Known (31 page)

Chris held Gianna’s hotel room door open for her. She looked shell-shocked as she passed by him.

Who wouldn’t?

She’d discovered the father she’d believed was dead had been avoiding her for decades, and now he’d been brutally murdered.

Chris wanted to wave a magic wand and fix it all. Her father would be alive and an active part of her life.

But then she wouldn’t have been in the cabin near his.

He wouldn’t have met her.

A wave of selfishness plowed through him, and he fought it back. He could be thankful fate had crossed their paths without feeling guilty about the events that’d made it happen. Gianna pulled off her sweater and tossed it on a chair. Her movements were those of someone who’d been on her feet for a twelve-hour shift, but when he looked at her, he saw the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She carried her burdens with grace. She pushed her hair over a shoulder and turned toward him, a question faltering on her lips. “Did . . .”

He waited for her to finish. She didn’t. Instead she simply looked at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked after a long moment. No alarm had shown in her eyes. Instead she studied him, waiting for something.

Silence filled the room. She pressed her lips together and moved closer. Reaching out, she ran a hand down his upper arm, her gaze following her hand. “You’re very dependable, did you know that?”

Denial ripped through him. “Only to my family. I don’t care about anyone else.”

“I think you’re lying to yourself when you say that. You wouldn’t let anyone down.”

“If they’re relying on me for something, then no, I wouldn’t.”

“You’ve been here for Violet and me since that morning.” She lifted her gaze from her hand on his arm. Her dark eyes heavy with an emotion that made his muscles instantly tighten.

“You needed someone. Only an ass would have left you two out there.”

“You’ve had plenty of chances to leave and go back to your own life. Every time I need you, you’re there when I turn around.”

Who needs whom?

He slid a hand around to her back and pressed her to him as he ran his other hand up the back of her scalp, tilting her head back so she had to look up to him. Her neck was exposed and his mouth was on it before he could think.
Gianna.
Kissing her last night had fueled a fire he hadn’t experienced in a decade. He ran his lips up her neck; her skin was warm and smooth, making him ache to taste more of her. His tongue traced the edge of her jaw and she moved her head so he could touch her better, her mouth opening slightly as she drew in shallow breaths.

“Chris.”

He’d wanted her since the first moment he’d seen her in the snow.

He finally admitted it to himself. He’d kept his attraction buried deep, unable to acknowledge that this woman was someone he would risk being with. For too many years he’d avoided the opposite sex, believing they wouldn’t have anything to do with him, and chosen to focus on his son.

Now every wall he’d built to protect himself came crashing down.

Will she run?

Her hand slid up his chest, and her fingertips lightly touched the scars that disappeared below the collar of his shirt. Moving up his neck, her fingers traced the small ridge of bone that’d formed on the side of his jaw. The bone had knitted together unevenly after the Ghostman had broken it. Self-consciousness punched him in the stomach and he set it aside. In her job she saw destruction inflicted on bodies every day. The fact that she’d stepped forward and accepted his defects kept him from shutting down and running out of the room.

Part of him hungered to have her see every bit of him. Her accepting gaze could wipe out the decades of self-loathing from studying his own body in the mirror. Constant daily reminders of hell.

Her hands drifted back down and tugged at the hem of his shirt, lifting it and pressing their palms against his abdomen. Heat raced from her hands and exploded in his brain. Every muscle in his body tensed. He cupped her face in his hands, and his mouth insisted she open for him. His tongue slid into her warm silkiness, and he pressed forward until she was backed up against the wall of her hotel room.

She turned her head to the side, taking deep breaths, and pulled his shirt over his head. Chris briefly moved back as he ripped the shirt off, and she stopped him from moving back to her with a hand to his chest. Her gaze traced his chest, moving down the side of his neck to the round scars on his pecs.

“Oh, Chris,” she whispered.

He watched her eyes, and the familiar fear of rejection prickled in the back of his brain. She touched one scar and then another and raised her gaze to meet his. “I hate him.”

His mouth twitched. “I did, too.”

She touched the long scar on the left side of his torso that arced around almost to his back. “I know this type of scar. You gave a kidney?” she asked, her voice cracking. Her dark eyes looked up at him, and he felt like he could fall into them.

“Yes. My mother . . . and Michael’s mother.”

“Like I said. You don’t let anyone down, do you?”

“She’s my mother.”

Gianna looked back to where her fingers lightly traced the surgical scar. It was the one defect he didn’t mind. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against one of the cigarette burns on his chest.

His knees shook.

She lightly traced it with her tongue, and he thought his brain would explode. He bit his lip to keep from swearing out loud and sunk his hands into her hair. Long silky strands threaded through his fingers. He held her head against his chest, wanting to never let her pull away. She moved to two more scars and his breathing got louder.

His fingers trailed down her back. Her mouth found his, and the skin of her stomach pressed against his bare skin. Heat flared where they connected.

“I need you in that bed in the other room, Gianna,” he muttered against her mouth. If he wasn’t inside her soon, he’d explode.

“That makes two of us.”

He spun her around and pressed his chest against her smooth back, pinning her against the wall. Her hair draped over his chest, tickling and driving him crazy. He pushed her hair out of his way and kissed the back of her neck, tracing a path to her ear. “Maybe not the bed.” His groin nestled against her, the two layers of denim between them making her seem miles away.

“I don’t care where,” she panted, her cheek pressed against the wall. “Just soon. Now.”

Chris froze. “I don’t . . .”

“Crap.”

He couldn’t move. His brain stuttered to a stop. He didn’t do casual sex. He wasn’t the type to keep condoms handy and accessible. “I’m so sorry, Gianna.” He stepped back, his stomach instantly cold where he no longer touched her.

“Wait. I think I have an answer.”

Breathing heavily, she pushed away from the wall and disappeared into the bedroom. Chris waited a moment and then followed.

Gianna’s face flamed as she dug in Violet’s school backpack.

Please, please still be here.

She’d stumbled across the condoms months ago while snooping. They’d shocked the hell out of her and created an uncomfortable but necessary conversation with her daughter during which she’d learned a female friend had given them to Violet as a gag birthday gift. Still, Gianna had checked back several times to see if the tiny box had ever been opened. It hadn’t.

Her fingertips touched the box, still tucked inside a rarely used pocket of the backpack. It was sealed shut.

How will I explain the disappearance to Violet?

She shoved the thought out of her head and turned around to hold the box up triumphantly to Chris. He frowned.

“Violet’s?”

“No. Well, yes. But a friend gave them to her as a joke. They’ve never been opened.”

He stood still, his gaze on the small box. “Is that what you want to do?”

Gianna’s grip tightened on the box. “You don’t?” The tendons on his neck stood out, but she didn’t think it was from the intensity of the hormones in the room. Chris was pure lean muscle. With his shirt off, he was carved and cut and could have posed in a men’s magazine. His scars were a testament to his perseverance. He was a true warrior who’d fought mental and physical battles and survived.

“Fuck yes, I want to.” He moved across the room and tore open the box in one swift movement. “Your jeans are in the way, Dr. Trask.” His gaze pinned her, and relief made her sit on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, thank God. I was afraid—”

“Stop talking.”

He went down on a knee, tossing the opened box on the nightstand, small packets spilling out, and kissed her as he unsnapped the top button of her jeans.

She melted. He was taking control, which was exactly what she needed. She didn’t seduce men; it wasn’t her nature. And she knew Chris wasn’t into sleeping around. Everything she’d learned about him over the last few days told her he never stepped over that line.

This was different.

He pushed her back against the pillows and slipped off her jeans. Wonder lit up his face as he ran a finger down her stomach and hooked it in the lace of her panties. “You’re perfect,” he muttered.

She touched a scar on his cheek and looked into his eyes. “So are you.”

He held her gaze and she stared right back. He might not believe her; she doubted he would after his years of hiding, but over time he’d learn she meant what she said. “I don’t speak lightly,” she said.

He moved over her, kissing her deeply as her head sank into the pillow. That finger tugged, and she felt her panties slide down her thighs. She lifted her hips and he moaned into her mouth. He removed her bra, and then they wrestled to get the blankets folded back. The cool sheets made her skin pebble, increasing her sensitivity. His jeans were rough against her legs. She removed them.

Hot skin burned against hers. He was male skin and exploring hands and heat. She ached for his touch on every piece of her. Opening her legs, she grabbed one of his hands and guided it to her center. He hissed as he found her wet silkiness, and she felt him instantly grow and harden against her thigh. He stroked her with a light touch, and she pressed against his hand. “Harder.”

He obliged, teasing for a long moment. She closed her eyes, giving him the chance to openly watch her without her scrutiny. Opening them, she met his hazel gaze. Desire flashed in their depths, and he broke away to grab a condom. There was a moment of cold while he pulled back to roll it on. As they lay beside each other on their backs, she ran a hand down his stomach, feeling the small hairs part under her fingers. He groaned as she touched him. With one abrupt movement, he was back on her and buried deep.

Her gasp filled the room. Pain. Good pain. A rush of pleasure and heat spiraled through her and she moved against him, needing him to give her more.

He did.

Chris set the bottle of water on the nightstand and looked down at the dark head nestled against his side. Gianna had positioned herself so that one entire side of her body touched his from her cheek against his chest to her toes against his calf.

He didn’t want to move. Ever.

He’d uncovered every bit of himself and she hadn’t run away. She’d pressed forward. Eager in bed, Gianna had surprised him with her forwardness. Condom wrappers dotted the floor. He’d had a lot of missed time to make up for and apparently she had, too. He watched the black silk of her hair fall through his fingers. How many women had he turned away from, preferring to be alone rather than risk being rejected?

Not that many.

He’d avoided women. Never letting a conversation get beyond, “Black coffee, please,” or, “I’d like the steak.”

It was simpler that way. It’d been just he and Brian for so long; it was how he preferred it.

What will Brian say?

Every now and then Brian would ask him about women. Usually after he’d spent time at a friend’s house. Brian liked being mothered and Chris was thankful he had Jamie in his life to occasionally fill the role.

Sheesh. One time in bed and you’ve already got her mothering Brian.

He could dream.

“I don’t sleep around,” she said.