up until she'd ruined everything.

“Poker night at Robert's. It's our monthly game.”

“Cool. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Where was the easy camaraderie, the give-and-take that they were usually so good at? Talking to him was suddenly about as much fun as a trip to the dentist.

She collected her wayward underwear and then took everything into the bathroom, where she dressed as quickly as she could. After washing her face and finger-brushing her teeth—the way Shawn was suddenly acting, she wasn't sure he would appreciate her using his toothbrush—she pulled her hair into a ponytail and then went back into the other room to face him.

She didn't want to, but then she'd spent the past three years doing things she didn't want to do. Why should today be any different?

Shawn was lying on the bed, his back propped against the pillows and his eyes closed. She watched him for a moment, wondering if she would ever have another chance to see him like that. She hoped so, hoped that last night hadn't completely changed his mind about her.

“I'm going now.”

His eyelids fluttered but didn't open and she realized that he was more than half asleep. It was strange to see him like that, drowsy, exhausted. He was usually so full of energy and life that it was hard to imagine him ever being this tired. But he was, his exhaustion written clearly in the unfamiliar lines on his face.

Tiptoeing over to the bed, Rhiannon pulled the covers over him, then—because she couldn't resist—bent down and kissed him softly on the cheek.

His eyes snapped open. “Hey.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep—I'll let myself out.”

“No, stay.” His fingers circled her wrist and tugged until she was sitting on the bed next to him. Then he wrapped an arm over her thighs, put his head in her lap and promptly went back to sleep.

She sat there for a while, stroking his hair, watching him sleep. Enjoying the feel of his body, warm against her own, along with the absence of fear.

The clock on his nightstand clicked away the minutes and she knew she should leave—if she stayed much longer she was going to be late getting to the hotel to set-up for the Markinson wedding. But she couldn't
bring herself to move, not when holding Shawn—and being held by him—brought her more peace than anything had in a very long time.

Things would be okay, she told herself. Once Shawn got over his shock, they could talk. They could clear the air and then get back to normal. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could even talk him into trying to make love to her again—with the lights on this time, since he'd already seen every scar she had in the shower the night before.

He was warm and strong and comfortable and she felt herself getting drowsy. She fought it off—she couldn't afford to fall asleep. Plus, she didn't want to miss any of this time with Shawn.

Eventually, though, she couldn't put off the inevitable. She gingerly moved Shawn's arm from where it rested on her thigh, then did her best to slip out from under him without waking him up.

As she lowered his head to the pillow, he frowned. “Cynthia, no. Don't go.”

At first, she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. But when he rolled over and mumbled the name again, she knew she had.

Her heart plummeted to the floor.

The entire time she'd been holding him, weaving dreams of what it would be like to have a real relationship with Shawn, what it would feel like to make love to him and hold him and be held by him, he'd been dreaming of another woman.

She started backing away, wanting nothing more than to escape, but by the time she'd made it to the door his eyes were open and he was wide-awake.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up. Go back
to sleep. I'll just let myself out. The door locks automatically and—” She was babbling like an idiot. Snapping her mouth shut, she ducked through the bedroom door and all but ran down the hallway toward the front door.

“Rhiannon, wait!” Shawn's voice was husky with sleep but it didn't slow him down any. Within seconds, he was barreling down the hallway after her. “What's wrong?”