Haunt Me (18 page)

Increasing the tempo, he drove her further and grasped her hips as she tried to arch upward to meet his tongue. Her release exploded through her and he held on, petting her through it, until she went slack and her thighs relaxed. With her satiated, he rose, found a condom, and made quick work of the foil package.

He doubted he’d last three strokes. Just being with her, knowing she wanted to be with him, was enough to punch his ticket. Ready, he drank in the sight of her against the bed, all soft and dewy-eyed, a faint gleam of sweat dampening her body. Pressing a kiss to each hip, he paused at her belly button to tease it and then continued up, caught one hard nipple in his mouth and lavished it and then the other, promising himself he’d spend more time here later. She brought his head up to hers and their mouths fused.

Despite her pleasure, or maybe because of it, she pressed into the kiss, demanding little sounds escaping her throat.

“I need you,” he murmured, the words like an oath against her mouth. He’d needed her forever, waited forever, and if this were a dream, he wished never to wake.

“I’m here,” she whispered and scraped her teeth across his lower lip.

Her sweet mouth kissed his jaw—hot, little, nibbling kisses that stripped his soul bare. A wild possessiveness surged through him and shredded what was left of his control. He guided his straining erection to her slick entrance and thrust into her with one powerful stroke, riding on a single thought.

Mine.

She froze at his sensual invasion, and he went completely still.

“Mac? Am I hurting you?” He fisted his hand against the covers, forcing himself to hold still. It didn’t matter how gloriously her body clamped down around him or how perfectly she sheathed him, he could wait.

“No,” she exhaled, and her eyes opened. They were nearly pitch-black from how large her pupils had grown. “It’s been a long time and you’re big, but it feels good.”

Relieved, he withdrew nearly to the tip and surged forward again, eliciting another wild moan from her. Delighted by her responsiveness, he repeated the long, hard strokes until she raised her hips to meet him.

Her head thrashed from side to side and he couldn’t stop watching the tides of pleasure ebb and flow across her expressive face. She dug her fingers into his back, urging him deeper, and he adjusted his angle willingly. She came apart again, her body shackling his and dragging him over the raging rapids of her orgasm.

Spine bowing, he arched his back and shuddered as blinding pleasure poured through him, consuming everything in its path. Trembling, he collapsed slowly, easing himself down and kissing her. Another delicate shudder wracked her frame and she moaned against his mouth.

Mine.
The singular thought repeated.

Finally.

He couldn’t describe the sensations overwhelming his scrambled brains, and he didn’t care. She cradled him, stroked his back, and somewhere along the way his neurons began to test fire, drifting from the singular thought of
mine
to the secondary thought of
again.

After several long moments, Mac stirred against him. He managed to lift his head to meet her pleasure-drenched gaze.

“I don’t know what we just did exactly…but can we do it again?” she asked.

Laughter rumbled in his chest and he nuzzled the corner of her mouth. “Often, until we get it right.”

She groaned. “Oh God. If that wasn’t right, being right might kill me.”

“Then we’ll die together,” he promised.

Chapter Eleven

Mac woke gradually, sleep peeling away like a gossamer veil. A hot, masculine blanket wrapped around her—Justin—his hand fastened to her breast. She damn near sighed at the reality of it. They’d never made it out of her bed the first day—not for long, anyway. Other than a break to shower—together—and to raid her kitchen for food, they’d retreated to her bed and sprawled naked, talking and making love for hours. She half-thought it would end after that single day, but after eight nights together, she thrilled to wake in his arms.

A curious sensation fluttered in her chest. Careful, she eased onto her back. Justin shifted next to her, his hand gliding down to rest against her stomach. His eyes still closed, she could indulge her desire to study him. It had been such a fantastic week: they’d completed refinishing all the walls in the kitchen, and the raw wood gave it a brighter, more airy appearance. He turned out to be an amazing teacher, showing her how to resurface the cabinets, and they’d already picked out her chosen bedroom to start on next. They gave the house the facelift it desperately needed and moved her in so that she wasn’t a visitor in her own house anymore, living out of cardboard boxes.

Moving to Penny Hollow had been about starting over, not about meeting a guy. But Justin wasn’t just any guy. He’d worked his way into her life, refusing to be put off by her hostility or distractions.

Her body relaxed, replete despite the delicious ache she felt everywhere. She hadn’t planned on a new relationship, much less falling in love—

The thought jerked through her, and she bit her lip to keep from saying it out loud.

I’m in love with him.

Tension coiled through her middle. Somewhere between his refusing to listen to her rejection of his assistance that very first day and helping her with the house and spending all that time together, she’d fallen in love.

Refusing to panic, she turned the idea over in her mind.
I love him.
Tracing her fingers over his biceps, she marveled at how he held her. Kevin had never done that, not even when they were first together and everything had been “perfect.” He slept on his side of the bed and she on hers. Justin didn’t let her get away, even in rest. He invaded every part of her life, encouraging her to write, making sure she ate, dragging her away from the computer when her frustration levels grew to epic proportions and investing her in the real world.

“You’re going to write today, aren’t you?” The deepness of his masculine voice, husky from sleep, sent shivers through her. He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet, and she found herself holding her breath to see the brilliant blue when they did.

“I need to.” Truthfully, she’d needed to all week. Reluctant to confront Madeline’s angst, she’d found a dozen different excuses to put off working on the book.

“You have to finish the story.” He stretched and kissed her, a smile shining in his drowsy eyes.

But it was his words, not his actions that somehow scratched across her nerves. Odd. She’d just realized she loved him, and suddenly her emotions had shifted. He hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary, though, had he? Was she simply freaking out because the realization she’d fallen in love had hit her so hard? Was it that she simply didn’t want to risk getting hurt again?

Realization hit. Kevin had pushed her and pushed her to write—and now Justin seemed to be doing the same thing. The similarity in actions rang alarm bells in her head. “Why is it so important to you?” She grimaced, hating herself for asking.

“It’s important to you,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Yes, finishing the book was important to her, but… “Actually, I was thinking I would do more repairs on the house.”
Please agree with me…don’t push, don’t ask why, just agree with me.
She held her breath.

“Leave it. Work on your book.”

He sank her with that sentence. A chill formed deep and low in her stomach, and she fought to hold back bile.

“I’ve got to make a drive out to some work sites in Roanoke,” he said, “to make a few inspections. I’ve been putting them off for too long. You write while I’m gone.”

She pushed back the covers and slid to the side of the bed, shoulders hunching. “What if I don’t want to write today? You’ve been doing so much around here and I’m not really putting
my
mark on the house.”

“Sweetheart…” Justin rubbed a hand up her spine, the caress as soft and gentle as any of his touches, and yet her stomach clenched. “You
have
to finish the story.”

Pushing.

What the hell was with her and choosing men who decided what she should and shouldn’t do? Yes, Justin sounded sweet and helpful and supportive, but so had Kevin, and look where that landed her. She hadn’t wanted to get involved with him, and dammit, now he thought he could tell her what to do.

“No. I really don’t.” She stood and reached for a discarded shirt. She didn’t want to be naked around him. “You should probably get going if you have to go to Roanoke.”

“Mac?” For the first time she heard uncertainty in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

After dragging the shirt over her head, she glanced at him. “I don’t feel like writing today.” All the lazy joy she’d felt upon waking fled in the face of this development. She shouldn’t have trusted him. If she looked at every single thing he’d done since they met, he’d heard what she said and then did what he wanted anyway, from unpacking her truck to showing up to fix things.

And dammit, he’d coaxed her into allowing it. Raking her fingers through her hair, she resisted the urge to scream. “I’ll make some coffee.”

She had to get out of the room and breathe. How could she have let herself fall for the same controlling personality type again? Striding out before he could stop her, she headed down the hallway and to the kitchen. She wanted to bang something, or slam her fist into the wall. Instead, she bit down on her knuckle and swallowed back a scream.

The soft pad of Justin’s footsteps on the wooden floor behind her alerted her to his arrival before he spoke. “Something is wrong, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to write. It’s that simple.” She slammed the filter into the coffee maker and measured out the grounds.

“Okay,” he said, elongating the word, and when she glanced back at him, she scowled. He wore a pair of jeans and nothing else—and looked sinfully good. Fighting her body’s response, she filled the pot with water.

“Mac, you’re the one who said you had deadlines and that this book wasn’t like anything else you’ve ever written…”

“So?” Pivoting on her heel, she faced him. “It’s my book. My choice. I don’t need you to tell me to go and write. Or to not do something. Or to lure me into doing something your way. I mean, here you are—full access to Summerfield. Hell, I was halfway considering letting you bring that tour group thing through here—”And she stopped.

Mrs. Beagle had said Justin was a good man and that he’d cut off his arm to help someone else. He was in charge of the town renovation project. He’d told her from day one he wanted her to be a part of the town and that Summerfield was the capstone of their project.

Then he’d offered to help, to be a good neighbor, and he’d encouraged her to write while he dove into the renovations on the place. All those little changes he’d made—the walls. The light fixtures. Slanting a glance over her shoulder, she stared at the gazebo…

And her heart began to break.

“It was all about the town,” she whispered, horrified she’d been so blind. “You wanted Summerfield to be the capstone for Penny Hollow’s revitalization project. And you’ll do anything to help out your siblings…God, I am such an idiot.”

“Mac—” He closed the distance between them and reached for her, but she evaded his touch.

She couldn’t do this. Not again. “No.”

“It’s not like that,” he argued, frustration a fierce force on his face. “Listen to me.”

“Answer me one question first.” The length of the kitchen separated them. The morning sunlight shone off his skin and he looked so gorgeous, a blond angel, a guardian—and all she wanted to do was run her hands over him, but that was her libido and her foolish, foolish heart talking.

“Anything.”

“Did you offer to help out around here and spend all that time to get to know me so you could convince me to be a part of the town?”

“Yes, but—”

She held up her hand, refusing to let him finish. “Because you wanted Summerfield for the town project.”

“Yes, but you
knew
what my interest in the house was.” Justin started across the distance again, and this time he didn’t let her evade him. He caught her face in his hands and stared at her. “I never lied about the house, and yes, I hoped you would come around and see how valuable you can be to Penny Hollow.”

The dull roaring in her head had to be the sound of her heart shattering. People were only nice for two reasons—because they wanted something, or because of something she could do for them.

In Justin’s case, it had been both.

“Mac, look at me.” The coaxing order carried just the barest hint of steel.

Mac rebelled. “No. Please leave.”

“I am not leaving it like this.” And there it was again. The control. The decision making.

“It wasn’t a request. You have work to do. This—
us
—the sleeping together part…that was a bad idea.” She pulled away and tried to circle around him.

“No.” He caught her arm and pulled her back. “It wasn’t a bad idea. Yeah, originally I had an ulterior motive for getting to know you and I’m not proud of that, but I never lied about my interest and helping you. That was important—it
is
important.”

She stilled, refusing to fight, refusing to respond.

“Dammit, Mac. I haven’t done anything wrong. Where is this coming from?”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to think she was overreacting. But instead, she stared across the kitchen at the wall. “Let me go, please.”

When he did, she wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. After pacing away from him, she shook her head. “You need to leave.”

“Not like this. We’re good together. I think I’ve proven that. And all I did—”

“I need you to go.”

Justin went silent for so long, she finally glanced up. His face was a mixture of bewilderment and anger. He lifted his brows. “You want me to go?”

No. She really didn’t. But she would not let another man have control over every part of her life. Not again. Crushing the broken bits of her heart, she nodded once.

A muscle ticked in his jaw and she thought—
hoped
—he would say something more. But instead, he marched down the hall and returned less than two minutes later, fully dressed and furious.

Mac folded her arms and huddled against the wall. She half-prayed he’d tell her it was all a mistake and that his interest had nothing to do with the house. That she’d blown everything out of proportion. But he said nothing.

At the door, he paused and looked at her. The silence stretched out unbearably until she thought she might scream. He finally exhaled a hard breath. “I’ll be in Roanoke. I
will
call you later.”

And then the door slammed behind him.

Mac closed her eyes and waited. When she heard the sound of his truck starting, she slid down the wall and gave into the urge to cry. Why had she done this to herself—again?

…

The mid-October skies had dulled to a leaden gray color by the time Mac managed to drag herself up from her tears and off the floor. She showered, changed her clothes, and moved with a mechanical slowness. In the kitchen again, she cranked up the radio to listen to the forecast. Several days ago, Justin had left phone numbers on her fridge for both of his brothers, Clint, and the sheriff. He’d tapped Elijah’s number and said if anything came up—
anything
—and she couldn’t reach Justin, she was to call Elijah first. At the time, his protectiveness had amused her. Now it left her sad. Taking down the slip of paper, she tore off the piece with his brothers’ numbers and dropped them in the trash. She’d keep the numbers to the attorney and the sheriff, though.

Drifting in a sea of numbness, she went through the motions of putting a fresh pot of coffee on to brew and then checked the windows to make sure they were latched against the oncoming storm. She’d told Justin she didn’t want to write, and in some ways, she’d put off the last few chapters because she thought she needed to brace herself for the rest of Madeline’s story. Inside, however, she felt as dull as the skies overhead.

I don’t think I can do it.
The thought alone threatened to defeat her. When her phone rang, she glanced down and saw Justin’s face flash up at her. No. She wasn’t ready to talk to him.

After pressing the button to ignore the call, she considered going back to bed, but she didn’t want to when the sheets likely still smelled of Justin. A chill raced over her and she shivered. October brought lower temperatures and she’d taken to wearing jeans. The T-shirt wasn’t much defense against the cold, so she poured her coffee and carried it into her office, intending to fetch her sweater and then go work on another part of the house.

Instead, bundled up and with a steaming mug of coffee sitting next to her laptop, she logged in her password and checked where she’d left off with Madeline. She’d avoided the scene all week, trying to work out another possibility. Convincing Madeline to put on the dress and be ready for James hadn’t proven as hard as she believed. No matter that the stubborn woman couldn’t admit her feelings out loud, she did care deeply for the duke.

The duke’s unbridled joy at seeing Madeline waiting for him that next evening left both Mac and Madeline reeling. The next weeks flew by on the page; James courted Madeline openly and squired her to numerous events. When he unexpectedly announced their engagement, Madeline had been both delighted and terrified. Kind of like Justin, so practically perfect and patient—he’d worn Mac down the same way, with relentless kindness. But Madeline still waited—waited for that bubble of perfection to burst—and it would. Mac knew it would. After all, hadn’t it just burst for her?