A WILDer Kind Of Love Page 24

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Why?” He planted both feet, raising his posture to a warrior-like stance, fully primed to claim back the space she’d just spread between them. “Because it’ll make you remember everything else I called you…things that your body and your soul craved to hear, even from a stranger? Because it’ll make you think too much about what you did with that stranger?” Sure enough, he moved forward and pulled at her elbows, banding the bottom borders of her tattoos. As he forced her forward, he dipped his head, making it impossible to escape his stare. “Because it’ll make you realize that even if you’d never known me before we came together at Catacomb, you knew me…little rose?”

  She breathed hard. Swallowed harder. Damn him! Every last syllable was the truth but she’d confess to murder before admitting it—before she’d give him one single clue about how deeply he’d affected her.

  About how thoroughly he’d taken over her heart.

  Every tattered piece of it.

  “Tess.”

  She didn’t answer him.

  “Odette.”

  Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

  “What?”

  “Look at me.”

  Her head refused. Even her heart refused. But as lightning flared beyond the window again, the thunderheads in her soul roiled, summoned by the matching storm of his. Like air and water and wind, she was a helpless element, called to action by her Master.

  She lifted her head.

  And clenched back tears once more.

  Unable to ignore the raw emotion on his own face. The brick now embedded beneath his jaw. The contortions of his lips. The glass-sharp surfaces of his eyes, barely holding back the rain from his soul.

  He twisted tighter into her arms. “You lied to me, too.”

  She choked out a laugh. “About the plans for Newport? Right. That was a whopper, wasn’t it?”

  “I had a right to know, dammit.”

  “I know, Dan. I know.”

  She tried to match him note for bitter note but couldn’t. She was too heartsick. Too heartbroken. Too chewed up about the dumb things they’d held back from each other, too quickly transformed into the bricks of the wall that rose between them.

  Or maybe he’d been right all along. Maybe the sex had messed everything up. Maybe this was the big joke from the Big Guy upstairs. Mars and Venus really couldn’t do it all with each other.

  Why didn’t they just put crystal balls in every damn BDSM playroom?

  She lifted both her arms. Dug one hand’s fingers into his shirt. Pressed the palm of the other to the center of his chest. For a moment, she simply reveled in the strong, bold beat beneath her hand.

  Home.

  Ever again?

  Or never again?

  “It’s scary,” she finally rasped.

  “What?” Dan replied.

  “The wall.” She looked up, seeing that he got it already. “These are deep shadows, Colton.”

  His jaw ground. “Yeah.”

  “I can’t see past them anymore.”

  She slid her hand to his face. This time, for the very first time, she ran her fingers directly over his silvery scars. He flinched. She yanked on his shirt. Persisting, persevering, forcing. Making him accept every inch of her soft exploration.

  Making him accept her unspoken love.

  “But you, Daniel…” she whispered, “you’re still right at home in the shadows, aren’t you?”

  The heat behind her eyes, too unbearable, went to liquid—as the windows in his gaze shattered. She responded by pressing her whole hand to the waxy planes, letting his tears pool between her fingers, capturing every drop of the spirit he poured into her safekeeping.

  “Come into the light with me, Daniel. Please.” She leaned up, kissing his mottled skin, rasping her entreaty into his ear. “Please.”

  He didn’t answer. She didn’t care. She didn’t know how long they’d stood there, crying into each other as the skies wept outside, but it was long enough for Franzen to yell up from the living room. “Spook man! Dammit! Sometime this year, yeah?”

  Dan dropped his head and yanked away. He still didn’t speak a word. Tess still didn’t care. His shoulders remained weighted, slinking from her in shame—until she yanked him up, forcing his reddened gaze to knot with hers again.

  Forcing his lips to mesh with hers again.

  She sucked at him. Bit at him. Slammed his mouth open so she could plunder him, lick him, taste him, adore him…love him. He stiffened. She didn’t relent. He moaned and grunted, sounds of agony and pain. She didn’t relent. As an incredible Dom had once shown her, the most extreme pain was often what a person needed for the hugest breakthrough.

  He shoved away with a violent wrench.

  His chest pumped. His fists coiled. He looked to her—once—taking just enough time about it to show that there was no more glass left in his gaze.

  He’d put up solid steel in its place.

  Retreating to the shadows.

  And as he spun from her and marched out of the room without another glance, she had no idea if she’d dragged him even one damn inch back toward the light.

  * * *

  “Ohhhh sister, I’ve got one wheel down and the axle’s dragging.”

  She chuckled at the latest line of creative imagery to pop out of Devyn while walking across her living room to slide a glass of iced tea in front of the little blonde.

  Just like her brother, Devyn couldn’t simply declare she was pooped from an afternoon of hitting every store in Crystals and The Fashion Show. And just like she’d done a thousand times over the last ten days, Tess wouldn’t let the observation go any deeper than that.

  Ten days. Ten years. What was the difference?

  She hadn’t seen Dan since their intense embrace back at the safe house—then the parting stare he’d given her, too intense and too brief, before leaving the place with Franzen. After that, she’d only spoken to him once. Two days into their imprisonment—errr, protective custody—he’d called to relay they’d identified the henchmen Newport had assigned to Vegas and were moving in on the assholes. The call had lasted all of three minutes, dominated by his all-business Jack Bauer gruff, ordering she and Devyn to stay inside in case the agents were looking at live satellite images.

  For two more days, she and Devyn had lounged, read, eaten, and Hulu-binged while awaiting word about the manhunt. Devyn, deciding “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” might be worth a try as a coping mechanism, suddenly decided she was in paradise.

  Tess had damn near climbed the walls.

  After two more torturous days, Caspar Menken had finally shown back up again, disguised as the pool boy—not a bad choice, if Devyn’s lusty looks at his tank and board shorts were an accurate gauge. But he’d come bearing more than just tanned biceps and formidable thighs. There were updates on Operation Sink Newport.

  They’d learned the bastard’s set-up: four different teams of two, hired independently of each other, to cover the kill order in each city. The pair in LA, likely wannabe action stars who’d lied to Newport about their credentials, were the easiest to catch and arrest. The hitmen assigned to Seattle were more elusive but finally taken down during a car chase ended by their Maserati flying into the Sound. The men were fished out then booked. The car was fished out then towed for scrap metal. Ouch.

  In Honolulu, things had gotten stickier. A lot stickier. Newport had managed to bribe two guards at the Barking Sands base, who apparently possessed large cojones. Not only did they risk court martial for accepting Newport’s bribe, but their assignment wasn’t just an easy kill. As Franz and Dan had suspected, they tried to snatch Zoe Bommer—and the baby in her belly—alive. She disappeared from the beach in front of their cottage when Shay ducked inside to pee, thrown into an SUV that only made it as far as the base’s gate, where Shay somehow caught up to them. Caspar didn’t communicate any details beyond how the scene ended, dropping Tess and Devyn’s jaws in the process. Both henchmen had
needed an ambulance. The car needed two new doors.

  While Tess had cringed at that story, nothing compared to her blood pressure spike when hearing of Dan and Franzen’s bad guy pursuit. After spotting the assassins on the South Strip, they’d given chase through the Trop, the MGM then across to the Monte Carlo, where things had ended in a shootout that was, in Caspar’s words, “a goddamn bullet-fest.”

  Her blood went icy all over again just from recalling the moment Caspar had relayed both men’s damage. Franz had taken a nick across his upper right cheek, and the word was still out about the fate of his sight in that eye. And Dan? Holy shit. Though Caspar maintained it could’ve been much worse, a bullet to the back of the thigh was still a bullet to the back of the thigh. She’d crumpled to her knees for the second time in as many weeks…

  Thank God for Devyn, who’d become an expert at spotting her descent into that misery. Her sharp whistle sliced in, jerking Tess’s head up.

  “Yo, sweetie. Front and center. Buh-bye, safe house. Hello, real life. Let’s play in center court, okay?”

  Tess managed another laugh. “I’m here, I’m here. Ready to play, coach.”

  Devyn tilted her head, openly scrutinizing. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes and sipped her own tea.

  “You know he’s going to be okay, don’t you?” The woman pulled over one of her shopping bags, emblazoned with a logo that made them both sigh. As she turned the entwined L and V on their sides and reached in, Devyn groused, “Big shit even pulled the bullet out himself before they got to the hospital. Sure; now he doesn’t mind a scar. But who’s going to look at his sorry ass?” She jabbed a finger at Tess. “Don’t answer that.”

  Tess didn’t need to be told twice. It was a welcome change, considering Devyn had all but declared herself president of the Dan and Tess Reunion campaign lately. Because that made sense. A reunion of what? Would they be lovers again? Friends?

  The answers didn’t matter. Dan was resigned to living his life in the dark—to letting his scars stand for shame and anger, not courage and uniqueness. It went deeper than ducking his face against walls and doing his grocery shopping at five in the morning. It gave him an excuse to hide, to lie.

  To lie to her.

  She had to give up the illusion it would be any other way. That her love would somehow dissolve the mortar of his wall.

  Yes, dammit…she’d fallen in love with him. She’d figured it out sometime between reading her eighth and Carly Phillips novels—before reaching the conclusion that it didn’t make a difference to anything, anyway. Unlike the awesome endings for the Dare family men and women, Daniel and she weren’t meant for a kiss, a sunset, and a breathtaking trip to the bedroom.

  Or the dungeon.

  The silence was broken by Devyn’s blissful moan. Tess looked up to watch her friend stroking a pair of luxurious Pucci ankle boots. “Welcome home, girls,” Devyn crooned into the russet suede. “We won’t see each other for a while after I’m back at work, but you’ll always be in my heart.”

  Tess joined her friend in a giggle. She let her smile linger for a few seconds, disguising a secret message brought on by Devyn’s declaration.

  You’ll always be in my heart.

  Did Dan know how often she sent the message to him, too? How she still needed to keep him close, even if it was only in her most hidden thoughts and most secret desires? How she drew on his strength to get her through each day, even if it was only through memories? Could his heart hear anything hers said, or had his wall developed into a fortress? Could he hear her vow anywhere inside, perhaps in that deep place their souls had always connected?

  “Helllooo, Miss Lesange? Main court? Remember?”

  Tess tried to laugh. Shot over an apologetic glance. “Sorry.”

  Devyn sank back, cradling her boots like a kid with stuffed animals. “No, you’re not.”

  Tess arched her brows. “Like the universe is listening to the girl who just talked dirty to her shoes?”

  “Like the universe believes anything from the girl who wants to talk dirty to my brother?”

  She tipped her glass of tea up to hide the heat invading her face—and in true overachiever style, sloshed out more than she could take in. As the drink spilled over onto her white tee, Devyn snickered.

  “It’s okay, girlfriend,” Devyn crooned. “Not as if it’s a state secret. And for what it’s worth,”—she stabbed the heels of the boots in the air—“little sis gives you two boots up.”

  Tess stood. Glared down at her shirt. It was probably ruined but a trip to the kitchen felt instinctive, to try the cold water and detergent dab thing. Along the way, she rejoined as lightly as she could, “Dan and I aren’t going to happen, missie.”

  “Pssshh.” The woman rammed her shoes back into the box, betraying that her stake in this conversation went beyond a casual chat. “You throwing the baby out with the bathwater, Miss Lesange?”

  Tess paused after retrieving the spot remover from under the sink. “He’s no baby. As for the state of his bathwater—”

  “Ew.”

  “Now you going to drop it?”

  Devyn rose, too. Set her hands on hips. The motion seemed to flip a switch, turning off snarky little sister and turning on no-nonsense Secret Service woman. The transformation was sudden—and startling. Though Dev still stood there in a flowered sundress and heeled espadrilles, Tess expected her to spin around any moment and Wonder Woman it into her black suit and work flats.

  “Tess,” she said, just as serious, “I’ve really never seen or heard him like this. It’s because of you. I know it.”

  She averted her gaze again. Shook her head, fighting all of the longing and need and hope—again. “And he’s…special…to me, too.” She pulled out a hand towel but instantly tossed it to the countertop. “No. ‘Special’ isn’t even in the same league as him.”

  Devyn paced closer. Leaned on the counter with both elbows. “You love him.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “I love him.”

  “I think he loves you, too.” The woman’s voice was almost reverent with it. “The way he asks about you…”

  She cocked her head up. “He asks about me?”

  “Oh, yeah.” The snark snuck back in on a little snort. “Only he doesn’t ask, right? Sneaks it in so I’m not onto him.” She lifted her head and curled her upper lip. “Like he’s freaking Swiper and I’m a clueless Dora. Does he think I don’t see past the lame mask?”

  Tess was suddenly glad her shirt was stained. Nothing like dabbing between one’s boobs to disguise an even more awkward moment. Well, I sure as hell didn’t.

  “Men are such boneheads,” Devyn grumbled on.

  “Which explains why you want me to try again with your brother…why?”

  Devyn rolled her eyes. “To de-bone him, of course.” She let Tess spurt a laugh at that before resetting her tone to serious. “Listen, I don’t know what happened between you guys—”

  “And you don’t want to.”

  “No duh. But that doesn’t mean—”

  “It does mean, Devyn.” She stepped over to link their hands. “Look, things are…complicated…with your brother and me. Let’s leave it at that and move on.”

  She should have known better. Instead of ending the handclasp, Devyn screwed her grip tighter. “Maybe I can help in some way.”

  Tess made no secret of her squirm. “I really don’t think so.” Unless you want to hear about some sides of your brother that no ear or eye bleach will wash away.

  “Tess—”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Aggghh.” She siphoned off some frustration with a string of laughter. “What is it with you Coltons and the word ‘no’?”

  Devyn smirked. “Besides being allergic to it?”

  “You don’t say.”

  “So is that a ‘yes’?”

  She huffed. “Okay…bathwater?” she finally blurted. “And your brother? And the ‘
ew’ factor? Remember?”

  “Well, dammit.”

  She laughed again. It felt better this time, prompted by real mirth. “Let’s not dwell on this. You’re leaving in two days. How about forgetting your silly brother with some Chinese and an Outlander binge?”

  Devyn shook her head and laughed. “Because that goes together.”

  “That’s the whole point.” She laughed too, glad the air had eased again between them. “Go cue up episode one. I’ll call Yen Chu and—”

  She’d just turned and reached into the take-out menus drawer when a loud crash came from the living room. Devyn spiked her alarm higher with a yell worthy of a sailor. “Mother fucker!”

  “What the—” Tess dropped the menus and raced back into the other room, expecting to find Devyn sprawled on the floor, bleeding from the eyes, or both. But the little blonde was upright and the scene gore-free, unless one counted the remains of the remote, now laying in a few pieces on the coffee table between her and the TV—

  Which was filled with her brother’s face.

  “Oh, my God,” Tess stammered.

  Revision. Her brother’s stunning, heart-stopping, completely gorgeous face.

  Okay, so Dan could drop Tess’s jaw even in baggy shorts and a tattered T-shirt—and he had before—but hell, did the man slide into a tailored suit with shocking perfection. The pinstriped Tom Ford was like nothing Dan had worn to the office, on the few occasions he’d been forced to report for what he liked calling “himbo duty.”

  He wasn’t a himbo now. He was a straight-up, sexier-than-hell hunk in designer wear. The proud lines of his sculpted shoulders were enhanced to perfection by the tailored jacket, open to reveal a matching vest beneath. His luxurious white dress shirt was the ideal offset for a silk tie in Caribbean blue, which made his eyes all but sear her through the screen itself. Or was the real power of his gaze due to his hair cut?

  Hair cut?

  Technically the term fit, though the stuff on his head was more dark gold fuzz than hair, leaving people little to look at on his face except the swath of his scars.

  And the throng of reporters in front of him sure as hell looked.

  And gawked.

  And whispered.