Last Chance Rebel (17 page)

“This is a very bad idea,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

“I know,” he said, chuckling low and soft. “But bad ideas are all I have.”

She paused for a moment, fingertips lightly tracing shapes over his chest. “Sometimes I think I don't have any.”

He moved his hands over her curves as she spoke. “Why do you think that?”

“I mean, I have some ideas. I have a pretty successful store. But... Not what to do with people. With men. I wanted you. But, I wasn't going to call. This is going to end badly. And that scares me. I'm starting to think maybe a bad idea is better than nothing.”

“What would you have done if I hadn't come over?” He asked the question, then angled his head, pressing his lips to the vulnerable skin on the side of her neck. “Tell me. What does a typical night look like for Rebecca Bear?”

It wasn't just an idle question, not the moment the words left his lips. He wanted to know. More than that, he needed to know.

“Well,” she said, gasping as his teeth scraped her skin. “Usually I watch TV.”

“Movies?”

He felt her shake her head. “No.”

He slipped his hands over to her hips, up to her waist. “Why not?”

“Because,” she said, “they're too long. I always think that maybe I'll just watch one episode of something. But usually, I end up watching endless reruns on TV, and I sit there for four hours, and a movie would have been shorter.” The last word ended on a squeak when he bit down on her shoulder.

“Very interesting,” he murmured.

“I don't think you're actually listening to me,” she said, groaning as he soothed away the sting of the bite with his tongue.

“I'm very interested in what you have to say,” he responded, his words roughened by his arousal.

He moved his hand up, skimming her breasts, gratified when she wiggled against him in obvious pleasure.

“I don't think you are,” she returned.

“TV. What else?”

“Well,” she said slowly. “I cook.”

“Really?” He curled his fingers around the hem of her shirt and tugged it up over her head. “What do you like to cook?”

“I'm very accomplished at making flatbread. By which I mean, I take a tortilla and throw stuff on it and then put it in the oven.”

“Gourmet. Anything else?”

“Burritos. Because that's basically a tortilla and you put stuff in it, but you roll it up.”

“I can see a common theme.” He moved his hands to the clasp on her bra and undid it with practiced fingers. “Let me guess? You're also proficient with soft tacos?”

“I have a pretty good handle on them.”

“Where did you learn to cook?”

He kissed her collarbone before she answered, sliding his tongue along the plump curve of her breast, to where her lace bra concealed the rest of her body.

“I used to cook for my brother.”

Those words settled hard in him, like they were a little heavier than the rest. “Did you?”

“Yes. He worked. Long hours. More than one job. So, I always tried to make sure there was food for him. And buying a big thing of tortillas was easy.”

That made him ache. For the girl she had been. Alone, taking care of someone when people should have been taking care of her. After everything she'd been through, she needed to be taken care of.

Where did he get off being pissed about that? He hadn't been here either.

“It sounds like you have a lot of ideas, Rebecca,” he whispered.

“I'm pretty good at surviving.”

He couldn't fix the past, God knew it. But there was this. Tonight, there was this. “Well, tonight you're going to do more than survive.”

He let her bra fall free, pulling it away from her arms and tossing it onto the floor. Then, he undid the snap on her jeans, wiggling the stiff denim down her legs, taking her panties with them. He pressed his palm onto her hip, digging his fingertips into her skin. He loved the feel of her. The softness. She was athletic, no question, but she was also just very soft. Very female. Made completely differently to himself.

It captivated him. It shouldn't. A woman was a woman, no matter how she was shaped. He'd been with enough to have seen about every variance. Still, she captivated him. Even in the dark.

He slipped his hand between her thighs, sliding a finger through her slick folds, finding her wet and ready for him. He moved the moisture up over the sensitive bundle of nerves there, rubbing her until she gasped.

He couldn't remember a woman's pleasure ever feeling so essential before. Yes, he had always wanted to leave his lovers feeling satisfied. But this was different. He had given her so much pain. So many bad feelings. He wanted to make her feel good. Even if it was just for a few minutes, even if there would be nothing but regret later, he wanted her to feel good now.

He pressed the heel of his palm against her clit, pushing his fingers back and slipping two deep inside of her, rocking his hand and establishing a steady, teasing rhythm that made her shake and cry out.

“Oh,” she breathed, grabbing hold of his wrist as if she could possibly take control. This was his game. No way in hell. “If I had known it was this good, I probably wouldn't have waited.”

He chuckled, but her words made his chest tight. He didn't like the thought of her being with other men. He liked this. Liked the idea that he was the one commanding the response in her body. The only one. If he hadn't known he was sick before, this would've confirmed it.

He was responsible for her lowest physical lows, and he enjoyed the idea of being responsible for her physical highs.

He was a bastard. Through and through. He didn't care. Right now he was a hell of a satisfied one.

He leaned forward, capturing her mouth with his, kissing her deep and hard, trying to pour all of the intensity building in his chest into her. Trying to transfer it to pleasure. Trying to make her feel just a bit of what he was feeling now.

He pressed his hand against her shoulder, flattening her onto her back, withdrawing from between her legs. Then he kissed her neck, that smooth, elegant line of her collarbone, down to her breast, taking one nipple and sucking it deep into his mouth.

She gasped as he settled between her thighs, pressing his cock up against that soft place where she was wet and needy for him. He rocked against her, mimicking the movement his hand had just made, teasing her already sensitized flesh.

She grabbed hold of his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin. He gritted his teeth. “Harder,” he growled.

“What?” she asked, sounding dazed.

“You can hold on to me harder than that, baby,” he said, his voice a stranger's now.

She complied, digging her nails even deeper into his skin, and he took it as his punishment, as his reward. He should be left marked by her. It was only fair. The tattoo wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Nothing ever would be.

This was a start. A finish. It was all he had.

“Gage,” she said, “I want you. Please.”

He grabbed hold of the plastic packet he'd gotten earlier and opened it, deftly rolling the protection over his hardened arousal. Then, he moved back between her thighs, rocking his hips lightly, the head of his cock teasing her slick entrance.

Teasing them both. He moved lightly, in fractions, promising fulfillment, denying them both.

He didn't stop until she was panting, until he thought he was going to shatter his jaw, he was clenching his teeth so tight with the effort to remain in control. Then he moved forward, pushing in all the way, consumed, enveloped by her heat.

He lowered his head, pressing his forehead against her shoulder as he lost himself for a moment and the intense pleasure of being inside her body. Then he raised his head, and he could see her eyes, glittering in the darkness.

He didn't know if she was crying, he thought maybe she was. He called himself ten kinds of asshole as he rocked his hips back, then thrust inside her again. He wasn't going to stop. He couldn't stop.

He needed her, needed this. Like a baptism of fire, his only hope of ever being clean.

No, he never would be. There was no question. There was no coming back from the man he'd been, it was all inside him. In his blood. He was his father's son. Through and through. He had proven it over and over.

He was proving it now. Chasing his own pleasure, pretending it was for anyone but himself.

He shut that thought down, bracing his palms on the mattress on either side of her head as he moved deep, then rolled his pelvis forward, pressing hard against her clit before withdrawing and repeating the motion again. She gasped each time, at each measured thrust that brought them both closer to the brink.

“I need... I need...”

He knew exactly what she needed, but he intended to torture them both a little bit more first. He lifted one hand, placing it over her breasts, teasing her nipple with his thumb as he rolled his hips back and forth. He felt her internal muscles tightening around his dick, the first waves of her orgasm beginning to shudder through her.

“Rebecca,” he growled, thrusting forward hard, the rhythm broken, the action rough.

“Gage.”

And that broke them entirely. The sound of his name on her lips, like a prayer instead of a curse.

Whatever he had been trying to do, whatever game he had been playing with the slow and steady tide that was trying to sweep them up had become a tsunami. There was no control. There was no thought. There was only a frantic, jagged need that sent him hurtling forward, thrusting into her desperately, taking every last ounce of pleasure that he could.

He forgot her. He forgot himself. He forgot everything but what it was like to be inside of her. To feel her small hands sliding over his skin, her nails raking over him, her legs locked around his hips as she arched her hips now to meet his every thrust.

His orgasm crashed through him, beyond his control, beyond his ability to withstand. And he was left shuddering, spending himself inside of her as he lost himself completely in this. In her. She froze beneath him, arching into him, her small breasts pressed into his chest as she rubbed her clit against him, finding her own pleasure, her internal muscles tightening around him like a vise as she surrendered to her release.

When it was done, he rested his head against her chest, slid down her body, grabbing hold of her hips and pressing his cheek between her breasts. He couldn't catch his breath. He couldn't think, hell, he could hardly see straight.

“How many condoms did you bring?”

The breathy, timid question made him laugh. “A few.”

“Thank God.” She curved her arm around his head, lacing her fingers through his hair. “Thank God.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

W
HEN
R
EBECCA
WOKE
up the next morning she was aware of the bite in the air touching her face and one shoulder that was above the covers. The fire had obviously gone out in the woodstove overnight, and since it was only just now getting into the fall, she hadn't got out the space heaters she used to keep the bedroom warm on chillier nights.

The second thing she became conscious of was the fact that she wasn't cold. Not really. She was nestled up against a hard, warm body that was acting like her own personal furnace. She turned over, looking at the large man in her very small bed. Pale light was filtering through the curtains, exposing him and the careless expression that erased lines from his face as he slept. Exposing her and her imperfect skin.

But she couldn't quite bring herself to move. She turned over, pressing her fingertips against the broad expanse of his chest, tracing over his muscles lightly, relishing the feel of all that gorgeous masculine hair. She hadn't realized how much she would like that. How enticing she would find those stark reminders that he was very much a man and she was a woman.

His size, his strength, the uncompromising masculinity in every line of his body aroused her on every level.

He
aroused her. Inescapably. Against her will.

When he'd called last night and asked if she was home—when he had said he was going to come over—she should have barred the door. Should have locked it. Should have had some sense of self-preservation. But no. Here they were.

She wasn't even all that sorry.

Gage stirred beneath her touch, placing one large, warm hand over hers, pressing her palm more firmly against his chest, until she could feel his heart beating. A low, steady rhythm that seemed to echo inside of her, modulating her own, making it beat in time with his.

She felt dizzy then, overwhelmed with sensation. She blinked hard, then when she opened her eyes, she found herself staring into his.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice raspy from disuse.

She tried to force a smile, and she found she couldn't readily find any words. So she just nodded.

“I didn't mean to stay the night,” he said.

“I know,” she croaked, her own voice completely useless.

“How are you?” She could tell by the expression on his face he really meant it. He lifted his hand, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone, and she shivered.

“Cold?”

“Yeah,” she said, because the only other response was no, and that would betray that it was just his touch that made her tremble.

He lifted the blankets up higher, covering her bare shoulder, then turned her body, so that she was pressed against him from breasts to toe. “Better?”

“Better,” she responded.

She ached all over, not physically—it was something deep inside, something that she couldn't put a name or a bandage on.

She wondered what it was that drew her so inexplicably to this man. If it was some kind of extension of self-destruction, or just the fact that he loomed so large in her past.

That thought made her frown. Because none of that seemed like it had any place in this moment. She didn't feel angry. She didn't feel outraged or disgusted by him.

She didn't know how that could be. All she knew about him, all she had ever known about him before he had come back into town was that he was the man who had—through his negligence—caused her lifelong injuries. But that wasn't the end of the story, and she knew it. It wasn't the sum total of Gage West any more than it was the sum total of Rebecca Bear.

Maybe it did make her kind of sick, wanting the man whom she blamed for so much. But right now she didn't
want
it to be about that.

Suddenly, she felt hungry to add more details to the picture of him that she had in her mind. Suddenly, it seemed imperative that she make him something else. Because otherwise, she was well and truly fucked in the head.

“Tell me,” she said, resting her cheek on his chest, his warmth spreading through her. “Tell me what you did with all those years.”

His fingertips froze on her arm, then began to slide up and down slowly again, his touch heating her down to her blood and bones.

“You want to know everything?” His voice rumbled against her ear.

“Yes,” she said, feeling completely certain. “Absolutely everything. You left, and then what?”

“I bought a plane ticket,” he said, “and I flew to Texas, because I thought that was as good a place as any. I had experience with horses, and I was able to get a job on a ranch there. All of that led to a little bit of amateur rodeo work.”

“Where did the investments come in?”

“I started to earn a little extra pocket money on bets. I got a cut of the winnings when I kicked ass in events. So, I ended up with all this cash in savings. I talked to a guy who used to ride pro, who had made a bunch of money on endorsement deals. He was injured and he couldn't compete anymore, but, he had figured out a way to keep his income rolling in. And I thought that I should look into it. So, I contacted the guy he recommended and everything kind of snowballed from there. I started out with my father's money, it bought me the plane ticket, but after that... It was me on my own.”

“So all of the debt you're dealing with now for the West family, that has nothing to do with your personal fortune.”

He laughed. “I don't know that I would call it a personal fortune. But, I'm not going to end up out on the street anytime soon.”

“So, you started getting money. Why didn't you settle down?”

His muscles went rigid beneath her touch. “I didn't feel like I could. Every time I stayed in one place for too long I felt like a rock was sitting on my chest. Every time I got to know people, every time I lingered, it felt like... Well, kind of felt like a betrayal. It was one thing to walk around and take whatever work I could get, to never settle, and to convince myself that I couldn't. Leaving my family for that... Well, that seemed okay. But if I were to settle somewhere else and really make it home then I guess it was real that I'd left them. That I left for good.”

“Then why didn't you come back?”

“I couldn't. I couldn't do that. And it wasn't just because of you, though... I felt so much regret for that. And unable to do much of anything to fix it. But it was also my father. The more I chipped away at who he was, the less I could stand the idea of staying and becoming him. I already knew that he had an illegitimate kid. He told me about Jack Monaghan way before anybody else knew. I knew about him, and I didn't do anything. I'm completely at fault for Jack being disenfranchised from the family, for the fact that he had such a difficult childhood. Because for the longest time I thought that if my father had a reason for doing something it was a good enough reason. Because he was Nathan West, how could he be wrong? But there were so many things. So many little things. All of the money that was being used for God knew what. The secrets that he kept from my mother. And your accident was the last straw.”

She froze, her hand still pressed tightly against his chest. “How?”

“He told me not to be an idiot. He told me to let him make it all go away. He wanted to pay you off, make sure that I didn't get in any trouble. He wanted it to be kept a secret so that it wouldn't impact the family. I'm not blameless. I obviously accepted the out. I'm not going to pretend for one second that I'm somehow blameless, or that I'm noble in any way. Because I let him do it. But I just couldn't... I couldn't be a part of that family anymore. I couldn't live there, knowing that I was expected to be everything he was. It's amazing to me, coming back and seeing Colton. He was raised by the same man, and he stayed. And he's turned into a helluva guy.”

“Colton certainly hasn't ever gotten in any trouble.”

“And I know he blames me for that, more than gives me credit. He's angry that I left, and that I left him with all of that to carry. But they were better off with him. They were always better off with him.”

“Why?” She asked, her words hushed.

“Because, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not a very nice guy.”

“Yeah, you're a real terror, Gage. Coming back and trying to make things right.”

“You're not going to start giving me credit now, are you? Because the last time we discussed this, you made it pretty clear I didn't deserve any.”

She shifted against him. “Well, maybe I don't think that now.”

“That's the sex talking.”

“I don't think so. I mean, the sex is pretty good, I'll give you that. But I'm not an idiot. And a few orgasms are hardly going to change my thought process.”

“You're wrong about that. It changes everyone's. It's why men like my father are somehow able to walk around with their heads held high while they treat every woman in their lives like absolute garbage.” He let out a heavy breath. “They think they deserve something better, they think they're above any kind of consequence. They're buried so balls deep in their own bullshit they can't see past it.”

“I guarantee you I'm not buried balls deep in anything,” she said, keeping her tone deliberately dry.

“I'm just saying, I'm not sure that you're in the best position to absolve me right now.”

“I'm not offering you absolution, you idiot. It's not about that. It's not about whether or not I can magically wave a wand and make you good or valuable or worthy, or whatever crap you're thinking. It's just that you're not a bad man. You did a bad thing. For all I know you've done a lot of bad things. But the bottom line is that, when your family needed you, you came back. And you never had to look me up. Ever. You gave me money. You want to make sure that I can retain my business. If you are all bad, you never would have done that. And you know what? I'm a little offended by the characterization. Because that means you think I'm stupid enough to sleep with a very bad man just because he's hot.”

He laughed and the sound scraped against her raw nerves. “Oh, honey, why do you think bad men get laid so much?” He leaned in, brushing his thumb over her nipple. “It's because we know how to make this more important than anything else on earth.”

She shivered wiggling out of his hold. “Okay, maybe you're not Saint Colton West, but you're not a terrible person. And walking around claiming it like that? That's just a shield. You're using it to protect you, to make it so that if you do mess things up, you can take a step back and shrug your shoulders and say that you made sure everybody knew what an awful person you were so they can't be surprised when you messed it all up. But that's just crap. And it's you being scared.”

He tightened his hold on her. “Are you calling me a coward?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Baby, I used to ride bulls for money. I'm the furthest thing from a coward you're going to find.”

“It's not really all that impressive that a man who is unquestionably self-destructive is willing to throw himself on the back of thousand-pound animal and get thrown around an arena. You're pretty badass physically because you don't care about what happens to you. Not when it comes to that stuff. But, you're afraid to deal with your family. Have been for the past seventeen years. In fact, sometimes I wonder a little bit if the only reason you're dealing with me is that it's a great distraction from them.”

He growled, rolling over so that he was on top of her, his hard length pressing against that tender place between her thighs. “Does this feel like a distraction to you?”

“I'm pretty distracted,” she said, her voice much more breathless than she would like it to be. She couldn't hide from him. That was a problem. But with his hard body pushing her deep into the mattress, and all the delicious sensations it fired off inside her, she couldn't bring herself to do much about it at the moment.

“You're not just a distraction. You are the reason I decided I needed to change myself.”

“Not me,” she said, reaching up and touching the deep groove that bracketed his mouth. “The idea of me. But, you didn't know me. I didn't change anything. You were the one that made all the changes, Gage.”

“It
was
you,” he said, his voice rough.

She shifted, then gasped as the head of his cock came into contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs. She wanted to get away from him, but she wanted to stay close to him forever at the same time.

“I'm not your monument,” she said, “I'm not some wispy, white-clad virgin you can put up on a pedestal and worship. I'm not your patron saint of suffering. I'm not some kind of magical, mystical being. I'm just me. I'm a little bit broken, or maybe a lot. I'm not very nice. I'm a terrible friend. Kind of desperately screwed up. I can't even fix my own life, Gage.” She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. “It would make me kind of mad if you thought I had fixed yours, when I hadn't managed to put mine in working order.”

“I didn't say I was fixed,” he said, his voice gruff. “I said I was changed. Before that accident happened I was headed straight to hell and I was bound and determined to take everyone around me along for the ride. I didn't care who I hurt. Worse, I don't even think I thought for one second that I
might
hurt someone, or that it would matter if I did.” He paused, then when he spoke again, his voice was thick. “I remember that night.”

“I don't really want to talk about it.”

He slid his hands down her shoulders, past her elbows, down to her wrists. He wrapped his fingers around them, then lifted her arms up overhead, pinning them against the soft pillow. “We're going to talk about it.”

She closed her eyes, turning her face away from him. Talking about it was always going to be hard. But talking about it like this when there were no walls between them, no clothes between them. Not even any space between them. That seemed impossible. “There's nothing to talk about. I remember it too.”